Your Mission, Should You Choose To Accept It...
Posted on Wed Mar 1st, 2023 @ 1:07pm by Commander Irene Vincent "Rally" & Commodore Charles Foy
Edited on on Thu Mar 16th, 2023 @ 9:41am
3,346 words; about a 17 minute read
Mission:
Season 1, Episode 1: Wanted: A Few Brave Men
Location: Deep Space Outpost K-9, Capricorn Zeta System, Sector 813
Timeline: Stardate 1312.4- Approximately The Same Time As "Where No Man Has Gone Before"
“Commence Station Log, Starfleet Deep Space Outpost, Starbase code K-9. Commander Irene Vincent, Stardate 1312.4. In response to recent Klingon aggressions, Starfleet has agreed to establish a presence in this sector at joint request of both the Eifie and Rheuysian governments. The first contingent of officers arrived two days ago aboard the Alliance, and we shall be expecting further arrivals in the next few days.”
From her place at the back of the F-Class shuttle, she watched as it slowly came into view; pivoting ever-so-perceptibly amid the backdrop of space like some giant, celestial top, loomed the station. Nearly three decades of wear was evident even from this distance, with several large splotches of faded paint dotting the hull. The identification markings on the center tower were likewise faded, with the number that was supposed to be a ‘9’ looking much closer to a ‘3’; the markings on the outer arms had faded completely. Half of the running lights didn’t appear to be working, and what few did appeared to be discolored from one another, as if they had gradually been replaced over the years. A large Siegfried-Class dreadnought could be seen orbiting just off in the distance, and the occasional flash of the welder’s torch gave credence to the fact that this was still very much a work-in-progress.
Evidently, it didn’t look like much, but they were going to have to make something out of it in the coming weeks.
“Approaching Deep Space K-9, fellas,” the pilot announced. “Fasten your seatbelts, return your tray tables to their locked and upright position, and prepare for landing.”
The boxy shuttle began to bank gently to the right, lining the nose up with the large, drum-shaped hangar extending out from the bottom of the central structure. The craft shuttered slightly as it passed into the station’s artificial gravity well, before setting down with a soft klunk.
“Welcome to prison, fellas,” the pilot joked as he began shutdown procedures. “Hope you enjoy your stay!”
“That’s not very funny and you know it, Blass!” one of the engineers retorted, playfully smacking the pilot on the back of the head.
With a yawn, the tall, blue-eyed Commander gathered up her per personal belongings and, along with her fellow officers, stepped out onto the flight deck. She happened to note the faint smell of mothballs lingering in the air; perhaps in partial testament to how long this station had been sitting in a semi-derelict state prior to its relocation to this sector.
“Right this way, everyone!” a Lieutenant sporting Operations Red called out, attempting to wave the six of them over. He stood under a large, freshly-painted sign on the hangar wall that said ‘Welcome to K-9 – Quid Pro Quo.’ It had clearly read something else at one time, but that had since been painted over.
“Welcome to Deep Space Outpost K-9,” the young Lieutenant began. “My name is Lieutenant Foy, and I’ll be your guide for this preliminary tour. Before we begin, do any of you need to use the bathroom?”
“You mean the restrooms actually work here?” one of the officers joked, prompting a wave of snickering to ripple through the group.
Lieutenant Foy shot the man a dirty look before turning back to the skeleton crew. “Well, if everyone here’s done horsing around, I’d suggest that we get on with this tour,” he announced stiffly. “We’re on a tight schedule here, and we don’t have a lot of time for fun and games.”
The group fell silent as Lieutenant Foy herded them towards one of the turbo lifts. Once they were all crammed in, he called out “Deck 3,” and the lift began its slow ascent up the shaft. Turning back to address the crew, he wasted no time in continuing the conversation where he had left things off. “Now, for those of you not informed, this is one of seventeen such K-Class stations scattered throughout the Federation,” he explained, still speaking in a clear, regimented voice. “Their main function is to serve as both a resupply and small craft dry-dock facility in regions where the Federation lacks a strong presence. There are 40 decks in all, and three outboard modules containing 11 decks each. You may have noticed that this particular example has fallen into disrepair; it’s been sporadically operating in the near-two decades since Tarsus-4 was completed. We are currently working on rectifying the situation, which is one of the reasons you’re all here.”
