The Long Road Home

[Chirakis 1]

*The Long Road Home
Captain Jon Kelley, USS Iowa
SubCommander Nijil Korjata

USS Iowa shot through space at maximum warp, carrying the Nei'rrh, her crew, and all but a skeleton crew from the Romulan freighter, Argos II, to Aegis. Iowa's stealth destroyer, USS Kole, followed close behind with Argos II in tow.  As opposed to Iowa's glistening hull, Kohl's jet black stealth hull was nearly invisible, making Argos appear as though she flew alone.  Only a few hours had passed since the rescue. For some, tension was still high.  For others, it was a welcome relief.  Iowa’s advanced medical complex was already treating the injured from Argos II’s crash landing.  Having been stranded on the same planetoid for ten years, geologist Dr Jeremiah Brubaker struggled with modern surroundings, but was determined to “bring himself up to speed” with the present.

USS Iowa's Captain Jon Kelley rested his forehead in his hands, trying to get a grip on the mission that almost wasn’t. Commander Djar Reyes wasn’t faring much better.  Her jaw clenched repeatedly as she stared blankly at the forward viewscreen.  “Damn ‘Fleet Command,” Kelley muttered, running a hand through his thick, black hair then lacing his hands behind his neck.  His massive biceps could have easily burst his uniform at the seams, but somehow they survived.

Compared to most Starfleet captains, Kelley was young, but he was competent, vigilant, focused, and determined. In short, he had everything Starfleet Command was looking for, except for his fiery temper. When his superiors seemed to care more about their brass bars than the personnel in the field, you could depend on a full fledged eruption tantamount to Mt Tambora.  That’s when his language could get pretty raw.  Despite the certainty of an explosion, it always seemed to surprise command, but Iowa's crew had watched him conquer so many SNAFUs that they not only took it in stride, they admired it.  His mind set assured them that he would always stand up for the crew and take the fall for them if necessary. 

As Iowa continued on course, Kelley’s mind spun with command’s ignorance and petty bickering that slowed his response to the rescue of Argos II and Nei’rrh.  And the more he thought about it, the more angry he became. 

“Dammit,” he spat with a vengeance.  “Took ‘em long enough to get their act together and realize that there actually was something going on!” His fist pounded the command chair arm rest, sending an empty cup flying to the deck, narrowly missing the OPS console. Lt Boz ducked out of reflex, then glanced questioningly at the cup.  Kelley waved him off.  Boz nodded and went back to work.  A deep, cleansing breath followed by a sigh settled him down. What was done, was done.  Sure, they rescued the crews…. But if command had argued the point a few minutes longer….?

“What the hell, Reyes?” He snapped, trying not to kick something, throw something, or put his fist through the bulkhead—like that would work. “Did they think we wanted to take Kole for a picnic?  What do they think we’re out here for?  Make ‘em look good?  Three million ninety-eight thousand metric tons of toy for them to play with?  Hell, do they think at all?”

“Cost ‘em a pretty penny, too, sir,” Reyes replied intensely, still glaring at the screen.  “But we got ‘em.  They’re safe and they're all goin’ home.  Gotta thank Admiral Slater for that.”

“Yeah,” he replied soberly. “Thanks to him, we got ‘em before they fried. I need to bring him a bottle or two of that Scotch they sell at…” He snapped his fingers. “What's the name of that place? You know… the one on the commerce deck?”

Reyes finally pulled herself away from the forward screen.  “McClairen’s.”

“Yeah. McClairen’s. They always carry a stash of his favorite.”

“Glenfiddich 21 year rum barrel aged,” Reyes furnished.

“Yeah. He’ll like that. And we owe him, big time.”

“So much that he’ll share, sir?” Reyes tossed him a wink.

“Huh.” He passed her a slow grin. “Never crossed my mind, Rey,  but you do have a point.”

