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RAdm S.Coyote

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Everything posted by RAdm S.Coyote

  1. To: CPT Audraya Wesley From: RADM Shauna Walking Coyote Re: Sigma 759 - Salvage Operations Captain Wesley: I’ve received your report. Excellent work - as usual - from you and your crew. Salvage operations will move forward; continue to gather what information and equipment that you can. Yes. We may keep it. - Admiral Coyote PS: Captain Calestorm says, and I quote, “ooooOOOOOoooo…sounds like fun!”, unquote.
  2. = = = = Starfleet First Threat Response Command = = = = = = = = Secure Channel November Xray Niner = = = = = = = = Begin Transmission= = = = From: Shauna Walking-Coyote, Rear Admiral, First Threat Response To: Ashton Calestorm, Captain; Audraya Wesley, Captain; Kansas Vacer JoNs, Commander Re: Command Personnel Promotions and Positions The following promotions and positions are effective immediately: Captain Ashton Calestorm is hereby requested and required to relinquish command of USS Comanche Creek to Commander Audraya Wesley, Executive Officer, USS Comanche Creek, and ordered to report to First Threat Response Command Offices, New Topeka as Assistant Commander of Operations (Space) and expected to undertake the duties therein. Commander Audraya Wesley, is hereby promoted to the rank of Captain, and is requested and required to assume command of the USS Comanche Creek as Commanding Officer from Captain Ashton Calestorm and expected to undertake the duties therein. Commander Kansas Vacer JoNs is hereby requested and required to relinquish command of USS Washington’s Crossing, NCC-0689, to Lt. Commander Avira Sh'ariathehr, Executive Officer, USS Washington’s Crossing and ordered to report to the USS Comanche Creek NCC-214 as Executive Officer and expected to undertake the duties therein. = = = = Starfleet First Threat Response Command = = = = = = = = Secure Channel November Xray Niner = = = = = = = = End Transmission = = = =
  3. = = = = Starfleet First Threat Reponse Command = = = = = = = = Secure Channel NX-Niner = = = = = = = = Begin Transmission = = = = From: Shauna Walking-Coyote, Rear Admiral, First Threat Response To: Shan Shalin, Karl Schultz, Byblos, T’Chana Re: Personnel Promotions The following promotions are effective immediately: Chief Engineer Lieutenant Shan Shalin is hereby promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander. Security Midshipman Karl Schultz is hereby promoted to the rank of Ensign. Mission Specialist Byblos is hereby promoted to the rank of Warrant Officer Second Class. Morale Officer T’Chana is hereby promoted to the rank of Crewman Third Class. = = = = Starfleet First Threat Reponse Command = = = = = = = = Secure Channel NX-Niner = = = = = = = = End Transmission = = = =
  4. The following log takes place just prior to the start of the 08.31.15 Sim… USS Comanche Creek Goram Orbital Sept 12, 2261 (Stardate 2261.225) We're in a dangerous region of space…We face attacks from all sides, enemies everywhere we go. The last thing I need is to hear that two of my senior officers have been admitted to sickbay, because they suddenly regressed to the level of five-year-olds! – Captain Jonathan Archer, Star Trek: Enterprise “Harbinger” (2004) After an extended patrol stint planetside, Captain Ashton Calestorm had finally managed to grab chow, rack time and a shower. She’d just shrugged into her uniform tunic for the upcoming duty shift when the call button sounded on her desk. Grumbling quietly to herself, she finished dressing and then swooped across her quarters to the office area. Jabbing at the access she said in a clear voice, “Calestorm here.” “Sir, I’ve Admiral Coyote on a Priority Three channel from New Topeka.” “Put her through.” Cale settled down in the chair at the desk and awaited the connection to establish. The Native Old-Earth American features of Rear Admiral Shauna Walking-Coyote snapped into focus on the visual feed. She did not frak around with the niceties, but she and Ashton had been friends for a long time and had been well past all that. “What’s this I hear about two of your officers brawling?” A sigh escaped her lips. “Let me guess, the First Threat Response rumors got a warp boost courtesy of the arrival of the Reluctant and the Washington’s Crossing here at Goram?” “That would be correct, Captain.” “Aw, dammit.” Crash couldn’t help it; she leaned forward and rested her forehead on the flat desk surface. “….you’re having a lot of fun, aren’t you?” Her head shot back up. “Oh, yeah, this mission is a regular laugh riot over here, Admiral. Crazy-ass pirates, Black Pearl narcotics, an abandoned planetary base that’s slated to be overhauled.” Her tone was peppered liberally with sarcasm. “And the two rapscallions in question are Mission Specialist Byblos and Executive Officer Wesley.” Yep, the sarcasm was still there with a healthy dose of growled tone. “Were you there when it happened?” Calestorm gave a look that could only be described as a very respectful, Duh, and answered, “Shauna, if I was there, do y’all really think we’d be havin’ this conversation right now?” “…right. Forget I asked.” “The answer is of course, No; as those two were busy with their little ######--,” she cleared her throat and reverted to a better sounding descriptive word, “--erm, boxing match, I was bopping around the countryside on a hover cycle with Staff Sergeant Vega. We’d been in pursuit of a Lunatic Jester gang member; more on that later, one crisis at a time. The report will likely be in your inbox in 24 hours.” “Are you referring to the report on the Jesters, or the report on the brawl?” “The report on the pirate gang activity, Admiral.” Crash paused and then stated matter-of-factly. “I actually have no plans to make a direct report on the fight to you or anyone else within our command.” Coyote’s eyes narrowed. “May I ask why you will not be making a report on this incident between two of your crew, Captain? One of whom is your Executive Officer and the other an established Contractor operative?” The commanding officer of the Comanche Creek chose her next words carefully, pausing for a moment to glance off screen before turning her attention back to her commanding officer. “It’s not worth the effort, Shauna.” The Admiral made a sight motion with her hand as in ‘go on’. “Admiral, let’s say I go and pursue this matter through the proper channels? I could kick Byblos’ ugly tail straight back to the Outer Rim and boot Mister Wesley’s curvaceous rear into another disciplinary stint with the Marines. I’d prefer to handle this off the record and personally.” Shauna remained quiet and listened and Ashton continued her explanation. “According to the witnesses that I talked to, Byblos questioned Audraya’s tactics and leadership. The conversation – if I can call it that – further degenerated into a mutual ‘I’ve had a harder life then you’ and ‘you have no idea the things that I’ve been through’. Crash gave a helpless gesture with one hand, visible in the two way feed. “The two of them lost their tempers - says the woman who as a Navy Lieutenant leapt across a conference table at a Marine Colonel, but I totally digress - and things escalated from there.” She glanced down and picked up one of the data slates resting flat on her desk and began to read off the injuries. “Detached retina. Bruised kidney. Missing teeth.“ The captain shook her head once, quickly, and then bypassed reading off the remainder of the injuries. “They screwed each other up real good…and I can’t order pride away, Admiral.” Coyote was quiet for several moments, her gaze looking just past the viewer feed at something. Then she had made her decision and spoke. “So, you’ll handle this internally?” Calestorm changed at that moment. Not a physical change, it was more of a shift in personality and mannerisms. Shauna had seen the change a few times during their service together and Crash’s silver-white, short cropped hair only added to the illusion. ‘It’ was as if you were looking at an alpha female wolf. “Aye, the matter’s already being handled, Shauna. I’ll forward the directives I’ve doled out onto you.” Oh, and that slight growl was back…
  5. The following log takes place after our 48 hour TBS and prior to the 11.18.13 Sim… USS Comanche Creek Main Science Lab, Observation April 20, 2261 "Look at the one little dude in the back, right there Shauna," Cale indicated with a gesture the mech-spider she was speaking of, it's carapace and legs a patchwork of small copper, silver and matte black colored panels, "it's obviously been used, repaired and re-used for whatever. Our MED-SCI and Engineering teams have found additional evidence from the limited program buffers as well." Admiral Shauna Coyote eyeballed the spider in question. "So you feel as if these USB Spiders aren't a threat?" Crash looked at her commanding officer askance and considered a sarcastic response, was deflected by said commanding officers 'don't go there' eyebrow and instead answered with a "No, Shauna…I mean c'mon! If a group of 'em ain't in sleep mode, they're doin' the dang Conga." "Actually, I believe that is the Hokey-Pokey..." "Ohhh-kaay. That's not disturbing…." The captain pulled her attention from the dancing spiders and shook her head to clear it, again turning her focus on the other woman. "I'm not sayin' these things can't be dangerous. We know US* originally intended the Beta Spiders for use in Security. But this batch is a mis-match of parts and limited programming, aside from years of sales and changing hands in private collections or as conversions to kid's remote controlled toys, as that Intel report showed us." She spread her hands. "My people are working on this. The early reports show Mudd did something to sidetrack the little buggers from causing havoc and downloading data from the listening outpost. That message he imbedded in the one big Spider? The recording infers he got himself tangled up with the Dragoons." Coyote cocked her head to one side in speculation and asked Cale, "You want to send a rescue team in?" "No way. Taboo Cat* and her people are already on point in the Outlands; have the boys and girls keep doing the undercover thing and confirm any leads on Mudd. For now." "You don't think the Dragoons will kill him?" "Harry Mudd's a survivor. He'll be fine 'til we can corral him." "And the Olympic Carrier?" "Ambitious idea, sloppy job. Let's assume the Dragoons captured and then launched the missing pleasure ship months later? The Widows Run access corridor is irradiated six ways from Sunday and travel access from the Outlands is limited. But… Harrington Base is still here, obviously." Calestorm shook her head. "If we had a true professional group, I think thing's would've gone way south way too quick." She cocked her head and continued speaking to the Admiral. "You remember when we were neck deep in the Cartel Wars?" Coyote gave a half smile. "Of course I do." "And you agree it as a large-scale dust up? I'm not saying these current Cartel skirmishes ain't an issue, 'specially if we have smaller non-Orion groups like these Dragoons gettin' involved." The FTR commanding officer gave a low growl in her throat. "I know Mudd's recording was distributed, but I want your verbal breakdown. What's Mudd's part in all this, Crash? Your opinion, off the record." "Goin' by our little adventure with the M-5 creature and the evidence we found in that transport crate, he likely started an illegal cargo company. Karma came around to bite him in the ass and he got stuck in a hostile takeover, shanghaied with the Dragoons. But, he's doin' his own guerilla warfare." She indicated the spiders to illustrate the point she was making and then said, "Hell, even a rogue like him realizes that certain other rogues are bad for business." A companionable silence settled between the two friends as they observed the USB Spiders and then Admiral Coyote brought up another matter to be discussed. "Colonel Tavington would like your skin on his office wall." Ashton made a rude sound, the snort equal parts amused and weary. "Then he needs to get in line. Lot's of people have wanted a piece of me over the years. " "Indeed." A rare happy-go-lucky smirk snuck its way across the Admirals features. "I heard Commander Wesley deflected him quite well." The captain smiled and gave a little two fingered salute of agreement as she glanced at her commanding officer. "If I didn't think she'd be insulted I'd suggest my XO go into the Diplomacy Corps." "Not that you're not always a pain in the rear end, but you're being even more ornery than usual. What's going on Crash?" "I don't want that British – no offense Doctor Maturin--" Cale called across the office area to the Acting Chief of Science, who also hailed from the British Isles of Old Earth. Maturin responded with a wave and said, "No worries and understood Sir," and then turned his attention back to a desktop monitor showing a schematic of the Spiders. "--Desktop Warfare Geek to get hold of these guys is all! He'll probably expand the original tech to make more of the Spiders and turn 'em into some" the ships captain waggled her hands to illustrate her point, "weird ass IED army and launch 'em at the Klingon home world." "Colonel Tavington is no Admiral Marcus*." "Ah understand that. And I know that he and his Intel team are on site to help us protect Harrington Base. Just…see what you can do to get these guys remanded into the custody of his Bosses, bypass Colonel Tavington on this. In the meantime let my people continue watching over them. Just a hunch is all." Coyote looked at her line officer, her expression speculative and calm with a hint of humor. "Fine. I'll see what I can do to sidetrack the, ah, British Desktop Warfare Geek." "Hell, he probably used to play on-line game that was so popular years back. Pirates vs. StarCom: Space Battles? Or whatever it was called.