Captain Halloway

Aboard the starship Yorktown, not far from Sky Harbor Aegis... Captain Thomas Halloway watched the damaged Cardassian freighter grow in perspective as it loomed closer to the aft-facing conference room windows. Rigid tractor beams guided the commercial vessel to a safe towing position between the nacelles of the Sovereign-class starship Yorktown. Behind him, the door hissed open. Halloway glanced over his shoulder, noting the entrance of the young, but balding, Andorian. “Ambassador,” he greeted. He gestured in the direction of the floor to ceiling viewports. “You’ll be pleased to hear we should be underway to Aegis within the hour.” shiKatsu Raumuk gave a very human shrug, tipping his antenna down. “This delay is more important than getting there on time,” he acknowledged. “Rendering this kind of aid to the Cardassians is a far better way to demonstrate goodwill than mere diplomacy.” Halloway shook his head. “Don’t count on seeing any gratitude,” he groused. “They don’t like being reminded how far they’ve slipped.” The captain stepped forward toward the cool plexisteel, squinting to see the damaged freighter engines. “This was a brazen attack for the Breen to make so deep in Cardassian space.” The Breen Confederacy denied supporting privateers, but after five years of peace, such ships still took vengeance on unguarded opportunities – stealing cargo and raiding settlements to support themselves. “And well timed, considering the exercise in the Amatha Sector,” Raumuk noted. “I’ve learned not to underestimate them,” Halloway admitted. The Breen had outmaneuvered him before, near the Badlands, just before their strike on Earth. Not this time, he promised. He pointed a thumb toward the freighter. “We’re not leaving this prize behind for them. We’ve already got their crew aboard – what’s left of them.” Raumuk assessed the craft. “Nesting it in the warp envelope?” Halloway nodded, recalling the ambassador’s Starfleet background. “Commander Sarpek says we can still manage warp eight.” “Then I’m sure we can,” the Andorian confirmed. Halloway surveyed him a moment. “You trained him on Victory, didn’t you?” Raumuk looked pensive. “No one really trains a Vulcan,” he admitted. “You just do your job in front of them until they surpass you.” Halloway let a smirk dance across his lips. “I’m told that didn’t stop you from offering command suggestions to Admiral Saylek from time to time,” he joked. Raumuk had been chief engineer and second officer of the Galaxy-class Victory, but had left the service just before Halloway took command of that ship in 2370. Still, the remaining senior staff had shared stories about the fiesty Andorian. The two finally met in person during those tumultuous months following the Klingon invasion of Cardassia. Halloway had been selected to convey the diplomat on a mission to protect Cardassian citizens from expected Klingon reprisals on war-torn Sarejvante. Having some history with the planet, Raumuk had brokered an uneasy truce with warring factions and somehow managed to keep the peace until the Dukat purge. Since the war, he’d been an ambassador-at-large, helping coordinate Cardassian reconstruction projects like Empok Nor. Despite knowing this background, Halloway couldn’t help but imagine the fervent Andorian debating the dispassionate, seasoned flag officer on his own bridge. “Did you really tell Saylek,” Halloway finally posed, “that the Prime Directive was just Vulcan’s stranglehold on Starfleet?” The blue-skinned diplomat cast a wary glance. “Stranglehold on the Federation,” Raumuk corrected. If he was going to elaborate, the moment was lost as a comm signal broke into the conference room. “Bridge to Halloway,” came the voice of the Yorktown helmswoman. “This is Halloway. Go ahead, Sabrina.” “Skipper, Commander Chana is standing by on the Cardassian freighter,” Lieutenant Tracey continued. “Engineering reports we are ready to get underway.” “Acknowledged,” replied the captain. “I’ll be right there. Halloway out.” He glanced toward the Andorian. “Well, we’ll have you to Aegis in short order. Ready to meddle in Cardassian politics?” He moved toward the door separating them from the bridge. The ambassador’s expression looked somewhat pained. “No more than we must,” he whispered; with a slight sigh, he followed the captain onto the bridge.

