I found myself exceeding 10 pages of documentation about my life and realized you probably didn't need all the info I was sending you. So I abridged everything. If you feel you need any more information, do not hesitate to contact me.

Some info about just myself you should know. As I mentioned to you earlier I was debriefed by Starfleet Medical and Intelligence Personnel during the Comanche Creek's rebuild at Starbase New Topeka.

I am a product of a cloning program used to produce a Nausicaan labor force for the Dilithium mines of Talega Prime and a "Bezerker" Nausicaan type for export for violent purposes.

My physical attributes, larger muscular structure and slightly above average height come from the latter type of Clone.

Myself and both Nausicaan types mentioned are the result of extensive genetic alterations of Basic Nausicaan DNA.

I should note it took me 15 years to reach maturity from my release from a "Birthing Chamber"

Starfleet Specialists who analyzed my DNA structure at Starbase New Topeka expressed great interest in the restructuring of sequences in my DNA. While finding evidence of cloned DNA, they expressed amazement that I had not succumbed to some sort of death related to known cloning processes. I must confess I do not have enough knowledge to understand their experience with cloning. Nor did I ask.

Starfleet Intelligence and Genetic Researchers were dispatched from Earth to evaluate me further. They were particularly interested in who was responsible for, if I may say, my creation.

And now about the Doctor who was responsible for me being me.

Starfleet Intelligence was able to construct a possible date of my creation from what they knew of Talega Prime's destruction. Given 15 cycles of existence on Talega Prime before the Doctor and I escaped the planet's destruction, my estimated age is 150 standard years.

This Doctor Smith appeared completely human. Yet, Humans had not reached Orion Space by that time. Hence, Starfleet Intelligence's conclusion was that this "Dr. Smith" was an alien who appeared Human.

Smith told me he had been employed by the Forerunners of what would be the Talega Cartel for over fifty years. His job was to create a labor force to excavate recently discovered Dilithium ore from Talega Prime's Mountains. And he said he succeeded and I was in part living proof of this.

When I disclosed to Starfleet Intelligence that Smith had visited a planet that had an interesting history and my name was given to me from a historical site that was being excavated there. With the name Byblos ..they clearly thought Smith had been referring to Earth. I think this has alarmed them, maybe that is why they want to interview me again.

Starfleet Medical wants more samples for Study of my DNA. They admitted to me they had not seen such a case of "advanced genetic modification." I find it curious they said that, because I was the product of Smith's work 150 years before they came across my "Advanced Genetic Material"

When I asked Smith what species he was when learning basic education skills on Talega Prime he described himself as a "Listener." During my debriefs I could not tell if Starfleet was aware of a humanoid race called the "Listeners"

I ponder if you are Doctor T`Aral.

As for Dr. Smith's fate after our evacuation off Talega Prime I cannot say what happened to him. He dropped me off at a rather small harbor on a world currently in Orion Space. From there he left me. I think his final words to me ...were "he had to move on to continue his work."

I will end this report to you here. Again I am available for further consultation, as I rather would not be questioned and subjected to further testing by Starfleet again back on New Topeka.

Shan snatched the datachip from her fingers in a swift move and plugged it into a monitoring station. The schematic read out her proposal: a recommendation exactly as the Captain requested. The proposed discotheque was massive, stretching through three decks and providing tons of space. He had to admit: she knew how to throw a party.

There would be a few small concessions, of course. Tch'Ana's plan eliminated *all* of the crew's quarters ( including the Captain's ), and it was clear from the layout that the dance hall was intended to supplant the functions of mess halls and ready rooms. There were sleeping arrangements depicted, which would suffice assuming nobody suffered from claustrophobia or otherwise minded being stacked like torpedo casings. Shan removed the chip and handed it back. It was what the Captain requested ... she literally asked for it.

He smiled pleasantly to Tch'Ana. "Good luck with that."

With a confident sneer she turned on her heel and dashed for the turbolift, leaving Shan to ponder the question of the Romulan's emblem. The Captain wanted it dated, and Shan was left to figure out how. Sitting back and pondering the question: time displacement and how to measure it. It was well out of his depth, but he needed to forge ahead. The Romulan claimed to have gone through a time warp ... to do so there had to *be* a warp ... an energy conduit with the necessary conditions ... including negative chronitons.

Shan began recalibrating his tricorder. Chroniton study was still very much in its infancy, but from what little he had managed to glean from the ship's computer, the influence of chronitons was detectable via a sub-atomic harmonic. The effect was harmless enough, but it was measurable. A few more adjustments, a few scans, and Shan was able to smile.

It wasn't much, but at least now he had something he could report to the Captain.

Inside the gift was a rolled up scroll and a small jeweled charm. The charm was a Centauri Star Pearl set in a simple chain. The Pearl sparkles brightly whenever light shines upon it. The scroll had a story elegantly written on it.

There once was a simple fisherman out at sea. One day while fishing, he caught a strange sea creature, the likes he had never seen before. “I am a guardian of these waters. Please kind sir, release me. If you do, I will grant you three wishes.”

The fisherman pondered a moment. He thought about his family and what it meant if he could give them anything they wanted, from money to any kind of riches possible. But it didn’t take the man long before he replied. “I could ask for anything, but I am just a simple fisherman. There is only one thing that I desire, and that is for my family to be happy. Be free now.” And so the fisherman released the creature.

The creature then began to glow in a bright, blinding light as it’s shape began to change to that of a fair maiden. The maiden smiled upon the fisherman. “You are indeed a kind man. You could have wished for unimaginable wealth, and yet you did not. You shall be rewarded.” She held out her hand to the man. Resting in the palm was a bright star pearl set upon a chain. “Take this charm and place it within your household. There it will shine forevermore and bring joy and happiness to your family.”

The tradition of the Centauri Star Pearl has been passed down for generations of Centauran families. The pearl is typically procured by a family member, and placed within a new home so that it may be blessed with eternal happiness.

Abandoned Planet

Nova Corps Territory

After securing transport with the rag tag crew of a sector hopper, Crash Calestorm had called in some favors and gathered a small team who could be trusted. The former Starfleet security, pilots and border patrol personnel were referred to as the “Ben Gay Brigade” by the younger crew of the transport.

Eh, whatever. If the name fit...

The captain of the hopper had been true to his word and they’d achieved landing at Morag with no incident. Cale and her team had been bird dogging the Ravager camp for two days now, gathering intelligence and digital recordings on Yondu and his band of pirate Ravagers. They had more than enough information at this point on the dealings the pirate band engaged in.

The older woman now lay prone on a shelf of rock, several kilometers distant from the pirate camp. As usual it was raining and she wore wet weather gear. The scope on her sniper rifle never wavered as she kept tabs on the pirate camp and her own team as they went about their business - in disguise as a “crew of ill-repute” - trading supplies with Yondu and his men.

She heard the movement as the piece of rock shifted and whirled, rising and bringing the scope to bear in the direction of the target. Before she could complete the revolution a shape loomed up in her left periphery and half-tackled, half brought down Crash.

