The Logical Response ...

[T'aral 0]

T'Aral was formally engaged in the activities requested by the Captain - checking in with medical stations throughout Primos Major to determine if any required additional supplies. To their credit the Primos colony's material distribution system was a model of efficiency, ferrying the medical materials to a central hub where resources could be sent throughout the planet within hours - within minutes if truly necessary.

 

Then a call came in from a remote outpost. It seemed that the Neuberlin co-operative had a medical emergency - unspecified, but they particularly requested T'Aral's presence. As she prepared for immediate transport, she wondered what the need could be; although experienced in her own field, it was unlikely that there was any particular skill that she could have which could not be better served by a local doctor. It was no matter, though. Refusing to help would be, at the least, undiplomatic. As in all of her other efforts, she wanted to see the Captain's assignment succeed. Her co-operation with the locals would be unquestioned.

 

When arriving at the indicated co-ordinates, however, T'Aral looked about curiously. There were no medical personnel to greet her, and the location appeared suprisingly abandoned. This did not make sense, as the ship's databanks indicated that this was an active outpost. What also did not make sense, though it was forming a disturbing pattern, was the arrival of Crewman Stavn, followed shortly thereafter by Suav, Sasin, Soniv, Sret, and T'Sasa. T'Aral's eyebrow arched dangerously as she frowned: they were seven crewmen from a ship of over two hundred. It was most illogical for the entire Vulcan contingent of the Comanche Creek to arrive at the same place at the same time by chance - someone had planned this.

 

Clarity came to T'Aral as two dozen figures rose out from the shadows, each wearing paramilitary garb. T'Aral recognized them as uniforms of the Primos Operational Organization, though she did not assume that they were acting officially - or even that they were Primos agents. She assumed nothing, other than a loosely defensive stance as she waited for the coming explanation which would no doubt clarify the purpose of this gathering.

 

"I know your kind likes things complicated - well, for us things are simple. There were over five hundred Vulcan technicians serving these colonies; they were key people in key places. Then, without so much as a by-your-leave, they all abandoned their posts and took off. You may think you people have problems, but that don't give you the right to pull the rug out from under us.

 

"These folks are really unhappy about that - and we're going to let all of you know about it."

 

The crowd closed in, armed with clubs and knives. Thankfully phasers were rare outside of Starfleet, but that was of little comfort. All of their opponents had holstered chemical-drive slug-throwing weapons; no doubt a personal need of individuals in outer colonies. There was a danger in this, but also an advantage. As the Vulcans circled about preparing for the oncoming assault, a plan was whispered among them in their native language. With luck, none of the humans spoke ancient Vulcan.

 

They allowed their opponents to charge, opening with the Navorkot initially to weave through their foes. Most of the opening swings of the attackers connected with others in their group rather than hitting the Vulcans, creating confusion among the opposition while the Vulcans maneuvered through the group with almost clockwork precision. Within moments the largest of the attackers had fallen prey to nerve pinches, and it wasn't long before the group of thugs had dwindled to half its original size due to more agressive counter-measures. In the meantime four of the Vulcans, including T'Aral, had managed to remove pistols from their opponents - they were now armed.

 

Quickly regrouping, the armed Vulcans laid down supressive fire to clear a path to a side alley where T'Aral could send up a signal for an emergency beam-out. The delay in response from the Comanche Creek resulted in a brutal exchange in gunfire while the cluster of crewmembers waited for the ship's sensors to break through local interference. They were eventually successful, but not before Soniv was shot in the back while escaping.

 

Upon arriving within the transporter room, T'Aral immediately broke out an emergency litter to bring Soniv to Sickbay. Thankfully whichever would-be assassin that fired at him assumed a relatively human anatomy, hitting Soniv near-squarely in the middle of his back. He suffered a deep puncture in his primary lung, but his secondary was still operable and the bullet had missed his spine as well as being nowhere near its intended destination - his heart. Surgical care was immediate, and T'Aral expected that within two weeks of proper care he would make a full recovery. With that addressed, she then turned her attention to the various cuts and bruises the gathered Vulcans had gained in the fight. While efficiency would've allowed for other members of the medical staff to aid, each of them waited in turn for T'Aral's care. The whole episode was disturbing, and as illogical as it may have been ... they preferred the attention of one of their own.

