I always liked characters like Mr. Kyle [TOS] ans Sonya Gomez [TNG], and was always aggravated when you suddenly never saw them again [more so with TNG+series...]. Enterprise had its excuse...their reoccuring secondary died in RL... Luckilly, all my actors have remained alive and are still filming Star Trek Endeavour...
And now...some more...
CH. 3
Commodore Ford had been expecting Travers’ visit far earlier. The flag officer sat alone in the quiet confines of his starbase office on level two, perusing mission and patrol updates from his fleet. A pitcher of tea sat beside him on the desktop, and empty glass at his elbow. When the doors parted to Ford’s right, the commodore lifted his glass and leaned back, half expecting it to be someone else. He’d almost given up on seeing the agent today.
Travers entered slowly, the balding human looking the flag commander over with care. Like the day they’d met, he was wearing drag civilian garb with no ornament. He was silent, definitely agitated. At last, he cracked a slight smirk and eased into one of the small black office chairs across the desk from Chevy. “I wanted to make sure it was safe to sit down.” The older man began. “I wouldn’t want to be your next assault victim.”
“It was hardly an assault.”
“You slugged my man in the gut, threw boiling hot coffee on him and kicked him in the balls. What was it then?”
“An attention getter.”
Travers pursed his lips and laced his fingers before him.
“Okay, then. You have my attention.”
The flag officer went through the slow show of refilling his drink.
“If you have any more 31s parading around in Fleet uniforms, get them out of ‘em. I’ll turn the whole lot of you over to Security if I catch wind of another agent impersonating a Starfleet crewman or officer.” Ford told him flatly, taking a smooth drink of ice tea.
“You know that will severely curtail my ability to garner some information.”
“Information that you can request through me. This is gonna be a two-way street, Dan. You don’t circumvent me.” Ford held the other’s gaze steadily. He had to imprint upon this man exactly how forcefully he would play with Section 31. Otherwise, the independent security organization would walk all over him. The commodore knew full well that he wasn’t going to be able to keep Travers from slipping his men into Starfleet’s organization. He would curtail it as much as possible, though.
“Alright…” Travers replied with a drawn out sigh. “We’ll do this your way. I’ll keep my boys and girls out of your uniforms. So long as the information I request isn’t altered before it reaches me.”
Ford took another, slow drink as though he were considering his options. He wanted to play from the upper hand as much as he could get away with. “That’s fine. How have you come along in setting up your operations thus far?”
“We’ve set up primary operations through a dummy mining and prospecting consortium. We have three freighters and a few shuttles we’ll deploy from here. And before you ask, we’re paying for fuel through legitimate resources. I’m not going to short change your base.”
“The prospecting cover will give you leave to come and go from this station without raising questions.” Ford complimented. He’d seen something similar used in the past.
“It’s tried and true. Of all the business covers we’ve had that fell through or been uncovered, the mining consortium has never been disturbed. In fact, it’s now a legitimate business. It brings in resources and adds to our clout.”
“Nice. And how long till you get a line on your Kovarn ops?”
“We expect our first operations to commence within the week.”
Ford waited expectantly, then bobbled his eyebrows.
“Any details, or is that all I get?”
“Investigation has revealed that the Axanar once had a lucrative trade agreement with the Ya’wenn before joining the Federation. We have several Axanari agents. We’re going to pose as a Axanari firm hoping to trade with the Ya’wenn capitol. Given their war against the rebels, we’re hoping they’ll be champing at the bit to bring in the stuff they need to fight their battle…build more ships. That’ll give us leave to offer everything from contractors to advisors as we infiltrate their government.”
Ford stared back, darkly. “That covers the good side of the Ya’wenn, Travers. I was thinking more along the lines of infiltrating Kovarn.”
The agent simply nodded back.
“Our Kovarn plan is far simpler. We’re going to use our Nausican operatives and pose as arms dealers.”
“Arms dealers…” Ford didn’t like the idea of the enemy acquiring more ordnance than they already possessed. “Selling what?”
“Romulan plasma torpedoes. The old style type, caseless, magnetically guided. And…sabotaged. The magnetic guidance systems won’t lock in on Starfleet warp fields. Our ships will be perfectly safe.”
Ford’s teeth ground.
“That won’t help the legit Ya’wenn any. With plasma torpedoes in their armaments, Jarn’s forces will tear the government forces a new asshole.”
“Not quite. Our Axanari agents, once informed of Jarn’s new weaponry, will give the Ya’wenn military a new method of jamming those old style torpedoes.”
“Which is why you’re selling Jarn the really old torps… I get it. Costly, but I get it.”
“It’s a deadly game we play, Commodore. Or should I call you Skipper too?”
