Topic: Second Chances

[Czar Mohab]

New ship, new toons, new epic! And even a frankenship for you all too!

Proud to present:

   SECOND CHANCES

   “Cerberus, arriving.” came the magical voice from the ships announcing system. He was glad to be on board, glad to be on a new ship, and mostly, glad that they called him Cerberus. It was an ancient tradition; dating back to the old wet navies on earth, when the captain arrived on his ship they sounded the ships’ name as him, as they were, more or less, one and the same. The ship’s bell tolled behind him as he passed through the airlock from the shuttle pod that had deposited him on board.
   He was greeted by what he recalled was his executive officer, but with so many new faces and names to learn, it could have easily been the engineer or some other officer. Eventually, he would get things right, remember faces and names and duty assignments, just as he had done before on the cruiser Apollo, his first and almost last command. The two of them walked around the ship for what seemed like an eternity, she was, after all, giving him the grand tour. He did make note of how everything was smaller, more compact, than on the cruisers. Less recreational facilities, and much smaller bunks.
   “Why were you posted here again?” she asked him as they entered the turbo lift for the bridge. “I read the Star Fleet reports, but they seem to have left out a lot.”
   “I know, Miss Jones,” he commented dryly. It wasn’t a subject he preferred to talk about. “I’ll tell you all about it some other time, alright?” Lucky guess on the name, he thought.
   Before she could respond, the door to the turbo lift opened, allowing them entry to the bridge. His first sight was the view screen, directly in front of the lift door. Between him and the screed were his command chair and the helm. He silently noticed that the bridge lacked a proper navigation or communications station. To the left and right of the view screen were two auxiliary consoles, currently set up for sciences. On either side of the lift door were two alcove stations, the left was tactical and weapons control station, and the right was the engineering station. Behind each of the two were computer monitors and touch screens relating to each specific station. He liked the layout of the bridge, but didn’t like the missing navigator or comms stations. He walked through the empty bridge, running his hand along the rail behind his chair, and took the two steps down to the lower portion of the bridge, and went straight to the helm. He pulled the seat and realized as it moved that it was on a quarter circle track similar to the helm’s layout. He sat down and quickly analyzed the console. There were considerably less buttons and more labels for everything, and it appeared to be a mostly touch screen panel.
   He stood up silently and walked to the tactical station, then the engineering station, and found them to be much of the same technology. “Impressive,” he said quietly as he walked over to the auxiliary control panels. “When does the rest of the crew arrive?” he asked his exec. He noticed that she hadn’t moved from the lift doorway yet.
   “We’ll be fully manned in sixteen hours and ready for underway in twenty.”
   “Very well, have someone deliver all my gear to my quarters, I’ll retire there shortly.”
   “Yes sir.” She paused for a moment before heading out.
   “Anything else I can do for you, Miss Jones?”
   “No sir…”
   “Then you are dismissed, Miss Jones.” He watched her exit through the lift’s single door. They’ll be young and inexperienced, he thought, but together we’ll be the best. He walked to his command chair and sat down in it for the first time. He searched for a moment and found the hidden compartment in the left armrest. It was a design feature of every command chair ever made in Star Fleet, a ‘secret’ pocket for things like command codes or important data chips. He opened the compartment and checked the size of the puka, and determined it was sufficient. He unclasped the button holding his uniform jacket closed and pulled the flap downward. He reached inside and withdrew eleven glass test-tube like items, each contained a single cigar and match, and were corked on the open end. Six of them, labeled ‘VICTORY’, smelled and tasted sweet, and gave off a pleasant aroma when lit; the other five, labeled ‘DEFEAT’, smelled and tasted very bitter, and gave off a foul odor when lit. The eleven items were placed neatly inside the puka, and he closed the compartment door. They were a gift from an old friend from the academy, given to him when he first took command of Apollo, with a simple message, “Smoke them at the right time, and remember victory is always sweet, defeat is always bitter.” The sixth ‘DEFEAT’ was smoked in the life pod that saved his life.
   “Computer,” he started, shaking off the bitter memory, “recognize Lieutenant Commander Shawn Patrick McDougal, commanding officer.”
   “Recognized,” the computer chirped in its very pleasant feminine voice.
   “Verify all command codes transferred form Shipyard command to my command authorization.”
   “Working… Confirmed. All command functions have been transferred from Shipyard command.”
   “Does all the command staff have codes stored in the computer?”
   “Confirmed.”
   “Thank you, computer,” he said while standing up. He walked silently to the lift door and stopped at the ship’s commissioning plaque, and noticed how his name was hastily added to the ‘commissioning crew’ line. Without any further thought, he stepped into the waiting turbo car and the door shut behind him.