[Deck 3]
The lift doors opened, and they all stepped out into a large, circular room that appeared to be some kind of fuel storage facility. Lieutenant Foy then led them up an access ladder, out onto a catwalk overlooking the room, and then up another access ladder into what appeared to be a small control room.
“This is our communications center,” Lieutenant Foy elaborated. “However, it also doubles as our Scanner and Range Defector Deck. Now, aside from a select few of you who’ll have the proper clearance, this room is off limits to most personnel. Furthermore, we will not be touring every single deck; I will leave that up to you to do on your free time. Once we’re done with the tour, we’ll head over to the Purser’s office, where the quartermaster will issue you your berth and activate your computer access. In your quarters, you’ll be able to use the shared compartment terminal to access your daily schedule and current duty assignments. It will also allow you access to the station’s library, email and station directories. Any questions, or are we ready to move on?”
Everyone was so overwhelmed by the information they were receiving, no one bothered to speak up.
Content that they were all (more-or-less) on the same page, Foy nodded curtly. “If you’ll all Follow me, then…”
[Deck 18]
“...And over here is our medical deck,” Lieutenant Foy continued, leading the group out into a circular hallway. “While not all systems and facilities are functional, when all’s said and done, we’re looking to have 6 isolation wards, 2 operating rooms, 2 decompression chambers, a dental unit, research laboratory, and 22 emergency medical transporters. And while I don’t necessarily approve of this decision on the part of the planners, we’re making some room for an embassy to house the Eifie diplomats, if and when they eventually show up…”
Curious as to why that was, the Commander slowly raised her hand.
“You there in the back,” Foy called out. “What is it?”
“Why the medical deck specifically?” the Commander inquired. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to house the embassies on one of the outboard modules?”
“So you would think,” Foy sighed, shaking his head. “According to the reports I’ve read on the Eifie, they’re a deeply religious society, with a culture that places a heavy emphasis on values of life and fertility. They allegedly have one of the most technologically-advanced breeding systems of any civilization we’ve yet encountered, but due to the secrecy surrounding these breeding practices, Starfleet Sciences decided it would be within our best interests to construct an embassy here on the medical deck for the intents and purposes of observing them in their day-to-day regimens. Of course, you can’t just plop them onto the Medical deck and expect them to behave the same way they would on their home world, that’d be putting them out of their element; so, we’ve had to “rehabilitate” a couple of wards to more closely “reflect their culture,” have it be a “slice of home” or so they say…” The sarcasm in his voice was practically evident at this point. “You ask me, I still think it’s still a bullshit decision, but I’m not on the planning committee; anyhow…”
[Deck 16]
“Up here, we have our main recreation deck,” Foy explained as he led the group out into wide, open common area. “I’m not going to waste time pointing out where every last facility is going to be on this deck, as it’s irrelevant to your day-to-day duty assignments. Just know that when it’s done, you’ll have something nice to look forward to in your free time.”
He proceeded to gesticulate over to what appeared to be the skeletal remains of an old storefront. “Over here is where we’re looking to set up the Rheuysian Embassy. Now, in contrast to the Eifie, the Rheuysians embrace a much more… shall we say, imperialist philosophy; conquest is practically a way of life for them, as they believe it is their “divinely-appointed duty” to rule over others.”
The Commander’s hand shot up again.
“If they’re so confident in their self-proclaimed “divinity,” then why are they asking for our assistance?”
“Why else?” Foy replied. “Their warp technology is still in its infancy; they know they wouldn’t stand a chance against the Klingon Empire.”
“So we’re just going to grant a society of pathological conquerors Federation membership?” the Commander remarked, folding her arms.
“We’re trying to get them to see reason,” Foy explained. “If they want to be Federation members, some of those ideologies are just going to have to change, plain and simple. Now, if I may direct your attention over here…”
[Deck 29]
“This is the main concourse that connects the Primary Complex with the Outboard Modules,” Foy explained as he led the group out into one of the tunnels.
“The Travelator is not as quick as a turbo lift, but it does provide expedited movement through the station,” he said as he led them out onto the moving walkway. “Some people even prefer using it, as it’s not as claustrophobic as a turbo-!”