Part 2 of a joint log series with Captain Sorehl, with appreciation for some additional coordination with shiKame. Trivas system, Cardassian space... “…in our continued transition from a military dictatorship to a civilian-led society,” intoned the elderly Cardassian at the dias. “A small step, but an important one.” Dispassionate, Captain Sorehl listened to the words of Councilor Tolan Revix from his stance in the Promenade of Empok Nor. The official transfer of authority ceremony was nearly complete. As the outgoing commanding officer, Sorehl had been required to offer parting words summarizing the success of their three-year mission. In typical Vulcan precision, he had narrated the reacquisition of the errant station, its return and stabilization within the Trivas system, rebuilding of its failed and missing fusion reaction chambers, and general system refurbishment. He described adaptation of the station’s uridium mining capacity to process kelindide, toranium, and rodinium – critical minerals in the building of spaceframes. With this, the Cardassians could build new stations, commercial ships, and defenses which could make them more self-sufficient and less politically volatile. Adaptation of the ecosystem on Trivas IV had allowed the development of extensive agricultural resources, reducing dependency on external food sources. The final phase had included installation of defensive hardware to protect the station from threats, particularly the recent spate of privateering Breen ships. His speech had been followed by those of the ranking Federation dignitary, Ambassador shiKatsu Raumuk, as well as a litany of Cardassian commercial, military, and political officials. Revix was the last, a representative of the ruling civilian government. Unsurprisingly, his speech had been the longest. “And so,” the reptilian statesman raised his voice in conclusion, “on behalf of the Detapa Council, it is with great pleasure that I accept this facility as a lasting symbol of friendship between the United Federation of Planets and the Cardassian Union.” Beside him, Ambassador Raumuk nodded approvingly and leapt to his feet. The Andorian diplomat extended his hand to the Councilor as dignified, if somewhat muted, applause broke out from the assembly. Above them, the Federation banner lowered slowly to the sounds of its associated anthem, leaving only the Cardassian standard hanging from the second level. Commander Grumveld, the Tellarite executive officer, directed the color guard with short, barked instructions as they folded the emblem withdrew the standard from view. Sorehl watched with approval, noting the sparseness of Starfleet officers among the crowd. Less than fifty of the crew remained aboard, most having already moved on to their new assignments. “Well, that’s it then,” came the voice of Lieutenant Commander Corris Sprint behind him, “you’re officially a free man, captain.” The Vulcan glanced back at his now-former operations officer. “On the contrary, Mr. Sprint,” Sorehl answered, gesturing to the assembled dignitaries, “there are still some hours left to our sentence.” The Bijanni adjusted his dress uniform with a slight chuckle. Following the captain, he stepped down from the platform, wading into the pool of diplomatic waters. * * * * * Drinking his scotch and kanar, Captain Thomas Halloway glanced through the crowd that continued to linger on the Promenade. He’d caught a few wary glances among the Cardassians, but had encountered only good behavior thusfar. The privation of war seemed to have diminished the resentment over his past exploits. More likely, he told himself, no one even knows who I am. He laughed at his inflated sense of importance. Ambassador Raumuk was having an animated discussion with the High Councilor. Halloway had met the Andorian envoy during an earlier mission in the Sarejvante system. He was an excitable sort, quite smitten with Federation ideals, but he masked a shrewd understanding of his counterparts. Captain Sorehl stood beside them in his dress whites, hands clasp behind his back, making little comment. Halloway rattled the ice in his glass with a smirk, bringing it to his lips. Another figure, a Cardassian, stepped into the group. Halloway narrowed his eyes and lowered the drink, searching the features. This one he knew. Not an old nemesis from the border skirmishes, he realized. This one was a new player. “It is a great day for Cardassia,” the new arrival offered. Raumuk stopped mid-sentence, noting the presence. “Yes,” he answered, recovering. “I would think you’d say so, Mr. Ethton.” Kaj Ethton, Halloway finally recognized, architect of the newest, rising political party on Cardassia Prime. An unelected essayist who’d shaped a rough collection of former True Way sympathizers and veterans into a populist movement. What in the quadrant was he doing here? Ethton regarded the Andorian not unlike a snake regarding its next meal. “Some would have liked to see it sooner,” he noted. Halloway bristled visibly before catching himself. Both Andorian and Vulcan remained impassive. “The return of this station,” Raumuk noted, “was under the strict guidance and timetable set by your government.” “The current government,” Ethton observed. Councilor Revix snorted. “Things will change soon enough. The Reunion party is still looking to the past, councilor,” Ethton asserted, emphasizing the last word with some distain. “What our people thirst for is freedom. Freedom from fools like the Central Command who weakened us. Freedom from the hunger and disease the Dominion left us. Freedom from external influences. Freedom to rebuild a new Cardassia in our own image.” The ambassador tilted his head downward, leveling his antenna toward Ethton. “I see your reputation for rhetoric is well justified,” he observed with the cool precision of his craft. “The Federation has been a friend to our people, even in defeat,” Revix countered, finally lumbering into the exchange. “No denying it,” Ethton responded. “But even friends can overstay their welcome.” “I’m sure the Bajorans felt the same way,” Halloway found himself saying. The conversation grew quiet as eyes turned toward the previously silent captain. Sorehl’s gaze suggested mild disapproval. “It is that kind of old bitterness that keeps your people so interested in keeping a foot on our soil and an eye in our sky,” Ethton remarked. A subtle reference to Aegis, Halloway noted. “Well,” he ventured further, “after all, Ben Maxwell may have been paranoid, but that didn’t make him wrong, did it?” Raumuk closed his eyes briefly, with a slight shake of the head. Sorehl, for his part, merely raised an eyebrow.

