Off the Reservation

[Crash Calestorm 0]

It had been a long time since Captain Ashton ‘Crash’ Calestorm found herself in this position – called on the carpet, literally, and required to account for her actions. She glanced down at the carpeting in the FTR satellite offices, noted that it was the same muted red/gray as her own ships stateroom, and then fixated her attention straight ahead once more.

 

Admiral Shauna ‘Skipper’ Coyote had been pacing about the office for a good five minutes by this point, telling Crash in no uncertain terms exactly how she felt about the ‘damn fool action of slipping across the border into disputed space to check a months old distress call’, unquote.

 

Cale stood at parade rest in front of Coyote’s well maintained and well used antique cherry wood desk, and the piece of furniture had a bit of history attached to it; the item had belonged to the Shauna’s great grandfather, and it had managed to survived the pirate attack on the Comanche Creek colony some decades ago while several of the Coyote relatives had not.

 

The captain realized that she had breached a disputed border area; she’d admit that flat out. As such, she remained quiet since she was here as a subordinate officer, not a friend, and it was best that Coyote had her say. Twenty years ago, Calestorm might have voiced her opinion and rather strongly regarding her decisions as a field officer, but now was not the time and place for an oration on differing command styles.

 

Her gaze shifted slightly, and for a few brief seconds her attention was directed out the large floor to ceiling picture window that was the center point of Coyote’s office; the view showed a portion of the highway lanes that sported all manner of civilian, as well as military hover traffic. Crash felt a certain homesickness for a time long past, when she had been a Fleet pilot with not even a quarter of the responsibilities and command concerns that she had to deal with now.

 

Calestorm had been a hellion during her cadet and twenty something years; a stereotypical southern-belle type fireball personality hadn’t helped. It was a wonder that she hadn’t A.) gotten herself killed B.) gotten beaten up (a lot more) or C.) been sent to the ass end of the universe on multiple assignment postings where the troublemaker officers usually ended up for a career duration.

 

Common sense, maturity, and landing smack dab in her thirty something years had fully accounted for her calming down. The hellcat pilot officer finally recognized that a certain career path needed to be taken, and started on the command track by transferring to her secondary MOS as a Helm officer. She kept her hand in piloting smaller vehicles by taking shuttle flight assignments or star fighter instructor postings. Cale had found her professional niche by way of the Starfleet Border Patrol, and a sideways career had smoothed out into a promising career.

 

She would never claim to be the perfect commander completely without fault; to have such an attitude would smack of arrogance. Nonetheless it had still been a while to where Cale had screwed up (or was perceived as screwing up) enough to warrant some sort of dressing down, to the point where a current commanding officer had summoned her to make a personal appearance in their office no less.

 

The situation overall was not something she had been looking forward to dealing with; years of service together and friendship aside, with regard to matters of discipline, Shauna Coyote was a flat out cold b*tch to deal with.

 

“Eyes front Captain!”

 

B*tch she may be, but she could work a command vocal intonation tone like no one’s business; Calestorm swore that Shauna had probably been a Starfleet MACO Drill Instructor in a past life, totally.

 

****

Lieutenant Kevin Riley quietly entered the office and placed a digital report slate on the desktop, quickly and efficiently; he didn’t linger, and the brown haired youth shot Calestorm a quick sympathetic look before exiting the admiral’s office just as quietly as he had entered. The captain had taken a liking to the kid, and had actively lobbied in an attempt to get Riley to sign on with the ‘Creek Helm and Navigation staff. But, for now, Riley was content to stay on as an executive aide to Coyote.

 

Cale didn’t dare to return the gesture with an acknowledgment.

 

Shauna had completed yet another walking circuit about the office, and now moved to stand behind her desk, facing Cale. Her gray and white collared admiral’s tunic was a neutral contrast with the gold hued command tunic that the captain wore.

 

“In case you’re keeping track Captain Calestorm, the last time you received an official reprimand was 2233, during your service tenure on the USS Kelvin. Captain Robau placed you, and Chris Pike, on report and confined you to quarters for partaking in a brawl while on shore leave.”

 

Skipper leaned forward and placed her palms flat on the desktop surface; the overhead track lighting set off her high cheek boned features, giving her the almost appearance of a hawk on the hunt. A pissed off hawk. “What do you have to say regarding this current situation Captain?”

 

Taking the verbal cue as being given permission to incorporate her opinion into the conversation, Crash gently cleared her throat, and then started to speak. “Admiral Coyote, with respect: Admiral Pike has been saying for years the Starfleet has lost its edge as an organization. Former officers such as Acting Captain George Kirk had the ability to think on the fly, and make decisions quickly without necessarily looking where he was leaping. Chris maintains that we have a need for this stripe of officer to infuse the old blood so to speak. I can’t say that I don’t agree with him, especially after the Nero events.”