Before he could finish his sentence, a sudden surge accelerated the group down the walkway at more than 20 mph.
“Jesus Fuck!” Foy shouted as he, along with the rest of the group, held onto the rails for dear life. “Throw your gear over the rails!!!” He shouted as the end of the walkway was coming up fast. “Throw your gear over the-!!!”
The Travelator spat them out on the floor like a hockey puck machine. They slid for several meters across the deck, some spinning but most tumbling. Foy stopped just short of the end of the corridor as others in the group started slapping into him, along with their luggage, causing a seven-person pileup at the end of the concourse.
No one spoke for several seconds, but everyone moaned and groaned. The Jokester of the group muttered, “On second thought, I think I do have to use the bathroom…”
[Deck 20]
“…And over here,” Foy continued as he led the wary troupe out into a towering, cylindrical chamber- the centerpiece of which was a large computer tower that extended from floor to ceiling, “Is what we like to refer to as the “brains” of this facility- virtually everything from life support and waste management is automated through this central tower here. However, since being declared as “functionally redundant” in 2246, it’s missed a few firmware updates, and in that time several additional systems have stopped working completely.”
“Such as…?” the Commander inquired.
“Finicky Travelator motor controls; inoperable door retraction gears; leaky hot water condenser; non-functioning torpedo tubes; damaged phaser emitters; optical filaments, monitors, transceivers… all we’ve got at this point is a scanner scope sitting on 400,000 tons of scrap metal,” Foy surmised.
“…And that’s supposed to be reassuring?” the Lieutenant muttered.
=Foy to Junior; come in, Junior,= Lieutenant Foy’s Communicator started going off.
Inhaling deeply, Lieutenant Foy unclipped his communicator and flipped it open.
=Old Man, I believe I made it crystal clear not to refer to me as ‘Junior’ while I’m on duty,= he began, the irritation in his voice evident.
The crew members began to snicker amongst themselves, earning them a dirty look from Lieutenant Foy.
=Whatever you say, Junior,= the voice on the other end— likely his father, if their banter was anything to go off of—responded. =Now, listen, I just got word from the Yeoman that Commander Vincent’s arrived? She wouldn’t happen to be with your tour group, would she?=
Lieutenant Foy glanced over at the crew members. “Any one of you here happen to be Commander Vincent?”
The Commander raised her hand in acknowledgement.
=Yes, she’s here with me,= Lieutenant Foy verified.
=Send her up to the Station Master’s Office on Deck 9, please,= his father requested. =I have some personal matters to discuss with her.=
=Roger that; Foy out,= Lieutenant Foy nodded before terminating the communication.
“Commander Vincent,” he began, shifting his attention over to the officer in question. “Commodore Foy wishes to speak with you in person, so I’m going to have to let you off the tour early. The Purser’s office will be on Deck 15, looking out over the racquetball court.”
Nodding, Commander Vincent tightened the strap on her gym bag as she began making her way back to the turbo lift.
[Deck 9]
The doors to the office slid open most of the way and then froze. A tall, dark-skinned Commander slipped in between the gap. “You wished to speak with me, Commodore?” she began.
“Ah, yes, Commander Vincent; Come in. Mind the door, though,” Commodore Foy smiled, got up and walked over to greet her personally. “Irene, I believe it was?”
“Yes, Sir,” Commander Vincent replied as she stepped into his office. “But you can just call me Rally; everyone else does.”
Foy held up his right index finger which had a finger splint on it. Then he turned to the outer office. “Calahan!”
“What?” came the reply.
“I thought I told you to get this damned door fixed!” Foy shouted back.
“You must’ve told Caudwell!” Calahan retorted.
The doors sluggishly closed. “That sombitch!” Foy scowled before shifting his attention back to Rally.
“Please, have a seat, Rally,” he gestured.
As Vincent began to sit down, Foy’s face lit up. “No, no! Not that one,” He quickly grabbed the other chair and offered it to Vincent. “Here,” His smile was back.
Foy was much older than the photo in his service record. His hair was grey, and in addition to the bushy mustache he sported, he also had a bit of a ponch. The strong smell of peppermint barely concealed the overpowering smell of alcohol.