Part 2 in the Joint Log series of Sorehl and Halloway Sorehl stepped down from the upper level and away from the main viewer. As shown on the circular, horizontal display, Excalibur had reached the first waypoint and was now speeding her way toward their position. A crewman was sliding out from under the table, having tuned the resolution. The Vulcan surveyed continuing work in the Command Center, noting the progress. No small task lay before them. He paused a moment, his thoughts turning to a challenge he had left behind over the course of his own “shore leave”… * * * * * One week earlier in the Trivas system, Cardassian space... “…in our continued transition from a military dictatorship to a civilian-led society,” intoned the elderly Cardassian at the dias. “A small step, but an important one.” Dispassionate, Captain Sorehl listened to the words of Councilor Tolan Revix from his stance in the Promenade of Empok Nor. The official transfer of authority ceremony was nearly complete. As the outgoing commanding officer, Sorehl had been required to offer parting words summarizing the success of their three-year mission. In typical Vulcan precision, he had narrated the reacquisition of the errant station, its return and stabilization within the Trivas system, rebuilding of its failed and missing fusion reaction chambers, and general system refurbishment. He described adaptation of the station’s uridium mining capacity to process kelindide, toranium, and rodinium – critical minerals in the building of spaceframes. With this, the Cardassians could build new stations, commercial ships, and defenses which could make them more self-sufficient and less politically volatile. Adaptation of the ecosystem on Trivas IV had allowed the development of extensive agricultural resources, reducing dependency on external food sources. The final phase had included installation of defensive hardware to protect the station from threats, particularly the recent spate of privateering Breen ships. His speech had been followed by those of the ranking Federation dignitary, Ambassador shiKatsu Raumuk, as well as a litany of Cardassian commercial, military, and political officials. Revix was the last, a representative of the ruling civilian government. Unsurprisingly, his speech had been the longest. “And so,” the reptilian statesman raised his voice in conclusion, “on behalf of the Detapa Council, it is with great pleasure that I accept this facility as a lasting symbol of friendship between the United Federation of Planets and the Cardassian Union.” Beside him, Ambassador shiKatsu Raumuk nodded approvingly and leapt to his feet. The Andorian diplomat extended his hand to the Councilor as dignified, if somewhat muted, applause broke out from the assembly. Above them, the Federation banner lowered slowly to the sounds of its associated anthem, leaving only the Cardassian standard hanging from the second level. Commander Grumveld, the Tellarite executive officer, directed the color guard with short, barked instructions as they folded the emblem. Sorehl watched with approval, noting the sparseness of Starfleet officers among the crowd. Less than fifty of the crew remained aboard, most having already moved on to their new assignments. “Well, that’s it then,” came the voice of Lieutenant Commander Corris Sprint behind him, “you’re officially a free man, captain.” The Vulcan glanced back at his now-former operations officer. “On the contrary, Mr. Sprint,” Sorehl answered, gesturing to the assembled dignitaries, “there are still some hours left to our sentence.” The Bijanni adjusted his dress uniform with a slight chuckle. Following the captain, he stepped down from the platform, wading into the pool of diplomatic waters. Drinking his scotch and kanar, Captain Thomas Halloway glanced through the crowd that continued to linger on the Promenade. He’d caught a few wary glances among the Cardassians, but had encountered only good behavior thusfar. The privation of war seemed to have diminished the resentment over his past exploits. More likely, he told himself, no one even knows who I am. He laughed at his inflated sense of importance. Ambassador Raumuk was having an animated discussion with the High Councilor. Halloway had met the Andorian envoy during an earlier mission in the Sarejvante system. He was an excitable sort, quite smitten with Federation ideals, but he masked a shrewd understanding of his counterparts. Captain Sorehl stood beside them in his dress whites, hands clasp behind his back, making little comment. Halloway rattled the ice in his glass with a smirk, bringing it to his lips. Another figure, a Cardassian, stepped into the group. Halloway narrowed his eyes and lowered the drink, searching the features. This one he knew. Not an old nemesis from the border skirmishes, he realized. This one was a new player. “It is a great day for Cardassia,” the new arrival