 

She ventured a glance at her commanding officer before continuing, and then her gaze settled back at the point on the wall. “I might not agree with young Captain Kirk and his current command posting to the Enterprise, but he was right to take a course of action rather then rendezvousing with the Fleet in the Larentia system during the Nero attacks -- he has that talent to think on the fly, I will give Junior that.”

 

Now, the captain turned her attention back on Admiral Coyote. “I made the spot decision to investigate the distress call recording from the SS Demeter. If a field captain checked in every time a situation came up, we’d never get anything done. The three month old recording aside, there are maritime responsibilities going back centuries that require a response to a ship in distress.”

 

Calestorm cleared her throat before continuing. “Of course, I had the ‘Creek go communications blackout due to crossing the border and had a communications probe dispatched that contained the last 24 hour recordings of our mission logs and communications. The situation did not predicate an alerting communiqué of intent to the command offices.”

 

Coyote gazed at her friend, her lips set in a thin line. “Predicate?” She made a faint snort. “Don’t use fancy words to impress me, Captain, because your ass is still mine. You went off the reservation: your decision, your consequences. I’ve already deflected a few official inquires -- notably from Admiral Barnett -- as to your sojourn into disputed space. He’s willing to overlook this matter as long as I handle it privately.”

 

She shot a meaningful look at Calestorm, and then favored her line captain with a scowl. The disciplinary venom was beginning to dissipate from her gaze and tone; Shauna made an exasperated gesture to one of the two guest chairs facing towards her antique wood desk. “At ease.”

 

Calestorm did as she was instructed and settled her tall and lanky frame in the offered seat. Once Shauna had settled her own tall frame down in her faux leather desk chair, she dropped the figurative axe on her line captain.

 

“I’m deferring on stamping your profile with a formal complaint. However, other then your regular duty shift, you’re confined to quarters for a period of seventy two hours and you are not to leave the Comanche Creek. I trust that Commander Wesley will see to it that you comply with my disciplinary orders: I’m copying her in on my instructions.”

 

It was an unusual reprimand action, but that was the admiral for you; Crash might not always go by the book, but neither did Skipper Coyote depending on the situation. Both women played by their own set of rules and maybe that shared trait was one reason that accounted for the two being friends all these years.

 

Cale managed to keep a straight face, but gazed at the admiral while allowing an amused eyebrow to climb. “I have no doubt that Mister Wesley will carry out your orders to the letter, Lord help me. She is a very efficient XO.”

 

While the life background and circumstances differed, Commander ‘Scooter’ Wesley and Crash had a similar personal and career history, which might explain why A.) Scooter and Crash got on so well and B.) The command staff hadn’t collectively blown the Comanche Creek up…yet. Great minds think alike and all that. Prior to departing the ship, Calestorm had gathered from a quick conversation with her XO that Wesley had also gotten an earful from the admiral via encrypted wireless prior to the ship making port, though the captain was obviously front and center for the border hopping chewing out on this one. Joy.

 

****

Once the unpleasantness (though deserved) of the reprimand had been addressed, the rear admiral regarded her line captain gravely and turned her attention to the long term implications regarding Captain Korloth, the Demeter’s Revenge, and the Intel that the ‘Creek crew had managed to gather regarding the freighter crew during the unauthorized jaunt across star systems.

 

“So, this Korloth answered the SS Demeter’s distress call three months ago, but was too late to save the ship. He took the surviving crew on board, and in honor of the original ship as well as what would became a joint crew, his freighter is now called the Demeter’s Revenge?” Coyote made some notations on a data slate with a light pen.

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“And, he chose not to venture into Federation space, despite having the survivors onboard, in an effort to return his passengers?”

 

“Yes Sir. And I…can’t say as I blame him. Nothing like trying to extend an olive branch and getting your tail shot off by Starfleet in a border misunderstanding. I’m sure you agree that everyone is still jumpy ‘cause of the Nero attacks.”

 

Coyote made a non committal noise. “So now we have an ex-captain from the Imperial Klingon Navy zipping about the border areas on a salvaged D-5 battle cruiser that employs displaced cargo jockeys and mercenaries of all sorts in his crew.”

 

“Yes Sir, it would seem so.”

 

“And, that doesn’t bother you Captain Calestorm?”

 

“Well, yes, now that you mention it I am a bit vexed by the matter…yet now we have what could amount to the occasional ally out along the Rim, and that might prove useful at some point in the future.”

 

“It’s that occasional part that worries me.”

 

“If we ever receive word or hear tell of Captain Korloth going full rogue pirate, I’ll warp out in the ‘Creek and we’ll bring him in. Fair enough, Admiral?”

 

“No. What’s fair is I didn’t knock you back to the rank of commander and strip command from you for hobnobbing across a disputed border sector without direct permission.” Her hard blue eyed gaze lanced Calestorm, and the tone of her voice had gone hot again.