“You can call me Commodore. Only my crew calls me Skipper.” Chevis finished off his glass and set to refilling it. He then also poured a glass for his guest. Travers took it with a wary glance back. “How ‘bout your whole Kla’davin angle?”
“That operation is still under development.” Travers replied. “We have several options and haven’t decided on any of them yet.” Travers looked a bit uncomfortable as he relayed all of this. He was a man of the spy trade, and within the last six minutes of conversation he’d given away more to one man than he had ever divulged to anyone. It was likely beginning to take a toll on his psyche.
“My turn.” Chevy said in return. “The Sanchez will have reached Kovarn by now. The Tenseiga has left discrete comm probes to scan for distress signals. We’ve gotten nothing. I consider that a good sign.”
“The Tempest puts out a lot of interference. You sure you’d pick it up?”
“The Sanchez has an uprated comm suite. Smith would find a way to let us know if they run into trouble.” Chevis shrugged, feigning more confidence and assuredness than he could possibly feel about the issue. “They’re fine. I’ll give them about three days before I start getting concerned.”
Travers took a final swig of his tea and stood up from his chair. The glass set down on the desk with a clunk as the 31 agent prepared to take his leave. “I have some pressing matters to attend to and a man with first degree burns on his chest and stomach. Keep me upraised about your recon mission.”
“Certainly.”
Chevy watched the older man depart. He wasn’t comfortable working with Section 31 again after all these years. But the trade off was too tempting to ignore. 31 would be operating around here whether he allowed them to and worked with them or not. Since they would be, he may as well reap the benefits of their working in his sector.
***
“Contact approaching!” Lieutenant Bronstien shouted out for the third time in four hours. He was already shutting down RCS systems and navigational relays, hands flying about the cockpit like dynamos. “Deflector contact, three hundred thousand kilometers, closing fast!”
Ron went about killing his own power systems and securing his more powerful passive sensors. The rebel Ya’wenn had thrown an ingenious and devious measure into their patrol patterns. Seemingly random vessels would kill their transponders and make a mad dash through the interior of the system at high impulse power. Their active and passive arrays were fired to full capacity, scouring space for any interlopers. Jarn’s paranoia was clearly peeked after Tenseiga’s incursion several weeks back.
“How close will she come?” Ron asked. His sensors, operating on low power now, hadn’t picked the ship up yet. He’d been more intent on the ship construction yards close to the system star prior to the contact.
“Ten thousand meters!” John shouted back.
Ron looked down at the screen depicting the helm’s contact in relation to their shuttle. Aft of Davenport’s console, Tyler was shifting uncomfortably in her seat and strapping herself down. Smith was also strapping in. Ron eyed the distance and bearing to the contact. “John-Boy, thirty degree evasive turn to port! Ten degrees negative pitch!”
Bronstien nodded his ascent.
“Hang on! Inertial compensation is only at ten percent!”
The shuttle pitched into a steep turn and dive away from the onrushing rebel ship. Each officer aboard clinged to their console or chair straps against the eight-g stress of the maneuver. The craft’s structure groaned and clicked under the abuse. A subtle roar overtook the Sanchez and a large, dark shape shot past the main view port. It had been a near miss so far as space encounters went.
“She passed by…” John called back after a few tense moments.
Ron reactivated his main passive array and watched as the computers began to once again unravel the spaceborne emissions into presentable data. “She’s maintaining her base course…” The XO told them with a tentative voice. “She didn’t see us.”
“At ten klicks, they could have seen us out a window.” Nurse Tyler complained. The fright of the near encounter had set her unclad torso to a rosy color.
“Maybe,” Came another comment in answer from the helm. “For the tenth of a second we would have been visible at that speed. They were hauling balls.”
“You all right over there, Jennifer?” Davenport asked the nurse. Tyler glanced back. She was flushed and rattled in appearance. Her small hands clung to her straps like they were her only lifeline to reality.
“I feel blasted useless on this ship, Commander.” She told him. “Everybody has a console or some control over the situation but me. I’m only here incase things really turn bad.”
Ron could sympathize with her about her feelings of helplessness. He could remember similar instances from his junior officer days. Sitting there at a station unnecessary to the operation at hand, hoping everyone else was on the ball, making no mistakes. It was the most nerve-racking experience he’d ever endured. And he had no solution for her torment.
“I could use some help cataloguing these Ya’wenn transponder contacts,” Smith offered, waving a hand at the second seat accompanying his station. Tyler looked back to Ronald for permission. She was antsy and ready to do something, anything. Smith’s offer was probably the best cure for her anxiety. He gave her the nod and she quickly unbuckled and slid into the empty comm seat.
“Contact fading.” Came from the helm again.
“Resume previous course.” Ronald ordered next. “Keep a close watch out for the next fastball.”
“Aye, sir.”
***
--thu guv!
Topic: #13: Intel (Read 12321 times)