Screwballs 101

[Crash Calestorm 0]

This log takes place right after the 03.05.10 Sim, and is set during the three hour Time Between Sims...

 

Captain Ashton Calestorm had been on her way to her quarters in order to contact her commanding officer when the communications officer on bridge duty had paged her on the internal ships intercom system, informing Cale that Admiral Shauna Coyote had already been patched into the wireless and had requested a visual conference meeting ASAP with Calestorm.

 

Ashton had been expecting a discussion on the current mission that the USS Comanche Creek was involved in, and at the very least a mild talking to regarding those civilian shuttles that she had buzzed when she had been incognito while flying one of her air wing’s star fighters…but the visual conference call with Admiral Coyote had instead been taken into completely different direction from what Cale had expected.

 

“Captain, you’re being pulled from your current search and rescue mission and are to divert immediately to Cold Station Thirteen.”

 

Calestorm was surprised at the new orders, much less the out of the blue urgency and she could only raise a blond colored eyebrow to her hairline in a silent question; a search and rescue mission would usually take top priority over any other mission. She also didn’t much like Shauna’s coloring, as her friend’s olive skinned complexion never went that pale unless her blood pressure was all over the place due to…well, all Hell breaking loose.

 

She had settled her lean and lanky frame down into the chair behind the desk and faced the widescreen viewer on the far wall, speaking in real time communication with her long time friend and commanding officer. “Talk to me Admiral. What’ve we got?”

 

“The missing medical technicians and MACO’s from the SS Slipstream are now a secondary concern in a larger issue; Fleet Command is now operating under the premise that Cold Station 13 was compromised first, and the individual or individuals responsible then downloaded the tracking information regarding the transport ships course, and then warped out and hijacked the soldiers and the medical officers and civilians. I need you and the Comanche Creek crew to ascertain if the station has in fact been compromised and go into damage control mode if necessary.”

 

What in the…this is crazy. “If Station 13 has been compromised Shauna, then why are we just finding this out now? Are we lagging because of the Nero attacks?”

 

“Yes. As near as we can tell, the director of the station, Doctor Miha Nishan, was scheduled for a routine call in with Federation Ops before Nero went on his rampage with his Narada warship. Even though CS 13 missed a check in, that event in itself didn’t necessarily raise a red flag at the time.”

 

“What changed? Besides the fact that our current ‘heads up’ about the problem initially started with formerly missing, CS 13 future employees showing up as pirates strung out on chemicals.”

 

“Communications back logs. They were initially pushed back and slated for later review in favor of the Romulan code signatures that allowed us to detect what Nero was up to."

 

Coyote paused long enough in her explanation in order to push a lock of dark hair behind one ear before continuing onward. “One such communication, which was a badly distorted message from CS 13 -- we aren’t sure if it was corrupted at the source -- did manage to reach a communications relay node during the same timeframe when Nero wiped out a portion of the Klingon fleet. The message hinted at some sort of internal problem at the station, but before Fleet operations could follow up on the alert, Nero burst onto the scene and Starfleet diverted in order to try and defend Vulcan.”

 

“Skipper,” Calestorm easily broke into their old call sign usage, as it was shared second nature among the two of them, “...who is responsible for this whole mess? And don’t give me that classified or need to know crap speech. You gotta have some such indication about who would have an interest in one of the cold stations much less the employees?”

 

A ghost of a smile tugged at Coyote’s mouth. That was Cale for you: She didn’t care if your rank or position was commodore, admiral, ensign, or chief of the boat, she treated everyone the same. Then, the dark haired admiral’s features turned dour again as the weight of the situation came tumbling down on her consciousness again.

 

“This is just current speculation Crash; the preliminary investigation, what evidence we’ve gathered here at headquarters, combined with the hard evidence that you and your crew have gathered in the field is currently all pointing to Doctor Max Treager.”

 

“I remember that case. Full blooded Human right? Got himself booted from the Cold Station recon program about a year ago because he was involved with some nasty black market medicinal business…another medico found out what he was up to, threatened legal action, and then he assaulted her and almost raped her? The official reason as I recall was that he was fired due to unprofessional behavior.”

 

“That’s the public relations version Cale, and you know it. I should recognize it; I wrote the press release. Specifically, Treager is a nutter. The psych evaluation tests need to be rewritten, for sure, if he got past the pre-testing. But, Treager has the working knowledge to use and manipulate chemical learning programs and medicines. I have no real doubt that he’d be capable of mixing that magical cocktail and pumping it into the sleeper pods in order to cause the Slipstream passengers to go all pirate against their will.”

