Boarding the Firebrand

[Crash Calestorm 0]

It had been less then one hour since the USS Comanche Creek had made the initial skirmish contact with the smuggler element that had been suspected of kidnapping the crew and passengers of the SS TPol. The Wendigo had been completely obliterated, hit by random debris torn away from the Comanche Creek during the skirmish. The Orion slave ship Audacious had escaped the battle, using the Wendigo as bait and cover and allowing a sister ship, the Firebrand, to take most of the fight to the ‘Creek. And even though the Firebrand had been subdued, the Audacious remained the prize: Vulcan life sign signatures had been detected during the pell mell battle, an indication that the Audacious was the transport ship that held the missing colonists.

 

Plan B was the captured Firebrand -- either the crew or the ships databanks – providing the information as to the heading of their escaped Orion sister ship.

 

Her crew had performed admirably, and Captain Ashton ‘Crash’ Calestorm was as pleased as a Bluetick hound on the scent of a raccoon. Now, Ashton and her line officers were remobilizing their focus for the post battle concerns which included on the fly damage repair to the ‘Creek definitely, and the Firebrand if needed (it all depended on her mood considering she’d just as soon blow the Orion vessel out of the stars). Getting all injuries squared away was high on the priority list, as well as dealing with the remaining smuggler crew and remanding the reprobates over to the local sector authorities, and to find any and all information that would lead to the Audacious.

 

Not a very intensive to do list. Nope. Not at all. Piece of cake for a Starfleet crew.

 

As for any contraband that the Firebrand had been carrying…well, Cale was concerned that her crew would indeed be dealing with the living variety of smuggled contraband.

 

Once Commander Audraya ‘Scooter’ Wesley had made contact with the bridge and informed Crash that Away Team Alpha had beamed onboard the Firebrand and were proceeding to the command center of the Orion ship, Calestorm had moved forward with the secondary portion of the boarding plan, which entailed her leading a away team beta over to the ship in order to provide a cleanup detail, cover alpha’s six, and tactically sweep the ship in the wake of the first team.

 

Back on the Comanche Creek, Lieutenant Riap had been left with bridge command and operations, Lieutenant Kvar was tasked with keeping a watch on the communications in the sector and tracking down any sort of information that they could use to fine the Audacious, while Lieutenant Mrkath was coordinating his fighters in a constant protection patrol pattern around the Comanche Creek and the Firebrand as the two away teams went about their business. For now, Chief Engineer Caprioni remained on standby over on the ‘Creek in case his services were needed on the capture Orion ship.

 

The two security midshipman and the chief medical officer were in good hands with Wesley on Team Alpha, and Crash could put her mind at a bit of ease and concentrate on her away team duties for the moment. She had always been a quarterdeck breed, and being out in front was where she was most comfortable at with regard to doing her job. But ‘quarterdeck’ didn’t mean that she couldn’t sweat the details: a sloppy captain was a stupid captain.

 

The captain had taken a standard complement of away team officers with her that included four security and two medics, with additional personnel being brought over on an as needed basis after the main teams had cleared and locked down the decks of the Orion slaver ship. Ashton and the secondary team had materialized in a an auxiliary cargo bay, and as soon as Cale’s boots hit solid decking after the transporter shimmer cycle had completed, her senses were assailed with the scents and smells and sights of the Orion slave trade and business.

 

The Firebrand, like most of the ships and crews that ran in slaver circles, rigged out the interior equipment and spare sections with two main business concerns in mind: cargo and sentient cargo. The cargo could be anything from Spican flame gems to heavy weapons. The sentient cargo was a gentle way of describing the young Orion girls used for the prostitution that made the cartel factions their money, and several of the females in question were currently present on the cargo bay deck. The entire deck was partitioned off with both fabric tents and dura plasti-steel separator sections, making dozens of bedrooms for lack of a better term. These room sections were semi open and airy, decorated with brightly colored silk hangings, lighting fixtures and lamps that were vaguely of an Asian design, and these areas were where the paying clients had sex with these Orion women and girls.

