SS Vulture One Ugly Ship

[Crash Calestorm 0]

The following events take place just prior to the 10.22.12 Sim...

 

Epsilon 9 Starbase

2260.202

 

Ashton Calestorm stood at an observation port, leaning her lanky frame against the bulkhead and observing the vessel that she was due to take command of. She didn’t much look Starfleet anymore, and the ship certainly wasn’t.

 

Her clothing was working class: a battered plain leather flight jacket, utility cargo trousers, fingerless tactical gloves. The garments were strategically faded, frayed and patched up for that added ‘starving pirate’ believability. Her three tattoos had been covered with a temporary dermal layer, the tatts reworked with much nastier artistic designs.

 

….looking in the mirror was a bit scary, she had to admit.

 

As for her identity for the covert mission? If Cale was honest with herself, the content reminded her of an alternate reflection if she hadn’t come out of her rebellious phase. She wondered deep down if the OSI* operative who had drawn up the profile was some sort of psychologist? A smart ass? Maybe a little bit of both?

 

50 years old. Former hot-shot pilot. Embittered veteran of the Orion Cartel-Starfleet skirmishes. Dishonorably discharged from the Federation Starfleet. Descended into alcoholism and scuttled from cargo jockey to cargo jockey position on tramp freighters and smuggler snips until finally scraping together a command of her own.

 

Her vessel for the mission was a B’rel class Klingon scout, seized two years ago by OSI. Damn thing had to be fumigated to deal with a flea problem. Mismatched hull plates. Faint lines of the original bird of prey paintjob could be seen on the wings. Ugly it may be, but the SS Vulture would serve the purpose.

 

Scooter Wesley’s vessel was much nicer. A ‘Franken ship’, with a NX-class saucer mounted to a Daedalus class secondary hull and nacelles, it was well maintained and the configuration was acceptable for a dread pirate of the space lanes.

 

Both vessels would be the key to infiltrate the pirate subculture, and allow the undercover crews eventual access to the Klingon prison colony known as 'Rura Penthe'.

 

“Hey.” A smooth voice interrupted her thoughts.

 

She turned her gaze towards Reed Mitros who had just entered the observation lounge. A big grin showed her teeth as she turned her attention to her significant other. “Hey.”

 

“How’s Wesley doing on her preparations?” He was dressed similarly to Crash, and had a few days growth of beard to complete the effect.

 

“Scooter’s pirates are looking pretty good, much more professional than our ragged bunch.” Crash quipped. “We should all be ready to deploy in twelve hours following final mission briefing.”

 

Reed stood beside her and gazed out the viewport, his attention dancing over the NX-Daedalus hybrid, on which he commented, “…very nice piece,” as well as the B’rel class, “…that is one ugly ship.”

 

She cocked a good natured eyebrow at him. “Ya think? C’mon, let’s go meet with Captain T’Mir* for Phase 2 pre-brief.”

 

*Office of Special Investigations, Starfleet

*Commanding Officer, Epsilon 9 Starbase

[Crash Calestorm 0]

(continuation)

 

Mitros and Calestorm had hopped a turbolift to take them to the office of station commander T’Mir. Halfway through the route, Reed reached over and toggled the control panel, stopping the lift midway between decks.

 

Crash looked at him askance, to which he responded, “How’re you doing Ash?”

 

She sighed. “Reed, you already asked me this the other day.”

 

“As I recall, yes, I did ask you. You completely avoided answering me, and then we distracted ourselves by having sex.”

 

“What do you want me to say, Reed? I got a strip ripped off my hide! Yeah, okay fine: I’m simultaneously pissed off at the whole situation and yet happy for Scooter Wesley. She’s a good officer and she deserves the command time. I stand by my decisions on Grayson and the meeting with Korloth, but fully understand that I royally ticked off Admiral Coyote and it really doesn’t pay to get on that woman’s bad side.”

 

She looked right at her lover. “Maybe it’s time I rethink my command style.”

 

At that, Mitros raised an eyebrow. “I don’t really see a problem with it. You get the job done. You’re honest…”

 

Calestorm raised a gentle hand to indicate that she wasn’t finished explaining. “I think we can all agree that the destruction of Vulcan changed things. Chris Pike is right that with some aspects, Starfleet has lost the collective instinct to leap without looking and certain factions are going to take advantage of that weakness. However, Shauna is also correct in her opinions when it comes to the political climate and it does pay to be cautious.”

 

“That’s all true, but you are who you are…”

 

“I know. I’ve always gone fast in starfighters. Tend to have a hard head - I’m driving the Doc crazy by the way. She don’t say much, but every once in a while she gets that look ‘oh great, another concussion’ – and jump in where I’m needed. Or out a window at The Maze.”

 

Mitros stayed quiet and let her continue.

 

“I’m just sayin’…maybe it’s time I take into account all the factors of this changed universe we find ourselves walkin’ through and adjust my command methods accordingly.”

 

Silence, and then he asked completely deadpan, “You’re not going to stop doing the fly bys, right? I mean, that’s one of your most endearing qualities…”

 

At that, Crash busted out laughing.

 

*Authors Note: a conference in the turbolift, NCIS Special Agent Gibbs style.