In the ensuing scuffle she brought up the matte black combat knife and stopped several inches from slamming it into the intended target between exposed seams. Her notice of the subdued delta shield on the front of the chest plate stopped her in time, thank God.

Crash and her opponent stood apart, both panting; she was pretty sure several scopes had gotten into position to sight down on her by now and slung her own rifle over her shoulder in a deliberate gesture before speaking.

“So you Folks decided to get off your backsides and do something? It’s about damn time. And there are easier ways of getting my attention aside from sneaking up on me.”

“Call off your team. My squad will handle it from here. Consider yourself in protective custody, Captain Calestorm.” Female voice, gruff, slightly distorted by the protective face gear.

Calestorm almost blurted out protective custody? From who, myself? Or doing your job? But instead offered a half-assed salute and responded with a sarcastic. “Yes, Sir.”

She flashed a disdainful look at the gathering Starfleet SpecOps types before speaking into the ear mic to instruct her hired mercs and the team to exfiltrate the camp immediately.

*Nova Corps, Morag, Yondu and the Ravagers appear courtesy of “Guardians of the Galaxy” (2014)

Crash Calestorm was no stranger to these places since the middle-aged officer had spent a good portion of her adult life within their confines gathering information or seeking out contacts and criminals.

...she wasn’t totally sure if this familiarity was a good or a bad thing.

The Andorian band played a new age jazz number while the wait staff circulated among the patrons. An attractive female Human with purple and red dyed hair sidled easily up to the table Cale was ensconced at.

“Long time, Captain.”

“Yep, Anybody been looking for me?”

“Well, I have but what’s the use! What’ll it be?”

“Andorian Ice Rum.”

“The usual poison, got it.” She winked seductively at the older woman and then flitted off to enter the drink order at the main bar.

After thirty minutes had passed and Cale was nursing the drink, a large male alien approached her table and spread his arms. “To your planet, welcome.”

The Chief of Starfleet Border Operations eyed the feathery eyebrowed male appraisingly. “I think that's my line, stranger.”

The alien - Cale couldn’t name his species off the top of her head - settled into the chair opposite her. He glanced furtively around the area as he spoke in his disjointed vernacular. “Oh, forgive. I here am new. But you are known as being Calestorm from Comanche Creek.”

“Formerly of the Comanche Creek. And you have me at a disadvantage, sir. You are?”

“Oh, I name not important. You seek I. Message received. Available ship stands by.”

She leaned forward slightly, now very much interested. “How much and how soon?

“How soon is now. How much is, where?”

“Somewhere in the Outer Sectors.”

“Oh, Outer restricted! Take permits many; money more.”

Crash’s patience had worn out months earlier on this subject matter. Starfleet Command, the Border Patrol, Colonial Operations, Hell, even the Klingons had avoided crossing into the patrol territories claimed under the Nova Corps. In the meantime, Yondu was at large and free to deal in various narcotics.

“There aren't gonna be any damned permits! How can you get a permit to do a damned illegal thing? Look, price you name, money I got.”

“Place *you* name, money *I* name, otherwise bargain, no.”

“Alright, damn it! It's MORAG! The name of the place we're going is Morag!”

“Morag?!”

“Yes, Morag! How can you be freakin’ deaf with ears like that?”

“Morag allowed is not! Is planet forbidden!”

The rotund alien bolted up from his chair and was stopped by Crash with a death grip on the lapels of his jacket.

The abandoned planet - known as Morag - was on a strange rotation, only accessible by a few times during a solar year cycle by short range landing craft. No longer inhabited, it was generally a haven for junkers looking for scrap or outlaws looking to lay low during the visibility cycle. Starfleet had adopted an official hands-off policy for any official operations.

The key word there being ‘official’.

The silver-haired officer growled low in her throat, the animal sound a lingering byproduct of the narcotic the pirate Yondu had pumped her with. He wasn’t going to remain at large to cause more mayhem if she had anything to say about it.

“You listen to me, my backward friend. Genesis may be planet forbidden, but I’m damn well gonna-hmmph!”

A strong hand clamped on her shoulder. Painfully.

“Your voice is carrying, Ma’am. I don’t think this is a conversation you want to be having in public.”

The young man was surprised when Crash swiftly and quietly applied a choke hold. She whispered not-so-sweet-nothings in his ear. “You listen close, Sonny. I’m off duty and on my own dime. Back off before you get hurt, you hear me now?”

She let go of the man and slipped out a side entrance as more Security types entered the club.

= = = =

*Some dialogue appears courtesy of Star Trek III: The Search for Spock (1984)

*The character Yondu, the Nova Corp, and the planet Morag appear courtesy of Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)

Earth Cargo Ship Fitzgerald Edmunds

Near a currently uncharted megastructure

Mala slid into the seat at the helm of the bulk and containerized cargo ship, relieving the previous watch’s helmsman. Since being rescued 18 months previous from a frozen death by the freighter she now helmed, Mala had been a bit of a recluse- by both inclination and because the crew were understandably uneasy around a Romulan in their presence. She’d seen the news reports of the Yorktown rescuing the crew and passengers of “an unidentified Vulcan colony ship,” but that was the last she’d heard of her old crew. As Captain Saalo didn’t have the need for a science specialist, Mala took larboard watch helm of the large freighter. A skill she didn’t need, much like commanding a starship before Virinat, but it was coming in handy. Even if the rations weren’t the greatest.

The ship’s crew was eclectic, not at all like the boomers of the previous century. Even though the ship was licensed by the Earth Cargo Authority, the captain was Bajoran. The first mate, Gorn; the second mate a medically retired member of Starfleet- one of the few, very few survivors of the Battle of Vulcan. Early on, the crew chalked up her lack of familiarity of current events as either traumatic amnesia or Romulan propaganda.

Taking a few moments to familiarize herself with the ship’s location, course and speed, Mala had a good idea where they were. The megastructure off to starboard was a familiar landmark, and usually one they didn’t go visit. ECA regulations were strict enough that a deviation to an uncharted/uncontacted system was usually suspension of their license for over a year, and loss of lucrative contracts. Sometimes, though, a captain would make that deviation just to see what’s lurking beneath the Oort Cloud. Seeing the look on S’shar’s face (such as it was) reflecting on the main viewer told Mala that this was going to change this watch.

“Mala, change courssse. We can sssave 10 hours cutting through the sssyssstem’sss outer planetsss.”

She nodded, and implemented the course change, and watched the ship’s sensors as the Edmunds plunged through the heliopause and Oort Cloud at Warp 2.3. Taking advantage of the cargo ship’s course change, Mala directed the long range sensors to gather as much data as they could about the megastructure and the surrounding system. She was, after all a scientist, but not really a helmsman.