 

The captain averted her eyes, becoming rather interested in the wood grain pattern within the desktop while the temper flare subsided; Shauna was well within her rights to be crabby. The FTR program was going very well, but as the liaison and commanding officer for the program, the admiral was under constant political pressure from both her own political support camps as well as political opponents regarding program policy and implementation of resources and planning.

 

Coyote rubbed at her temples with her forefingers; Shauna had often joked that investing in extra strength Calelenol would do wonders for her headaches, but Calestorm wouldn’t dare point out that old joke right now.

 

With a sigh, the admiral moved onto the next round of questions. “What’s your overall take on the situation Captain?”

 

“Most of my opinion is in that report I had my communications officer squirt over the secure wireless while we made time across Topeka space, but here’s my condensed version: Korloth is a former Imperial Navy officer, obviously. He, along with some others within the Klingon military forces, are not right fond of the way that their government handled the Nero emergency. He made the choice to resign his commission and strike out on his own in a civilian freighter captain capacity. With that said, from what I was able to gather from Korloth, the disgruntled Klingon officers are of the minority opinion. I don’t believe that Fleet Intel should be on the lookout for any internal Klingon civil wars…for right now.”

 

“His crew?”

 

“Varied, both in species and ages. The Klingons -- there were only eight or so -- in his crew have both the smooth and ridged foreheads. Rough estimate of the overall crew number is about twenty eight, and my report has the exact head count. You can thank my away team for the crew numbers.”

 

“Non-Klingons?”

 

“A smattering. The Humans are mostly Demeter crewmates who wanted to hire on with Korloth officially. The rest of the hired hands are a combination of Andorians, Tellerites, Caitians, and Denobulans.”

 

“Vulcans?”

 

“One, male, and they were of mixed ancestry. Hell, he could’ve had a touch of Romulan blood for all we know. We both know that most surviving Vulcan’s are working to get that new colony off the ground or are enlisted in the Starfleet.”

 

Coyote gazed at her line captain; Calestorm might very well be on her sh*t list because of the disputed border hopping, but her opinion as a field commander was still high value, and the resulting Intel was welcome. “What’s your tactical take on the Demeter’s Revenge?”

 

“He didn’t have to do what he did, helping the Demeter crew.” Cale shrugged one shoulder. “In my professional opinion, Captain Korloth is just doin’ what any good independent ships master does: find a crew, find a ship, find work, and keep flyin’.”

 

“Any of the cargo crew under duress from Korloth?”

 

“My CMO had some misgivings, and had been on alert for any signs that the officers and crew of the SS Demeter were victims of shanghaiing. However, the away team officers overall found no solid evidence, other then some general anxiety in the newer crew about serving under a new captain. I’d say the crew of the Demeter’s Revenge wants to work for Korloth; those that didn’t want to stay and throw their lot in with him came back with us on the ‘Creek.”

 

The captain paused in her debrief assessment and ran a hand through her regulation length graying blond hair. “If you want my flat out professional opinion Admiral…Fleet command really has no need to go after ‘im. Not if he’s just interested in making his way as a civilian cargo hauler or merchant ships captain, which I’m inclined to believe that he is.”

 

“Very well. Captain Calestorm, you’re dismissed from this debrief meeting. Moving on, we’ve been apprised of a minor situation developing in the Primos sector; I’d like you and your crew to standby for orders here at the Topeka docks. Now… get out before I take a Parises Squares staff to that thick head of yours.”

 

Recognizing that Shauna was in no mood to chit chat beyond the debriefing, Calestorm stood and snapped off a textbook salute. “Aye Sir. I’ll wait on your final word regarding the new mission orders. As I’ve been grounded, you know where to contact me over the next 72 hours...” She gave a respectful nod to her CO and turned away, her long legs covering the distance to the closed entry way easily.

 

“And Crash?”

 

“Sir?” The captain errant half turned in the entry way and her full attention snapped back towards the Le Ticked Admiral.

 

“Use that confinement time to grab some rest as well…you look like you can use a break.”

 

“I’d say that I’ll sleep when I’m dead, but I don’t want the Karma Vulture to swoop down on me Skipper.” Calestorm winked at her friend and then turned to exit the office quietly, her skin intact if not slightly singed.

 

The automatic doorway whooshed quietly closed, and Admiral Coyote continued to look at the empty doorway for a little while; she calmed herself down by degrees and set her mind to tackle some of the new administrative work that had landed on her desk within the last day or so. Then, she finally turned her attention to paperwork and what promised to be another long evening shift.

 

****

* See Coyote Biography for background details on colony destruction (Comanche Creek Bios).

* Lt. Riley character copyright Classic Star Trek (1960’s), Christopher Pike, George Kirk, Captain Robau, and the USS Kelvin copyright CBS/Star Trek 2009; I don’t own the characters or the ship, I just have fun playing in the universe.

*Find a crew phrase copyright Firefly TV series (2004), open narration sequence(s).