…" Calestorm paused and glanced back into the observation room that held the Spiders. "What's that little group doin'? The Hokey Pokey?" Maturin had walked up beside the two senior officers and said, "No Captain I believe that is known as 'Twerking'. It's a rather questionable dance popular with younger adults." Crash did a face to palm gesture. Admiral Coyote responded to that tidbit of information with, "That which has been seen cannot be unseen…." * United Syndicate * Call sign of CDR Kansas Vacer JoNs of the USS Washington Crossing (SPECOPS ship and crew on assignment to the First Threat Response Division) * Admiral Alexander Marcus (Star Trek: Into Darkness 2013)
  6. = = Encryption Level Ghost 17-54 = = = = Harrington Sector Joint Protection Detail = = To: Starfleet Intelligence, Border Patrol FTR, Marine Corps SPECOPS, Starfighter Operations Command From: Colonel William Tavington, Starfleet Intelligence Re: Orion Cartel Inter-Factional War SI agents deployed to the Outlands have reported that the Dragoons have resurfaced and are involved in the internal and factional skirmishes of the Orion Cartel. The civil war remains confined to the outer Mingo territory for now. The Dragoons were originally active in the skirmishes between the Federation and the Orion Cartel (2228 to 2231). Reports from our agents indicate the riff raff are commanded by a pirate who is known only as ‘The Wraith’. As with their forebears they employ light attack tactics, using starfighters and shuttles for guerilla attacks. The debris analyzed from the intercepted shuttle and the Hornet 20 dash camera footage of the fleeing starfighter indicate standard civilian class craft with the usual modifications favored by pirates and smugglers; current speculation is these two unknowns were advance Dragoon scouts. Questions as to who modfied the Olympic Carrier remain unanswered as the Dragoons do not appear to have the necessary equipment or numbers to handle such an undertaking, according to our field agents. The DIY ships and crew from the Border Patrol, Marine and Starfighter Divisions will remain within the Harrington sectors and attached to Harrington Starbase to provide added protection. William Tavington, COL Starfleet Intelligence = = Encryption Level Ghost 17-54 = = = = Harrington Sector Protection Detail = =
  7. You know, it's an ugly business doing one's duty…but just occasionally it's a real pleasure. - Colonel William Tavington, The Patriot (2000) Harrington Base Main Conference Room Colonel Tavington had breezed out of the conference room, leaving the Border Patrol officers in his wake. When the coast was clear, Colonel Mitchell Patton spoke up. “That’s who we have as the on-site Fleet Intel lead?” His tone indicated he was not impressed. Crash chimed in. “He’s an Intelligence officer who gives the other Intel officers a bad name. I’ve got 19 and 20 year old transfers on ‘Creek straight from the accelerated Academy training who have more of a clue than him!” The meeting had gone well logistically and tactically but not according to personality. Calestorm and Tavington had clashed mainly due to the man’s proper yet abrasive nature; Patton and Coyote had managed to remain civil with some effort. “I understand his approach to the situation, but he doesn’t have to be so danged uppity…” “I’d rather take on a squad of Klingons…” Admiral Shauna Coyote let her two officers continue with a few more choice comments and then waved them both gently to silence. “I agree with the two of you that he’s not exactly diplomacy material. But he is who we need to work with to keep the Harrington sectors secure. I expect you both to maintain at least some civility with him.” Calestorm perked up. “I didn’t leap across the table at him. Does that count?” Mitchell just shook his head and smiled. “Yes.” She winged a good natured look at her long-time friend. “I was impressed.” “…can I do a fly by on his shuttle?” “No.” “Please?” “No.” *Author Note: This Colonel Tavington is not as deliciously evil as the Tavington appearing in “The Patriot”, but is based on the character.
  8. The following log takes place immediately prior to the 08.19.13 Sim… Stardate 2261102. USS Comanche Creek NCC-214 Captains Ready Room A ping sounded, indicating that the final invitee for the inter-galactic conference call had signed into the secure audio/visual wireless feed. The officers in attendance were Admiral Robert Bennett* of San Francisco Command, Rear Admiral Shauna Coyote of Border Patrol First Threat Response Command, Brigadier General Mitchell Patton of Border Patrol First Threat Response Marine Command, Commander JoNs of the USS Washington Crossing on detached duty from Special Operations Command to the FTR, and Captain Calestorm. Admiral Coyote started the meeting, her real time image showing clearly on the multi-split screen desktop viewer in Crash’s office. “We all know why this meeting has been called so I’ll skip the preliminaries and go right for the source: the Intelligence from Mareena was interesting reading.” Crash nodded in agreement. “The courier that brought us the chit was pretty banged up but as you’ve all read in the reports he pulled through thanks to the ‘Creek medical staff. I’ll straight up go on record to say it don’t really matter if it was Black Kris operatives that nailed him or outside operatives from another faction.” The Native American officer spoke again. “It would seem that the Orion Cartel and its loose association of factions are going through some changes, this much we can be certain of. As for the Black Kris going legit, we know from the background checks conducted by Starfleet Intel that Lady Mareena has the credits and contacts to back the play. Obviously, our concerns are the Outer Rim and the frontier sectors and how it affects the borders if the smugglers and pirates are mixing it up. A lopsided grin quirked General Patton’s mouth as he asked Crash, “How is the Byblos fella settling in? You and the Commander list him on the manifest as a ‘Mercenary Specialist’? “He’s already found his way to the MARDET range for target practice and the jarheads - no offense Sir - hardly batted an eye. Our former heavy weapons expert, Staff Sergeant Vega, has already informed me he’s eyeing the Big Guy as a de facto replacement after word got around about the contraption Byblos was firing on the range.” “And speaking of the Staff Sergeant - how is his RRF coming along?” “Commander Wesley and I are happy with the results. Vega has gathered representatives from all our departments and they’re in final training now; it’d be best for any bad guys to stay on their good side when we deploy them as our forward squad.” “And the recent personnel assignments to the FTR?” This question came from Admiral Bennett. “I expect the newbie Caitian for Sciences to settle in nicely once he sheds the greenie fur. The shave tail Marines’ll be fine once their betters get a hold of them, and the Damage Control teams are doin’ fine last I heard.” And speaking of Caits, the purring lilt of Commander JoNs gently interceded at that moment. “Captain, what’s your opinion on the Cartel and this supposed civil war?” The most junior officer of the command group had eloquently steered the talk back onto main topic of the Outer Rim territories. JoNs and her thirty man - and women - crew earned their pay as SPECOPS Commandos, but Crash had noticed the felinoid could be quite the diplomat since they’d started working together. To the cat’s inquiry, Crash shook her head in the negative. “This is way beyond the Orion Cartel, Commander, way beyond. Hell, we’re not even in the same astro ballpark. The evidence our scans have located,” she waved a hand to emphasize the darkness of space beyond the bulkheads, “with the wreckage of the Ferret-Class LAC* and that Weasel-Class Courier boat? We got some independent civvie involvement goin’ on here; it ain’t just the Orion Cartel factions.” The San Francisco-type interjected. “And you believe what this Mareena has to say, Captain?” “I do. She’s gettin’ out while the gettin’ is good and goin’ her own way as a security consultant and I can’t fault her for that; she’s really no different from the civilian security contractors that the Starfleet employs and pays for their particular services.” Earth Deskbound really didn’t care for the comparison judging by the flash of annoyance in his eyes, but he stayed quiet. It’s not that Crash didn’t like him but Bennett had taken over the position at San Francisco Headquarters from Christopher Pike* and Bennett was no Chris Pike. Calestorm shrugged one shoulder slightly as she continued speaking. “It only took the scurvy lot of them two years since most of the home Fleet was wiped out by that nutcase Nero, but let’s roll with the assumption that the frontier smugglers are bolder, finally making a move on the Federation sectors to expand on business...” Admiral Bennett then asked, “Recommendations from FTR Command?” “We maintain watch. Increase our patrols in the Federation sectors, especially at the known hot spots such as Harrington. No action will be taken unless needed.” Coyote answered Bennett with Patton, JoNs and Calestorm nodding in silent agreement. The meeting continued for another forty minutes or so as personnel, ship assignments and future missions were further discussed. As Command Staff meetings went, this one was rather painless and Cale didn’t even feel the need to slip some alcohol in her cooling tea or something like that. The participants signed off of the as the conference call disbanded until only Crash and Wile E remained on the line for a private word with one another. “You’re worried.” That was Shauna for you - short, sweet, to the point - and she really hadn’t changed much over the years. Calestorm eyed the Admiral over the two-way visual feed, her expression innocent. “Three words: Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot*.” Coyote smiled, chuckled and waved a hand at her sometimes hard-charging line captain. “I’m glad you didn’t say that during the meeting. JoNs and Patton would have been fine, of course, but I think you would have given Bennett apoplexy.” “The boy ain’t exactly frontier officer material and I didn’t wanna scare him. Lemme put it this way Shauna: I’m a concerned galactic citizen.” The Admiral made a gentle motion for her to continue, the gesture picked up in the secure wireless feed. Crash returned the smile at her commanding officer and longtime friend, the expression both wistful and weary. “I mean, considering the last time something like this happened with the Cartel and independent civilians and professional smugglers making big moves on territory was the Orion Cartel Campaign of 2228*? You know, where those two young and intrepid fighter pilots cut their teeth? Yeah, I’m a bit concerned right now.” “We had some good times then Ashton.” “True...” Crash paused and then the older women finished in unison the long-running joke between the two of them, “…when we weren’t getting shot at!” The shared laughter died off but the smiles remained despite the serious overtones of the conversation. “You keep yourself and the crew safe as you can Captain Crash.” “That’s always the plan Admiral Wile E, always the plan; Comanche Creek out.” = = = = *As played by Harve Bennett (Producer, Star Trek V: The Final Frontier) (1989) *Light Attack Craft (Copyright note: the Ferret-Class LAC is featured in the Honor Harrington novel Ashes of Victory (1998) by David Weber) *Captain/Admiral Christopher Pike as seen in Star Trek (2009) and Star Trek: Into Darkness (2013) *Sarcastic military slang used to describe a non-ideal situation *Calestorm and Coyote received campaign ribbons for their participation in these skirmishes