It was, at that moment, that the ship’s sensor suite picked up an explosion of gravitons, tachyons, neutrinos, and other elemental particles moving at the speed of light, rapidly followed by a plasma wave moving perpendicular to the course of the ship. “Mr. S’shar, plasma wave inbound, bearing 270, relative. We’re going to get hit.”

“Get the bow into the wave,” S’shar hiss/growled. “Braccce for collisssion.”

“Attempting to get her bow into the wave!” Mala shouted, as the wave caught the saucer of the freighter. Warning and caution lights began flashing on the helm and engineering consoles. “Helm, impulse and thrusters are not responding!” These warning and caution lights were accompanied by deck vibrations and the sounds of rending metal echoing through the ventilation system...and the bridge plunging into the feeble light of backup systems as the ship split in two, the victim of three waves in rapid succession. The cargo hull, still under power, slammed into the saucer, forcing it out of warp, flipping end over end.

The ship groaned from the torque of the multi-axis spin and sudden deceleration. Structural components failed, falling on to the deck; one large stanchion falling across the center seat...and S’shar. With the detachment of a survivor of the Fall of Virinat, and numerous campaigns against the Tal Shiar, Mala noted the death of the second officer. “This is Mala. S’shar is dead; the ship is not going to survive. Abandon ship. I repeat, abandon ship.” She looked at the few bridge crew still there. “Man your lifepods. The ship is going down.” They nodded and headed for their pods.

For the second time, in almost as many years, Malaelys Valreos would be the last to leave her dying ship.

Her lifepod coasted, inertia carrying her towards the megastructure after the last of the was exhausted. Life support was functional, barely; thankfully the megastructure Mala was drifting towards was a Niven Ring instead of a Dyson Sphere, so her pod’s solar batteries were maintaining a charge. Her speed, however, wasn’t much faster than Voyager 6’s before it disappeared from NASA’s long range tracking- a blister 25 km/s. Making some calculations on the small terminal in front of her, and assuming a constant rate of speed, she frowned at the results. “25 years at this rate. And with only 3 solar days of consumables. Not going to last the week, let alone 25 years.” Touching the scarf looped around her neck and shoulders, a momento from a home that won’t exist for at least a hundred and 40 years, she began powering down what she could.

A loud THUWMP a few days later woke Mala. Looking out the frosted over viewport, she saw the primary of the system eclipsed by a ship not much larger than the Edmund’s bridge module...and the cable that was reeling her in like a freshwater tuna on P3X-442. Can’t run, can’t fight. Let’s just hope they’re friendly, she thought as the cable brought her into a small landing bay, rotating caution lights flashing through the dimly light bay.

The winch lowered her to the sealed hatch, letting the pod rest on its back. Wiping away the frost on the transparencies, she looked around. “Looks like they’re the cast in that holodrama I saw at Starbase Sierra before Daniels…” Opening the hatch to the pod, she stood, lowering the scarf wrapped around her head.

“She doesn’t look like an invader from Zim, what that chap Bertie Georges wrote about in that one scientific romance.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the slave race from The Chronic Argonauts?”

2260.xxx

As the last Sphere Builder ship detonated, the RRW Mahery† and USS Yorktown began pulling away from the Sphere. Charges placed at the key junctures that 0718 directed them to detonated, collapsing the sphere and thermobaric barrier the Sphere Builders were attempting to reconstruct around the Expanse.

“That’s not right,” Daniels muttered from his console, watching the shockwave from the sphere’s implosion race towards the two ships. “Something’s preventing us from going to temporal warp.”

“Emergency power to shields! Helm, get her bow into the wave!” Malaelys Valreos, the ship’s captain hit a soft stud on her command chair. “All hands, brace for impact.” The Ha’nom-class warbird shuddered as the plasma wave struck the science vessel under her starboard wing. The impact sheared the wing right off, warp plasma erupting as the lights went dim. “Daniels, what the name of the Elements is going on?”

“Unknown, Admiral,” the temporal agent replied. “Something blocked our ability to engage both the temporal drive and the Borg temporal beacon Mr. Drake had installed on your ship during the Devidian inci...Ngggggh!”

“Daniels!” Mala shouted as the temporal agent was hit by a wave of shifting temporal energy.

“I’m fine. We need to get out of here. The Sphere Builders aren’t going to appreciate what we accomplished today.”

“We better hurry, there’re several cruisers closing on our position. They match Sphere Builder profiles. Weapons and shields are offline,” tactical and helmsman Tovan Khev announced, an edge of panic in his voice.

Veril, the ship’s Reman engineer looked over from her station. “Singularity containment is becoming unstable. Shock damage from the loss of our starboard wing.” This was accompanied by a rather pleasant voice announcing singularity breach in thirty seconds

Mala hit the comm stud on her chair again. “All hands- abandon ship. Man your evacuation shuttles and escape pods. Shuttle and runabout crews to retrieve pods.” She looked at Tovan. “If I don’t survive, you’re to request asylum from Admiral Garrett and the Federation, and resettlement on one of the Vulcan colony worlds. Starfleet’s Temporal Prime Directive is in force with us, they can’t know a lot about what the future holds.”

“Captain?” Tovan, Veril, and Satra*, the ship’s science officer all asked simultaneously.

“This ship cannot fall into the hands of the Sphere Builders or the Federation of this timeline. Her last duty will be to allow our escape. As for asylum, do you really think we could prosper in this century’s Empire? They’re even more secretive and warlike than when Romulus was destroyed. You, and our crew, would be imprisoned, interrogated, and tortured by the Tal Shiar to change the future. Daniels, will that…Where did he go?”

“He stepped into the lift. I’m guessing to evacuate with the rest of the crew.”

“To your man your escape pods. And if I don’t see you, Ambassador Spock’s customary saying is appropriate- Live long, and prosper.” As her senior staff, crew that was with her since the days after the Tal Shiar and Elachi attacks on Virinat, evacuated, Mala moved over to the helm console, and began guidance into the autopilot. Unlike LCDR George Kirk, the last captain of the USS Kelvin, the autopilot and auto-nav features of the ship hadn’t yet been knocked offline.

“Autopilot enabled; maximum thrust enabled. WARNING: Collision Course.” Feeling the momentary lag of the ship’s inertial dampening, Mala watched the center Sphere Builders’ cruiser closing, before running for the escape pod cluster off the bridge. Two jets of flame, and her pod rocketed away from her doomed ship, brilliantly lit up in the night; her accolades and awards glowing on her bow.

She watched as the bow of her ship plowed through the shields of the Sphere Builder cruiser, heartbeats before containment on the singularity failed. With a burst of plasma and gamma rays, the Mahery gave her life, destroyed by her own power core and taking the three ships that meant to do her and her crew harm.

The Yorktown returned, to investigate the sudden gamma ray burst, and began retrieving the Romulan crew from the future. Mala looked around in her one man pod, trying to see why her subspace beacon was malfunctioning. With a flash, the Yorktown, her crew and her hope for immediate rescue warped out of the Delphic Expanse.

