Only 2 replies? Oh well.
R/L can be a bitch. That...or no one was impressed with Mister Spock beaming onto the Endeavour...
Either way... Here's some more story!
CH. 3
“Contact, Commodore. Distance one-point-seven AUs.” Came the smooth voice of the dark skinned Vulcan science officer. Relaxed in his command chair, Chevis Ford looked her way. He was now in his standard uniform, the slimming and professional maroon jacket and black pant with the short-collared command sweater beneath.
“Jarn’s ship, Lieutenant?”
“I believe so, sir.” The officer replied with confidence. She pressed a key to extend the main sensor scope from the left corner of her panel. “Its warp field profile matches the signature of the vessel we fought within the Tempest on Stardate: 9704.”
Ford stood from the conn to stretch his legs before what would likely become a combat encounter. His right hand came to rest on the butt of his phaser, holstered at his belt. He’d ordered all hands to arm with standard sidearms hours before. Rifle bearing guards manned their posts near each turbolift here on the command deck. The commodore took a long glance across the bridge, taking in the composure of his officers and noncoms. They were ready. Some looked to him, awaiting his next command. The rest watched their monitors for changes in their equipment and made final preparations for the mission ahead.
“Battlestations.” He called out.
The lighting dimmed by computer control at the sound of the order; red tracers highlighted the corners of the compartment. Unnecessary personnel filed off the bridge to the pulsing bark of the klaxon alarm. The sound of the comm officer’s young voice sounded over the intercom, adding to the urgency of the ship’s signals. “Battlestations, battlestations! This is a Red Alert. Set Condition One throughout the ship.”
Division commanders began to sound off over the comm system, barely audible as a chattering din from the communications console. Ford looked about at the collected men, watching them make the transition into soldiers. He glanced directly aft to the StratCom and Mister Thomas. The XO looked back to him, matching his expression, looking on expectantly. Whatever confidence one took with him into battle, one always wondered if it was going to be the final time.
“XO, signal the task force to take up Advance Deployment Position Sharp Seven. Also, confirm their battle preparedness.”
Ben nodded once, tapping a key on the StratCom’s face, and headed for the comm station. Ford turned back fully toward the bow, settling his eyes on the main screen. He looked outward into the fuzzy pink sheen of the plasma storm before his ship. His adversary was out there. Jarn waited in his battleship for the chance to strike down another Federation vessel. Maybe he even waited for Ford himself. Chevy found that thought satisfying, but foreboding as well.
“All decks report Red Alert Status, Commodore.” Lieutenant Smith reported from comm. Ford gave him a thumbs-up. Jarn’s vessel was just barely visible as a tiny black dot in the lit visage of fiery space.
“Very well, Mister Smith.” Ford replied.
“All ships report ready, Skip.” Seconded Thomas. The big mountain of a man returned to the aft consoles and bent there in waiting. Ford slowly turned and made to join him. He immediately looked down onto the black 2-D display, which showed a graphic map of the surrounding space all about the Endeavour within five Astronomical Units. The glowing, swirling mass of roiling plasma of the Tempest Storm showed ahead and to the portside. Behind the Excelsior-Class starship, her current task force escorts; Comanche, Le Resolute and T’pol; followed their leader in a V formation. Deployment Pattern Sharp 7 called for the force command ship to lead from the head of the group. Ford felt this was the way any battle against his adversary should be fought.
He would lead, charge down Jarn’s throat. Jarn’s beef was with him. Ford would like nothing better than cutting him down personally. The dark feeling was not one becoming of a Starfleet officer. But he felt it none the less. He knew that if he did not put an end to Jarn’s aggression, it would continue. It would worsen. It had to end.
The portside lift doors opened at the aft of the bridge, allowing Ambassador Spock to enter. His hands were clasped before his robe, making him the picture of serenity. He looked every inch the negotiator that his newfound reputation made him out to be. He came to stand beside Ford while the commodore thought about tactics. Chevy looked up at him.
“Ambassador.”
“Commodore.” He returned the greeting. “You have found Jarn?”
“Indeed. He’s alone. No back up. We’re about to enter what we believe to be their accurate sensor range.” Ford pointed to the image of the small ship that his task group was closing in on at a speed of warp factor eight. The Vulcan nodded and looked back to the ship commander.
“What are your intentions for the Over Warden?”
“I don’t want to antagonize the Ya’wenn by destroying one of their biggest and heavily manned warships. But I don’t intend to allow Jarn to just walk away without punishment just so he can bushwhack us later.”