  9. Mitchell Conrad ‘Mitch’ Patton lll Age: 55 Height: 6’0 Weight: 185 lbs Skin: White Hair: Blond, graying at the temples Eyes: Blue Affiliation: Starfleet Marine Corps Rank: Brigadier General Specialty: Infantry Secondary Specialty: Intelligence/Counter Intelligence Current Assignment: Starfleet Border Patrol First Threat Response Program Ground Operations Commander, New Topeka Colony Mitchell Patton is from a Caucasian Human background born to Shana O’Hara and Hauser Patton. He grew up in the town of Saint Joseph, Missouri (Earth) and attended Maxwell Forrest High School. Upon graduating he enrolled in college and completed a four year degree in Political Sciences. He enrolled in the Starfleet Marine Corps, completing basic training at Parris Island, Carolina as well as an accelerated commissioned officer training program. Graduating with the rank of Lieutenant, Patton deployed and commanded his first platoon with the Starfleet Infantry Forces during the mining colony wars of Coridian. Mitch would go on to serve on a variety of duty stations ranging from starships and ground assignments to frontier colony outposts. In 2251, Major Patton and his SPECOPS squadron were dispatched to handle a situation at Federation Colony Outpost Flagg. The outpost had been compromised by the ‘Elite Vipers’, a terrorist faction under the leadership of the ‘Viper Commander’. A pitched battle followed to retake the main colony communications node and rescue of hostages, injuring Mitch and several other operatives. The Viper Commander, escaped capture and it’s unknown if he or she is still active with the pirate faction. Recovering from his injuries, Patton was released to full duty and would go on to complete several more assignments and continue to be promoted through the ranks. He would also begin to serve within and acquire skills for the Intelligence/Counter Intelligence divisions of the Starfleet Marine Corps. Mitchell Patton is a personality who is solid and steady, whether you need someone to watch your six or to plant a detonation charge, he is your man. Whatever the mission or assignment he will always provide the backup or assistance as needed and is a firm believer in leaving no one behind. These convictions have not waned as he ‘fly a desk’ as he refers to his administrative command assignments now. Psychological Notation: Mitchell Conrad Patton lll is clear for his new duty posting to the Starfleet Border Patrols First Threat Response Program Ground Ops Commander. He remains clear of psychological or emotional issues that will prevent him from doing his duty. Case File # 456. - Doctor Minh D. Bender, Starfleet Medical, San Francisco Earth. Notes: Maxwell Forrest – Admiral, Commanding Officer for Captain Jonathan Archer in the 2150’s (see Memory Alpha & Star Trek: Enterprise for further details) SPECOPS – Special Operations * Please note that BGEN Mitchell Patton is a Non-Player Character for use on the USS Comanche Creek Sim. Patton will be the commander of First Threat Response Ground Operations and Rear Admiral Coyote's second in command
  10. = - = - = - Profile Access Granted = - = - = - Name: Walking Coyote, Shauna Meredith Current Rank: Rear Admiral Service: Federation Starfleet Project Lead: First Threat Response Program, Starfleet Operations/Starfleet Border Patrol Call Sign: Wile E. General Information: Sex: Female Species: Terran Human Age: 58 Height: 6 ft Weight: 165 lbs Eye Color: Sky Blue Hair Color: Auburn/Brown Skin Color: Olive Known Markings: Small birthmark/back of right shoulder Small scar on bottom left of chin Cultural Note: Tribe Affiliation: Comanche, Old Americas Territory, Earth Honorary Tribe Elder Background and Family History: The Walking Coyote family bloodline can be traced back to the ancient tribal roots of the Comanche people, an indigenous tribe originally hailing from the Old Northern Americas Territories of Earth. Shauna M. Walking Coyote participated in Starfleet AP classes in high school prior to enlisting in the Federation Starfleet at the age of seventeen. She chose to study as a star fighter pilot and navigator and served within the Starfighter program before transferring over into the Navigation field full time. In her later career she became a fast track command front runner, moving up the ranks to take on her own command level ship and station postings and eventually her current admiralty rank. Shauna's paternal grandfather, Shaun Walking Coyote, was a retired civilian development contractor who had gone into civilian level politics. He was serving within the local galactic sector administrator field when he took on the lead administrator role as representative and head colonist for the Comanche Creek colony. The colony was originally intended as a Federation relay outpost for the outer frontier quadrants and the establishment was finalized and located on a Class M planet in the year 2230. The residents and workers were representative of various continents of the Earth, and the outpost was originally named for a creek of the same name located within the Southwestern regional territory of the Old Americas. In 2238, the colony suffered a devastating attack at the hands of an unknown band of Romulan traders who came under the flash guise of friendship and trade only to betray the trust of the colony residents; a brutal attack was launched and the Romulan scavengers proceeded to systematically decimate every man, woman, and child inhabitant of the Federation outpost. The entire colony was stripped of every available piece of technical equipment -- even the electrical and gel pack wiring fuse connections wired throughout the walls of the colony structures -- and no further evidence existed as to the identity of the raiders other then a few grainy image capture photos recorded on a personal digital camera recovered from one of the colonists corpses. In due part to the modern image recognition capturing equipment employed by the interception ships during the Battle of Vulcan with the Romulan captain of the Narada, Nero, there is current speculation after the comparison of these modern images to the older digital images that the unknown colony raiders may have been Nero and his Narada crew as they appeared twenty years ago, or at least a possible Romulan pirate faction employed by the warlord Nero. All told, Admiral Coyote lost three family members to the Comanche Creek colony massacre. The USS Comanche Creek ship of the Federation Starfleet First Threat Response program is named in honor of the fallen colony residents, and Admiral Shauna Coyote currently serves as the FTR border protection programs lead liaison officer and representative. She has a passion for the protection program that is borderline obsessive, no doubt due to her family colony history and a desire to prevent a reoccurrence of the fate that befell the Comanche Creek colony. Coyote is the classic composite of a loner, yet she does maintain contact with certain people that she has served with. She is a highly formidable and career oriented officer. Some would call her ruthless, while others refer to her as professionally driven. She has no children and has never married, and maintains a distant yet cordial contact relationship with her younger brothers. Unknown to her two brothers, Shauna has set up a trust fund program for her niece and nephew when they both reach the age of 21, to be implemented anonymously. The fund will go retroactive for immediate access by her family should she pass away prior to the children reaching the age of 21. = - = - = - = - Classified - = - = - = - = = - = - = - = - High Level Security Access Only - = - = - = - = During her service as First Officer on the USS St. John Talbot, she was approached and recruited by Starfleet Intelligence for special project work involving undercover officers who required off the grid and special needs extraction from operations. Since these missions were usually short term and non invasive from a general career standpoint, Coyote would frequently employ and recruit trusted comrades and officers that she had served with over the years to go and extract the target officers. She stayed with the Intel Extraction program for three years before moving on and reinstating herself back into the mainstream Starfleet = - = - = - = - Classified - = - = - = - = = - = - = - = - High Level Security Access Only - = - = - = - = *Character Bio information is copyright by the author 2009 to present
  11. The main offices of the First Threat Response program had gone into full technological geek mode. The computer monitor screens at each of the desks were devoted to a different aspect of the ongoing mission at the prison colony of Rura Penthe. The information feeds combined live telemetry, real time verbal reports, and additional images and data sent via delayed electronic packets. The office of Rear Admiral Shauna Walking-Coyote was no exception with tech that put the Starfleet Research and Development offices to shame; a false wall had been retracted to reveal multiple large monitors mounted behind the façade. One feed carried the HUDs* of the surface Overwatch. Another focused on incoming reports and updates from the SS Frankenship or the SS Vulture. One monitor would go live when the Veridian* patches worn by the prison infiltration team went active. The telemetry was heavily encrypted and routed through security filter programs and communications satellites. Several of her office staff had taken to calling the operation “The Big Chill”. The coffee and caffeine supplements had flowed freely, trays of sandwiches constantly appeared as the office staff kept their metabolism and strength up. Stims were distributed when the twenty minute power nap no longer sufficed. The FTR offices were hopping with a high intensity focus, yet decorum was maintained at all times. Coyote and Brigadier General Craig Tigard, FTR Commander Ground Operations, had stood a near constant watch since Operation: Lost Souls Phase 2 had officially launched. Tigard ventured a comment. “Word has it that Calestorm has been almost intense in dealings with personnel and the mission objectives. Certain sources claim her usual humor is not at full throttle. Just something we should probably consider.” Coyote’s response was polite, though clipped. “Field probation and demotion will have that effect. She’ll be fine.” The battle-vetted Marine raised an eyebrow, glanced at his commanding officer, but made no further comment as he turned his attention back to the monitors. Lieutenant Kevin Riley appeared in the open doorway to the office. “Sirs. We have communication from the Franken. Interior team assumed to be on schedule. Ground Team on standby. Franken and Vulture orbitals remain on standby. Scatter is expected; veridian signals will be routed and incoming on Monitor 3.” The Native American admiral acknowledged her chief aides report with a nod of her head and Riley quickly ducked back out to the outer offices. To Tigard, she said, “The Big Chill. Fitting name for that godsforsaken place…let’s hope everyone comes home alive...” “Always the hope, Admiral. Always the hope...” *Heads up Display, helmet. *A small tracking device/patch affixed to clothing, employed in Star Trek 6: The Undiscovered Country.