_________________________________________________

RRW- Romulan Republic Warbird- The identification prefix of ships of the post-Romulan diaspora,in opposition to Empress Sela’s Tal Shiar-dominated Romulan Empire. The Republic is aligned with both the Federation and Klingon Empire, and provides a home for both Romulans and Remans fleeing the more oppressive Empire. Along with the Federation and Klingon Empire, the Republic is a playable faction in Star Trek Online

--

Audraya Wesley, CAPT, Starfleet

Commanding Officer

USS Comanche Creek, NCC-214

Steam billowed billowed out of the bathroom as she entered, and slipped into the stream of hot water. Sure, Shalin was going to yell at her for water wastage, but she didn’t care. The hot water pounded her back, washing the perspiration and tension out of her. It was probably the second best tension relief she could have.

Wrapped in a robe, she left the bathroom and moved towards her office. “Message for Admiral Coyote. Post refit shakedown at Sigma 759 proving grounds has been suspended. We’ve run into an abandoned ship that drifted into the exercise area. Quantum scans indicate the vessel is around two hundred thousand years old. Yes, Crash, I said 2 hundred thousand years old.

“WIth negative lifesigns and heavy carbon scoring on the hull, we slowed the ship’s tumble and docked. Investigations are ongoing, however we discovered remains onboard the vessel- human, or human-derivative; synthroids and pure mechanoids. It’s speculated that the synthroids are both infiltration and command unit, with the mechanoids their centurions. Doctor T’Aral’s autopsy and analysis reports are appended.

“The vessel itself doesn’t comply with standard ship design. The bridge is buried deep within the armored hull. There are no visible FTL drives; however Commander Shalin’s team is currently conducting deep analysis of the vessel’s engineering section. Weapons systems seem to be comprised of solid and explosive shot railgun rounds and conventional and nuclear tipped missiles. We’re currently have teams looking over the small craft bays. That report will be appended upon completion.

“Commander Shalin has got power and life support operational by tying in three fighter power plants into their power grid. Doctor T’Aral and her staff are currently monitoring personnel for unidentified microbial infection. Appended is Commander Kvar’s report and translation matrix of their language, as are all sensor logs of the ship.

“I just have one question, Admiral- Can we keep her?”

Shalin -> The door to the Captain's head?

STSF_Scooter -> ::stands and walks over to it...entering:: Sure doesn't look like a head to me.

Shalin -> ... then I don't know, Ma'am. The remodelers came through ... I never actually went in there.

STSF_Scooter -> Understandable then.

Shalin -> :: Peeks behind the Captain, suddenly curious ... ::

The lights came up, revealing the Captain’s At Sea cabin. It wasn’t much anyway, just a single bunk and a locker for spare uniforms; it gave Audraya a place to rest during extended alert conditions or when patrolling a particularly nasty portion of the border. “I guess it’ll do. But needs a different shade of paint in here. The ‘Battleship Grey’ is going to get really depressing, really fast.

“Now then, Mr. Shalin, how quickly can your staff reconfigure new quarters?”

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I had arrived on Earth early. My plan then was to find an apartment close enough to the Academy, but that was dashed the moment I decided to report in first. When I arrived at the Dean’s office, I was greeted by Yeoman Kelly. She was the only nice thing about this office, as I was unknowingly about to step into the depths of Hell, and inside was the Devil himself.

When I stood before Admiral McAlister, rather than an introduction, it felt more like an inquisition. The gruff old man looked like he had never smiled in his entire life. He didn’t seem to care that I was here. And by the way he talked, he didn’t seem to care for Admiral Coyote or even Captain Calestorm for that matter. The worse part was before I could even speak he had stripped me of my full rank, making me a cadet and even assigned me to shared quarters in the junior cadet dorms.

At that point I wondered if I could back out now…

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My dorm room actually wasn’t that bad, though I was never alone. I shared the room with two other cadets, Cynthia Danvers and Megan Alexander. Cynthia was planning to be an engineer, while Megan was in science. Both were human, and both very young, though I wasn’t too much older myself. I had simply witnessed many things on board the CC, which matured me. They were both very eager to hear all of my experiences on a starship, and I was happy to tell them.

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It wasn’t long after I settled in that classes had started. I actually enjoyed them, sometimes a little too much. School was just something I had always loved, and it was something I could use to keep my mind off of other things such as worrying about the Creek. I had even gained a mentor, Captain Yusei Saito, my advanced tactics instructor. He was a fountain of knowledge and he didn’t mind sharing. Whenever I had a problem, he was the one to go to. I would definitely need him in the times ahead.

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So the time had come, much sooner than I had anticipated. The infamous Kobayashi Maru simulation stood before me. I remember from my previous time at the Academy that the Kobayashi was supposed to be later in the courses, but maybe since I was an advanced student they did things differently. It was the first time sitting in the center chair for the simulation and I was nervous. I was always nervous sitting in the big chair, even when I was on the Creek.

It was how I remembered the simulation back when I sat at the communications console. Our ship was on mission until a distress call came in from a damaged transport, claiming that it was drifting into Klingon territory. Our ship responded, and then a Klingon ship arrived. All of it to that point was straight out of the textbook, but this was the point I flipped the script. When we hailed the enemy ship, I began talking in Klingon. It caught many of my crew off guard, and according to the rumors, the simulation itself had stalled briefly before it adapted. Of course in the end it didn’t matter. My ship and the Maru were still destroyed, but that moment gave people something to talk about for a while. Even Captain Saito complimented me, stating it was definitely something he had never seen before.

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I found a new hobby during my downtime; songwriting. It was something I was introduced to one night when I was with Cynthia. She was listening to something called Rock. I was instantly hooked, and it seemed the harder it was, the more I was into it. This was definitely the type of release I needed to help me get through the tough nights, and it was only going to get tougher from here.

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I couldn’t believe it. It hadn’t even been a full month and I was already sitting in the Kobayashi Maru simulator again. It was very rare to have to go through the simulation again, but it was not unheard of. As a matter of fact, Captain Kirk had taken the test more than once. Of course he had cheated on his second try, which had gotten him expelled from the Academy. I didn’t have that luxury. I trudged through the simulation, changing up a few things, but of course had the same result at the end.

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Midterms were finally coming up. I couldn’t believe I was halfway through already. After passing them with flying colors, I took the chance to celebrate.

Using my connections from my time spent in the communications lab, I was able to set up a real-time video channel to the Comanche Creek. I was so excited to finally see Audraya’s face for the first time since I left, but I was taken off guard with what I saw. She was covered in bumps and bruises. Apparently she was recovering from a very violent fight she was in with Byblos. I didn’t get the full details, but many things had been said that fully escalated into an all out brawl. I scolded her a little, but it turned out Calestorm had everything under control.

I didn’t tell her much about what was happening here. I mentioned McAlister was a hard ass, but I didn’t want to worry her with details. After all, this could have just been blown out of proportion.