 

Returning to her quarters after hours of work and filing a preliminary report, T'Aral settled into relative darkness. There were few statements in her record of events - only the absolute facts. Much was left out, pending a proper discussion which would allow the young Vulcan to properly curb her responses in a manner best suited to avoiding a diplomatic incident. She decided to settle into meditation for an hour, and then she would lie down for some proper sleep. There was nothing to be concerned with: the crewmembers involved responded with the heights of restraint. Their gunfire was supressive in nature and none of the injuring or killing maneuvers of the Suus Mahna were applied. There was no doubt that, despite their relatively successful withdrawl, the restraint they used meant that they took the worst of the injuries. T'Aral was carrying a few spare bruises herself, but was just too tired to tend to them or even have them tended to. It was no matter: if she couldn't handle the matter herself, Leutenant Baliss was both trustworthy and discreet.

 

Even though she settled evenly into her meditative state, there was one distressing thought that plagued her as she sought the harmony of logic: the certainty that she had failed in her endeavors dispite her best intentions.

 

The Captain was not going to be happy about these events.

Edited July 28, 2010 by T'aral

[Crash Calestorm 0]

The Captain was not going to be happy about these events.

- T’Aral Log, “The Logical Response”, USS Comanche Creek

 

Mad as hell was probably an accurate description of Captain Calestorm’s current state of mind at this moment...

 

Chief Medical Officer T’Aral, as well as Crewmen Stavn, Suav, Sasin, Soniv, Sret, and T'Sasa, had gotten into a scuffle with some local reprobates out at one of the Primos Major frontier outpost layover points. According to the CMO’s after action report to Calestorm, the incident had been premeditated, designed to single out the Vulcan contingent of the USS Comanche Creek crew. She would touch base with her CMO later on the matter; for now, the captain was endeavoring to further investigate into the incident as much as she was able without taking full control over the police jurisdiction.

 

What Cale should have done, after receiving CMO Taral’s initial report on the matter, was to file a follow up report with the local Primos Colonial authorities and then left the situation at that. The proper procedure dictated that the after incident investigation be handled according to the numbers, with no vigilantism on the part of the ‘Creeks, and by the local authorities. With no specific proof as to who assaulted Taral -- Primos Operational Organization operatives, local thugs, drifters, or locals working for the Organization -- and the other Vulcan crewmembers that had been lured to the Neuberlin outpost on Primos Major, the incident would remain a local matter and would be investigated by the local colonial police force.

 

Then again, you had to consider the source here, and what the Walking Coyote didn’t know wouldn’t hurt the Daughter of the Storm.

 

Calestorm had taken steps and using the proper channels (as well as some flashing of the figurative silver braid on her sleeves) had wrangled a meeting with the Colonial Police officer in charge of the district where the attack had taken place: Detective Svenson. Once the arrangements for the meeting had been squared away, she had flown the shuttle Pappy Boyington from Primos Minor over to Primos Major.

 

At this point, even though it irked her to some degree, Cale recognized that traveling alone was probably not in her best interests in case the incident with the Vulcan crew was not isolated and it was in fact open season on the officers and crew of the USS Comanche Creek. Most officers had been working in teams of two to six anyway, but Calestorm had sent out updated instructions on the iComanche wireless frequencies reiterating that it would be best if all crew were not to travel alone for the remaining duration of the mission.

 

Ensign Karl Stone, of the Security department, had accompanied the captain to her meeting with the local Primos constable for the Neuberlin district. Crash could have pulled Ensign Haruno or Ensign Macen from their security operational duties, or even Commander Wesley from her XO duties overseeing all of the away teams. But, her senior officers were well occupied with their own duties, and Stone had been listed on the next rotational shift for planet side duties, And so, she had co-opted him; she wanted a security officer who could handle themselves in case of any problems that may surface during the meeting. Not only did Stone have a keen mind under that dark haired crew cut, he was also athletic and a big boy, and she was hoping his red shirted presence at the meeting and at her side would prevent any more of the local ‘cupcakes’ from getting any funny ideas.