Foy went and sat down behind his desk. “Sorry about all the little systems glitches,” Foy’s thoughts seemed to drop off for a moment as he stared at his bandaged, right index finger. “Sombitch!” he muttered as he continued to stare at it for a few seconds more before realizing he was not alone.
“Ah! Excuse me; Commander…ughh…Rally,” Foy said, taking a small tin of Altoids from his uniform jacket and popping a couple into his mouth. “I presume you’ve been briefed on the events leading to our establishing a presence here?”
“Yes, Sir,” Rally nodded in the affirmative. “There have been some major concerns from both the Eifie and Rheuysian Governments regarding the House of Khartan’s illegal expansion into the neutral zone.”
“Indeed,” Foy replied. “So, whilst our stated reasons for being here are to establish diplomatic relations with both the Eifie Republic and the Rheuysian, our principal agenda is the monitoring of all Klingon activity in this Sector.”
Retrieving a PADD, he quickly pulled up a map of the sector and handed it over to Rally to review.
“This here is the Phantohk System,” he explained, directing her attention towards a small red dot. “While it’s theoretically supposed to be situated well within neutral space, recent acts of aggression by the House of Khartan have rendered it under illegal Klingon occupation. Worse still, intelligence reports have begun to surface regarding the construction of a Klingon shipyard in the system—which, if proven to be true, would place a major Klingon military instillation within two lightyears of the Eifie colony of Umbre, over here…” he pointed to a small, purple dot nearby. “And Umbre itself would be a particularly appealing prospect to the Klingons, as it’s reportedly one of the largest dilithium mining claims in the entire Eifie Republic.”
“Sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Rally muttered under her breath.
“It gets worse,” Foy continued. “In light of the very real possibility that the Klingons could be amassing an armada at our front doorstep, Starfleet has covertly dispatched a spy probe, codename Dolphin, to survey the Phantohk system and confirm the presence of an illegal Klingon shipyard. However, that probe went silent two weeks ago, when it was last reported to be located somewhere deep within Klingon territory.”
Rally handed the PADD back to Foy. “And what do you expect us to do about it, Sir?”
“Well, it’s a two-fold operation,” Foy explained. “Your cover assignment will be to mediate over Eifie/Rheuysian relations and assure them the Federation is here to administer this station and cooperate anyway we can; That’ll be coming through official channels. Your actual mission is to clandestinely coordinate the recovery operation of the Dolphin,” Foy took a black duotronic card out of his other pocket and tossed it on the desk. “As you can probably imagine, those won’t be coming through official channels.”
“Sure, no pressure or anything,” Rally sighed.
“If I couldn’t trust you with the responsibility, I wouldn’t have asked for you in the first place,” Foy smiled. “Now, any other questions?”
Rally scratched her chin. “No questions, sir; but if the position of XO hasn’t been vouched for yet, I’d like to make a request.”
Foy furrowed his brow. “Oh?”
“Her name’s May Hopkins; the two of us served together on the Orpheus a few years back, and if there’s one person I can trust to get this station up and functional in the time we need it, it’s going to be her.”
Foy grinned. “Now that’s kind of confidence I like to hear; I’ll have a preliminary review of her qualifications, and if everything checks out, I’ll place a request to transfer her out here.”
“Yes, Sir; thank you, Sir,” Vincent stood.
“Okay,” Foy stood and smiled that cheesy smile again. “K-9 is yours, Commander,” He did a quick, old-fashioned informal salute and said “Good Luck!”
“Thank you, Sir,” Vincent repeated, awkwardly returning the salute.
Foy began to exit and this time, the door opened all the way. “Calahan! Let’s go, let’s go! We have that mining claim on Laurenbac IV that I’m scheduled to inspect in two hours! Tell Hathaway to fire up the Alliance’s warp drive!”
“You know Hathaway won’t take orders from your aide,” Calahan retorted.
As the doors closed, she could have sworn she heard the Commodore curse his aide one more time. Rally waited for him to take his leave before letting out a deep sigh. “Christ, what am I getting myself into…”
Posting By (In Order Of Appearance):
Commander Irene Vincent
Commanding Officer, Deep Space K-9
Lieutenant Chuck Foy
Chief Of Security, USS Alliance (NCC-1010)
Commodore Charles Foy
Head Of Sector Operations
Ensign Bruce Calahan
Yeoman, USS Alliance (NCC-1010)
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