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Unbelievable. My third attempt at the Kobayashi. Was I doomed to take this simulation for the rest of my life? It sure seemed like it, and the look of concern on Captain Saito’s face afterwards seemed to paint that picture.

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One night I was pulled into Saito’s office. He had something urgent he wanted to tell me. Showing me a PADD, my heart had sank. I felt like I wanted to cry, but didn’t show it. I had been slated to take the Kobayashi Maru for a fourth time, but before I could respond Saito said that he personally canceled the simulation.

It turns out McAlister was the one that kept putting my name on the list. I asked why he would do that and Saito finally gave me the answer, which shed light on a great number of things. It all stemmed from the FTR program. McAlister had been top in line to lead the program before Admiral Coyote was ultimately selected. Apparently this was a grudge that the now Dean of Command School could never live down. McAlister had set everything up against me, the demotion, all the Kobayashi runs, everything. It was all an attempt to break down one of Coyote’s officers to eventually embarrass her.

Saito had also mentioned that McAlister was overstepping his bounds. Though he was the Dean, all of his actions still had to go through the approval of the Academy Council Board. The Captain was ready to step in with the board and undermine the Admiral if I was ready to do so. It was real tempting to me. I had thought about putting an end to it right then and there, but a part of me told me to wait it out. I felt an opportunity to confront the situation would soon present itself, so I asked Saito to hold off.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I received a cryptic message from Audraya today. The Creek was in at New Topeka for a full refit, and the crew was being scattered about on temporary assignments. Audraya herself was getting dragged into some mission with OSI. She didn’t tell me in detail, but I knew exactly where she was heading, back to T’tooine. So many bad memories there, and I couldn’t help worrying for her. It was the worst time to get this message too. Finals were coming right around the corner.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So finals had come and gone. As expected, I passed with full honors. I finished in the top 2% of my class. To celebrate, the rest of the girls wanted to take me out for the night. But before I went, I wanted to make a little change to commemorate the occasion. I went to the local salon and changed my hair up, giving myself red highlights. From there, I bought some clothes to give me a bit of a rocker feel. It was a little different from what I was used to, but it felt good.

After the makeover, the girls took me to the bar that was a big hit with Academy students. It was called the Red Star Nightclub, and it was packed. Seemed like there were more than just cadets there. I’m pretty sure I saw Yeoman Kelly and Captain Saito there at one point. While here, I was introduced to something called the Warp Core Explosion. Latter on in the night my head was going to regret that.

It was karaoke night at the club, but it didn’t seem like anyone was willing to get sing. After a bit of convincing by Cynthia and Megan and the help of another WCE, I finally agreed to get up and sing. I chose DOROTHY’s “After Midnight” and it was a huge hit. The crowd absolutely enjoyed it, and I was a little taken back by it. But once I tried to leave the stage, I was stopped. Cynthia and some of the others wouldn’t let me go sit down. The crowd had wanted more, and they weren’t about to let me simply stop there.

Cynthia talked me into singing some of my own songs that I had written, so I did, and I didn’t regret a single thing. We rocked the rest of the night. The club owner complimented me and said the crowd was the best he had seen in a long time. He seemed to think my music had a lot to do with it.

I was happy with my little show, thinking it was a good one time memorable moment, but it turned out that was far from the end. Unbeknownst to me at the time, someone had recorded my performance and soon spread it around the net.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night before my graduation ceremony will also be something I’ll never forget, as it was a true turning point in my life. I had been summoned back into hell, McAlister’s office. As soon as I entered, he poured it on. He threatened me, showing me a recording of my impromptu concert, belittling my looks, calling me a disgrace to the Academy and Starfleet. He did all he could to break me down right there, telling me that I would not graduate with honors, saying I wouldn’t get my rank back, and even going as far as saying I’ll never return to the Comanche Creek.

This was the final straw. I tore into him verbally like I had never done before, and it felt great. The look on his face was something I’ll never forget. I explained to him that everything he had done to this point was wrong and that he was doing it without the approval of the council. I gave him the ultimatum that if he didn’t drop everything against me and restore my rank and honors that I would not only go to the board, but drag him through every channel of Starfleet Command and JAG that I could before everything was over. McAlister quietly agreed. Before I left, I told him that he was now on double secret probation and that if he ever tried that kind of stunt again I would find out about it and come after him.

The next day I graduated with full honors and was set to return home, or at least sort of.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With the refit of the Creek still underway, I was given a couple weeks of leave. During that time I had taken advantage of my new found fame and performed for a few establishments on my way back to New Topeka. It was quite an enjoyable trip back.

Once back to Topeka Station, I was put to work in Admiral Coyote’s office, as a communications consultant among other things. I heard from some of the office staff that Coyote might find it hard to let me go once the ship refit is done, but nothing is going to stop me from getting back to Comanche Creek. I’m ready to come home.

= = = = 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 = = = =

= = = = 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 = = = =

Harris: Then I suggest you adjust your comfort level, Lieutenant.

Old United Stares Territory

Former State of Georgia

2261

As a person aged, they naturally acquired skill sets depending on their line of work. A person could be anything to a crackerjack secretary with the civilian workforce to an EOD specialist with the Starfleet Marines to a Historical Sciences officer serving on a survey vessel attached to the private First Contact sector.

A lot of folks considered starship commanders the best of the Starfleet breed, but that wasn’t really true. Or to clarify, this was what she had discovered. Once you got out there in the black expanse you realized that sure, you had the training for the position but it was the acquired skills and training that really made the difference.

Well, all that along with a healthy dose of common sense.

Was she a good starship commander? Calestorm had no idea and that opinion depended on who you asked.

Did she have common sense? Again, that depended on who you spoke to.

Common sense was also another way of knowing when to be a coward for a minute than dead for the rest of your life, or so the old Irish saying went. Her grandfather had been fond of quoting from the “Motherlands” as he jokingly referred to Ireland and Scotland.

But she did notice things. Like the fact the birds had stopped chirping.

Captain Ashton ‘Crash’ Calestorm kept her sight on the tree line, straight ahead ‘cause that was where the uninvited guest was coming from. Her one hand was occupied with a glass of sweet tea that she raised to her lips while the other was occupied with the trigger of Granddads pump-action shotgun that lay across her knees.

The security system hadn’t been triggered and she hadn’t heard the engine of a shuttle. Her guess was either a hover car or standard automobile. Years back, all those science fiction books and 2-D television shows had assumed hover cars would be the way to travel but regular cars had stuck around, mostly clean fuel versions. Even the old gas guzzlers such as her 1966 Pontiac had been converted to some form of electric or plasma energy.

Her glance traveled over to the storage shed where the car sat, a glint of the afternoon sun glinting off the hood. Then her no nonsense gaze fixed on the tree line again. The only visitors she’d been expecting was family and friends who had the clearance codes to the Coyote Run property and that meant this would go really well or someone was going to get a really rude awakening.

She’d never be accused of being twitchy but her old age had made her cautious. Or grumpy. She was finding it hard to tell these days.

