Hello all! I R back. Another week, another chapter.
I enjoyed the comments above, and hope that this and future posts compell more of the same. Sometimes this is as close as I get to having friends over... So, enjoy!
CH. 6
“Now entering Kovarn System outer limits, Cap. Eleven minutes to orbital range.” Bronstien reported. Ford answered him and joined Mister Thomas near to the science station.
“Pre-approach scan, Miss Surall.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Lieutenant Surall leaned in close to her control board and pressed a waiting key. A long, slender viewing scope extended from the console face. Manipulating her keyboards without looking, she scrutinized the images the myriad of sensors and scanners overlaid atop each other in the scope.
“Multiple vessels and energy signatures in planetary orbit. Three high orbit cargo transfer stations, possibly seven mid-orbit fueling stations. There are definent defensive platforms in orbit, they read as…small, unmanned satellites, massing…three hundred metric tons. I am directing an intensive scan on the weapons array of the closest…”
Ford and Thomas waited in silence as the science officer did her job. The quiet, ever-present sounds of the bridge crept into their perception. The captain was beginning to count the pings of the chronometer when Surall finally came across with more intel. “Low yield fusion beam cannon tied directly into their main power reactors. Common technology, if a bit crude. They represent a moderate threat level, but their maneuverability is limited.”
“Evident technological centers on the surface?” Ford inquired.
“Scanning… Three large industrial centers, several notable mining sites. All centers are arranged near a spinal mountain chain extending from the northern tip of the main continent to the eastern edge of a large forested region. The central most facility bears landing platforms for up to mid-size transports. Roads interlink the other centers to it.”
A topographical map of the area under scrutiny appeared on the upper main readout above Surall’s scope. Ford looked the terrain over with the eye of a military commander. He noted areas where defenses would likely be hidden among surface features. He spotted several areas that would likely be impossible to fight in if the worst were to happen. His was the duty to take advantage of all his own advantages and use them to negate the opposition’s capacity to derail his mission. Sharp felt it imperative these Klingons be returned to their Empire to show the Federation’s willingness to further the peace initiative. Ford was not going to fail his former captain.
“We’ll beam down three groups—“ The captain began, but was cut off as a dark skinned hand projected into view. Surall faced him.
“Transporter function will not be possible, Captain. The prison and all of the main continent is covered by an electromagnetic barrier.”
“We could knock the barrier out with a few phaser blasts.” Ben suggested.
“Sharp didn’t want us to start a war with anyone we don’t even know yet. We won’t employ weapons till we have to.” He mentally adjusted his operational plans. “We’ll go in with three shuttles, then. Mister Thomas, you and me will go down in a Type J with a full security party. Two Type L personnel shuttles will fly escort with a full security team each. Security will equip for hostile terrain. Accompanying us in the Type J will be Lieutenants Bronstien and Smith, and we’ll equip with light gear.”
“Weaponry, Cap’n?” Thomas asked. He didn’t want to go down naked.
“Pistols only. No rifles for us. We’ll want to look somewhat reasonable when we meet with whoever runs this place. Hard to do that with rifles in hand.”
Thomas didn’t look convinced, but did not argue. Ford looked past the XO to the inner ring of stations. “Mister Davenport will have the conn.”
“Nearing inner system, Cap.” Helm called.
“Reduce to full impulse.” Ford headed for his command chair. Taking a seat as Thomas conferred with the chief of security, the captain turned toward the comm station. “Mister Smith, hail the prison facility.”
“Aye, sir. Hailing them now.”
“We’ve got somebody’s attention, Cap.” Bronstien commented from his helm console. Ford flicked his eyes from the pilot to the forward viewer. The growing image of the little, brown colored world in the center of the screen suddenly grew in stature as the lieutenant zoomed in on the northern hemisphere. Dozens of orbiting craft were turning away from their previous paths and were beginning to move in on their visitor. Captain Ford knew few of the ships viewed, but several of them possessed noticeable weapon ports. Barrels were turning the Endeavour’s direction and others were already beginning to glow.
Any one of these ships, Ford counted six so far, was not likely to be a match for his ship, but the captain did not want to tangle with any of them. They weren’t here to make enemies of these people. Getting into an orbital starship battle was not going to help their relations on the surface.
“Slow to one-quarter impulse. Yellow Alert.” Ford decided.
“Shields coming up, Keptin.”
As the lighting changed overhead and the alarm sounded, the captain held his breath slightly. The sensation was akin to waiting on a girl’s answer for a first date. Would everything turn out good…or bad? The half dozen vessels eased in closer, assuming as they approached a definite attack posture, their heaviest ship in the lead center of a ‘v’ formation. Backs began to stiffen all about the bridge as the officers manning their stations tensed for what was about to happen.