Slowly pushing himself to a stand, Kelley reached for the coffee cup and shot a three-pointer into the recycle bin. “I need a drink,” he said, glancing to her over his shoulder as he walked toward his ready room.

“Aye, sir,” Reyes replied. “I have the conn. Just save some for me.”

Kelley’s snort and, “You got it,” shot back as the ready room door closed.

USS Iowa was one of four brand spanking new Akira class refits assigned to Border Patrol and loaded for bear, most of which was classified.  Three flights of  P-70B Peacemakers and a flight of A-85 Crusader attack fighters were only the beginning of  their arsenals.  Their commanding officers were hand picked and stringently vetted, as were their crews.  In short, Starfleet Border Patrol was the bane of any interloper looking for a fight.  Unfortunately, Iowa was command’s bone of contention for this particular mission.  Captain Jon Kelley commanded Strike Force Aegis.  In coming to the rescue of Argos and Nei’rrh, they had gone far beyond their area of responsibility.  

Still, Kelley had good reason to be upset.  Strike Force Aegis’s USS Kole was one of two Zumwalt class stealth destroyers loaded with jaw-dropping technology. It was their personnel who picked up Nei’rrh's transmissions and alerted USS Iowa to the pending disaster.  They were the only ones who could track down the exact coordinates and Iowa was the only Akira available at the time. If it hadn’t been for Kelley’s forceful “negotiating”, no one would have come to the rescue of Argos II and Nei’rrh.  They would have been pulled into the planetoid’s gravity well with all hands lost, including the civilians.

 

Flaked out on the ready room couch, Kelley nursed a Romulan ale he had haggled from Chirakis. Well, it wasn’t so much as a haggle, it was more of a game they played. The last time they played, Kelley came away with an entire crate, but he kept that information under wraps.  Except for Reyes. She deserved it.

“You seem to be more relaxed than usual, Jon,” jerked Kelley from his thoughts.

“Hey, Je’rit,” he replied, kicking his feet off the couch to face the image of USS Missouri's Captain d’Ka onscreen. “Enjoying your bond’s ale,” he continued, waggling the bottle at the viewscreen.

“As am I,” d’Ka replied, displaying his bottle. Relaxing in his own ready room after a long mission, d’Ka gave what looked like his usual smirk, but Kelley wasn’t sure if it was a smirk.  The Sindar had a permanent upturn to his lips, so he really couldn’t tell. 

“What?” Kelley feigned offense.  “You messin’ with my brain again, makin’ me drink this stuff? Thought that kind of thing was off limits.”

“No, I am not messing with your brain—though it would be fun on occasion.  And yes, it is not only off limits, it is forbidden, with a very high price to pay if those bounds are crossed.  As for the ale, I believe you call it coincidence.” 

“Coincidence,” Kelley snorted. “Riiight.” 

“But... to my purpose.  Mission accomplished, I hear.”

“Word travels fast, but yeah.” Kelley nodded. “By the skin of our teeth. Hell of a situation.” After downing the last drops, he tossed the bottle aside. “You on your way back?”

“Indeed we are.  Our mission was a simple matter of the Alien Alliance testing the border again.”  D’ka’s glance offscreen initiated, “Excuse me. It seems that we have another situation.” 

The screen instantly blanked to the Starfleet emblem. 

“Figures,” Kelley muttered, kicked back again, and closed his eyes.  A few minutes later he was summoned to the landing bay. After giving his neck a good crack, he headed for the lift.  Reyes nodded as he passed, knowing that she would get her share of relaxation soon enough.

*   *   *   *   *   *

SubCommander Korjata looked over the Nei'rrh as it sat in the bay of the USS Iowa. He walked around the shuttle repeatedly, brushing his hand along the dark olive hull. The Argos II used one of its cargo arms to pluck the shuttle from the oncoming wave, resulting in various scrapes along its sides.  The cargo vessel itself needed saving as its engines struggled to leave even the planet, let alone perform a dangerous grapple maneuver at high impulse. Nijil was not upset at the damage, but knew it would take a while to repair. Shipyard or flight deck was the question. Hours upon hours certain.