A squirrel – the one with the missing tuft of tail – shot out of the bushes and climbed up the trunk of a tree before the rustling reached her ears. Seconds later, a Human emerged from the relative obscurity of the woods.

Not bad. Probably has some SpecOps training…

The man was tall, average build and wore a simple black uniform tunic and trousers. He was younger then Calestorm with sandy colored hair close cropped and starting to go gray at the temples. He had a burn scar that ran from the corner of his left eye down to the jaw line. It was odd to see a superficial scar in this day and age of medical advances.

She kept a close eye on him the whole time.

* * * *

Special Agent Harris stopped at least a dozen paces out from the woods, roughly at the halfway mark between the log cabin and the brush and trees.

With the combat boots, cargo pants, denim shirt and camouflage wrapped shot gun, a Mossberg 835 Turkey Popper if he was guessing correctly and done his research - which of course he had - she looked like a redneck who should have been running moonshine whiskey from county to county in one of those stereotypical good ol’ boy country films that had been so popular back in the 1970’s and 1980’s.

He knew that could be further from the truth based on her service record. Harris watched as she carefully put the glass down on a small patio table and unfolded her lanky frame from the folding hunter’s chair. Shotgun held away yet at the ready, the starship captain mad her way down the composite wood steps leading to the porch.

The silence stretched out until it was Calestorm who broke it. “Welcome. Got a name? And what happened here?” She indicated her face.

Harris nodded in greeting and then answered. “A reminder of the last team I deployed with. Lost a couple of people. Completed the mission, but things went sideways.”

Okay, Harris isn’t a**hole but he’s not begun to adjust his course dealing with the demons though. She made a mental note.

“Why are you here?”

“My unit requires your assistance with a mission. You’ve come to our attention based on your past involvement with the ORP, specifically, the assignment to Idiri K Five*.

There was no dickering around here, this was for sure.

The Officer Recovery Program had been responsible for the recovery of noncom-grade and officer personnel from covert operations that had ended, or were mostly ended. The assignments could range from non-interference observation of an evolving culture to deep cover within the ranks of a pirate clan preying on cargo haulers.

ORP missions had typically involved ferrying assets from point A to point B for drop off and debriefing. When things got weird the assignments were a straight up run and gun extraction. Then Lieutenant Commander Calestorm had done two years with the program with then Commander Shauna Coyote as lead handler.

The program had since been enveloped under Starfleet Intelligence Operations and …Crash hadn’t heard the name K Five in a long time.

“As ah recall, Thirty One came to ORP and asked for assistance with that one. I suggest you contact them.” Her tone was cool and on DefCon Accent Eleventy.

He only had a slight reaction to her blatant use of the Starfleet covert organization. “Actually, that is who I represent.”

She paused, her expression exasperated and then she spit out her opinion on the matter. “What the Hell is this? Is every covert Starfleet group in operation volun-tolding Border Patrol personnel now?”

Calestorm deliberately made an overt reference to the recent cryptic note she’d received from her Exec, Commander Wesley and…Harris made no comment. Of course he didn’t. She knew there were a limited number of experienced personnel that could be tapped for high value assignments, especially after the destruction of the Fleet at Vulcan. As such, Crash and Scooter were two such qualified officers.

Didn’t mean Calestorm had to like it…she ran a hand through her short silver-white hair. Her emotions debated with her logic and the outcome was somewhere in between Flaming Mad and Ticked as Hell.

“Fine. Harris, you can deal with our commanding officer when she finds out. First Threat Response Program, Commanding Officer - Admiral Coyote, remember that name ‘cause she sure as Hell will remember you. Good luck with that.”

“I will. She will be contacted shortly as well to inform her of your acceptance of the extraction assignment.”

“In case you ain’t noticed, I haven’t said ‘yes’ to anything, boy.”

“You don’t have to. Here’s your assignment.” Unperturbed, Harris held out a simple data chip. Well, simple except for the bright pink color of the chip. Crash took the item gingerly as if it would explode in her hand.

“And here is your backup.”

Two forms emerged from the wooded area and scared the freakin’ proverbial you know what out of her; there was only one species that could sneak up on Calestorm like that.

The data chip dropped to the grass. She knew they were both good at sneaking, but despite knowing that fact she reflexively crouched and pumped a round into the shotgun as it swung on the felinoids. There was no retort of the weapon. No fur or blood exploded into a cloud. Just as quickly as she had moved, the older woman automatically and quickly unchambered the round, withdrew her finger from the trigger and pointed the shotgun to it’s safer and upright position.

Crash was practically apoplectic. “Dammit, y’all know better then that!”

Lieutenant Jagrissa Shaow Vacer Honor-Scar and Commander Kansas Vacer JoNs didn’t so much as purr or say a word. The female cousins as one just put their paws in the air in a facsimile of ‘we surrender’. She swore JoNs was smirking.

Smart ass cats…

“Good hunting, Captain. I’ll leave you and your team to your mission.” He nodded and then began to retreat back the way he’d come.

She waited until he’d gone a slight distance and then called his name. Harris stopped, turned and regarded her.

“Lose the scar, it don’t suit you. Your memories honor your team and you’ll know what not to do the next time.”

Harris gave her a funny little look and seemed about to say something. But, he just nodded silently and then quietly made his way back into the wooded area.

* * * *

Calestorm watched him go and listened until he was out of earshot before turning her attention back to the golden furred cats, “Oh fer the love of – put your paws down!” and pointed towards the house with her free hand while the other held the now disengaged shotgun barrel upright against her shoulder.

“Well, Ladies, I’ve got an extra room. You two shed, you’re responsible for sweeping it up. Any questions? No? Good. Welcome to Coyote Run and let’s start making plans.

* See “Hang Tree Flats” Log (08.30.09) for reference: http://www.stsf.net/...showtopic=19380

Dusty Ford, New Topeka

1130 hours, local

SD 2261.362

Audraya slid into the booth and settled down on the vinyl-covered bench. Moonshines, in Dusty Ford (a misnomer of a town name, since it was on the coast), was your typical, cliche’d 1950’s diner- good, cheap food; decent service, lots of shiny chrome and easy to clean vinyl. She’d found the place while scoping out sites to retire to. Audraya was, as she was fond of pointing out, not getting any younger. She was a week into her three week leave before going TDY to one of the Epsilon stations.

The waitress, Margo, had just placed a mug of coffee on the table, after taking her order. A sip passed Audraya’s lips, the hot caffeinated beverage waking her up even more than the early morning call from the realtor’s office. “Commander Wesley?”

She looked up from her mug, and narrowed her eyes. “Major Mulder, I see Starfleet Office of Special Investigations has gotten a new tailor. What do I have the misfortune of your visit this time?”

“We want you to return to T’tooine.”