   They sat in the captain’s quarters, silently for the moment. They didn’t share quarters like the rest of the crew, but they did have a shared bathroom, and now a story that needed to be shared, too.
   “So is now a good time, sir?” Jones asked him. She quietly sipped the cup of tea that she brought with her.
   “Well,” he began his tale, “We were on patrol on the Klingon Neutral Zone. We were three months out and we were almost ready to turn for home. We had known that the former CO would take shots at ships and stations across the Zone, using long lance drones…”
   “How did he get away with that?” Jones asked. “Wouldn’t that have shown up in the supply logs?”
   “He would have them added in secret, and logs altered. He was caught when one of our survey cruisers, the Gypsy I believe, followed them and watched the drone launch. Needless to say, he was forced to retire, and I was available to relieve him.
   “What we didn’t know, however, was that one of his drone volleys destroyed a civilian colony ship. While we were passing near the same location where the ship was destroyed, we were ambushed by Klingons bent on revenge. Six Klingon ships came out of nowhere and attacked us.”

   “Increasing speed to warp two!” the helmsman shouted as the ship shuddered again.
   “Divert all available power to shield four!” McDougal ordered.
   “Shield four buckling!” the tactical officer reported. “Hull breaches on decks five and six! I am reading three more ships approaching, dead ahead!”
   “Helm?”
   “They are outflanking us, there’s nowhere to go but straight!”
   “Best speed then. Maintain phasers on self defense only, and see if you can’t raise them.”
   “Shield four collapsed! Direct hit port nacelle!” the tactical officer shouted as the ship shuddered yet again, and again. Sparks blew from several consoles and fires erupted from the bulkheads. Debris and dust fell freely from the overheads and a support beam bulged through the deck, taking out the helm. “Starboard nacelle destroyed, warp drive off line, impulse engines off line, emergency power available but failing. Multiple hull breaches across all decks… Sir, we’re done.”
   “Damn. All hands, abandon ship!” Another blast destroyed what was left of the bridge, knocking the captain to the deck. He stood and looked around at the bodies of his former bridge officers scattering the deck, severed limbs resting far from their bodies. He took the moment to check for pulses where he could, but no one lived. In a frantic furry, he searched the command chair puka and withdrew his twelve cigars. During the last blasts he found the bridge’s emergency escape pod and entered it, waited as long as he could before shutting the seal, and pushed the jettison button. He found himself alone in a pod made for ten, and his only hope now was for the Klingons not to shoot the pods.

   “…and eventually we were rescued, all nine of us.” He concluded his story with a sigh, “They demoted me and gave me command of this beast.”
   “Did you notice the irony here, sir?”
   “How’s that?”
   “Well, Apollo was a god of light, Cerberus was, well, the original dog from hell…”
   “They have sent me from Olympus to Hades, you say?”
   “Perhaps, but we can show them what this hell hound can do.”



Czar "Doin it right this time" Mohab, Who is now free for questions and/or comments.

[Governor Ronjar]

I'm liking the added level of detail in this one. Your previous story/stories used dialogue for most, if not all, of the delivery on what was going on. This one has amped up the naration, especially in the scene where McDougal surveys his bridge.

Can we have some info on the Cerberus? Pics also if you have some to post...*pleading tones as asker is very interested*

I'm anxiously waiting for more as I have the feeling this one is going to be truely epic.

--thu guv!

[Commander La'ra]

Likin' it so far.  As the Guv said, I like the added detail, etc.  Particularly fond of the Captain's little problem with remembering names.