  12. You know that instinct to leap without looking, that was his nature too. And in my opinion it's something Starfleet's lost. – Captain Pike to James Kirk on George Kirk, Star Trek 2009 The following log takes place 24 Hours prior to the 10.08.12 Sim... July 8th, 2260 (Stardate 2260.190) Starfleet Border Patrol First Threat Response Command Offices New Topeka Colony This day was not going well for Captain Ashton Calestorm. She had not expected while attending pre-launch briefings following extended shore leave, to receive a summons to an inquiry. It was a private session, involving Cale, Commander Wesley, Brigadier General Craig Tigard* and Rear Admiral Coyote. The Admiral had received permission from the Starfleet JAG to handle the matter privately and ‘keep it in the family’. True to the nature of the Admiral in question, the Admiral’s Mast was handled with brutal efficiency. Tigard and Coyote sat at a long conference table. Calestorm stood at the far end, facing towards the senior command officers. The Commander occupied a smaller conference table set off to one side where Coyote’s aide-de-camp, Kevin Riley*, took notations. Coyote regarded Crash across the short distance. The silver-white haired woman stood at ramrod straight parade rest, her expression neutral, attention fixated at a point on the far wall. In contrast, the dark haired Coyote had the dark thunder of emotions flitting across her eyes. “Captain, your proposal for the planet of Grayson to be admitted to the Federation is fast tracked. Negotiations are underway, a diplomatic team has already made orbit. The protection Barrier will be disengaged. Grayson will most likely become an ally. The Starfleet Corp of Engineering is handling salvage and ship recovery opportunities within the region.” She paused, glanced at a hard copy printout, and continued. “In addition, while on shore leave, you met with an unauthorized contact. Further intelligence was gained for Lost Souls: Phase 2 while existing information was corroborated.” Shauna folded her hands together on the tabletop. “Good work.“ A pause. “But, in case you haven’t put two and two together, your ass is mine.” “Yes, Ma’am. I did manage to figure that one out on my own. Thank you Ma’am.” Cale heard a cough from Riley. General Tigard became very interested in his digital data slate, one eyebrow raised. Commander Wesley face palmed. Coyote blew a breath out her nose in annoyance. “Captain, that will be quite enough. I’m aware that field decisions will be made without prior clearance from the First Threat Response Command Offices. You instigated a First Contact situation. You met with an intelligence contact. Both were unsanctioned events.” The Admiral slowly stood from her seated position and enunciated very clearly, almost dangerously. “You’ve always had a knack for running with the demons and going where the angels fear. It is a trait that I admire. It is an instinct that has served you well over the years.However, it is also damn infuriating!” “You specifically stated in your after-action report that would take full responsibility for the First Contact and the involvement in the Grayson political-social culture. In addition, you were clear that the off the record meeting was your responsibility as well.” “You will answer for those responsibilities now, Mister Calestorm. You are reduced in rank to Commander for one solar year depending on probationary circumstances and performance of restricted duties. You will maintain the posting of Executive Officer for the USS Comanche Creek.” Shauna turned her hawk-like attention to Audraya. “Commander Wesley. Effective immediately, you are in command of the USS Comanche Creek. Congratulations, Acting Captain Wesley, though I’d prefer the promotion be under better circumstances.” “If there is no further business, this Admiral’s Mast is concluded. Dismissed.” As the FTR officers departed, Calestorm remained at parade rest and avoided eye contact as much as she was able; she spared a quick glance to Scooter as the Orion officer passed by. Shauna somberly gathered hard copy flimsies from the senior command staff table then made her way over to the longtime friend and fellow officer that she had just cut down; leaning in towards the slightly shorter woman, she whispered in Cale’s ear. The whispered comment made Crash stand straighter, if that was possible. Admiral Coyote exited the room without another word, leaving her former senior line captain alone with her thoughts. *General Tigard, Officer in Charge of First Threat Response Ground Operations *Lieutenant Kevin Riley, Classic Trek Series. We don’t own the character, we just play in his universe(s).
  13. New Topeka Colony Starfleet First Threat Response Offices The office entry door abruptly swung open; no knock for admittance, no intercom. Lieutenant Kevin Riley, her aide-de-damp, appeared in the open doorway. “Admiral”. Admiral Shauna ‘Wile E’ Walking Coyote was not amused at the interruption. “Mister Riley, my instructions were clear—“ “Admiral.” He over talked her. Riley never over talked Coyote. His tone, his manner was focused. His eyes held none of the customary twinkle or nervousness. “…what’s wrong?” The younger man spoke in a clipped and precise tone. “We received a message packet from the USS Washington Crossing*.” The younger man cleared his throat and continued. “Commander JoNs flagged the packet per orders from Captain Calestorm. It’s a Prime Directive issue, Ma’am….” His voice trailed off. **** Shauna spent the better part of three hours reviewing the information and reports. All appointments and scheduled conference calls that afternoon we’re cancelled and rescheduled. The senior officer methodically worked her way through the information packet, email after email, report after report. First the ground teams, ship-based monitor and tracking teams, on-site senior officers and department chiefs, and finally the command staff. And then she re-read. And re-read again. It was two weeks worth of updates, and Coyote expected more reports to be incoming within the next transmittals. She knew that she had a problem though; she’d call in some favors to keep the politics as low key as possible. What would temporarily prevent the long term consequences from hitting the oscillating device was the ongoing prep work for Operation: Lost Souls. It had taken the better part of a thirty year career, and the proverbial brick wall had been crashed into. She toggled the intercom inset on her desktop surface. Riley’s voice immediately answered. “Admiral?” Her tone came out flat, even to her own ears. “Get me a secure wireless to the JAG*. I want to speak with someone now.” *The USS Washington Crossing, K. Vacer JoNs commanding, maintains a picket position at the Gygax Barrier. The USS Comanche Creek remains within the Barrier region, in orbit above the planet of Grayson. Due to communications issues, star fighter/shuttle couriers from the ‘Creek regularly travel outside the Barrier expanse to relay communications transmittals between the two ships. *JAG, Judge Advocate General of the Federation Starfleet.
  14. FTR Command Offices New Topeka Colony “...wait, what?” Rear Admiral Shauna ‘Wile E.’ Coyote’s expression vacillated between curious and concern at the news her line captain had just given her. “A barrier?” “Aye, Shauna, a gray-black barrier of mist, to be exact. Our communications signal isn’t penetrating, and we're not getting any outgoing signals from the interior.” “Has the USS Washingtons Crossing rendezvoused with you?” “Yep, they’re maintaining a flanking position as we speak. I expect Commander JoNs will contact you momentarily.” Coyote nodded and then asked, “Crash, why aren’t you doing your usual thing and going boldly forward? You know you have the clearance to handle this in whatever way you see fit.” “Well, y’know, I’ve been unfair to you, Admiral Coyote, what with ‘creatively determining’ your orders. So, I’m turning over a new leaf and will be checking in with you at every step.” Admiralty Radar detecting bullsh*t. “And you expect me to believe that, because?” Crash rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. This misty barrier thing,” she quoted the air with her fingers, the two-way visual feed picking up the gesture, “surrounding an entire sector is a new one to me. I wanted to get your take.” Coyote smirked; that was more like Calestorm. Her friends command style was set to Go Where the Angels Fear to Tread and Damn the Protocol. The quality was both endearing and maddening, why Coyote had wanted her for the FTR program in the first place and also why she wanted to excoriate her at times. But, Crash was no fool; she’d get that second opinion, or a third, or a fourth before making a final decision about certain situations. “What’s Commander Wesley’s opinion?” “The Commander and I are doing that command staff silent glances towards one another thing, and our expressions are pretty much the same: what in the hell is this and we don’t get paid enough.” “Plan B?” “Prepping communications, sciences, and engineering to rig up a series of probes, launch ‘em out into the barrier, relay any telemetry. If we still don’t get any feedback, I take ‘Creek forward and we do recon the old fashioned way. JoNs maintains a picket line outside the mist.” Shauna nodded in confirmation. “It seems that you and your staff have all the bases covered, as usual. Good luck and Godspeed, Captain.”