 

Ashton tapped a finger against her desktop. “So, this is a disgruntled former employee to the Nth degree. He slinks off into the shadows, drops off the radar. Gets himself a mercenary crew and sets himself up to go all pirate along the Outer Rim sectors. He probably still has access to the medicinal black market trade and God knows what else. He has a plan for revenge, acts on it, were guessing he’s compromised the Cold Station facility. He puts the final blow on the controlled rampage by grabbing a transport intended for the station and exposes the replacement employees and guards to chemical laced duress, using them in his employment as mercenary soldiers?

 

“Sometimes the most obvious explanation is the best, and myself and the other command admirals are working off the same premise. Our psych profilers have also checked his biological records, and backed up our general assessments.”

 

“Right. The Comanche Creek’ll pull off our patrol route immediately to divert to CS 13. Please tell me that you’re at least gonna attempt to divert a ship in order to keep lookin’ for the Slipstream passengers? I know the Fleet is still stretched thin after the Vulcan massacre, but can’t ya grab Wonder Boy and the Wonder Crew and make ‘em earn their pay and that pretty little flagship of theirs?”

 

Coyote ignored her line captain’s jib at Captain Kirk and the Enterprise crew…for now, and instead responded to Crash’s initial query.

 

“We called in a few markers with the allies. The Andorians offered one of their Royal Guard frigates to take over your search and rescue patrol for the missing MACOs and med techs. The Caitian government is also deploying a militia recon scout to assist with your new orders; they’ll be on patrol just outside Cold Station Thirteen’s air space and are prepared to warp in should you need them.”

 

“You think this Treager is with the mobile group that we’ve been tracking, or still at the station?”

 

Despite the general seriousness of the situation, Skipper Coyote allowed some quick sarcastic humor into the conversation. “Well, as you recall Captain Calestorm, I failed that officers training psych course for Ascertaining Screwballs 101.

 

The admiral waved a hand to indicate that she had a couple more non-sarcastic things to say on the matter. “But, if I had to make a tactical guess, I’m betting the good Doctor is with the mercenary ship or ships as they warp about the sectors and plunder with their newfound soldiers, not lounging about at SC 13. He probably already started and finished what he had in mind for the station and the personnel on duty there. The Slipstream was a bonus for Treagers revenge plan…they were in the wrong place at the right time for him.”

 

Crash hesitated for a fraction of a second, then prepped mentally to speak her mind on something that had been niggling at her. “Permission to speak freely Admiral?”

 

Oh boy. “Granted.”

 

“Skipper, you know I believe in what were doin’ out here and what the First Threat Response Program stands for. Protect the innocent, fight for those that can’t, find the lost, keep our borders safe.”

 

“…I’m sensing a ‘but’ here…”

 

“The ‘Creek is Fleet Border Patrol. I know cee es thirteen is primarily a medical treatment and research facility out along the Far Rim sectors, so that makes the station within our patrol jurisdiction. But, the station still has the cargo capability to store some nasty viral stuff out there. You’re sendin’ us into what could be a possible biological-chemical hot spot, depending on what that nut job Treager has done. Shouldn’t the science or medical geeks divisions be takin’ this here shot at Cold Station 13 with a hazmat squad?”

 

“I’m sorry I can’t give you more Intel or more of an idea of what you’re walking into out there Crash. I’m also not going to sit here and blow sunshine at you -- you and your crew are the best, and the ‘Creek is the lead line ship for the FTR program. You are the front line defense, so get out there and do it. That’s why you’re being sent.”

 

Cale nodded once, precisely and without anger. “Understood Skipper. I’ll check in as needed.”

 

“Good luck and God Speed. Coyote out.”

 

The two way wireless communication signal was dropped, and the bulkhead viewer lapsed into power save mode with the screen saver symbol of the Starfleet now emblazoned across the screen. The master of the USS Comanche Creek sat in silence for a few moments after the connection had been severed, dwelling on these recent events and starting out the viewport window as the stars streaked by outside. Then, once she had gotten her thoughts in order, she brought her hand down on the intercom control embedded into the desktop surface in order to contact the main bridge and her second in command who was currently on bridge duty shift.

 

“Commander Wesley, this is Crash. We have a new mission and a new course, and you’re gonna love this new situational development Scooter…”