I've done a little research on when SFB dates cross into normal Trek canon. I don't like the results, simply becasue the dates that I am using cross into post ST:VI territory, and some of what I have written has been 'new' to Starfleet stuff... which now all needs to be reedited at some later date.
I'm using the Federation's (well, Jimmy T.'s really) Gorn contact (Y157 SFB, 2167 canon) as a basis, thus yeilding the equation:
Y-year +2110 = normal trek
What I have come up with, based on setting SC in Y194 is: Y-year +2110=normal trek=>Y194+2110=2304, so that year (thanks James Smith for the cool linky to a decent stardate calculator, others I have seen blow chunks in comparison) in stardate form starts 11483.04, that being Jan 1 2304 at 0000. Which, after some catchup work on the Guv's spectacular writing (Endy stories, 1-6 so far, and 10 to current) leads me to believe that I totally suck. Really badly.
Whatever, I'm keeping my stardate as is, unless I am using an untrue conversion from SFB to Trek equation. In that case, please inform me and I'll fix everything up to where it belongs.
I'm also going to start spacing my paragraphs as I go, I might go back and edit all the previous works, but at least starting here it will be gapped.
On a side note, does my work really suck so much that it warrants no comments? I understand the long weekend, and it being midpoint in the story, and its not that great, but something, from someone... not even rotten produce was slung my way...
No matter, on with the show! Captain’s personal log, stardate 11582.58
It has been almost a month since
Cerberus arrived at Starbase
Hyperion and I am amazed with how well repairs have been going. Chief Engineer McCloud has informed me that, with the help of Starbase personnel, all repairs to the ship’s power distribution network have been repaired as of zero six hundred this morning.
Work on the hull breach has progressed equally as well, and Commander Strauss, the shipyard’s lead foreman assigned to us, says that the hull will be sealed to one hundred percent later tomorrow afternoon. At this pace, the ship will be underway capable in a week or so.
I am happy to report that all charges against me assaulting Admiral Baker were dropped; however, a permanent entry into my service record will remain. We were all fortunate that the implant that these so called ‘masters’ placed into him was removed, as this was key evidence in my case. Baker apologized to me in person, and thanked me for not completely smashing his face in. He also expressed his sorrow over the thirteen lost souls due to his actions. He explained that, ‘The masters knew that keeping the Klingons together might uncover their plans.’ He also stated, for the record, that, ‘
Cerberus was chosen specifically by the masters,’ and that he ‘had no choice in the matter.’
Later today I am scheduled for a reprimand hearing with Vice Admiral Hastings,
Hyperion’s new CO, regarding my ‘stunt’ at New Alexandria, and other various acts that were performed during and since that event. In retrospect, it was a childish act, and I am willing to face those charges brought onto me.
“Computer,” McDougal said calmly. “End recording and save. Restore previous document.” The computer chirped it’s merry reply, closing down the log recorder and displaying a typed document that he’d been working on for some time. It was the last of the thirteen that he had to write, or rather, that he felt compelled to write. Starfleet had already issued a blanket statement to the families of those lost, and continuing to hand write letters home regarding the losses was almost counter-productive. He’d gone through the first twelve without too much trouble, as more or less those twelve were cookie-cutter versions of a stock ‘I regret to inform you’ template, altered with his personal touch. He sighed and reviewed the letter one more time:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Robert Eugene Jones:
On Stardate 11566.932, U.S.S. Cerberus was attacked by an unknown assailant, and suffered severe damage from an internal explosion just prior to this attack. From the explosion through the ongoing assault and until we reached safe harbor, thirteen crew members perished. I regret to inform you that your daughter was among those thirteen.
I did not have the pleasure of serving with your daughter for very long, as I was recently assigned to the ship. She was an excellent tactician, magnificent helmsman, and was proficient in many aspects of running a starship such as Cerberus. Her actions leading up to the time of her death were exemplary, and her death saved the lives of the entire crew. The force of the explosion knocked her to the deck while she was entering the bridge. A massive hull breach had managed to compromise the main bridge, and with her last ounce of strength, she held the turbo lift door open to allow the escape of the bridge crew. Unfortunately, she expired while performing this heroic act. Those that she saved later went on to pilot the ship, and destroy the attacker.
In this time of your loss, please know that Jennifer Marie Jones will always have a place in our hearts and will always be considered a shipmate amongst our crew.
My sincerest condolences,
LCDR Shawn Patrick McDougal,
Commanding Officer, U.S.S. Cerberus
McDougal added his last thoughts and a quick edit when the buzzer to the office chimed. “Enter,” he replied to the noise, and with a silent swoosh the door opened, allowing ingress for the person on the other side. He did not turn to see his new guest, but back to the computer. “Save and copy to data padd.” He had a feeling about who it was.
“Finished yet sir?” the soft female voice asked. “Her brother, Bruce, would like to have a word with you and to see the final copy before you send it.”
