Junkyard Dogs (Cale/Honor-Scar)

[Crash Calestorm 0]

The following log takes place during the 5 minute TBS, just prior to the 07.02.12 Sim…

 

USS Comanche Creek

Inside the Gygax Barrier

Target: Vulcan exploration vessel, derelict status

 

Captain Calestorm wasn’t completely sold on Lieutenant TAral’s request to investigate a derelict Vulcan explorer vessel for intelligence data. And, according to Lieutenant Belo, the SCI programs were showing that they were where they were supposed to be, but the original coordinates were not aligning with the surrounding space.

 

Oh, Joy.

 

She was considering the request as a test scouting run for the Gygax region, but needed more information before she decided and had contacted her resident expert on all matters mercenary.

 

The Battle of Vulcan had burned into the history of the Federation Starfleet, but there was also the matter of funding to replace the personnel and ships lost at the massacre. Alumni donations had helped with accelerated academy cadet and recruitment programs and allied powers temporarily assigning ships to fortify the sector Fleets had also helped. It would be still take several years for the recovery effort.

 

As was said before, it would be said again: the loss of Vulcan and its population had changed things.

 

Sure, Calestorm wanted to get some tangible answers with regard to this sector of space, gather data and intelligence, explore. But, she wouldn’t be honest with herself if she didn’t admit that another thought had occurred to her: the Gygax system offered a helluva salvage opportunity for an organization in need of raw materials.

 

There was a possibility the history-class Federation ship could be retrofitted and cut loose back into service. Starfleet Research and Development would have a field day from an Intel perspective, even with an older model Klingon vessel that the ‘Creek data programs had pinged. General computer systems, if not damaged or outdated beyond repair, could be extracted and retrofitted. The metal alloys making up hull and deck plates could be re-purposed.

 

On that note, said expert Lieutenant JG Jagrissa ‘Jumper’ Honor-Scar, ACAG, emerged from the turbolift and stepped out onto the main bridge. Growing up within a Caitian mercenary family, she had decided to enlist in Starfleet when she was of age; Honor-Scar was rough around the edges but coming along nicely in Cale’s opinion.

 

“El Tee.” The captain called, beckoning the felinoid over to the small conference room located just off the bridge. To the bridge officers on duty, Cale called out, “someone pop a real time image stream of the junkyard to the conference room, thank you.”

 

The shorter woman walked with her commanding officer into the room, hind paws light and sure on the dark gray deck plating. She wore the red tunic of the SEC AeroWing. “Sir, you should just put me on payroll as Chief Resident Mercenary Consultant.”

 

The captain cracked a little smile. “I’ll speak to Commander Wesley about having the position added to the crew manifest.”

 

“That’s a lot of shvasssta floating out there, Sir.” The tawny furred Cait spared a glance at the conference rooms flat screen viewer.

 

Crash was no angel and her halo was a lil’ bit skewed thank y’all very much, but she still had certain ingrained morals and quirks of respect. She expected at least some decorum within the command bridge areas; the smile dropped and she leveled a look at the young Caitian.

 

“Lieutenant Honor-Scar, watch the language. This ain’t the pilot’s locker room.” The tone was low, the one she used when she expected no arguments and Jumper straightened up in reaction to the mild reprimand.

 

The older woman quickly moved the conversation along. “In your opinion, Lieutenant, how long would it take a salvage crew - professional, freelance, or mercenary - to handle this?” Calestorm waved a hand towards the conference viewer, indicating the metal graveyard surrounding the ship.

 

“My family signed on for half a dozen salvage jobs when I was growing up. A mercenary crew at capacity could take six months to a year to strip a wreck, depends on the size. Not counting the illegal salvage operations that aren’t filed with the local sector starbases.”

 

The felinoid flipped an ear back and purred to emphasize her next point. “And this Gygax junk pile? You’re looking at a hundred workers, to start. This is the sort of operation where a temporary star base could be located, just to handle the on-site activity.”

 

They were Starfleet, not junkyard dogs. But….Vulcan had changed things. Would she draw up a future mission proposal regarding the possibility of salvage and submit it to Border Patrol Command? Probably.

 

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. Her thoughts were heavy…what she really needed was to hop in an F-14 and take off for a spin. But, doing her usual flyby and getting whacked by random debris was a very real danger. All starfighter operations remained grounded as a precaution until the mapping programs finished updating the real time location data.

 

She turned her attention back to the pilot and nodded. “Thanks for your time, El Tee. Let me know if anything else should occur to you. Dismissed.”

 

Calestorm exited the conference room and threw one last glance towards the main viewer as she hiked across the bridge, scowled, and entered her office where the Commander and the CMO waited to continue the earlier conversation regarding the Vulcan derelict.