 

Quickly sweeping her gaze over the area, Ashton noted that the female Orions who inhabited the opulent living spaces ranged in ages from early to mid teens up through late twenties and slightly older. The older females held a world weary expression on their faces and in their eyes, while the younger females showed varying excitement or fear reactions to the recent ship to ship battles as well as the gold, blue and red shirted tunics of the Comanche away team appearing smack dab in their midst. There were no Orion males present within the cargo bay, no doubt off on other decks of the ship dealing with damage, dealing with injuries, or even dealing with the other away team. Having no immediate resistance was fine with Cale for the time being.

 

She half turned to speak to her team, her ‘command tone’ in full swing. “Okay folks, let’s get this show on road: phasers on stun, standard diamond patrol pattern, no heroics. I have point and no Mister McGuinty, you may not argue the matter of the fact that I’m taking the point run.”

 

The dark haired Human security officer closed his mouth quickly.

 

The aggressive side of her personality didn’t want to give the phasers on stun only order. Calestorm could care less about the male -- and she would indeed be surprised if any females were in a position of crew authority for a slave running operation -- Orion workers and crew that operated the ship and “handled” these women; if she could get away with it, she’d have liked to hang ‘em all from a tall tree on the nearest convenient planet and let God sort ‘em out. This was not a very Christian attitude, no it wasn’t.

 

Calestorm and the away team cautiously had just started to move through partitioned cargo city when a shriek bellowed out across the common area. A youngster, no more then 14 years of age and 16 at the outside, rushed at the patrol team to impact with the first solid object that she could -- Cale.

 

What had she been saying about taking point guard? And this had been a good idea…because?

 

The green skinned and dark haired girl tackled the older woman like a fullback from the Georgia Bulldogs, sending the two of them slamming down hard onto to the scuffed deck plating; the young girl landed a solid punch to Crash’s left eye, and she had stars explode in her line of vision. The captain’s instincts were screaming at her to defend herself, but she instead threw her arms over her head in a protective gesture rather then forcibly removing the girl from the combat equation with some well placed defensive moves.

 

Two of the four red shirts who had accompanied Ashton easily stepped in and hauled the clawing and screaming girl off of her, who had lost a bit of her rage fueled momentum when Calestorm didn’t fight back as the youngster had been suspecting; the girls were most likely beaten if they looked at someone the wrong way, so why shouldn’t one of them automatically suspect that Ashton would hurt her in kind?

 

The other two guards covered the remaining individuals who were visible, but some of the females had retreated back into their tented domiciles. The guards phasers were unholstered, but held defensively at a downward angle; the medics maintained their positioning in what had been the inner diamond of the patrol pattern, phasers also out and ready to use them if needed but held downward so as not to be perceived as overtly hostile.

 

Once the two intervening guards had released her, the confused and scared teenager ran back to a small group of about six girls who were huddled together for protection. It was obvious that the girls were younger, and the older girl had merely been protecting them, as evidenced by the still wire tight stance as she stood in front of the group which plainly said ‘you want them, you come through me’. She still had some spunk and like the youngsters she stood watch over, must have been a recent acquisition who had not yet been broken or claimed emotionally by the professional disattachment air of the older Orion females.

 

Should have announced this as soon as we materialized, you’re slipping girl. Calestorm picked herself up off the decking and then raised her voice so it would carry over the cargo bay area. “I’m Captain Ashton Calestorm of the USS Comanche Creek. We are tracking missing persons, please do not interfere,” or tackle us, that smart ass side of her inner voice interjected, “with us as we question your…” dumbass oppressors, “…commanders. If any of you require medical attention, we can provide that…”

 

She really, really wanted to hang someone for what had been done here to these girls, species cultural factors aside.

 

Crash probably wasn’t going to change her feelings anytime soon ‘neither, but what came out of her mouth when she turned to speak to her team was, “Okay, let’s try this again," and she pointed to her away team members as she spoke and directed her orders, “you and you, come with me, phasers on stun, original plan stands. We take prisoners if we can, defend yourselves if the crew decides to fight us. Medics, see to these girls here in the cargo area, and I’m leaving the two remaining guards here with you to watch over you as you work. We maintain constant contact with each other and the ship. Let’s move.”

 

Puffy eye. Cranky Quarterdeck Captain. Evil Orion Slavers. Now this is a party…