SS Corsair/Plot Log

[Kansas 0]

Elsewhere in the Alpha Quadrant...

 

Starbase 24 was one of the bigger Starfleet space stations, and therefore got a modest amount of military, merchant marine, and civilian traffic traveling through the sector or pulling in at the base.

 

Malachi Morgan, captain of the Dragonfly civilian class cargo hauler Corsair, stood on the main command bridge of his boat and looked out the clear forward windshield canopy with an expression of both confusion and consternation. He ran a hand through his dark brown hair, worn in his usual longer cut, and kept shifting his weight from booted foot to booted foot.

 

Typically, when civilian and military cargo ships and working ships opted to pull into a star base for repairs or re-supplying or what have you, all ships were required to fall into a docking queue and berth according to the assignment issued by the Operations office of the star base. The process was usually orderly, and only took a little time out of your busy schedule while you waited your ship’s turn to dock.

 

This however, was unprecedented. The Corsair had been waiting to dock for almost two hours now, and the Ops office of the base just kept transmitting a generic ‘please maintain your holding pattern position and your docking code and berth will be transmitted shortly’ message over the ship to ship to base wireless communications.

 

Typically, clearance and docking took twenty minutes, tops, at a Fleet star base such as Twenty Four.

 

The human turned to his only other fellow human on the bridge. “What is taking so long?”

 

Mal directed the question over to where his First Mate “Big Jack” Daniels was sitting at one of the side control consoles, monitoring the communications channels via the main control board of his station and a blue tooth device firmly stuck in one ear. His dark complexion and features were also drawn in a tight concern as he turned and answered his captain. “Station Ops relay that all ships are being patrolled, monitored, and will only be allowed to dock once the transmittal codes are cleared.”

 

His concern shooting even higher into the stratosphere, Mal turned his attention onto his Klingon chief engineer, B’Krel. “We’re legitimate, right?”

 

B’Krel nodded enthusiastically, the golden highlights in her luxurious brown hair catching the overhead command module lighting. “We’re as legitimate as the day this bucket was formally commissioned. I stenciled on the original hull numbering, identification numbers, and everything. The hidden cargo hatch area? Went legit as well – I stuck the supplies from our last run in there, even put up a sign that says ‘storage’ in about four different languages. Trust me Mal, we’re on the level.”

 

Sh’Tamshen, a blue skinned Andorian humanoid who worked as the Corsair’s crack pilot, cocked an antenna to one side and cracked a joke. “Most of us even cleaned up and put on our best clothes for this occasion of actually pulling into one of the main line ports after being out on the frontier planet grid for so long Mal.”

 

A deep and concerned voice sounded across the bridge, interrupting the conversation. “Okay…We have some more issues.”

 

All eyes (and in Sh’Tamshens case a pair of antennae as well) turned towards Big Jack. He took the wireless communications device out of his ear as he spoke to his crewmates since he was sure he had their undivided attention.

 

“Getting out of the holding line and docked seems to be only half the battle. Just got an under the radar general comm from another one of the cargo transports waiting to grab a berth -- the Saints Concern, Captain Samuels -- sent out to any civvy ship prepping to dock: once we are locked down in one of the berths? Station security isn’t just going to scan our cargo and be done with it. The Redshirt’s are gonna check the cargo, check our credentials, check equipment, and seize any cargo or personnel they find at fault. Apparently a cargo hauler that passed through about a month ago was in fact detained due to some issues with the ships operating licensing. There’s been no word since the incident, and none of the other civvy crews has seen ‘em out on the space lanes.”

 

Quick multi-directional looks passed among the small command crew, and then Malachi directed his hawk like attention to Sh’Tamshen; she was a washout Starfleet ensign before she came to work for Morgan and the Corsair, and might be able to shed some light on the subject.

 

“What’s the word Tammy? You have some Fleeter experience -- Any ideas why the base administration might be acting like this with the civilian cargo jumpers?”

 

“That sounds a bit…extreme, for the Starfleet. Yeah, most of the officers who are assigned to the bases are pretty thorough with the protocols and procedures when it comes to ships docking for layover or repair … but I don’t recall in recent memory any of the star bases going into some sort of weird quasi lockdown mode. And, that sounds like what Twenty Four is doing. And y’know -- the officers and officers in charge wouldn’t be going this way if there weren’t some sort of orders that had come on down the line to get a bit rough with the local ships or whatever.”

 

Daniels jumped into the conversation then. “Think we should pass on the docking Mal? Head over to Thirty Six or something? Maybe the Landis Corporation Base? Wouldn’t have to worry about Fleeter influence over there since it’s all civilian operated.”

 

“Absolutely not. If we try and pull out now, I guarantee we’ll have a Starfleet boarding committee beam in before our thrusters spool up to warp power. We mind our own business, dock, let base security do whatever they need to do, and then we get restocked as quick as possible, and get out of Dodge.”

 

B’Krel raised an eyebrow, and ran a work scarred hand over her ridged forehead in confusion at the purely Earth based Dodge City reference.

 

“Dodge? I thought this was Star base 24?”