  15. New Topeka Colony Starfleet Apartment Complex Stardate 2260.54 (February 23, 2260) 21:30 Hours Rear Admiral Shauna Coyote regarded her desktop viewer with professional courtesy; the split screen images displayed there - one the Director of OSI*, the other the Director of SPECOPS* - regarded her with the same attentive coolness. It was late in the evening, but she’d not hesitated to take the encrypted communication on the personal computer in her apartment. She knew the device was secure, as she’d checked it herself. There was no unnecessary dithering, no banter, no nothing. “The timeframe for the roundup is still on schedule?” Coyote inquired of her fellow directors. The OSI chief, an older Vulcan, responded. “Indeed it is, Ms. Wile E.” “And my Black Sheep?” The SPECOPS director chimed in. “Your Sheep will be sent to pasture as scheduled. They will then be assigned to a second, temporary pasture.” “And then, they will be pulled from that section of pasture and the Shepherd is to proceed with the final transfer dispersal of the stock?” The Native Old-Americas woman cocked her head to one side. The Vulcan answered. “Yes, that is correct.” “And your preparations?” The chiefs gave a nod in unison, but it was the SPECOPS officer who answered for both. “Our brokers are now seeking confirmation for the sale from our field representatives. We should receive any final information within the next few weeks...” “Very well. I’ll inform my Shepherd….” -- *OSI– Starfleet Office of Special Investigations *SPECOPS – Starfleet Special Operations
  16. The following log takes place two hours following the events of the 04.30.12 Sim… USS Comanche Creek Medical Bay Stardate 2260.54 After being checked out and cleared from any possible decontamination, Captain Ashton Calestorm had retreated into an auxiliary Medical office and placed an encrypted call request through the bridge communications officer. Lieutenant Kvar was at her station per Cale’s previous orders and routed the request, though she’d picked up the tension in the youngster’s voice because of Commander Wesley. Crash blatantly ignored the tone…her bridge officers just had to deal with it if they made that personal choice to have relations within the same command chain… The image of Rear Admiral Coyote popped up on the two way communications feed. “Crash. Commander JoNs and the USS Washington Crossing are inbound.” “Shauna. Good. Give Mister Brigadier General* my thanks. I’ve got an updated situation report for ya.” The commanding officer of the First Threat Response Division indicated that Calestorm continue. “As I told ya, the shadow seems to have gone ‘poof’. My Engineering and Science guys are double checking internal systems to make sure.” “That’s encouraging news, at least.” “Hang onto that optimism. Wesley came down with something, got real sick. She somehow managed to eject…an ooze.” “Well…eww.” “Nice diplomatic answer there, Admiral Coyote. Working theory from the Medical and Sci Geeks is the ooze is a jellied manifestation of Redjac...”* “I repeat…eww.” Cale chuckled, despite the seriousness of the situation. “Guess Ol’ Red didn’t like the taste of Orion, eh? She’s still down, and…her post-symptoms are like she’s recovering from a flu if I understand my medical people correctly.” “How’re you doing, Crash?” The middle aged woman paused to give her commanding officer a respectful ‘duh’ look. “I just spent a long few hours dealing with some weird ass shadow being that not only possessed crew and an officer from North Star base, but also caused a vampirism outbreak in others?” “Was that a silly question?” Coyote gave her senior captain a gentle smirk. “I’m ticked off as all hellfire over here, Shauna! This…thing, attacks my people? Yeah, I better get some answers from Gygax. There was a reason that Barrons* held out log enough from Redjac’s mental and physical onslaught to leave that clue on the iComanche text screen…we were meant to find the system numbers.” “Just don’t cause any intergalactic incidents?” Coyote raised an eyebrow. Cale indicated with a gesture that she understood the cautionary statement. “We’ll be careful. Don’t see how I can cause any issues, though; the system is unclaimed.” “Keep me informed.” “Aye Admiral, Calestorm out.” -- * Craig Tigard, Assistant Commander FTR, Ground Operations * Credit for the theory/idea on the manifestation goes to Commander Wesley's Player * Lieutenant Commander Tanya Barrons, stationed at North Star Starbase, found dead inside a cargo container on board the USS Comanche Creek.
  17. New Topeka Colony Starfleet Border Patrol, First Threat Response Offices Rear Admiral Coyote's Office Stardate 2260.53 1:45 PM It was business as usual in the New Topeka BP offices; Starfleet administrative personnel were on point, and the outer offices were busy. The person waiting to see Admiral Coyote had been scheduled for a debrief session and the meeting had been delayed due to a situation that required her immediate attention. In the medium-sized waiting area that separated Coyote's office from the outer administrative offices, snippets of a conversation could be overheard: Comanche. Paxton. Sickness. Ship was at all stop...and vampires? Really? Coyote's low murmur carried through the open entry way, heard saying, "Okay...don't use the V word, infected...compromised...spreading..." Interesting. The person removed the comm device from their utility belt, the movement easy and sure so as to not attract attention through the clear glass separations. Entering personal codes that would access a secure wireless connection, the officer texted a simple message: "May have something. Will look into, keep informed." They calmly waited for the scheduled session with Admiral Coyote, and made mental notations on casual questions to ask regarding the Comanche Creek...
  18. The following log takes place immediately after the 12.19.11 Sim… Admiral Shauna Walking Coyote had escaped to the observation lounge. Ditching her usual gray and whites senior command officer uniform, she wore the command gold field tunic and black trousers. If not for the silver admiralty bars on her sleeves, she looked just like one of the crew. It was only a matter of time before the master of the Comanche Creek tracked down her commanding officer. The entry way doors whooshed open, and Captain Ashton Calestorm entered the mostly deserted crew lounge. She quietly moved to stand beside Shauna, glancing at her. “You left your iComanche in your quarters.” “Mm hm.” “…standard procedure for a senior level officer riding with a patrol mission is to maintain contact at all times. You went off the internal tracker program grid.” “Mm hm.” The Captain sighed. “A Little Birdie told me you haven’t returned Captain Kirks invitation to have dinner with him in the Captains Mess.” “And what Little Birdie would that be?” “The Riley Bird. Tweets ‘Take Me Home Again Kathleen’ off key.”* “I need to have a talk with my aide.” “Don’t you dare. You’re scarin’ the boy again. I’m surprised he’s not sucking down antacids every time I see him…” Coyote didn’t respond, but she smiled slightly. Calestorm slouched against the bulkhead, arms crossed over chest. She kept her gaze on Coyote until the Admiral turned from the window to look at her again, and did not give her an inch “What’re you doin’ on the Comanche Creek?” “We’ve been over this.” “No, we haven’t. I let you stay here.” “Last I checked, ‘Creek was my lead ship. I can stay where I damn well want to.” “And last I checked, Admiral, the Enterprise was our assigned flag ship. Therefore, protocol – and respect – dictates that you stay on the lead Task Force ship for duration of the mission. You need to get down to the hanger bay, board the Galileo shuttle, zoom your Admirals butt over to the Enterprise and accept the VIP billet Captain Kirk offered you, and then sit down and have dinner with the man.” The minutes passed as the two women stood in silence; both gazed out the clear plasti-steel plating to deck window, observing a section of the flight formation. “You’re pissed off that Komack assigned Enterprise as flag ship for what amounts to an FTR* operation.” The admiral didn’t answer, confirming the statement with the silence. “Jealous that we got some Regular Fleet ships ridin’ shotgun.” Shauna rubbed at the back of her neck. “Jealous is too strong a word…the Bozeman and Surya are good ships.” “Okay then, you’re aggravated.” The Captain cocked her head to one side. “Look, Shauna, I don’t need to tell you that military service is military service. We go where Starfleet tells us and do what SanFran Command tells us. Been doin’ it all our careers. You’ll feel better if you just admit it - you’re aggravated that Admiral Komack pulled a fast one on you, assigning the Enterprise to this shindig.” Coyote remained quiet, but her board stiff stance relaxed a bit; she uncrossed her arms and placed hands on hips, blowing out a breath. Her friend kept pressing. “You always told me that you wanted the FTR program to remain fluid, to never stagnant under out of date objectives or lose our edge. We’re already moving towards a permanent partnership with Fleet SPECOPS*, and I know a proposal has already been submitted to SanFran naming Craig* as FTR second in command.” The admiral winged a mildly surprised look at her, stern yet exasperated. “How in the hell did you know about that?” Crash leered at her commanding officer, all teeth, looking downright demented. “I got some contacts you don’t know about.” The smile dropped, and she went serious again. “Anyway, it’s about damn time you nabbed him as your Exec, he’s a good man." She pushed off the supporting bulkhead. "My point is, Admiral Walking Coyote, if you stand there and tell me that that,” Calestorm pointed towards the blackness of space, “ain’t a pretty sight, you’re flat out lying.” The eight task force ships flew in a standard formation wedge. Directly outside the view port, the USS Enterprise flew lead, with the Comanche Creek providing escort for the flagship. Set just off the flight vector of the ‘Creek, the gleaming Constitution class ship did indeed look impressive. After a little while, Shauna spoke in a low voice. “Thanks Crash.” “You know I hate it when you and I switch roles like this.” “And what roles are those?” “You go all ornery and I’m the voice of reason. It freaks me out.” “I thought you did pretty good. I’ll make an admiral of you yet, Captain.” “…now yer just bein’ insultin’…” ----- *Lieutenant Kevin Riley, Classic (TOS) Star Trek. I don’t own the character, I just play in his universe(s). *First Threat Response Program, Starfleet Border Patrol Division *Starfleet Special Operations Division *Colonel Craig Tigard, Starfleet Marine Corp/Special Operations
  19. New Topeka Colony Starfleet FTR Offices 2259 09:20 Hours A buzz jolted Rear Admiral Shauna Walking Coyote out of her perusal of border sector mapping grids, and she pressed a finger to the table mounted intercom panel. “Coyote here.” “Admiral,” the voice of Lt. Riley immediately came back. “Admiral, we’ve got a priority message incoming from Admiral Komack. It’s live ma’am.” Well, Jim’s in a hurry this morning…”Put it through Kevin, thanks.” Admiral James Komack’s stern visage appeared on the large mounted viewer set across from Coyote’s desk configuration; a veteran, he had worked his way up the ranks to attain a position as sector commander. She muted the desktop screen and set the data slate she’d been syncing down on the desktop. “Good morning Admiral. What can I do for you?” Komack got right down to business. “Word has it that the launch for your new First Threat Response frigates went well?” A proud smile broadened Coyote’s Native Old-Americas features. “The launch and christening did go well Jim. The crews of USS Plum Creek and the USS Little Robe Creek are all set to warp out and patrol the frontier with their big sister ship. “Well…It looks as if they’re going to get some action right away.” Shauna felt some of the pride drain from her. “Admiral?” Her tone was half accusatory, half concern. “I received orders that my newbie frigates were to deploy out for standard patrol and mapping tasks, respectively, for the shakedown cruises.” “Circumstances have changed, as have the orders. Our communications network has picked up rumors: according to civilian cargo runners that work out along the frontier sectors, the Romulans may be acting up. I want your FTR ships to investigate and confirm. These orders come straight from SanFran Command.” “Romulans? What sector grid are we talking about here?” “Grids, plural. RNZ* Sectors Tango, Z-Six and Zero Thirty.” Coyote nodded once. “Fine. I’ll have Calestorm deploy out with them.” “This investigative team will be an official task force assignment, so I need all hands on deck. In addition to the new FTR vessels and Comanche Creek, the Hard Six and the James Walking Bear are deploying. Got yourself a couple Miranda-classes representing