“You intend to capture him.”
“Indeed.”
The ambassador looked left to the main viewer forward. He gauged the silver-hulled craft and all of its armament. “Jarn’s ship carries four hundred men, according to your scans from your previous battle. He may have added more. How many security personnel does your group have?”
It was Thomas who answered.
“Endeavour carries one hundred and twenty security, and we outfitted with a full company of marines from 23. That gives us a total of two hundred fifty here. Comanche has her sixty men. Le Resolute has forty and T’pol has twelve. All together we’re packin’ three hundred and sixty-two riflemen.”
“Any idea as to the level of the Ya’wenn’s training?”
“From what we’ve seen,” said Ford, thinking back to their mission to Kovarn. “They’re not professional soldiers. Hired guns, thugs, maybe some mercenaries. I’ll bet on our men any day in a straight up fight.”
“I doubt any pitched battle will be equitable, Commodore.” Spock warned. “They will undoubtedly be ruthless in defense of their ship, sacrificing their own numbers to vent compartments of our men. They know the layout of their vessel more implicitly than we, and they won’t be setting their weapons to stun.”
“I know. But I’m not out to keep their ship. We’re only after Jarn. It’s a smash and grab operation.”
Spock’s brow shot up and he nodded. They didn’t need to hold that ship. They had only to take the Over Warden from it. Deprived of their commander, the Ya’wenn left commanding their vessel would likely give up any idea of pressing the attack against such a large force of ships.
Ford was smiling with a wicked streak of cruelty.
“This could also be our chance to discover where the Ya’wenn homeworld or capitol is. We’ll question the Warden under truth serum.” The thought of the medication would do to its recipient gave the Commodore much more pleasure than a Fleet psychiatrist might have liked.
Spock noted the obvious signs of Ford’s malice. He’d seen various examples of adversarial relationships between humanoids during his tenure in the service. The hatred hurled between James Kirk, his former captain and friend, and Kahn Noonien Sigh, a bio-engineered cast-of from a bygone era was quite fascinating. The two men would have hurled their own bleeding organs at one another had that been their only method of attack. Ford and Jarn might prove to be just such an example.
Ford went on watching the developing tactical situation beyond the ship’s hull. Jarn’s battleship sat unmoving before the super-hot gasses of the Tempest. He was possibly unaware of the danger bearing down upon him. He likely knew of the warp fields belonging to the starships, but without accurate sensor data on various classes of Federation ships, he was probably waiting to see what sort of ships were coming his way before making any decisions. He probably hoped a fat, juicy convoy of civilian ships was trucking toward him.
Jarn did not know that even Federation cargo ships had better sensors than his people possessed.
“We’re getting into their sensor range.” Thomas intoned.
Each man about the StratCom watched for computer rendered signs of activity from the warship. Moments passed, showing the horrible reaction time Jarn’s crew of misfits churned out. Ford grimaced at the thought of having to rely on such a gaggle of men. Given the adventures Endeavour had underwent in the last six years, she would have been floating debris with such a compliment running her.
“Now reading power increase from Jarn’s ship, Commodore.” Came from science. Ford looked over Surall’s way with a nod and looked back down to the icon on the screen. The ship remained rooted in place. Was Jarn unaware of the danger these ships were to him, or was he still ascertaining his data?
Two new numerical markers popped up beside the red icon of the Ya’wenn ship.
“Their shields have gone up…” Ford commented. “He’s powering weapons.”
“Incoming hail, Skipper.” Called out the comm officer. Both Spock and Ford shared the raising of an eyebrow. Ford turned to face the main viewer.
“Gutsy bastard. Put him on screen.”
The fiery spew of gas disappeared from the forward visual display and was replaced by the bridge of another starship. This time, no unnecessary furnishings adorned the control room of Jarn’s ship. No pillows or silken hanging made it a den of heathen comfort. Jarn had learned from his previous engagement with Endeavour. He’d ordered every creature comfort out of the chamber where he’d command during battle.
“Captain Ford,” graveled the harsh voice of the tall, muscular, grey skinned alien who resided in a command chair with high armrests. The chair still seemed very comfortable. Far be it for Jarn to resign himself to an uncomfortable seat… “A pleasure to see that you have gotten your ship back into one piece.”
Jarn was smiling in confidence.
Ford stepped closer to the viewer and his own command chair. He put his hands lightly atop the blue upholstered conn. “And yours, Warden. And it’s commodore, now.”
