Wow, the feedback here is awesome and oh so interesting. You can call me Rommie. I use Andromeda because I play the Andromedan Invaders a lot in SFB. When the TV series came out, it got shortened to Rommie. I guess people like it, becuase it's turned into my nick in real life even though it has nothing to do with my real name.
Based on all the criticism - that's the right word even when it's good - instead of going further the way it was, I rewrote the beginning. Here is version two.
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Special Weapons Troops outnumbered regular crewmen in the lounge of the USS Holmes. The Holmes, along with her sister ships Watson and Adler, was a Federation Police Corvette on convoy escort. Each of the three small ships carried four extra boarding parties to defend their herd of freighters from the raiding tactics of the Orion Pirates.
The lounge was a den of noise, aromas and conversation that would never have found its way into such a public space on board a Starfleet ship no matter how small. In the center of the maelstrom, at the proverbial eye of the storm, the ship’s commanding officer, Lieutenant Jessie Decker, and the captain of the Special Weapons Squads that were normally stationed on the Holmes, Chief Petty Officer Dave Lick, were playing 3-D chess. Several black chessmen stood neatly on the table by the SW commander and a smaller group of white ones were scattered about Lieutenant Decker’s side of the table. Jessie rubbed a white knight in her fingers while considering her next move. “Your problem, Jess,” offered the Chief unhelpfully, as she reached for a pawn, “is that you consider all your moves and make the most complicated one whether it’s sound or not.”
Lieutenant Decker hesitated, pulled her hand away, and began to consider anew. The Chief sighed, squeezed the dark hair of his bangs, and rocked backward in his seat.
The door slid open and both players glanced up from their game. The lanky form of Sensor Technician Jake Carawan all but stumbled into the lounge. He ended up leaning against a storage locker with his arms crossed nonchalantly over his chest. His eyes scanned the room and quickly came to rest on the two senior officers. “Guess what Jess?” he blurted out as he walked. “Sector HQ wants to talk to you. It’s the Dragon Lady herself.”
Rising, Lieutenant Decker asked “Why didn’t you use the intercom?” She looked back at the chief and shrugged an apology and headed for the bridge, Carawan trailing her.
“It’s down for maintenance. Lieutenant Cole sent me to get you ASAP, so here I am.” The Holmes, a refitted corvette, was one of the largest ships in the list of Police Assets. As such she wasn’t equal to one of Starfleet’s frigates in combat. Her small size did give the Holmes at least one advantage. The two members of her crew made their way from the amidships lounge to the bridge in under a minute without having to enter the turbolift system.
Robert Cole, the Holmes’ executive officer, had already risen from the command seat and was standing beside it when Lieutenant Decker entered the bridge. “Captain on deck,” he called out and then told her, “Our status is normal. Admiral Brice-O’Hara is on channel two.” For her ears only he added, “I’ll speak to Mr. Friedlin about not running maintenance routines during the first watch.”
Jessie nodded and quickly occupied the seat. It still held the uncomfortable warmth of its previous occupant. She made a brief scan of her tactical displays and then signaled for the channel to Headquarters to be opened.
Admiral Sally Brice-O’Hara, commander of Sector Five of the Federation Police Force, quickly filled the main viewscreen. Brice-O’Hara was examining a padd and Jessie found herself distracted by the holographic painting of the Draconian Gardens by Carin Sedjak, a famous artist from Jessie’s native Alpha Centauri, which was between the flags of the Federation and the Police directorate. Jessie had a copy of the painting in her quarters. She suspected that she was looking at the original.
The admiral finished what she had been doing and looked up at the viewscreen. “Lieutenant Decker,” she said, skipping the usual pleasantries, “Starfleet has a situation on its hands that requires immediate attention. Your squadron is the only force of starships in the area. They asked for our assistance and you will be providing it. I will transfer you to Admiral Pekoske of Starfleet momentarily.
“Understand lieutenant, that this is an opportunity for the Police Directorate. See that we make a favorable impression.” She looked down at the padd, obviously finished.
“Admiral,” Jessie asked, feeling it her duty. Although there was little danger of pirate activity in this remote sector, the possibility still existed and she felt the freighters were her responsibility. “We are currently escorting a convoy to Narimar III. What about them?”
For the first time Jessie could ever remember, Admiral Brice-O’Hara smiled; her unofficial moniker was well-deserved. “I’m glad you asked lieutenant. The Adler will remain with the convoy while Holmes and Watson are assigned to Starfleet. Should your mission preclude your returning to the convoy, Starfleet will send a squadron of F4s from Narimar III to join it. Any further questions?”
Jessie gave the painting one last look and replied, “No ma’am.” There was a moment of static and a younger man with a severe expression filled the screen. “This is Lieutenant Jessie Decker, commanding officer of the Holmes.”
The man responded with a frown. “Admiral Pekoske, Starfleet Command. Are you familiar with the Galactic Survey Cruiser?” he asked doubtfully.
Jessie nodded. “Similar to a heavy cruiser in size, the GSC is designed for seeking new resources for the Federation. It trades armament for sensors and other special equipment.”
Jessie was surprised to see the Admiral’s frown deepen. “Are you any relation to Matt Decker?”