Regular Fleet along for the ride as well: USS Bozeman and the USS Surya. Good crews." She smiled slightly. "Fleet Command is certainly going all out for this patrol." He nodded in agreement. “It’s just not this patrol. We're deploying what we have of the fleet in these sectors. A lot of other missions are taking a backseat to this potential threat." Komack paused, trying to figure out how to diplomatically say who's in command of this task force. "....I’m also authorizing Captain Kirk to…..head your RNZ task force. He’ll have full flagship command from the USS Enterprise.” The smile dropped. Coyote’s eyebrows went for her hairline while the pit of her stomach went cold. He almost hurried to explain further. “Captain Calestorm will have field command over the FTR ships and the Mirandas. I'd like to make it very clear that she is to answer directly to Captain Kirk...." While Shauna wasn’t looking forward to springing this on Crash – and the Comanche Creek crew – something in his tone brought her up short, and she didn’t like the connotation. “Admiral Komack, are you suggesting Captain Calestorm won’t do her job?” Her tone came out flinty. “I’m not suggesting anything. But I’m also aware that Ashton doesn’t care for young James Kirk.” “She doesn’t care for his methods of attaining his command*, Jim. It’s not her questioning Kirk personally.” Komack cocked an eyebrow. “Is there a difference?” “Yes. There is.” He blew out a breath and physically rolled his shoulders. Coyote could tell Komack was under stress…but she couldn’t help the defensive edge over the infringement on her territory. She made the effort to approach the situation - and her fellow Admiral - from a logical standpoint, keeping the conversation civil. Mostly. “Jim, this sort of patrol is what the First Threat Response program was authorized for. The Comanche Creek is the lead FTR ship and Crash Calestorm is my lead captain. If you’re sending a specialized task force haring off to see what the Romulans are up to, if anything, the ‘Creek should be the ship leading that patrol.” “Shauna, this isn’t a competition between the divisions…” She glanced away, staring at a vase over on the low set coffee table without really seeing it, one side of her mouth set in a grim smirk. Then Coyote spoke without returning her attention directly to the senior admiral. “The orders have already been cut, haven’t they?” In the silence, a digital blip was her resounding answer; at the right corner of the office view screen a message icon glowed a steady green. Jim Komacks baritone voice broke the dense silence, cool and collected and sure in his admiralty rank…and his ability to dole out orders to the division leaders under his command. “You have mail, Admiral Walking Coyote. Briefing packets and map grid updates are included. I trust there will be no further commentary on this matter. ” ---- * Romulan Neutral Zone * See Star Trek 2009 for reference material
  20. Voice booming out from the ships intercom system, Captain Calestorm issued orders to her crew. “We have hard contact with unknown assailants. They appear to be dressed as Ninja and no we have not collectively been drinking. Phasers and energy weapons are inoperative; our internal and external defenses are somehow allowing access to our ship...” Colonel Craig Tigard threw a glance over his shoulder. “Well, she’s ticked off; accent’s full blown and she’s using sarcasm in her ‘the odds are not against us’ speech to the crew.” He then turned his attention back on the corridor, projectile pistol drawn and down. An answering snort was the only immediate comment from Rear Admiral Shauna Coyote. Her communicator held to one ear, she was busy establishing a comm link with the Nova AC authorities. “…all essential personnel are to remain at general quarters stations. Other personnel are to remain in their quarters. Weapons are anything you can get your hands, paws, or other on…“ Coyote paused in her conversation with an on-site administrative assistant and glanced at Tigard. “Did she just say ‘other’?” “Yeah.” “…stay away from the larger areas of the ship if you are able to avoid them; these sections seem to be prime targets for our Ninja…“ “Admiral, not that I have any opinion on my awesomeness or anything, but do you think these…Ninja are targeting you and me?” It was a fair question, and the two senior officers were high value targets: Coyote was the officer in charge for the First Threat Response program and Tigard was SOCCENT. Both had been instrumental with the launch and completion of Operation: Whiteout. “I’ve thought about that. If these Ninja really wanted us? We’d already be dead. As it is, they keep popping in and out, which means they can’t get a full target lock on the ship. And, the corridors aren’t over run when they do beam in.” “Small assault group? Black Kris?” “Assassin SOP, I assume for hire. Using EMP tech that took out the phasers? Black Kris? Not sure, unless it’s a minor faction cell. From what Crash’s told me, this fast and furious doesn’t seem like something the new Big Mama would pull. We’re not in over our heads, at least not yet.” It had started out to be a helluva morning…and it wasn’t even 6 AM yet. Clad in off duty clothing, Coyote and Tigard had been rousted from sleep like much of the crew when the red alert had sounded. On Calestorm’s orders, they’d been escorted by security from the VIP deck to a more secure area below decks. “Ah also suggest y’all locate rebreather masks…” Craig and Shauna looked at one another. “Hell, is she gonna gas the ship?” “If these hooligans tick her off enough she will--” Coyote cut short her answer to the marine officer and turned her full attention to her iComanche. “Yes, Chief? This is Admiral Shauna Coyote on the USS Comanche Creek…” Tigard continued to keep watch on the corridor while she gave the Nova AC Police Chief the rundown on their situation. After a short conversation, the admiral signed off and he could tell she was speaking to someone else. Coyote’s tone was familiar, and the overhead announcement had gone mute, so he was guessing it was Calestorm. Shauna finished and turned to Craig. “Okay, the over our heads factor just went up a notch. The Washington Crossing is broadcasting an emergency beacon – they’re getting hit too.” Colonel Tigard swore a blue streak. Commander JoNs was one of his people. He’d assigned her directly to the mission.“Casualties?” “None, they’re holding out for now” “What about the Hard Six?” “Captain Mitros contacted ‘Creeks bridge. His ship remains uncompromised; he’s moving into a position to protect us and JoNs. The Nova police department is mobilizing, they’re gonna sweep ground locations while the Nova space port authority handles any ships in sector.” Tigard worked through the info quickly. “Nova PD thinks this assault is from a civvie location?” “Affirmative Colonel. The working theory is either from one of the warehouses or a cargo ship.” “Well, that’s interest--“ Craig was interrupted when his name blared from the intercom system. “And Admiral Coyote and Colonel Tigard, if the two of you do anything even remotely crazy and go all commando on our guests, you’ll deal with me. Stay undercover, stay with your escorts, and that’s an order. Calestorm out.” The two senior officers stared at one another. “Admiral Coyote, I must throw her in the gym pool when this is all done.” “Permission granted, Colonel Tigard.”
  21. The following log takes place during the 20 minute TBS… Admiral Shauna Walking-Coyote had hopped the first S&R shuttle down to Nova AC in order to survey the situation first hand. There were still random pockets of resistance from Black Kris guards and mercenaries; Security teams from the Comanche Creek were sweeping The Maze, handling any problems and arresting suspects. Medical teams had begun to circulate, tending to injured civilians and freed prisoners. In orbit, the ‘Creek, SS Imperious, and the SS Hard Six were riding herd on two captured vessels and the panicked sector traffic. Captain Calestorm and Coyote had deployed to ‘Dukes Place’ for a quick pow wow; Cale had wanted to discuss a few things with her commanding officer pronto. Duke’s had survived the hostile takeover of The Maze intact, save for a couple of neon signs that sputtered out and hung precariously from the wall. Leaning against the bar, Crash was scuffed, bruised, still clad in her mercenary gear. Admiral Coyote wore urban gray/black BDU fatigues. Having a post-covert mission pre-debriefing in a bar dive just completed the situation perfectly. “You’ll be getting full reports on the mission Shauna, as soon as my team can upload the data over to the ‘Creek. The highlights are: We kicked ‘Kris ass. Didn’t nab Litasha, but I have a feeling she has a lot of explainin’ to do. The Black Kris organization is dealing with internal issues, and losing The Maze further unbalances the faction...” There was no joy in Cale’s tone, nothing to indicate that she was pleased with the outcome of Operation: Whiteout. She blew out a sigh. Dammit, she was tired…“Additionally, I’d like to request clarification for a situation I’d like to keep off the record.” The captain might as well have started dancing a jig. Puzzlement crossed Coyote’s strong boned features. “Cale? I don’t understand?” The captain paused long enough to take a drag off her cigarette. “I have some personnel matters I’d like to deal with informally.” She practically hissed the statement. Oh. Oh my. The cigarette smoking should have been a dead giveaway, but Coyote had assumed the return of the nervous tic was the usual mission based stress. Coyote now looked at her friend’s face closely. Fatigue was there, a rollover effect from Operation: Whiteout. That was to be expected. The drawn and pinched features also held something else – white hot anger, contained. “…I’m not going to have bodies mysteriously floating in orbit, am I?” Calestorm didn’t immediately answer; her jaw set and she pushed off the bar. She meandered over to the picture window that overlooked the half-demolished urban section of the Maze, the same window she had creatively vacated a short time ago. Shauna quietly moved to stand beside her. “I’m sorry Crash. I’m only teasing. What’s really on your mind?” “This is off the record.” Coyote trusted her enough to agree to do so. “Done.” Crash took another drag, blowing the smoke out in a ring pattern. “You know ah’ve never really been good with having mah orders questioned...” The admiral snorted gently. “You and a lot of other captains…” “Well, yeah, but I tend to get really tetchy.” “This is true.” “I’ve been driving you nuts for years with my shenanigans. Always been a maverick, jumping in where the Angels fear to tread and let God sort ‘em out.” “But that’s why I love you.” Calestorm shot Coyote a look. “You are so lucky you rank me.” “Sorry. I interrupted the baring of the soul. Please continue.” “Admiral, I’m really happy you find this all so damn amusing, but I’m attempting to be diplomatic here.” Dash appeared from nowhere, kind of like a Ninja but different. A portly, pig-like Tellarite Ninja, but you get the idea. A strap holster across his back anchored a shotgun, and he held two shot glasses in blunted hoof-hands. He held the glasses out to the two Starfleet officers and they mutely accepted the offering of the blue alcoholic liquid. Coyote looked at Crash; Crash looked at Coyote. They both glanced at the retreating back of the bartender, and then both women simultaneously shrugged. Crash downed the shot in one gulp and then walked back towards the bar area. The admiral sipped at her drink, following in Calestorm’s wake. Once they were both settled on the bar stools, Crash continued. “I get it. We’re Border Patrol. We’re out here dealing with stuff that other crews, other ships don’t want to touch. We need people who are willing to go that extra parsec, to think outside the box and maintain our code of honor.” The admiral nodded with cautious agreement. “It’s been said before, but I’ll say it again – Nero changed things for Starfleet. We always knew that we needed a different breed of officer in order to make the FTR program work...” “Two of mine went that parsec. Orders were given, they chose a different path. Scooter punched me out and went AWOL, personal reasons. Death Wish went AWOL as well. Still have to question him as to why...” Coyote cocked a dark brow. “Well that’s…interesting. You’d be within rights to file formal charges.” Calestorm jabbed a thumb at her chest in emphasis. “My kids. I want to deal with them. All there is to it.” “I’m not going to have any bodies floating in orbit, right Crash?” She allowed a ghost of a smile to show. “No, you’re not going to have bodies in orbit Shauna. I’ll deal with Scooter soon as I can; as I haven’t heard anything, I figure she’s still alive…Wish’ll have to wait - medical recovery.” “…I’m not going to have any bodies floating in orbit, right Crash?” “Dammit Admiral!”