“Excuse me, Major, but I recall barely getting out of there the last time alive. And with two members of my crew kidnapped by my late brother. Which,” Audraya’s voice dropped since she wasn’t sure how much of their rescue mission was and/or wasn’t classified, “resulted in our ‘participation’ in Operation Whiteout. And let’s not forget the last time you came to debrief and interrogate me.”

Scully spoke up. “Commander, we’re not sending you in to be an agent. We’re sending you to bust J’bba’s wide open. Mareena, and some local assets, have provided quite a treasure trove of information about that establishment. Slavery, narcotics, weapons trafficking, fencing; you name the vice, J’bba has his hand in it. We believe that your aunt wants him shut down.”

With the a snarl forming, Scooter looked at the two OSI agents. “I don’t care what Mareena wants. She and I haven’t seen eye to eye since Commodore Wesley rescued me, considering my own family sold me as chattel.”

Mulder tossed a tablet on the table. “You remember Juverna?” Audraya nodded. “Seems J’bba’s got something in store for her. And it’s not pretty. That Augment you were working with, Log’n, tipped us off that there’s to be an auction in a few weeks.”

“Dos srowSscha*,” she growled at Mulder in Low Kolari. “How dare you bring that up.”

“Commander,” Scully said, placatingly, “my partner wanted to make you aware of J’bba’s trafficking. We want you to lead a crack team of agents to liberate his sentient merchandise, destroy his warehouses, and bring him back for trial.”

“Senger vel'bol oolos nindolen dhynen tlu*” Audraya muttered. “You think it’s going to be that easy? Walk in, capture J’bba, free the slaves, and destroy the warehouse? By the old gods, you people live in a white tower.”

“Commander, your current orders have already been rescinded as has your leave. There’s a Vanguard-class shuttle waiting to take you and the team you’re to lead at the airport,” Mulder said.

“Do I at least have time to tell Commander Kvar what’s happening?”

“You do,” Scully said. The redhead did understand, even if it wasn’t 100% protocol for this.

“Thank you Major.”