offered. Raumuk stopped mid-sentence, noting the presence. “Yes,” he answered, recovering. “I would think you’d say so, Mr. Ethton.” Kaj Ethton, Halloway finally recognized, architect of the newest, rising political party on Cardassia Prime. An unelected essayist who’d shaped a rough collection of former True Way sympathizers and veterans into a populist movement. What in the quadrant was he doing here? Ethton regarded the Andorian not unlike a snake regarding its next meal. “Some would have liked to see it sooner,” he noted. Halloway bristled visibly before catching himself. Both Andorian and Vulcan remained impassive. “The return of this station,” Raumuk noted, “was under the strict guidance and timetable set by your government.” “The current government,” Ethton observed. Councilor Revix snorted. “Things will change soon enough. The Reunion party is still looking to the past, councilor,” Ethton asserted, emphasizing the last word with some distain. “What our people thirst for is freedom. Freedom from fools like the Central Command who weakened us. Freedom from the hunger and disease the Dominion left us. Freedom from external influences. Freedom to rebuild a new Cardassia in our own image.” The ambassador tilted his head downward, leveling his antenna toward Ethton. “I see your reputation for rhetoric is well justified,” he observed with the cool precision of his craft. “The Federation has been a friend to our people, even in defeat,” Revix countered, finally lumbering into the exchange. “No denying it,” Ethton responded. “But even friends can overstay their welcome.” “I’m sure the Bajorans felt the same way,” Halloway found himself saying. The conversation grew quiet as eyes turned toward the previously silent captain. Sorehl’s gaze suggested mild disapproval. “It is that kind of old bitterness that keeps your people so interested in keeping a foot on our soil and an eye in our sky,” Ethton remarked. A subtle reference to Aegis, Halloway noted. “Well,” he ventured further, “after all, Ben Maxwell may have been paranoid, but that didn’t make him wrong, did it?” Raumuk closed his eyes briefly. Sorehl, for his part, merely raised an eyebrow. The crowd dispersed slowly over the next hour, as Starfleet officers filtered away to their berths on the Yorktown or Reliant and Cardassian officers began assuming their duties. Orderlies were already clearing the Promenade of its festive décor. “End of another era, captain,” Sprint reported, standing beside him. “All good things must come to an end, I suppose.” It was not the first time Sorehl had heard such trite human sentiment. “Nonsense,” he replied tersely, as he had before, “we merely move on to the next good thing.” * * * * * Sorehl glanced toward the round table, noting Excalibur’s advance toward the newly dubbed Avalon system. This station, once complete, would serve a mission no less bold than Aegis or Empok Nor. It was his job to ensure, that for those now serving in this quadrant, it would become the next good thing.

My thanks to Sorehl for working this series with me. This log takes place back in the Alpha Quadrant, within Cardassian space, and is in combination with events relating to Sky Harbor Aegis. As was his daily regimen, Thomas Halloway of the starship Yorktown swam backwards through the warm, simulated surf of his native Pacifica. The image of beachsand had receded a kilometer into the distance as he reached his turning point. He lay his head back to relax, letting swell after swell rise and fall under him, savoring the pleasure of the sun and the salt-filled air. It was important to enjoy such moments of calm. He still marvelled that he could be this far into Cardassian space without fear of his ship being blasted out from under him. Of course, with the terrorist incident at Z’lo on Cardassia Prime a fresh memory, it wasn’t wise to let down one’s guard. They might be a vanquished power, but their smoldering futility could occasionally lash out at remnants of anything they perceived as post-war occupation. The irony of suffering a fate like Bajor was too much for many of them. With the official transfer of power on Empok Nor in the next day, there would be one less remnant for misguided Cardassians to strike at. Privately, Halloway was thrilled that his colleague Sorehl was getting out of there, but glad the mission itself had been a success. The station had been refurbished to full operational status, yielding needed materials from Trivas IV and giving the Cardassians another foothold on self-sufficiency. It was the kind of entangling assignment that made Halloway shudder. Always nice to be able to kick in the warp drive, he mused. The Vulcan had always managed to keep a diplomatic balance with the Cardassians. Unlike himself. The Cardassians never seemed to forget the pounding he’d given them in his earlier career. If he could get through the next few days without one of them taking