McDougal turned to her and smiled, something he’d not done for a while. She stood before him, leaning on a cane that she’d been using since she left starbase medical. She tried to hide it, but he could see the pain still on her face. “Miss Jones,” he said softly. “How’s it that you knew what I was working on?”
“Lucky guess,” she replied, a smile playing at her lips. “Her family has been waiting for this letter form you for weeks now.”
“I know,” he replied to her. He passed both of his hands over his face, rubbing away the tiredness. “It was hard to say ‘your daughter was late to her posting, and as a result was squished to death by the turbo lift door, her sorry body saving the bridge crew’ in a nice fashion.”
“Her parents have the autopsy report and an official statement that already says that,” the XO commented dryly. “But you’re right, no one wants to hear how their lost loved one got offed by a door.”
“Did you say ‘offed’?” he asked her as he rose from his seat. McDougal snatched up the small data padd and checked that the message had been transferred completely.
“Yes, I did,” she replied back to him. Her smile grew despite her pain.
“How’s the leg?” Genuine concern flooded his words, with a touch of simple boyish curiosity. He was amazed that she’d only broken her leg bouncing from the force field, a millisecond longer and she would have lost both legs to the field. A millisecond more and she would have either been sliced in half or been lost forever to the endless expanse. Clearly, three large and countless small and micro-fractures was a small price to pay in exchange for continued existence.
“Hurts like hell, but I’ll be fine. Doctors say one more treatment of regenerative therapy and I’ll be as good as new.” She motioned with her right, non-cane wielding, hand towards the door. “After you sir,” she said.
He stepped briskly into the starbase’s vast hallway and waited for her to follow. The entire crew had been given quarters onboard the station while the ship was being repaired, a generous offer from those in charge here. He hoped that once the crew returned to the ship, no one would complain about how small their quarters were. Indeed, even the temporary modification to create K’Tark’s quarters were small compared to the huge staterooms the crew was given. The pair walked at her pace, a slow, cane aided limp.
Ahead of them in the corridor, where it branched off into other places on the station, a young man sat on a bench. He was wearing a dirty white undershirt covered by a pair of blue coveralls. He had dirt smudged into his face, almost making the youth look like he was sporting chops. His dark hair was tussled, but short. In a pocket he had a pair of dirty and well used leather gardener’s gloves. He stood at the approach of the two officers, and offered his relatively clean right hand for a handshake. McDougal’s strong grip startled the youth, but he shook it off. “Bruce Jones, sir,” he said calmly and with conviction.
“I suspected as much,” he returned. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The youth feigned a smile. “She was late again, wasn’t she?” he asked, getting to the point.
“Well, actually…” McDougal started.
“Yes, she was,” his XO interrupted him. She glared at her captain a moment before letting the conversation continue.
“She was the relief helmsman,” McDougal began again. “She was late coming to the bridge.” He could sense in this youth that he wanted to hear the non-fluffed truth. And however blunt he had to be, he was going to give it to him. “The explosion that tore through the ship knocked her to the ground. Emergency force fields were not operable on the bridge, and the turbo lift door tried to shut while she was lying inside of the doorway. It crushed her to death, but kept the door open long enough to allow Miss Jones here,” he gestured to his executive officer, “and Miss T’Sala to escape.”
“Well, that’s what I figured, seeing her body and all.”
Stunned, McDougal asked, “I thought no one was allowed to see the bodies save medical staff?”
“I may just be a junior grounds keeper for the arboretum, but I have friends here. She was more than just my twin sister, sir, she was a close friend. She would have wanted me to see her one last time anyway. Is that the letter to Ma and Pops?”
McDougal surmised that this kid wasn’t ordinary. He’d probably long since overcome most of his grief at the loss, but was still acting strange to him. He offered the boy the padd, and watched as he read it over.
Boy, he though,
or kid. I must be getting old, he’s at least twenty six! “Yeah,” the young man said, grinning. He handed the padd back to McDougal. “They’d go for that. They didn’t really know how bad she was. She was almost always late to something, but Ma and Pops never figured it out.” McDougal looked at his XO with a puzzled gaze as the youth continued, “thank you, sir, for writing her up so well.”
“It was my, uh, pleasure, Bruce. Before you go bounding off to play in the garden, are you and…”
“Miss Jones related?” he finished for the commander. “No, but when I was still enlisted, we served together. We got that all the time. I’m not in anymore because, like my sister, I was always late. Which reminds me, I’m supposed to be planting a Klingon tree soon. Thank you again, sir!” With that, the young man bounded off down the corridor, and waved back at them just before rounding a turn and disappearing out of sight.
“Charming fellow,” McDougal commented as they resumed their slow but steady pace to the turbo lift. “You recall when I told you I would hold you personally responsible for the crew’s actions?” he asked, changing the subject.
They continued on, delving deeper into throngs of maroon-and-black uniform clad people swarming the area affectionately called ‘officer’s country’. “I do sir,” she replied. They continued their way towards a far off turbo lift, watching as officers moved to allow them to pass.