 

Calestorm and Stone had arrived at the designated shuttle port, made dock at one of the ground based berths, and then made their way into the city outpost of Neuberlin. The police headquarters for the district was a collection of pre-fabricated one to three story buildings set just at the outskirts of the city, and from an operations standpoint, the police compound was pretty impressive - personnel barracks, main command building, training facility, and evidence processing station.

 

The captain and the ensign were shown to a regular sized office located near the front of the main building; the window settings for the interior office had been opaqued to allow the occupants some privacy from the main office area. The office itself was neat and clean, the desk had a few data digi-slates scattered across it, and filing cabinets held both paper and flimsy report printouts; the room was your typical working office. Deputy Saunders, Svenson’s second in command, attended the meeting as well and stood at parade rest next to her boss. Both of the Primos officers wore dark blue jackets and slacks, with the red and yellow emblem of the Primos Colonial Police Force displayed on one shoulder sleeve.

 

The meeting started off well: Svenson told Calestorm what he knew of the incident and what was being done by his team in order to at least attempt to find some suspects or closure. In turn, Crash corroborated his account with TArals report on the matter.

 

Detective Svenson wasn’t by nature a bad man, but he was beleaguered by the local events surrounding the formation and general operations of the Primos Operational Organization and the Confederation of Outer Worlds, a shortage of capable personnel, and the last few weeks in general as the sector dealt with the supply shortage from the Nero attacks. Captain Calestorm wasn’t by nature a nasty female, but she wanted some sort of explanation as to why her people had been attacked, and she was hard charging in order to get those answers.

 

Then, the conversation took a downward turn as emotionalism entered the equation: Calestorm was mad as hell that her people had been attacked, and Svenson was frustrated, caught between a rock and a hard place with all of the upheaval in the Primos sector these past weeks.

 

“You think a few of the snot nosed locals can do a fly by on my people—“ Cales tone had sharpened, “—then you’ve got another thing coming. I want some butts and I’ve had it!”

 

Svenson’s own tone held anger in it as well, “And I say your crew shouldn’t have been stupid enough to be baited without verifying the wireless signal—“

 

Calestorm felt a certain helplessness at what had happened to her crew, and it was the same sort of feeling that she herself experienced when she had been assaulted a few weeks prior by an operative of the Orion Syndicate; her anger flared outward, fueled by her frustration. Crash moved, her reflexes springing like a desert rattler and she started to go over the desk to get at the detective; he in turn reacted with a yelp, quickly backing away the short distance to slam his back against the wall and toppling his chair over as he moved away, getting some space between him and the desk.

 

The deputy was an eight year veteran of the police force, and had the good sense to not go for her holstered ballistics energy weapon; a younger deputy might have freaked out and reacted. The woman instead attempted to get herself in between her boss and the rather irate Fleet officer.

 

Karl moved with a quickness that you wouldn’t expect from someone of his size, going for Crash as she bolted. He managed to get a grip on the captain and moved her away, hoisting the slightly shorter woman away from the desk. The security ensign kept his two armed grip on Calestorm’s midsection area and kept her turned away towards the wall with his back towards the deputy and her flustered boss. Stone effectively kept Cale pinned between his own body and the wall; the ensign knew the captain wouldn’t fight him, but the flash fire of her temper needed to flare out before he would back off.

 

The two were so close together that he could smell the grain leather of her brown flight jacket.

 

The captain instinctively knew not to fight her own officer, and her common sense plowed through the red haze of temper. “I’m okay! I’m good!” Crash held her hands, palms up, and stopped struggling in Stone’s grip. She didn’t make it an order for Stone to release her.

 

…Well, Cale had wanted to bring along an officer big enough to handle any problems…

 

The security officer still didn’t say a word -- he was the strong and silent type, definitely -- and released his captain. Crash caught Svenson’s gaze, one hand on her hip as she ran her free hand through her silver blond hair, the gesture showing equal parts embarrassment and frustration. She directed a silent half smile at Svenson by way of an apology.

 

The human detective stayed where he was against the wall, hands up and palms out showing that he meant no harm. He spoke into the uneasy silence, and his tone held laughter despite the tense situation that had erupted a few moments before. He cocked his head to one side. “…okay, that was pretty much the wrong choice of words on our part, eh?”

 

Deputy Carson responded with a wry, “Ah, you think, Sir?”