“I read a wide variety of weaponry aboard the approaching vessels, Captain,” Surall offered unbidden from science. “The most dangerous craft is likely the lead ship, which bears ten accelerated plasma cannon and nuclear torpedoes.”
“Nukes,” Thomas muttered, “…great…”
“Set phaser banks 2, 3, 4, 11 and 12 for point defense and stand by.” Ford ordered his weapons officer. And still the waiting continued. The approaching ships seemed to slow. Was this a good sign?
“Closing wessels are drawing to a halt, Keptin. They are outside standard torpedo range.” Lieutenant Nechayev leaned close over his console, hands braced on either side of his panel.
“Steady as she goes.” Ford was not willing to yield too much. He would approach from a position of strength, which meant not halting or backing down from their weaponry. He would act as though their show of force didn’t concern him.
“Range four million kilometers, Cap.” Bronstien reported. The young man’s eyes were glued to the indicators covering his panel. His hands remained poised over the RCS system.
“Sir,” called out Lieutenant Smith, turning in his seat at whiplash speed. “We’ve got an answering hail.”
“On screen.” Ford was relieved, and hoped it didn’t show too greatly.
The image of the halted defense ships was replaced by the visage of a large, muscle bound mountain of a man standing behind a desk cluttered with junk and data modules. The alien had oily looking skin of a grey-ish color and short black hair. His face bore whiskers unshaven for more than three days and the expression he wore was a mixture of indifference and displeasure that told Ford he didn’t want to deal with whatever the unidentified ship presented. Chevis had worked with many similar folks during his career. These he knew he could work with. They would do whatever they could do to get the visitors to just go away and do so quickly. And they were always looking for ways to profit without having to work for it. This made them dangerous, but predicable.
“Who are you?” The large alien asked as he sat lazily into his office chair and took a long drink of whatever he was carrying.
Ford would normally stand when addressing an alien representative, but would not do so today. Standing would only show this man more respect than he himself had shown Ford. Still seated, he inclined his head to the man on the viewer. “I’m Captain Ford of the Federation starship Endeavour. I represent the government of the United Federation of Planets which lies beyond the plasma string phenomena several light-years back.”
Ford could see that the large man still did not care much. He shifted in his seat and looked more interested in the drink in his meaty hand. Finally he looked back up to the screen.
“And what does your Federation of Planets want here?”
Ford did not answer straight away. He remained silent and forced a small, half smile on his face. “I might tell you once I have your name, sir. You have me at a disadvantage.”
The alien returned the smile. It looked more disgusting on the near-human face.
“More than you know, Captain. But if it makes you feel any better, I am Over Warden Jarn. I run this place for the Ya’wenn Government. What has your government sent you here for? Are you here to buy metals?”
“Maybe in the future…” Now Ford stood and approached the visual pickup. “We’ve been ordered here to negotiate the release of a group of your…workers…to our custody for return to their home planet.”
Jarn seemed absolutely unfazed by the request. It seemed that he bought and sold prisoners on a daily basis, and likely did. He pursed his bottom lip in a manner that showed slight interest. “What specific group, Captain?”
“A group of Klingon warriors.”
Jarn paused a moment. He wasn’t the consummate actor.
“Klingons…good workers those Klingons.” He said, his voice so gravelly that it sounded as though he’d suffered some throat damage in his sordid past. “They’ll cost you plenty, Captain Ford. But I don’t talk money with a ship in orbit. You have landing ships?”
“We carry shuttles.”
“Well, then, bring your cash and a minimal group of men down to the coordinates we’ll send you. I don’t allow matter teleporters on my planet. Too much danger of things going missing, you understand.”
“I figured as much. We’ll make orbit in ten minutes and see you after that.”
“Very well, Captain. My ships will let you pass.”
The viewer shed the link to the Over Warden and returned to the view of the planet and escorting ships. The six little starships were turning to match Endeavour’s flight path, though their weapons remained powered. Behind the conn, Lieutenant Nechayev continued scanning their escorts for defensive weaknesses. Ford heard him working and felt all the safer for it. Commander Thomas gave the captain a sideways glance.
“We’re not really taking the money with us, are we?”
“Hell no. We’ll bluff ‘em on the money, bring it down when we have the prisoners. There’s something not right down there, though.” Ford paused in recollection. “He hesitated when I mentioned the Klingons. They might not even be down there. Or they might be dead and buried. Whatever is wrong, he isn’t going to play straight with us, and we’re going to have to be careful.”