[Czar Mohab]

Can we have some info on the Cerberus? Pics also if you have some to post...*pleading tones as asker is very interested*

As for shape, size, color, basic specs, think Okinawa class. But, not *quite* the same. If I had to use a model in SFC1/2/3, I'd go with that one as "close enough".

I haven't found one Oki model good enough to be exact for what i see in my mind. maybe because its not quite one... you'll all see soon...

Czar "Too much for now" Mohab

[Czar Mohab]

Per all your requests, stories and story segments will no longer occur in green. Everything else, however, still will. Enjoy!

   "Lieutenant Commander Olivia Janice McCloud, chief engineer, sir."
   "Senior Chief Corpsman Jeremiah Johnson, ship's doc, sir."
   "Lieutenant T'Sala, Tactical, weapons and communications officer, sir"
   "Lieutenant junior grade George Eugene Michaels, Navigator and chief helmsman, sir"
   "Lieutenant Samuel Peter O'Kelly, chief of security, sir."
   McDougal continued his walk through of his department heads. They were all younger than him, except for Doc, as he'd suspected. No matter, they'd learn and grow, with him and the tiny ship. "Dismissed," he said dryly and walked away from the gathering, his exec hot on his heels. He was hoping that she wouldn't always follow him so closely. "I have absolutely no intention of micromanaging everything," he said to her, never pausing as he continued down the narrow corridor towards the nearest lift. "I will hold you responsible if we are delayed at anything during this cruise because of them."
   "Understood sir," she replied, slightly confused. "Sir," she started again as they entered the waiting lift. She paused her ingress and held the door so that the rest of the bridge crew could join them in the turbo car, cramping them in the already confined space. "Do you not trust your crew?"
   "I trust them." He waited for the others to enter the car. "Bridge!" he ordered the machine, and it silently obeyed and began its short journey to its destination. He looked at his exec, giving her the "we will continue this later" glance.
   The lift's door opened before she could protest further, and the group walked onto the bridge and took quickly to their posts. "Contact dock master," McDougal ordered without missing a beat. "Get us clearance for undocking."
   T'Sala pressed a few buttons on her panel. "We have clearance to undock," she told her captain as he took his center seat.
   He pressed a button on his command chair's right armrest, clearly labeled '1MC', and began to speak over the ship's announcing circuit. "All personnel not wishing to go underway, please disembark at this time." He felt the reaction of the crew the same way he felt it when he first heard that announcement on his first tour. Well, I'd better get off then! he mentally echoed his crew's thoughts. They knew it was meant for the yard workers that might still be on board and not for them, but who really wanted to get underway?
   He pressed another button on his armrest, this one labeled '7MC', and spoke, "Engine room, begin warming up the mains." He didn't wait for a reply before closing the channel. He turned around and faced the engineer. "Have we divorced from shore power?"
   "Affirmative, sir," she replied.
   "Good." He turned slightly to face the Vulcan to the engineer's left. "Clear all service umbilicals and all access brows." Outside the tiny ship, several service hoses began to retract into the space dock, as did the two pressurized crew tunnels that allowed access to docked ships. "All standard running lights and markers to full illumination." Green lights on the starboard side of the saucer and on the end of the starboard nacelle, white for the center, and red on the port side began to flash; bright white floodlights illuminated the ship's name, registry, and Star Fleet insignias, U.S.S. Cerberus, NX-12093. "Cast off all lines." Automated systems pulled free the mechanical tethers that held the ship in place.
   "Ship is underway, sir," T'Sala reported.
   The captain pressed the '1MC' button again, "Ship is underway!" Closing the line, he added, "Helm, thrusters ahead, half thrust." The ship moved forward from its berth slowly, belying its sleek design. Its saucer and engineering section arrangement was common among the Okinawa classes, but the radical addition of a third warp engine on the ship's dorsal and the zero degree plane of the two 'normal' nacelles gave the first hints that this was no ordinary frigate. As she cleared the dock on her first official underway, what was the Federation's biggest snafu began to make history. Cerberus was constructed as a test for the Federation's new automated construction facility, and was eighty percent complete when the caught the mix-up.
   "Clear of space dock," Michaels reported.
   "All ahead flank!" Cerberus didn't make a sound as she accelerated, much to the delight of her captain and crew, nor did she lurch forward like so many of her older stable mates. It was a factor of the new technology, additions destined for another vessel. The computer mind that constructed Cerberus mixed two plans into one, fusing forever battle frigate and advanced frigate. When the yardmaster discovered the design malfunction, she was too far along to scrap, and instead was modified to fully utilize everything she was given. "Pocket Cruiser" some had called her. Silently and elegantly, she sped away from her former home and into the freedom of space. "Set course for way point one, warp seven."
   "Way point one, warp seven, helm, aye."
   McDougal didn't care what anyone else called her. She was Cerberus, the original dog from hell, and she was going to prove it.