“Good. That’s why I’ve put you in for a special commendation. You and the crew sure pulled our ship out of a terrible situation, and really helped to end it.”
“I don’t need recognition, sir,” she stammered. “I just wanted to survive.”
“And you and your crew excelled under the circumstances.” They finally made it to the large turbo car’s door and waited with a few others for the car’s arrival.
“Sir,” she started after a brief pause, “I don’t want to be awarded anything unless everyone else who is more deserving gets an award too.”
McDougal smiled at her, “Everyone who is deserving gets what they deserve.”
And I’m looking at getting awarded reduction in rank he thought to himself.
Finally, the turbo car arrived, and the small group entered. After everyone else stated their intended destinations, McDougal simply ordered the lift, “Medical recovery ward three.”
Jones looked at him, slightly puzzled. “Don’t you have an appointment with the starbase CO?”
“This is more important,” he simply replied. Jones remained by his side, electing to follow her commander to wherever he would go. “I’ve got about an hour anyway.”
After several stops to either drop off or pick up new riders, the car deposited them into the open foyer of Recovery Bay Three. The soft white hued letters on the sign above the entryway confirmed their location. The pair walked at the slow and steady limp laden pace past several doors and offices in the beige walled, blue-grey carpeted recovery ward. After a few moments of trudging along, they finally arrived at McDougal’s destination.
“Captain!” Lieutenant Samuel Peter O’Kelly said excitedly. “Look what they’ve done to me!”
“Looks like they fixed your arm,” Jones said to him playfully as they entered his room.
“Aye, they fixed it. But look!” he pointed to a small and permanent looking incision in his elbow, through which passed several wire leads, not currently hooked to anything. “It’s a damned cybernetic implant! I’m no better now than that damned machine that tried to kill me!”
“Calm yourself,” McDougal ordered him, waving a hand, palm down, to emphasize his words. “I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure those wires will be coming out soon.”
O’Kelly breathed in a long breath and let it out slowly. “They said they were going to fix the broken bones and muscles, sir. The replaced my elbow with a machine!”
McDougal smiled at him. “You know,” he started, “one might be thankful he has an elbow at all. Look at it this way, you’ll be able to do things with that arm faster than the normal man.”
“Or tell when the weather is about to change,” Jones added with a smile. She sat gently on the edge of the foot of his bed, relief evident in her eyes.
“I can do things faster, eh?” he laughed at the prospect.
McDougal caught the obscene joke and joined in laughing. “Maybe not that thing,” he said. “I spoke with Doc Johnson and the doctors here. They couldn’t save the joint without going that route.”
O’Kelly pondered the words a moment before nodding in agreement. “How come this is the first I’ve seen of you since we’ve been back?”
McDougal sighed softly. “Every time I came to check on you, you were either drugged up, unconscious or in surgery. This is the first you’ve been stable enough for a visitor. Heck, you were even in a coma for a while there.”
“How many times was I under the knife?” O’Kelly asked him. He’d not yet been told many details about what had happened since the explosion that almost killed him.
“Seventy-three,” McDougal replied to his security chief.
O’Kelly whistled in surprise. “That many, huh? Was I that bad?”
“You really want to know?”
“Well, it won’t kill me to know, I suppose.”
“You almost bled out on the Romulan
Cerberus, in a drugged stupor you assaulted
Galileo’s CMO, you were gone long enough to be declared dead twice while you were here… lets see now, how’d Doc put it, ‘his lungs are like Swiss cheese from all the shrapnel, and don’t get me started about his other organs.’ You’re lucky to be alive from that alone.”
O’Kelly smiled a broad smile. “I always wanted to come back from the dead.”
A blue clad doctor came into the room and pulled McDougal aside.
Cerberus’s CO excused himself and followed the doctor out of the room. He heard Jones and O’Kelly laugh at something he could barely make out. Laughter faded into the distance as the doctor lead him to a waiting communications terminal. She gestured to the unit and smiled, “Best not to keep the Admiral waiting,” she said and walked off to wherever she had come from. McDougal pressed the accept button on the small screen.
Vice Admiral Hastings’ bold, dark toned face filled the screen. “
Ah, Mister McDougal, I’m hoping I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all, Admiral,” he replied.
I’m only checking on the well being of my crew he thought bitterly. “We still on schedule for our meeting?” he asked, hoping to prod the man along.
“
Mostly,” the admiral replied. “
I’ve had a change in my schedule and I’d like to see you as soon as possible.”
“I’m on my way, then, sir.”
“
I’ll be waiting in my office. Hastings, out.” With a flicker the screen went blank, signifying the end of the conversation. McDougal trod silently to his two crewmembers and explained to them what was going on. They’d both nodded in understanding, and resumed their conversation.
The message exceeds the maximum allowed length (20000 characters). 
Czar "I guess that means 2 posts today" Mohab
Topic: Second Chances (Read 21216 times)