“He was my uncle, sir,” Jessie answered stiffly. It was a painful subject to her, both because of his death and the effect it had on her career. She had joined the Police Directorate instead of Starfleet to escape the illustrious family legacy.
It came as no surprise to her that the Admiral’s expression brightened. “My condolences, Lieutenant.” Jessie nodded faintly and the Admiral resumed his briefing. “The USS Cousteau, a GSC, failed to make a regular check-in while exploring a previously undiscovered planet. Your ship and,” he glanced downward, “the Watson are to investigate what happened and render any assistance necessary. We are sending you the coordinates, information on the Cousteau and PA84-3301, the system she was investigating. Report immediately on locating the Cousteau and as soon as you learn anything. Good Luck, Lieutenant.”
Her executive officer, Lieutenant Cole, had moved across the bridge and was standing by the communications console looking over the shoulder of the operator. “We are receiving the information from Starfleet Command. I’ll have it transferred to the conference room as soon as we have it cleared.” Jessie smiled; that room, normally empty, was also being used to accommodate their extra crew.
Later that day, officers from both Police Corvettes met to discuss the mission orders. As quickly as possible, the conference room was restored for the use of the crew. Twenty extra troopers was a slight, albeit welcome, imposition when expecting to face pirate raiders. When the mission involved use of the Corvette’s other facilities, the space became rather tight.
The officer’s mess was a cramped space that barely accommodated the Holmes’ six commissioned officers. Under the circumstances, it was a welcome escape. For the four days of their journey, it had provided a sanctuary against the increasingly boisterous crew. “It’s a good thing we’re supposed to reach PA84-3301 tomorrow,” Jessie observed. “Otherwise I think half of our combat team would be in the brig.”
Chief Lick, also responsible for ship’s security as well as the combat team, replied “It wouldn’t hold them all anyway. There’s no need to worry, though. I put up a sign this morning that anyone caught brawling would be assigned scullery duty.”
In the tiny space, the laughter of six people echoed loudly. “Any guesses on what we’ll face?” Jessie asked as calm was quickly restored.
Ensign Thomasina Acton, who served both as helmswoman and navigator for the Holmes, offered, “I’ve been looking at similar incidents. It’s likely they’ve got a problem with their comm. system and will need some parts.”
“All the same,” countered the weapons officer, Ensign Etheridge, the newest addition to the ship, “I’d like to come in with the phaser capacitors charged and shields up just in case.”
“Good idea, Kevin,” Jessie answered. “A little caution can go a long way. A GSC is quite large compared to our little ships. Have any of you ever seen one?” None of them had. “Beautiful ships. Uncle Matt served on one before he got the Constellation. We got a tour when I was a kid. Everything was bright and shiny. It must have been a scientist’s dream to serve on one. He always said that was where the real action was.”
Jessie was surprised to find herself thinking of her uncle. It had always been a subject she had avoided. He had died a hero’s death, destroying a doomsday weapon. It reminded her of the dangers of uncharted space. She much preferred the well-traveled space lanes where the perils were known and were usually no worse than navigational hazards. Even the Orions were a known quantity.
She suddenly realized that the conversation at the table had stopped and everyone was looking at her. “I’m sorry, I was distracted,” she said. “What did I miss?”
“We were discussing crewman Carawan’s idea on configuring the shuttle as a scanning platform to give us some kind of EW ability,” replied Lieutenant Cole. “We don’t really have the power to do much otherwise.”
“We also don’t have another shuttle in case we need it for something else,” snorted Chief Lick. “So we wondered which side you were on in all this.”
“Neutral,” Jessie said with a laugh. “I think it would depend too much on the situation. Why don’t you guys run a few drills to see how long it takes to pull the spare out of storage?” She was rewarded with a few groans.
“You’re really looking forward to this, aren’t you?” he said and shook his head. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I think it’s time for me to be going before somebody gives me extra work beyond what I’ve got already.” He rose quickly and departed. The rest soon followed suit.
The next day, the two ships entered the PA84-3301 system. Holmes led the way, so it was Jake Carawan from her sensor station who first reported contact. “Captain, sensors detect a warp trail around the second planet. Our data on the system reports it as class M.”
“Adjust course for the second planet,” Jessie ordered, “and inform Watson.” The two police ships headed into the system. A few moments passed and Carawan was able to provide a clearer picture.
“The Cousteau is in orbit around the second planet. Her warp output is fluctuating and unstable. She probably can’t make warp. There is no sign of any damage to the ship’s hull.”
“She does not respond to hails,” XO Coles added.
“Bring us in behind her,” Jessie ordered. “We’ll send a shuttle over to find out what’s going on over there. Keep up on the hails. She may not be able to answer, but hopefully she can hear us. Let them know what we plan to do.”
With Holmes still slightly ahead, the two corvettes approached the orbiting cruiser. “Captain!” Ensign Etheridge suddenly called out, fear giving his voice unexpected volume. “The Cousteau is locking phasers and preparing to fire.”
Jessie barely had time to order, “Reserve power to forward shields. Emergency deceleration,” before the powerful beams of energy struck the Holmes full on. Too late, Jessie grabbed the arms of her chair for support.
Topic: Gremlins (Read 26424 times)