“Ah, you received a promotion, no doubt for surviving me the last time.”
“Actually, they gave me the promotion for a really good book report I did on fat, swarthy prison lords.” Ford responded with a huge grin, as though he were addressing a long time friend. His comment made Jarn’s brows knit despite the calm he projected. “I’m going to give you the chance to surrender your ship without a fight. I’d hate to have to embarrass you again.”
“That’s mighty humble of you, Commodore. I’m touched, but I’ll have to decline.”
“You don’t really think you can outfight us, do you?” Ford pushed him, hoping to keep the Warden inactive while his ship’s closed the distance.
Jarn looked anything but nervous, but he was a cool customer. One did not know what the alien was thinking when he kept his game face in check. Ford was having less success in baiting him than the commodore had imagined. But so long as he wasn’t issuing orders to depart or attack, Ford had the upper hand. The deployment he’d placed his ships in was designed to cut off any attack or retreat vector, so long as they were close enough to do so.
“I could outfight you on any given day, Ford.” The warden boasted. His jaw jutted in masculine defiance. He’d likely prefer a good brawl or melee between the two. He was much larger and younger than the commodore. “I’ve gotten new equipment to get around the toys at your disposal. You won’t best me again, I assure you. You should fear me…”
Ford’s expression was equally assured. His hands spread to take in all that he had in a gesture. “We take all comers here, Jarn. We’re ready when you are.”
The Over Warden just smiled in response, and then he was gone. Replacing him on the viewing screen was an image of his ship turning away from the approaching Starfleet vessels. Ford jumped down the level to his conn and slid into the seat. “All ahead flank!”
“Flank, aye!” Shouted Bronstien in enthusiastic response.
“He’s runnin’!” Thomas reported from the StratCom in his own gruff voice. There was laughter underneath the tone. “He’s haulin’ ass for the Tempest!”
Ford tapped the key on his left intercom panel.
“Engines! Give me maximum acceleration!”
“Aye!” Was Tolin’s reply over the speaker. The great warp engines of the ship roared to new levels of bass and tenor as the Endeavour responded with all that she had. She reached warp factor 9 within moments, pushing the other Fleet vessels to the ends of their design capacity. At warp 9.01, she began to leave her escorts behind.
Jarn’s ship leapt into warp speed, pushing her own drives to the brink of exploding. She was angled as far away from Endeavour as one could get and bore in on a specific point of the plasma storm before them. Endeavour vibrated like a washing machine spinning its clothes. They were slowly closing in on the silver warship before them. The commodore glanced down to the right hand tactical repeater on his armrest. They would over take the warden’s ship inside twelve seconds.
In eight seconds, however, Jarn would reach the first passing strings of the Tempest. Ford’s hands clenched on the chipped metal of the conn’s armrests. He was losing his chance to get that son of a bitch!
“Pour it on, Helm! Stand by tractor beams!”
Bronstien said nothing in reply. Nechayev acknowledged and began targeting the tractor emitters. Jarn’s ship suddenly enlarged within the magnification of the main screen, then began a wallowing turn to penetrate the outer membrane of the plasma storm. She pushed ahead at her best sublight velocity and faded from sight, passing into the wispy fields of roiling energy.
“sh*t!” Ford snapped off.
Spock rocked back on his heels. He’d been unaware of how engrossed he had actually been with the short chase, and Ford’s vehement outburst of profanity shocked him back to reality. Ford growled in animalistic fashion, slamming a fist down on the arm of the conn. He made Kirk seem reserved.
“Drop us out of warp and hold station!”
“We ain’t goin’ after them?” Thomas practically exclaimed the question. He leaned over the strategic station, hands bearing down hard on the metal edges of it. He couldn’t believe Ford’s sudden reserve. “We’ve got the better impulse engines!”
“Yeah, XO.” Ford breathed out as though he’d just finished a marathon. “But we left our escort behind and we’re nowhere near maneuverable enough to chase down a ship in that soup. Certainly not while trying to fight and beam in troops. And…we’ve got more ships comin’ that are dependin’ on us to lead ‘em to the Ya’wenn. So we let him go, for now.”
“So he can get us next time.”
“Maybe. He’ll have to get up pretty damn early in the morning to get anything over on us, Mister Thomas. For now, though, we wait. What’s the ETA of the rest of the task force?”
***
Perhaps this may wet the appetite.
Topic: Endeavour Story #9 (Read 16577 times)