  22. With the senior command crew off ship and playing at mercenary, Rear Admiral Shauna Coyote* had assumed temporary mission command of the USS Comanche Creek, with Colonel Craig Tigard taking on the temporary duties as the ships XO. The fact that the Navy rear admiral and Marine colonel were away from their regular ‘desk duty’ postings planet-side attested to the scope of the mission to the Outer Rim. And, the two senior officers were also ‘out of uniform’ – Coyote wore the command gold field tunic instead of her regular charcoal and white admiralty uniform. Tigard had replaced his black beret and BDU’s in favor of the marine green tunic. Craig and Shauna had been sequestered in the main briefing room for the last few hours, going over the latest Intel transmitted by the Outer Rim team. “Shauna, you ever think about taking command of a ship again?” Tigards question was half serious, half banter, but he still asked it as he was curious. While not necessarily good friends, the two were familiar enough to use first names. The admiral kept her attention on the hard copy report printout that she was reading as she answered. “Oh yeah Craig; CO of Comanche Creek with Calestorm as my XO? I don’t think so….” “Who said anything about taking command of the ‘Creek?” Now Coyote winged a curious look at the Marine colonel, her eyebrows up. He shrugged. “The Border Patrol’s FTR program is successful enough and the Federation borders aren’t going to calm down any time soon. At the rate your program is going, you can take command of another ship within the next six months, easy.” She shook her head in the negative. “Crash is a true quarterdeck breed. She’s at home out here, and at this point in my career, I’m perfectly happy flying a desk. Remember that.” Tigard made a gesture of mock surrender, and he smiled. “Sorry I brought it up.” Her curiosity sparked and she ran with the figurative ball. “Are you getting itchy for some action Craig?” His smile waned and he didn’t answer right away, his gaze wandering away from Coyote and she couldn’t immediately read the look in his eyes. All Tigard said in response was, “Vulcan changed a lot.” “Aye. It did.” He nodded and continued, his mouth set in a displeased line. “According to the after action reports pieced together from all the surviving officers, the Farragut was the first ship to really get nailed by the Narada. Blew apart,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that.” Now his gaze went wistful, more like Craig. “Farragut was my first posting. Good ship. I was a green 2nd El Tee. That’s when I met Crash – she was an Ensign on the Warlock. Both of our ships had been deployed to Draconis Delta. Draconis was hell, but we stayed in touch afterwards and had some good times when we could take leave together…” He got up from his seat and wandered the room, hands clasped behind his back. “We’ve got Starfleet people - active, reserves, retired, senior brass - taking field assignments and field commands to repopulate our ranks and replace the people we’ve lost. I keep thinking maybe I should re-up as well, take on an active platoon or battalion.” “I disagree Craig. You – and I -- are needed right where we are now, just as much as those who are opting for re-assignment or re-enlistments. You can’t have field personnel without command administrative personnel.” Tigard was convinced, but not convinced. “This Rim mission is important, I know that. But, it sure feels good to get out from behind that desk. Hell, look at Calestorm! We’re both about the same age and she’s still jumping around out here like a wired cadet on an energy drink.” The conversation, while somber, had taken on a joking tone with that last statement. Coyote ran with it, as she could tell he was attempting to lighten the mood – and that was a good sign; her mouth quirked up in a smile as she responded. “Colonel, when Crash does jump around like a cadet? She needs to take aspirin injections continually for about two days afterward.” ‘I’ll be sure to tell her you said that Admiral.” They both laughed. A ping from the intercom interrupted them and the two officers immediately sobered. Coyote reached out to activated the inset comm on the briefing table with a tap. “Coyote here.” The young sounding voice of the communications officer on duty answered, voice filtering through the inter-ship communications system. “Ma’am. We have an incoming transmit. Heavy encrypt, plain text, coordinate attachments. Command eyes only.” She glanced at Tigard. “Sounds like the word we’ve been waiting on. Decrypt and send it through Ensign.” “Aye Ma’am. Give me a few.” Tigard walked around the briefing room table to stand beside Coyote, who remained seated, They both read the memo styled message that appeared on the tabletop mounted tri-flatscreen, bit by bit and then full text as the comm officer ran it through the digital computer and security program filters. ===== Begin Text Message ===== To: Blue Suns Corporation CC: Supervisor Seananne Cote From: Marie Lightwind Subject: SS Imperious - Outer Rim Deployment Supervisor Cote: The SS Imperious continues to sweep the Outer Rim sectors. Job offers have come in, though business is slow as typical towards a new professional security ship. Our communications specialist and medic have recently left to seek employment elsewhere. As they left without completing their agreed upon assignment duration, I do plan on crossing paths with the two again to deal properly with the matter. Our next stop is colony planet Nova AC to canvas for available jobs and replacement crew. I plan on taking passengers this run, as Nova is a travel hub for the sectors. According to the local talk, there’s also a notorious nightclub and gaming complex called ‘The Maze’ and I’m sure some of the gamblers and thrill seekers in the crew will check it out. It’d be nice if I didn’t have to bail them out in the morning though. For a change, that is. Otherwise, I’ll be on the lookout for any jobs to forward onto additional Suns crews in the sectors. I estimate we’ll remain at Nova for a couple weeks, give or take. Lightwind out. ===== End Text Message ===== Tigard gave a small ‘hmmmph’ of approval. “It would seem we just received new orders from Captain Lightwind, Sir.” “Yes we did Colonel, and it sure looks like we’ll be getting some of that field action we were discussing. Get the crew ready to move out. We hug the border, stay on the Federation side until we get a second signal from the field team to move on Nova.” “Aye Admiral.” ---- * Note: RADM Coyote is not of the STSF GM Council; she is an NPC for use by the Comanche Creek Sim
  23. = = = = Official Communication = = = = = = = = Encrypted LZT-5641 = = = = To: Calestorm, CPT Ashton; Wesley, Audraya CDR; JoNs, CDR K. Vacer From: Walking-Coyote, RADM Shauna; Tigard, COL Craig CC: Kvar, LT Tifa; TAral, LT; Haruno, LTjg Sakura; Tauariki, LTjg Jed; Belo, LTjg Innogen; Akade, ENS Skyler; Shalin, ENS Shan; Kea, ENS Kerris; Granger, WO2 Cassidy Re: New Orders The command and senior line crew of the USS Comanche Creek will be temporarily transferred to the USS Washington Crossing for duration of assignment to the Outland territories. Your primary orders are to arrest and remand into Federation custody the Black Kris leader known as ‘Litasha’. Secondary orders are to locate and disrupt any Black Kris operations in the sector(s). Attached you will find individual biography dossiers. You are to familiarize yourself with the proposed identity for mission duration. Your working cover will be a professional mercenary crew seeking work. You are to report to the USS Washington Crossing at 08:00 hours on Monday, 5808.15. - Rear Admiral Shauna Walking-Coyote, SBP FTR - Colonel Craig Tigard, SOCCENT = = = = End Communication = = = = = = = = Encrypted LZT-5641 = = = = ---- * Please note that Rear Admiral Coyote is not a member of the STSF Council; she is an NPC character for the purposes of the USS Comanche Creek Sim.
