Reflective Fault

[Crash Calestorm 0]

This Plot Log takes place right after our 10.04.10 Sim, during our current Time Between Sims…

 

This was maddening.

 

Border patrol duty was not a particularly satisfying duty posting. There was nothing notably wrong with the assignment, per se. Nothing wrong aside from the fact that the only reason Coyote and her crew had gotten stuck with it was because that idiot -- Captain Esteban -- had gotten himself, his ship, and his crew blown to three kinds of hell last week during an encounter with a renegade Klingon pirate crew.

 

She should have been pulled in to search for that maniac pirate captain, Kruge, and his merry band of misfits. But no, instead she was here, diverted to the ass end of the universe.

 

Imperial Fleet Command had needed a vessel to fill the vacant spot until a replacement patrol vessel could be rotated out, and the so called honor had landed squarely on the ISS Comanche Creek and her commanding officer.

 

Oh, what joy.

 

She was a command line officer, not a flea bitten border patrol officer.

 

Indeed, this was maddening.

 

It was her own fault.

 

She had done such a good job routing out the Resistance cells on Gamma Alpha, obviously Imperial Command had taken notice and tapped her to deal with some of the bolder independent captains that operated along the border grids such as this one.

 

Obviously.

 

Commodore Shauna Coyote tapped her index finger on the graphic screen inset at the Helm console and visually tracked the progress of the fleeing vessel; the flea bitten tramp vessel was attempting to make a run for it. Coyote now had a decision to make, and even that irked her: Blow the offending ship off the star charts, or let them go. Firebombing the ship into oblivion did have some merit, this was true. Though, allowing them to escape with tails between their legs would also lend further information to the civilian captain gossip network as well as the reputation of the Comanche Creek as a ship to be feared.

 

The ship’s commanding officer was standing rather close to the officer on duty at the helm console, and the annoyance radiated from her, showing on her hawk-like features; the young pilot ensign tried to not look as if she was about to faint dead away. The commodore sighed and backed off a bit, as it wouldn’t do to have the helm officer pass out in the middle of a skirmish, despite the fact that this so called battle was more of an annoyance then anything.

 

A deep voice filled the silence on the bridge. “Your orders Commodore?”

 

Her First Officer.

 

He wanted her position. He wanted her ship.

 

Putting aside the fact that she’d be more then happy to hand over the flea bitten patrol mission to him, she’d also be very dead at that juncture so this was just was not an option.

 

He managed to put a sarcastic spin on her rank designation.

 

Had she mentioned that she really, really wanted to stab him? Really.

 

Indeed, this whole situation was maddening.

 

Sighing again, Coyote turned halfway, speaking clearly to her weapons officer at their posting off to the side of the main bridge area. “Keep peppering that civilian ship, teach them a lesson as we send them on their way; I want them out of the Cold Station Thirteen jurisdiction. If they get bold and stupid, blow them out of the stars.”

 

****

 

Calestorm spat out a mouthful of black Caitian fur -- she had gotten flung straight into Mrkath and banged her face off the forward control consoles when the first few drones had hit the ship -- and hauled herself up off the decking with the help of Ch’Imajes, the lead security guard. She quickly wiped her running nose, attempting to stem the flow of the blood and snot.

 

This was her fault.

 

The small command bridge of the SS Hard Six was awash in emergency lighting and smoke, and the day had not been going well. Personnel scrambled this way and that to get back to their assigned bridge stations or grab fire suppression kits and tried to get the small blazes that had broken out across the bridge down to a manageable level; many of them were walking wounded. The comm officer on duty was speaking frantically into her headset, fielding the damage reports that were incoming from the lower decks.

 

On her orders, the ‘Six had strayed too far into the Cold Station 13 zone and remote defense drones had been activated, descending on the Oberth-class freighter. Calestorm hadn’t thought to use their pirated M5 tactical program in order to scan for any defense mechanisms along the perimeter grids. And they might have been able to deal with the magnetic drones if the ISS Comanche Creek hadn't shown up to make the situation worse.

 

Whooptie freakin’ do, it was a regular party!

 

She should have either circumvented the area entirely or booted up the scanners in conjunction with the M5 programs…they could have avoided the drones and that blasted ‘Creek.

 

Their retrofit Oberth class had some weapons, but couldn’t hope to take on the Kelvin frigate’s heavy ordinance. Run. They had to keep running.

 

Calestorm spat out a final mouthful of fur and blood. “Wesley! Get us the hell away from the Comanche Creek’s line of fire! Get us away from Coyote!”

 

“I'm trying, Crash, but the helm's shot to pieces!”

 

Her wireless head set suddenly screamed to life on a private comm channel. “Cale!”

 

Pike! Thank God he was okay. She slapped at an intercom inset on one of the forward consoles in order to respond directly to the channel.

 

“Chris! Everyone okay down there? How’s the chief?”

 

“We’re all fine! What the hell is going on--”

 

She abruptly cut her husband off. “--can’t explain right now, I’m about to do something really stupid or really bold, take your pick; tell Jed and his Engineering gang to hang onto their asses, Crash out.”

 

Crash turned towards the resident tech geek, making a mental note of the blood on the other woman but having to ignore it for the moment. Hope the medical section didn’t get hit in one of the blowouts. “Innogen! Use the M5 program to send a signal to the remaining remote mine drones; try and bypass their command protocols, get them to lock onto us and stay with us just long enough for us to do a sweep run past--”

 

Another shot across their bow flung them all about the bridge like ragdolls…

 

To Be Continued 10.11.10 in Sim...

 

* Captain J.T. Esteban and Kruge copyright Star Trek III The Search for Spock (1984)