His two crew members had taken refuge in the amenities of the Iowa, along with Annisha. She suffered a concussion when she flew into the cargo vessel bulkhead. She was sleeping now and he needed a distraction. Her condition was not life threatening. She would be fine in a few days.

"In a few days," he muttered to himself. Nijil renewed his worry of having Annisha, and her friends, out from the safety of the station. Then he reminded himself danger lurked in every corner.

The soft pace of Starfleet regulation boots on the decking came from behind. “SubCommander Korjata?” said a voice. “Captain Kelley, USS Iowa.” The man approached, hand outstretched in greeting, his expression serious as his eyes scanned Nei’rrh’s hull.

Nijil returned the gesture, "SubCommander Nijil Korjata and the Nei'rrh," he said, pointing behind him at the Rihan shuttle.

“Looks like you took quite a beating.  What can I do to help?” 

"Hmm, well, I don't know if this ship and her crew, as impressive as it is, would be able to repair my ship in a day or two. All I know is I have a lot of repairs ahead. Although..." He turned around to look at the rest of the bay. "Perhaps an evaluation of the repairs needed would lighten my load." Nijil smiled. "But that is not really your concern, Captain. I am just grateful your medical staff too a look at my Annisha."

“Um…” Kelley rubbed the back of his neck, nodding.  “I checked in with medical before I came down. Saw your daughter. Beautiful girl.  My daughter’s her age.  Stacy.  Nice kid and not at all like me, thank goodness—or so her mother says.”  He sighed. “I can relate to your concern.” 

Kelley grabbed a pair of clean gloves and began a slow walk around Nei’rrh’s hull, giving a gentle rub here and there.  “You had one hell of a ride, SubCommander.  Quite a bit of scoring. Looks like a grappling arm held you in place for a while. Just off the cuff, I’m going to say that there’s not enough time for our crews to bring your shuttle up to snuff, but we can work on a few things and give you our best eval.  And we do have a team that’s worked on Romulan vessels.”

Nijil nodded. "If any engineers fancy a look at a Romulan vessel up close, put some time in. I need one restful night. The only thing I ask is if au engage the cloak, to put cones out."

“Oh, yeah,” Kelley said, grinning.  “They’re geeks when it comes to something different.”  He turned and put two fingers to his lips to fire a loud whistle toward a group of engineers.  “Bud,” he called, waving an arm in their direction.  “Get yer butt over here. Got a job for ya.” He glanced to Nijil.  “I think it’s best to stay away from the cloak.”

A  young engineer rolled from beneath a shuttle and grabbed a cleaning cloth to wipe his hands as he double-timed it toward Kelley. “Sure, Captain.  Whatcha got?”

“SubCommander Korjata, Petty Officer Buddy Kaison,” Kelley introduced, looking at Nijil.  “If anyone can fix it, his team can.”

“We’ll give it our best, sir.” Kaison nodded instead of offering a grimy hand.

“Romulan shuttle, pretty banged up,” Kelley continued. “Take a look and give a good eval for SubCommander Korjata. Leave the cloak alone.”

“Yes, sir,”  Kaison replied, stuffing his gloves into a back pocket and grabbing a new set.  He moved slowly and carefully from one section to another, scrutinizing the slightest nick, bend, and scrape.  Then he opened the panel and took a good look at the propulsion system.  “Well, sir,” he said upon return.  “I’ve dealt with a few Romulan shuttles, but never one quite like this. Looks like it has a few modifications. I’ll do my best to get an eval top to bottom, inside and out.”

“Good.” Kelley turned to Nijil.  “Kaison and his crew’ll take care of it, SubCommander.  And while they’re at it, I’ll get you settled into a nice warm room so you can get some rest.  There’s a replicator in there, or we have real food. Your choice.”

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* Martha Raddatz, "The Long Road Home"