an issue to his presence, it would be a blessing. Endure the ceremony and convey the departing Starfleet personnel to Aegis and DS9. A short milk run, he kept telling himself, even if he had to include a briefing with the new Andorian admiral in charge of this theater. Off ship, there might even be a chance for some fresh companionship. The voice of the senior helm officer broke the stillness. “Bridge to Halloway,” spoke her distant voice. Halloway lifted his ears above the water, treading to stay in place. “Go ahead, Sabrina,” he answered, using both hands to lay his dark hair back. “You wanted to know when we reached the Trivas system, skipper,” came her report. “We’re on standard approach with a forty minute ETA to the station.” Halloway stretched his arms, preparing for his return leg. “Thanks. Is Fujimoto there?” The voice of his second officer cut in. “Here, sir.” “Fuji, we still set for a Captain’s Table after the ceremony?” “Aye, skipper,” came the clipped response. “Commander Chana is handling the details herself.” “Good. Tell her I have a specific vintage in mind.” He turned in the water, aiming toward the distant shore. He paused, smirking. “And send a note to Sorehl his yeoman is invited as well.” The pause was audible over the surging water. “The redhead, skipper?” In response, he merely surged forward in a solid breaststroke. “Halloway out!” he managed before plunging his head into the water. He pulled his arms back, drawing himself toward the shore. He’d make it there before they docked, but he wasn’t ready to meet any of his colleagues in wet Union Jack trunks.

As was his daily regimen, Thomas Halloway of the starship Yorktown swam backwards through the warm, simulated surf of his native Pacifica. The image of beachsand had receded a kilometer into the distance as he reached his turning point. He lay his head back to relax, letting swell after swell rise and fall under him, savoring the pleasure of the sun and the salt-filled air. It was important to enjoy such moments of calm. He still marvelled that he could be this far into Cardassian space without fear of his ship being blasted out from under him. Of course, with the terrorist incident at Z’lo on Cardassia Prime a fresh memory, it wasn’t wise to let down one’s guard. They might be a vanquished power, but their smoldering futility could occasionally lash out at remnants of anything they perceived as post-war occupation. The irony of suffering a fate like Bajor was too much for many of them. With the official transfer of power on Empok Nor in the next day, there would be one less remnant for misguided Cardassians to strike at. Privately, Halloway was thrilled that his colleague Sorehl was getting out of there, but glad the mission itself had been a success. The station had been refurbished to full operational status, yielding needed materials from Trivas IV and giving the Cardassians another foothold on self-sufficiency. It was the kind of entangling assignment that made Halloway shudder. Always nice to be able to kick in the warp drive, he mused. The Vulcan had always managed to keep a diplomatic balance with the Cardassians. Unlike himself. The Cardassians never seemed to forget the pounding he’d given them in his earlier career. If he could get through the next few days without one of them taking an issue to his presence, it would be a blessing. Endure the ceremony and convey the departing Starfleet personnel to Aegis and DS9. A short milk run, he kept telling himself, even if he had to include a briefing with the new Andorian admiral in charge of this theater. Off ship, there might even be a chance for some fresh companionship. The voice of the senior helm officer broke the stillness. “Bridge to Halloway,” spoke her distant voice. Halloway lifted his ears above the water, treading to stay in place. “Go ahead, Sabrina,” he answered, using both hands to lay his dark hair back. “You wanted to know when we reached the Trivas system, skipper,” came her report. “We’re on standard approach with a forty minute ETA to the station.” Halloway stretched his arms, preparing for his return leg. “Thanks. Is Fujimoto there?” The voice of his second officer cut in. “Here, sir.” “Fuji, we still set for a Captain’s Table after the ceremony?” “Aye, skipper,” came the clipped response. “Commander Chana is handling the details herself.” “Good. Tell her I have a specific vintage in mind.” He turned in the water, aiming toward the distant shore. He paused, smirking. “And send a note to Sorehl his yeoman is invited as well.” The pause was audible over the surging water. “The redhead, skipper?” In response, he merely surged forward in a solid breaststroke. “Halloway out!” he managed before plunging his head into the water. He pulled his arms back, drawing himself toward the shore. He’d make it there before they docked, but he wasn’t ready to meet any of his colleagues in wet Union Jack trunks.