Mulder looked put out as he retrieved the tablet from the table. “Shuttle leaves at 1330, Commander, pad 34. Stay in your civilian clothes.”

~~~~~~~~

Scooter sat in the parking lot of the local coastguard station, tablet in hand. “Dearest Tifa, I don’t want you to worry about me. OSI is really starting to annoy me; they’ve ‘volunteered’ me again for one of their operations. It’s a planet that we both know far too well, kind of a white out world. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’ll still try to write while I’m gone.

“The ship, I don’t know if you’ve heard, is in spacedock for a full rebuild. Hopefully, you’ll be assigned to Wile E.’s office for the duration. She could probably use the help.

“Your ever loving,

Audraya”

________________________

Dos srowSscha- You scumbag

Senger vel'bol oolos nindolen dhynen tlu "Lord what fools these mortals be!" Puck,A Midsummer's Night Dream, III.ii

TO: All Sector and Department Commands

RE: Kelvin-class Heavy Frigate Life Extension Program

1. Starfleet Engineering and Bureau of Ships (BuShips) has identified, based on preliminary findings of the Accident Investigation Board into the loss of the USS Kerr, that all Kelvin-class starships have a potential for accelerated stress fatigue in both upper and lower structural pylons. Chief Engineers of forward deployed ships are required to conduct a structural survey of both pylon hard connections to the saucer, secondary hull, and nacelle. Any structural deficiency is to be reported up through the chain of command.

2. Starfleet Engineering and BuShips have identified that the Kelvin-class heavy destroyer design has not stayed consistent with ship classes coming currently online and future designs. Starfleet Engineering and BuShips has determined that the Constitution-class heavy cruiser planform combined with the Miranda-class heavy frigate saucer extension as the optimal planform for the Kelvin-class heavy frigate.

3. Starfleet Engineering and BuShips has also identified that the current nacelle design creates an inefficient warp field, leading to shorter time between refuelings, increased wear on warp field coils and warp plasma conduits.

4. It is the determination of Starfleet Engineering and BuShips that the refitting of Kelvin-class starships will require 12-18 months in drydock for stripping of the existing spaceframe down to the structural members and keel, and replace existing components with all new components. Forward deployed Kelvins are to report to their sector headquarters for refit; Kelvins currently in reserve status will not be subject to this program unless brought out of reserve status.

5. BuShips will transfer the necessary vessels to supplement those departments whose sole or primary assets are Kelvin-class ships with other Starfleet assets.

= = Mission Brief = =

11.02.15 Mission Brief: Sept 30, 2261 (Stardate 2261.243) STSF_Scooter -> Ok...TBS is 72 hours. We'll be closer towards a nice, quiet backwater region of the border

= = End Brief = =

= = Mission Brief = =

10.26.15 Mission Brief: Sept 27, 2261 (Stardate 2261.240) TBS has been 20 Minutes. Per orders from the FTR Admiralty, we have altered course from the Outer Rim border to patrol along the Klingon-Romulan-Federaton borders.

= = End Brief = =

Planet Goram

Outer Sector Grid 16

Former Flight Operations Warehouse

The Jesters had operated out of the ruins of the Starfleet ground base for years until Starfleet swooped in and took back Goram. He’d lost a lucrative smuggling contract once the client got wind of Starfleet, equipment had been confiscated and several of his goons had been arrested.

He was a little ticked off you might say.

Yondu Aldanta, pirate leader of the Lunatic Jesters, hid in the shadows on the upper catwalk. The Fleeters had been nosing around the outer sector warehouse for the last couple of days and he intended some payback.

He stroked a sniper rifle as if it were a lover, his calloused hands caressing the weapon in a very obscene manner; it was a heavily modified Klingon Tepes1-class, almost unrecognizable from the original configuration. The rifle was loaded with a round of pure Black Pearl, encased in a quick lapse tranquilizer dart. In addition to the Pearl, the tranquilizer concoction was further laced with Necro and Nox, two highly potent narcotics also popular with the black market and the combination would prove to be one Hell of a time on a high.

Yondu allowed a big smile to split his blue skinned and weather beaten features. He had waited and sure enough, several targets presented themselves.

= = = =

“This is it?” Calestorm’s tone was not impressed. In fact it was disgusted. “Commander, have you taken leave of your senses?” The tall and lean woman turned with her field jacket rustling slightly as she shifted position to look directly at JoNs. Unimpressed captain was unimpressed.

Commander Kansas JoNs of the USS Washingtons Crossing favored the older Human women with a rare grin; unlike her blood cousin, the upright - or was that uptight? - by the book Caitian was not one for humor.

“No, I have not, Sir. This warehouse structure was the original location of the landing port. With the proper conversion, I feel as if it would make an excellent secondary base for Goram with the possible expansion including Special Operations training and command base.”

Said cousin, Lieutenant Jumper Honor-Scar of Calestorm’s own command, the USS Comanche Creek, picked up the conversation from there. “My flight squad recorded the structure on one of the initial aero recon sweeps and earmarked it for Commander JoNs’ long term project investigation teams, Captain.”

Cale turned to Staff Sergeant Vega of the ‘Creek MARDET as he too considered the options. The senior NCO gave the structure a critical eye. The junior Jarhead he’d brought with him to qualify for field time management had recently been promoted to the rank of Corporal and the man had so far done what he was supposed to do – shut the hell up and observe.

Vega shrugged eloquently in reply. “It’s as good a place as any for a forward training facility and contact waypoint, Ma’am.”

Crash waved the team forward in response. JoNs gave the Security guard on point guard duty a nod and the shore party entered the warehouse through the open double slider doors.

= = = =

Aldanta took a breath, released it and squeezed the trigger.

= = = =

The dart didn’t strike the intended target, which had been the felinoid wearing the modified Starfleet uniform of the SEAL team attached to the Border Patrols First Threat Response Program. The toxic ballistic had nailed the senior FTR officer on site square in the neck as she crossed in front of the firing; it had only taken a second. Calestrom jerked from the impact and went down with a gurgle of vomit spray from the force of the toxins entering her bloodstream.

Yondu muttered “Dammit!” under his breath and quickly prepped for another shot

= = = =

He didn’t need to take a second shot to cause any more trouble for the Fleeters.

The pirate had heard rumors and fact regarding the side effects of the drugs crammed into the dart, mainly that they could bring the violent, animalistic side out in certain cases. He’d wanted to hit one of the Caits just ‘cause they were felinoid and much closer to their forebears then the Humans – in his opinion.

But, this? He’d not expected this. This was the jackpot!

With a scream she bolted up from her crumpled position, throwing off Honor-Scar and Vega who had gone to help the fallen officer.

Skin bubbled as if hundreds of worms were just under the surface. Arms and legs grew elongated, ankles and lower legs snapping into an inverted position like those of an animal. Fingers grew as nails turned razor sharp. She gained at least four inches to her height. Fur the color of gray-silver sprung out, blending into and matching Calestorm’s hair color. Facial muscles contorted and grew, ears grew.

With a leering and toothy smile, Aldanta used the satisfying confusion and terror to make himself scarce.

= = = =

JoNs dove behind the storage crates, scrambling for purchase as she hit the flooring next to her cousin and across from the Humans who had taken cover across the aisle. A burst of weapons fire followed by a scream and thud indicated that the Security guard had been subdued.

As the senior officer present after Calestorm, uh, did whatever she had just done, the Cait was already running mentally running through their options. “Sergeant Vega, we require a sound tactical plan.”

“Commander, with due respect I’m a Marine not Van Helsing dammit!”

Corporal Carl ‘Leroy’ Jenkins chose that moment to comment. “Van Helsing? Wasn’t he supposed to be a vampire hunter? The Cap’n looks way more like a wolf or something. Aren’t they extinct on Ear--”

“Shut the frag up Carl!” Vega risked a quick look over the crates and then turned his attention back to the Commander, “--we can’t hurt her. There’s got to be some way to take her down with a minimum of bloodshed.”

Vega was cut off from whatever he was about to say as an empty cargo barrel went sailing over their hiding area followed by a mighty howl. Everyone ducked down further.

Honor-Scar shifted position slightly to look around her cousin at the Human Male. With ears flattened, her lowered tone came out sarcastic. “Hurt her, Staff?”

The older of the two female Caits hissed and gave a quick chop of her right paw through the air. The vocalization and gesture wasn’t meant to be derisive, it was just the Commanders way. As the senior command officer present, JoNs took over the shore party immediately with no hesitation.

“Honor-Scar, comm the Comanche Creek and get a Medical team on site as soon as possible, we’ll likely need them…,” her purred voice trailed off and she winced as another roar reverberated through the abandoned warehouse. She exchanged a quick look with her cousin who gave a wordless nod of either confirmation or approval.

JoNs continued speaking. “There’s no way we can take her in the open, not if she’s hunting.”

The NCO spoke quickly and concisely, years of training and skirmish experience bolstering his instincts; he sensed an unspoken plan of action and inquired of the two Caitian officers. “Okay, what are you two Sirs thinking? We’re certainly not going to rush her.”

JoNs shook her head in the negative. “At least not technically, but we do need to bait her. She’s hunting and half out of her mind with rage. All of us rushing her will do no good and if we leave the warehouse and go out in the open she’ll just pick us off. And I’m not beaming out without her. Here’s what we’re going to do…”

= = = =

“Leeeeeeroy Jenkins!” The Corporal rushed at the transformed Calestorm, a makeshift riot shield from discarded warehouse materials held in front of him. Vega followed, tense and ready for combat.

Crash caught the riot shield and flung it and Jenkins through the air; twisting, the newly promoted enlisted man got the shield under him as a deflection sled for the rough landing. The “bait” had worked and she now focused her animal rage on Vega and howled.

A hail of heavy stun phaser fire lambasted the Captain in several dozen pinpricks of blue as JoNs and Honor-Scar fired as quickly as they could.

She stumbled to one knee and Vega chose that moment to attack; he rushed forward and with a well-place roundhouse born of plain old fear connected squarely with the wolf-things snout. Calestorm yelped like a dog and staggered backward, going down with a thud under the hail of stun and the belt from Vega. She laid still, her chest rising and falling rapidly in indication that she was still alive.

An uneasy silence descended on the warehouse that had almost been the scene of unimaginable carnage.

JoNs emerged from cover, phasers still drawn as she closed in on where Crash had fallen. Vega held position as backup…just in case. The Commander knelt to tentatively take a manual neck pulse with a paw. Honor-Scar went in the direction where soft moans were now coming from, likely the fallen Security guard.

Both of the felinoid officer’s tails were completely puffed out, just like freaked out housecats. The Sarge really couldn’t blame them, however.

As Vega and the JoNs watched in disbelief, the older woman reverted to her Human form among the rags that had once been a Starfleet uniform.

Honor-Scar broke from the group to place a second communication to ‘Creek, claiming no fatalities but urging the medical team to hurry.

The quiet was only broken only by a lone voice that called out from behind a jumble of crates where he had landed. “Are all deployments this…Furry?”

Corporal Jenkins was just fine, thank you very much.

“Shut the frag up Carl!” Vega barked out.

Happy Halloween, Folks! =)

= = Mission Brief = =

10.19.15 Mission Brief: Sept 27, 2261 (Stardate 2261.240) TBS has been 1 Week. We are beginning preparations to launch out from the planet Goram, leaving final base reestablishment preparations to the remaining First Threat Response Teams in orbit.

= = End Brief = =

= = Mission Brief = =

10.12.15 Mission Brief: Sept 20, 2261 (Stardate 2261.233) TBS has been 24 Hours. Cargo Bay 3 has apparently been converted into a hockey rink.

= = End Brief = =

= = Mission Brief = =

10.05.15 Mission Brief: Sept 19, 2261 (Stardate 2261.232) TBS has been 2 Hours. We pick up where we left off with the 09.28.15 Sim.

= = End Brief = =