Ford patted Bronstien on the shoulder.
“Assume standard orbit, helm. Then get down to Shuttle Bay One. I want my best pilot on the main shuttle incase we have to hotfoot it out of there.” He looked left to the Ops position. “Ron, you have the conn.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
Davenport stood and made for the center seat. A replacement NCO took Ops as the captain headed for the after lifts. “Mister Nechayev, ready another shuttle and appropriate security forces for the latinum should we need it. And map out the location of the field generators just in case we need to eliminate them.”
“Yes, Keptin.”
“XO, Comm, y’all are with me.”
“This isn’t the way we do things, Captain…” Ford turned to the sound of the voice behind him. Lieutenant Smith stood at the foot of the personnel shuttle’s boarding ramp, phaser pistol in hand and question upon his face. Chevy gave the boy half a smirk and faced him fully as he pulled the slim, light field jacket over his shoulders. The kid’s eyes focussed for a second on the shiny gold Captain pins on the jacket’s shoulder and arm. Most of his resolve drained from him.
“Something to say, Comm?”
“Well, Captain…” Ford could tell the young officer now wished he’d never spoken up. He shuffled foot to foot, glancing away uncertainly. Commander Thomas thumped up the ramp, passing the boy and slapping him painfully hard on the back. Thomas’s face bore a cruelly sardonic expression as he passed by Chevis. Ford pretended to ignore him. The boy stammered a bit more.
“Well, this isn’t how we were trained at the Academy. I mean, we weren’t trained to negotiate from behind armed phasers.”
“That’s right, Lieutenant. You weren’t trained like this. You were trained in a cozy little simulated environment, negotiating against instructors skilled in playing a role. No one was pointing a weapon at you. No one was looking for a way to screw you and take advantage of all your weaknesses. No one wanted what you had. Right now though,” Chevy smiled a bit, hefting the weight of his own grey-blue phaser pistol, “We’re going to operate on a planet where all of those instances might be true. We have to get our job done, return a former enemy home, and do all that while still protecting our asses. Do you have any idea how many times Captain Archer of the NX-01 was captured in his ten years of command?”
Smith seemed taken aback. This might not be the butt-chewing he’d expected for questioning his captain, but he knew now that Ford wouldn’t tolerate much in the way of scrutiny. Chevis Ford played things his way. “No…uh, no, sir.”
“Fifty times. Some of those were re-captures! Him and his engineer were notorious for getting nabbed. Ever read Captain James Kirk’s history? Not counting the recent Klingon trial where he was arrested, he, Spock and Doctor McCoy were captured times uncountable. Now…any idea how many times Admiral Sharp was captured during his years in command?”
Only a questioning look came back in answer. Ford held up a solitary finger.
“Just once. One time, by Commander La’ra of the Hiv’laposh. Who’s school of thought do we want to emulate?”
“Sharp’s, sir?”
“Damn right! Get aboard.”
Lieutenant Smith stepped quickly past his CO. He was probably very glad to be out of the captain’s sight. Ford, however, stepped back down the ramp and examined the polymer casing of his Type-Two pistol. He did indeed wish for easier ways to get things done. But, often, a good solid weapon was the only tool one could count on. Maybe things would be different for the next generation of Starfleet, but today, one had to remain realistic.
Ford glanced about the cavernous main shuttle bay. Closest by his own craft were two other vessels, filled with security men and rifles. Further away was another cargo shuttle being prepped for launch when the captain called for it. Chevy proclaimed to be no genius, but did everything within his power to protect his ship and crew. He just hoped none of this would be necessary.
Far across the steel and white colored bay, the final officer he awaited emerged from the after turbolift. He came on at a trot, holstering his own phaser and sliding on a field jacket. Ford greeted Mister Bronstien as he neared the ramp. “Ready for a short trip, helmsman?”
“Aye, Cap.” The youth said with a wide grin. His short-cropped black hair made the lad look even younger than he acted. Such children made the captain feel old. Ford motioned the boy to the cockpit and holstered his own phaser.
“Let’s go, kids.” He murmured as he closed the aft hatch.
***
Anyway, that's ch. 6.
I actually was thinking of how more traditional Starfleet types might regard how Ford carries on. This is why I made Smith such a young kid fresh from the Academy. He gets to be the moral sounding board for all the differences between my Trek and real Trek. There is at least one more such instance within the story where he questions what he's seeing. You might even see Ford brought to task over it in future stories.
Till them, read on and enjoy if possible.
--thu guv'!
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