Alka Seltzer! ASAP!

[Crash Calestorm 0]

The following log takes place on the Demeter's Revenge during the early hours of our 6 Hour "Open Sandbox" TBS...

 

Diplomacy had always given Crash Calestorm a bellyache.

 

A mystery she could handle, not a problem. But diplomacy was a necessary evil in her line of work, and even though she recognized that fact it didn’t mean she had to be right fond of the occurrence once it happened.

 

Over the last couple of hours, Cale had come to know Captain Korloth, and his intentions were on the level if not slightly out of the ordinary: he was a former officer of the Imperial Klingon Navy who had resigned his commission, striking out on his own in his twilight years as an independent freighter captain. The freight crew was mixed, with Klingon and Humans and various other species represented among the hard working cargo haulers. The SS Demeter, a registered Federation vessel, had drifted into disputed space; Korloth had rescued the crew of the Demeter after the tech malfunctions they had been experiencing had gone beyond the control of the mostly Human crew. Once all had been said and done, the Klingon captain had taken a name for his ship in honor of the fallen hauler and the Demeter crew that had died -- the D5 class Klingon cruiser had been christened as the Demeter’s Revenge.

 

Captain Korloth wasn’t a bad man, this much was certain. The whole incident was a bit of a melodramatic (unusual?) situation overall, but like the man, the good intentions were there. And so far, Korloth’s story had checked out based on the scant information that Lieutenant Riap had been able to locate in the ‘Creek database regarding his former military career.

 

Granted, Korloth had already slapped Cale across the rear end in an attempt at flirting, Klingon style. When she threatened to knock her fellow captain on his ass, he found the concept intriguing instead of the warning it was intended to be, which only complicated matters.

 

Klingons. Hmmpff. Can’t live with them, can’t cause a diplomatic incident…

 

Cale had always had a love hate relationship with the Klingon species as a whole, and her opinions had been and were clouded with her own prejudices towards them. She knew they were powerful and honorable warriors, with a deep set culture that revolved around that warrior mindset. Yet, looking back over her (younger) service record, her shore leave based brawls more often then not had involved a Klingon or two feeling their oats and encountering Calestorm’s own particular temper. The species deserved respect and she understood that, even if she didn’t necessarily agree with certain Klingon policies or methods, both military and personal.

 

The away team from the Comanche Creek had spread out within the confines of the ret-conned D5 cruiser, carrying out various assigned duties and asking general questions among the civilian freighter crew. The cargo officers overall had been friendly, though some had been more forthcoming then others with the informal interviews. Like any ship’s crew, especially long term cargo haulers, they were a close knit community and preferred to keep to themselves.

 

Commander Wesley was overseeing the away team movements, while Ensign Haruno dealt with the safety of the general team as well as individual officers. Lieutenant TAral had been tasked with performing some minor medical checks to ensure the freighter crew was not carrying any sickness. Science officer Belo had accompanied the team as well, and Navigator Riap was off doing…whatever Intelligence agents attached to a field ship did; for now, Crash preferred to not know all the details as dealings with Starfleet Intel gave her a bellyache as well, even though she had worked for the organization herself once upon a time or two.

 

Once their ship tours, assignments, and interviews had been completed, they would go about transferring the corpses of the Demeter crew people who had been killed during the problems with the vessel. All told, there had been five fatalities, including the former captain of the ill fated cargo ship, and the Comanche Creek would also be transporting three former crew mates who had not wished to remain on board as crew for Korloth and the Demeter’s Revenge.

 

While her own officers were out and about speaking with Korloth’s crew and checking over the D5 class cruiser, Calestorm had been given a tour of the vessel by Korloth along with his new First Mate – Kayleigh Washburn.

 

Washburn had been one of the rescued crew, and had signed permanently on with the ‘Revenge at the request of Korloth. The younger woman had done more just by her presence to convince Crash of the intentions of the Demeter’s Revenge and the mis-matched crew of reprobates and their boisterous captain; the lot of them just wanted to find work and keep flying, and they had a good captain in Korloth.

 

Captain Calestorm had no intention of taking any of that away from them or interfering with their lives.

 

Korloth also knew every inch and bolt of his boat, Cale would give him that. The ship might be old -- older then Korloth, as he had joked -- but the elder Klingon would keep her flying for a good few more years. It always felt good to see an old warhorse of a ship treated as it should be, ‘cause when you treated ‘em right, they always brought you home.

 

It had been a couple of hours, and Crash and her escorts had worked their way back towards the transporter room area of the cargo freighter. The master and commander of the ‘Creek didn’t have any Intel per se to pass along to her own superiors, other then the fact that per Korloth, there were certain complaints brewing within the Empire regarding how the Klingon government had handled the Nero attacks.

 

In the meantime, Korloth, Washburn and the crew of the ‘Revenge might function as Outer Rim allies for the Fleet border patrol. Time would tell, and for now, contact had been made and the negotiations had gone successfully.

 

The Klingon ships commander laughed, and was also pleased at how the proceedings had been going so far. “It was good to have you on board Captain! We don’t often have a chance to host guests!”, and swiped Cale across the backside again.

 

Or rather, the negotiations had gone successfully for the most part.

 

First Mate Washburn did a palm to forehead gesture and had sense enough to quickly get herself clear of the pending line of fire, and two of the civilian transporter techs working in the area shared a glance with one another along the lines of ‘oh dear’.

 

Punching a being in the jaw with a bare fist was one of the stupidest moves in the galaxy. Most humanoids had a thick bone reinforced jaw line, and that went doubly so for Klingons. Regardless of the danger of injury, Crash’s fist impacted with Korloth’s jaw in a flash of silver-blond hair and a Fleet command gold tunic; she abraded the skin of her right knuckles and a painful jolt traveled down the length of her arm to her elbow, although the desired outcome was accomplished: the big Klingon captain was flat on his rear end in seconds.

 

The gray haired Korloth blinked in stunned surprised for a few seconds from his ungainly position on the scuffed gun metal gray decking, and then bellowed, his good natured laughter carrying several kilometers through the corridor as he pointed a finger at his fellow captain.

 

“Now that is what I am talking about!!! You are a keeper Calestorm! Bwa ha ha ha…..!!”

 

Captain Korloth. Can’t shoot him, can’t cause a diplomatic incident…