C.O.W. P.O.O.

[Crash Calestorm 0]

Time Note: this log takes place in the later hours of our 24 Hour Time Between Sims

 

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To: Calestorm, Captain Ashton

From: Coyote, Rear Admiral Shauna

Re: FANN Article

 

Contract Disputes & Local Sector Tensions

Primos Major and Minor

 

By Liora V’Tai

The Federation Affiliate News Network

 

Primos Minor – With the unrest from the Nero attacks still sweeping across the quadrants, the various Federation colony worlds located along the Outer Rim sectors are attempting to find closure as well as a guarantee of safety to their existence and lifestyle. Collective nerves are fraying and any sense of protection and safety has waned.

 

Trade shipping and cargo transport lanes have been disrupted for weeks following the attacks on the Starfleet and Vulcan by Nero. Independent and contractor captains are just now reestablishing their trade routes. Certain colony sectors are short on day to day supplies, specialized supplies such as medicines, and livestock. There have also been unconfirmed accusations towards the Federation Colonial offices that the colonial programs are ignoring established colonies in favor of shifting funding and focus to the fledgling New Vulcan colony.

 

Rather then wait for the Federation Starfleet to re-mobilize after the losses to Nero, some local colonial governments are taking matters into their own hands: the twin colony worlds of Primos Major and Primos Minor are two such examples of this self-protection upsurge.

 

In order to address the lack of supply flow, Primos Major has organized the Primos (Major) Operational Organization (P.O.O.), while Primos Minor has recently voted by inhabitant majority to affiliate themselves with the Confederation of Outer Worlds (C.O.W.). Both of the organizations are picking up popularity by word of mouth as well as the galactic extranet.

 

These representative organizations claim that the Federation and the Starfleet are not providing the needed protection or supplies to their colony worlds, and the leaders of the P.O.O and C.O.W groups have both made plans and assertations to contract out their exclusive supply and livestock needs with civilian based transport companies.

 

There have also been unconfirmed reports of a growing rivalry among the supporters of the respective organizations, and an unknown number of civilian based mercenary and paramilitary ships in the employ of both C.O.W. and P.O.O patrolling the cargo lanes and enforcing a sector wide curfew.

 

Federation, Starfleet, and First Threat Response program authorities could not immediately be reached for comment on the matter as well as any solutions to be offered by the Federation Colonial Offices; there has been speculation that the Starfleet’s First Threat Response Program will further look into the matter.

 

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Captain Calestorm was laughing so hard, it was a miracle that she didn’t bust a lung.

 

Admiral Coyote had contacted Calestorm via the Fleet visual wireless in order to discuss what would be an upcoming mission for the USS Comanche Creek; the admiral had forwarded the Primos colony article to Cale, and while the content of the article outlined what was a developing – and potentially serious – situation, she could understand the amused reaction to the initials of the colony organizations as they appeared in the article.

 

The border patrol captain was half falling out of her desk chair, unable to contain her mirth. Admiral Shauna Coyote could only wait on her end of the visual conference, a half smirk playing at her olive skinned and high cheekbone features; the Native Old Earth American had had the same sort of reaction when first perusing the article, though less demonstrative and jovial then Crash.

 

Cale had just finished reading the forwarded article, and it took her a good few seconds to get a grip and stop laughing. Once she had managed to gather herself into some semblance of coherency, she was able to devote her full attention to the desktop viewer, the conference call, and her commanding officer.

 

She ran a hand through her silver blond hair with one hand while wiping tears away from her eyes with her other free hand. “Admiral, do these people realize that their call letters spell cow and poo together?”

 

Coyote rolled her eyes. “That fact has been pointed out to the colonists, but both organizational leaders are just too stubborn to change the titles. Poor choice in abbreviations aside, that’s not why I contacted you. I want you and your Comanche Creek crew to take an emergency delivery of livestock -- cows, to be precise --, perishable foodstuffs and freeze dried food packets, and medical supplies to the Primos colonies for immediate distribution. You’re the vanguard supply run; the USS Comstock will be transporting more supplies within the week.”

 

Calestorm made a mental note regarding the food components, but the cows were what really caught her attention. “So…the ‘Creek is going to be hauling cows? Seriously Sir?”

 

“Crash, I understand it’s not exactly a straight line mission…”

 

The FTR captain cocked an affronted eyebrow. "Straight mission? It’s a waste of the First Threat Response Program, and the program resources, like my ship. The ‘Creek is a border patrol vessel, not a live stock hauler. I spent plenty of school and academy vacations shipped off to my uncles ranch to help during the cow season as a ranch hand; it’s not necessarily something I want to end up doin’ for my twilight Fleet career Admiral.”

 

Shauna put a placating hand gesture within range of her desktop screen webcam, so Cale could see that she understood and sympathized with her line captain. “Your opinion is noted Captain. The Fleet colonial offices have been aware that certain colonies are in need of resupply, and the Nero/Narada attacks just complicated matters all around. This mission is more a show the flag, placate the homesteaders operation, and remind the COWs and POOs that they don’t have the authority to take matters into their own hands unless the colonies are in real danger. Some of the volunteers and mercenaries for hire have gotten heavy handed with protestors as well as independent cargo haulers passing through the territories. You’ll be a visual reminder for everyone to behave themselves in the Primos sector is all.”

 

“What changed? Besides the obvious frustration over the lack of incoming supplies…why are these Primos organizations half at each other’s throats? The lot of them should be working together to alleviate the transport problems locally where they can.”

 

“Like any idea, it started out well enough: the colonists wanted to make sure that needed supplies and inventory are delivered, and they want adequate protection from Starfleet after those attacks by Nero. But there are those within any organization who might use a situation for their own gain, and they’re aggressive enough to go for the full control. And the mercenary guns for hire are not helping matters of course. Starfleet Command wants someone to deliver the supplies and livestock who is trustworthy, and I volunteered you.”

 

Cale flashed a cocky grin, all teeth. “Cow sh*t makes you think of me? Admiral, I’m flattered.”

 

Shauna flashed an equally cocky grin across the wireless visual link. “Well, I need a bull sh*tter to handle the bull sh*t is all, and you’re an expert.”

 

The captain chuckled, but put aside the joking and continued on with the business aspect of the conversation. “Anything specific we should be on the lookout for once we arrive in the Primos sectors?”

 

“People are still scared, and we need to keep that in mind; show the colonists of Primos that the Fleet hasn’t forgotten about them. I want you to transport the supplies and livestock to Primos Major and Minor, and show off that Starfleet delta shield on your hull. Distribute the animals and medicines and foodstuffs equally among the two worlds, and if anyone gets in your way, arrest them. Consider this a direct order.”

 

“Understood Sir. We’ll pick up the livestock and supplies and transport the kit ‘n caboodle immediately to Primos Major and Primos Minor. We’ll handle any recon as needed in the area, and I also have no problems with rapping a few knuckles if anyone gets outta hand.”

 

Coyote nodded once, a quick motion of satisfaction. “The cows are waiting for you at the New Mars orbital docks. You can grab the medical supplies and foodstuffs right here at New Topeka; I have three of the local supply companies gathering the items as we speak...thanks for your help Crash.”

 

The captain snapped off a text book salute. “Moooooooo-ving right along Admiral Coyote, Calestorm out.”

 

Admiral Coyote chose not to comment on her line captain’s lame joke and merely ended the visual link…

 

(Mission To Be Continued In Sim)