  24. This log takes place sometime during the first 24 Hours of our Three Day TBS... Lieutenant Kevin Thomas Riley* was acutely aware of several things: - Politics made the universe go round - He was the only one wearing command administrative gold - Everyone else was wearing the white/gray uniforms of the admiralty - Admiral James Komack could be a desk flying tool when he wanted to be - Do not aggravate Rear Admiral Shauna Meredith Walking-Coyote - He probably should have taken that promotion to Navigator on the USS Enterprise - Exit strategies are wonderful The young aide was seated off to one side of the office, taking notations with a stylus light pen. The information he recorded was strictly for the private files of Shauna Coyote, and not to be used within the public forum. “So in other words what you’re saying to me is that it’s perfectly acceptable for the First Threat program and the Border Patrol division to be continually treated as the Red Headed Stepchild?” Shauna’s rich baritone seemed to cut through the air, her tone sharp. Admiral Komack* spoke, his tone growing increasingly tired. “Rear Admiral Coyote..” Shauna Coyote had traveled in system from the First Threat Response offices at New Topeka to Earth in order to meet with Admiral James Komack at San Francisco Fleet Command; the FTR* program and the Border Patrol offices at New Topeka came under Komack’s jurisdiction as the officer in charge of Alpha Sector Command. The agenda had been to discuss the now public concern over the rogue personnel issue with Intelligence, and the recent involvement of Calestorm, Wesley, and their crew. The situation had been contained for months, but in light of the new developments, the press was starting to get wind of the ongoing problem. The meeting had started out well enough. And then things had…gotten tense. Shauna cut Komack off with a vicious hand swipe through the air. “Command has been aware of the Intel breach. You did nothing. A general alert should have at least been forwarded to the out sector commanders.” “SFI* Director Emirra has been dealing with the containment protocols. She enlisted the aid of the SPECOPS department to further assist in the counter operation. Codename Shadowbox.” “That is not the point. This situation should have been blown wide open months ago. Personnel and civilians have been and are at risk with the deliberate silence–” “It was on a need to know basis Shauna, and you – and others - didn’t need to know.” “Are you aware my line captain was forcibly removed from the USS Comanche Creek in order to meet with representatives of this so called shadow faction?” “Yes. That was made clear in your report. The circumstances are unfortunate.” Shauna bulldogged, not leaving it go. “You saw the digital images of the bruising on her face, and that’s okay?” Admiral Komack smirked. “From what I’ve heard she leads with her face – and her mouth – often.” Komack’s comment held no malice, only gentle amusement; still, the Native Old-Americas woman stiffened and her blue eyes sparked daggers. “Now wait just a damn minute!” She half rose from her seated position. Admiral Barnett*, commandant of the Fleet Academy, interrupted smoothly. “I think what Shauna is attempting to say is she would like more of an answer besides ‘it is what it is’, Jim.” Barnett had stayed seated through her mild outburst, his body language calm in contrast to her stiff posture. He flashed a warning glance at Coyote, who reseated herself. Barnett was not a line command officer and served within the administrative and educational divisions, but he and Shauna had been friends for years; Coyote had asked him to attend, and Barnett had enough contacts within the Fleet to call in some favors in order to be present at the meeting. If only to offer a buffer to the charged situation. Komack wisely disengaged himself from the immediate area, or at least got himself out of the swing range of Admiral Coyote; the silver haired male got up from his seated position, moving to stand at the large display window that looked out over the San Francisco Old Quarter. The sun was just beginning to set on the horizon, casting the city section in shadows. A couple minutes passed in silence, and then Komack ventured to speak again. “For what it’s worth Shauna? Word on down the line is that the CINC* finds it encouraging that the Neural investigation is being handled by your people.” “Don’t stroke my ego Jim. Speak plain.” “Let me rephrase: it’s appropriate for the USS Comanche Creek to become involved, circumstances aside. Neural should never have been compromised because of an internal Fleet Intel issue. What’s done is done however. A Federation survey team is missing, possibly dead, and we assume a pre-warp civilization has been compromised based on the last few sketchy reports submitted by Dr. Lester just prior to the Nero attacks.” Komack turned from the observation port, the gleam in his eye a bit disconcerting as he spoke directly to Shauna. “Nero.” His distaste was evident in his tone. “The reason your FTR program got green lighted so quickly was because of that son of a bitch. We might be having problems in our own backyard, but Nero was the opportunity -- the Intel shadow faction used his attacks as leverage to start moving forward more aggressively.” The sector admiral walked the short distance back to his rich mahogany desk, but did not reseat himself. “We had no idea that the Nero attacks would have an outward effect with the shadow faction Shauna. Your program was given life from the death and destruction he caused. Now your officers, the spearhead of the FTR program, will handle the situation on Neural. It seems appropriate, that’s all I meant.” Barnett made a noise in the back of his throat. “I think you can both agree that we can’t afford infighting over this.” The dark skinned man raised a scolding eyebrow at both of his colleagues. The tension in the room seemed to dissipate by degrees; Komack dropped back down into his leather office chair with a heavy sigh. Coyote sighed as well. The anger had gone out of her expression, and she just looked tired; she was going to have a banger of a tension headache later on. “Didn’t mean to chew you out Jim.” Komack waved off Shauna’s apology. “No harm done. We all feel exactly the same.” “Can we group hug now?” Both Komack and Coyote glared at Barnett for the sarcastic comment, while Riley hid a smile behind his digi-slate. _____________________ *Admiral Komack & Lieutenant Riley appear courtesy of Classic Star Trek (CBS) *Admiral Barnett appears courtesy of Star Trek 11 (CBS) * FTR – First Threat Response Program, Starfleet Border Patrol * SFI – Starfleet Intelligence * CINC - Commander in Chief, Starfleet
  25. Topeka Sector/Tomcat 16 In Flight 04:00 Hours (4:00 AM) A long day had gone into an even longer night; Captain Calestorm had managed to extricate herself from the clandestine meeting though the ramifications weighed heavily on her. The unmarked naval ship, the remote location of the meeting…it didn’t sit well with her. She had gotten sucked into a situation that would put both she and her crew straight into some questionable Intelligence work, the problematic situation on Neural aside. Cale was currently heading back to the New Topeka orbital docks from the middle of Bug Frag Nowhere, making good time in the Tomcat starfighter that she and her roughneck escort had absconded with. The former combat pilot had an advanced tracking program running, tracing her return route as best she could. The flight out to the unmarked vessel would be difficult to recreate and she was sure the vessel would be long gone, though the return flight data would have to count for something. Every available piece of EC equipment was processing, recording the return flight. She’d been explicitly instructed not to contact Admiral Coyote regarding the late night meeting and the details of the assignment. Of course, Crash Calestorm always did what she was told; she’d contacted her commanding officer as soon as she figured she was far enough away from the meeting point and the Saladin-class vessel, Hell yes. The captain had initiated a priority communication to the New Topeka colony, using the emergency access that Admiral Coyote had given her to a private command level wireless account. As expected, the admiral had been asleep and rather groggy when she answered the two way audio-visual communication. When Calestorm got to the part about landing on an unmarked Saladin class ship, Coyote was fully awake. “Where are you Crash? Do you have an ETA?” “It’s about three hours out, three back, more or less. These Tomcats really haul, so I’m zipping along. Working my way through the outer perimeter of the Topeka sector now; estimatin’ I have about an hour and a half flight time before I’m back at New Topeka. That unmarked Saladin was parked pretty damn far out Admiral.” “You okay with fuel?” Her tone was tinged with concern. “I can authorize an emergency fuel shuttle to meet you.” “Not necessary Sir; The Ultra Secret Society seemed familiar enough with the Tomcat to leave me the correct amount of fuel for a return trip.” “Well, that’s interesting…the fighter specifications have been released to Starfleet line command and upper level command officers, but the ‘Creek is the only ship currently carrying the new fighters. The full specs shouldn’t be common knowledge…at least not yet.” “Isn’t it though? I had the same thought.” Calestorm went a little too heavy on the thrust ratio; Coyote could tell even over the two-way visual that the Tomcat fighter had just jerked to the left in response to her non-to gentle ministrations. The captain, for the most part, could keep her cool under most circumstances. If you really riled her though, such as she was now, her temper was a force. “Easy Crash; you’re getting your Irish up. And watch that lead foot of yours.” “Shauna, you know how ah feel about this cloak and dagger shi-et. We nevah pulled anything like this during our time with Intelligence. Hell, I know you recall that one mission where we overstepped our bounds? Mendez damn near skinned us alive.” “If that Dixieland accent of yours gets any thicker, we’ll all need a specialized translator upgrade just to understand you. Calm down, breath, and take me through the high points of this Devils Hour meeting." Calestorm winced. “Watch yer wording there Admiral, ‘cause the Devil is sure out tonight, dancin’ and wavin’ his pitchfork.” Over the next few minutes, the captain relayed the details as best she could, from point to point and discussion to discussion, outline the information and ‘orders’ that the Intelligence personnel had given her. At the initial mention of Neural, Coyotes eyebrows rose to her hairline. “Well, that’s interesting. An update report was issued just last week to all the officers of rear admiral rank and above regarding Neural.” Cale had paused in her explanation to allow the admiral to talk. “So the observation post on Neural -- and the eventual drop off of Lester and her team -- was kept under the radar? And now all of a sudden, I’m tapped to go in and retrieve her and her team?” The admiral answered the question with a question. “What were your impressions of the participants at the meeting? The mannerisms? Commissioned, enlisted?” “Definitely commissioned. The initial conversation regarding the civilian observation team was your standard briefing, and the one I’m calling Steel Hair originally proposed it as a rescue operation. But then the tone of the discussion took a darker turn and it was suggested that the civilian team might have gone rogue, compromising the situation on Neural. It was hinted that I’d have full authority to remove Lester and her people – permanently.” Coyote snorted derisively, her disdain coming through clear over the comm line. “You believe that?” Crash’s answering snort was the same, her distaste evident in her tone. “Which part? Even if Dr. Lester and her team are responsible, I sure as hell ain’t executing ‘em. They’ll be brought back home for trial.” “Personality profiles?” “I didn’t like Steel Hair, at all: got major dark vibes off of him. The other male, a dark skinned Human, was quiet, and I didn’t really get any vibes from him. Stone was your typical muscle. The female was a lil’ furball.” The admiral quirked an eyebrow. “Define ‘Lil’ Furball’.” “She was Caitian, gave me some attitude. I know we always joke how all the cats look alike, but this ‘Jones ‘ or whoever she is, has more then a passing resemblance to my Ensign Honor-Scar. I’ll look into it once I get back on board the ship, maybe at least get some information on the Cait.” Calestorm paused for a moment, and Shauna could see that she flipped a few switches in sequence along one of the cockpit control panels. “What are you planning on your end Admiral?” “I’ve worked with some pretty ruthless undercover operatives before, but I think we both agree there’s more to this situation. I’ll check in with some contacts I have within Starfleet Intelligence – I know they’ll be straight with me, and I’m sure I can find us some solid answers. It’s also possible that your new friends aren’t representatives with Intel.” “Shauna, if we’re dealing with a rogue faction, I don’t really care to think what that sort of influence can do within Starfleet, not now, with our numbers still low and such. Bad enough we have the Orion Cartel nipping at our necks along the border grids, let alone the ongoing issues with the Klingons and the Romulan border concerns.” “Agreed. Let me do some checking, I’ll call in a few favors and see what information I can come up with.” “You want me to proceed with the assignment?” “Affirmative. Go to Neural, get a firsthand look at the situation. I trust your judgment, do what needs to be done.” “What about Admiral Barnett? I’d rather not tangle with him or an Inquiry Board. He’s never really forgiven me for buzzing San Francisco flight control.” A small smile quirked her lips at the memory. “You have full authorization Crash, deploy to Neural on my authority. I’ll contact the Admiral and give him a sit rep. A report’s already been released regarding the possible cultural contamination and Lester and her team dropping off the grid – an investigative team was due to be assigned anyway, might as well be the Border Patrol.” “Good enough. I’ll contact you again in a few hours Admiral.” “Safe journey Captain. Coyote out.”