Czar "On a roll" Mohab

[Commander Maxillius]

Very nice!  Now I'm gonna have to search for the Okinawa class to get the image in mind

*edit*  Oh, that...   Very odd looking indeed, suppose she'll have something to prove being so small.  Very interesting

[Governor Ronjar]

Holy crap! Jerimiah Johnson is the CMO?!!

Is his handle 'Liver-Eatin' Johnson' by any chance?

I liked the launch. Especially the references to '1MC' and '7MC'. Very US Navy of you. Though after that...I kept imagining him pulling a microphone to his lips when he used them... [an idea I like very much in BSG]

Bravo! Now...back to writing!

--thu guv!

[Czar Mohab]

Holy crap! Jerimiah Johnson is the CMO?!!

Is his handle 'Liver-Eatin' Johnson' by any chance?

I think I have no clue what you mean here. I just pull random names outta thin air sometimes. Sometimes other places.

For now, I think small tidbits are working the best, so I'll keep to that.


   “Secure the maneuvering watch, Miss T’Sala,” said the captain smartly. “Station underway watch section three.”
   “Aye, sir,” the tall and slender Vulcan replied. She made the required announcement, and in short order the bridge’s relief crew stepped silently onto the bridge to assume their postings. Her relief, a small human male, studied her panel quickly, and after a brief exchange of words, she simply said, “I stand relieved.” She walked from her panel and towards her captain in the center seat. “I am ready to relieve you, sir,” she said calmly.
   “Your first time in the big chair?” the captain asked her.
   “Yes, sir, it will be.”
   “Then we’ll go gentle on you. I stand relieved, you have the bridge.” He stood up and quickly made way for the waiting turbo car. He watched her try to ask him what he meant as the door closed. He sighed, letting the weight of the day fall from him. “Deck two,” he ordered the car, and it promptly sent him on his way. As the car traveled, he felt eyes on him; somehow he’d missed that someone was in the car with him. He studied the individual for a moment without turning to see who was there. “XO,” he said, still not turning to face his guest, “we begin drills in one hour. Be in the observation lounge in ten with all off watch department heads.” The door to the lift opened and he strode out, down the narrow passage towards the observation lounge.
   Startled with the new order, his exec paused in the car and before she could follow him the door shut. “Destination?” the computerized voice rudely asked her. She paused, forgetting where she was actually going. “Destination?” the car demanded of her again.
   “Hold,” she simply said. She moved over to the wall communications panel and opened a line to the bridge.
   “Bridge,” the male voice on the other side of the line responded.
   “Bridge, XO, contact all off watch department heads and have them meet me in the observation lounge in five minutes.”
   “XO, bridge, aye,” the young officer simply replied.
   “Computer, here is fine, open the door please.” The car’s single door slid open, and she made her way to the lounge.

   “Fire in the galley was a drill for training, secure from drill,” Lieutenant Perkins said over the 1MC. “Restow all damage control equipment.” T’Sala looked over at the JG who had relieved her. “Next one’s warp core breach in progress with auto-jettison failure,” he informed the bridge. “Simulation ends when either the core is dumped or breach is averted; and it should be the last one.” Six drills in four hours, and he had known correctly the first five. It was a fair bet that the sixth would be accurate as well. She was unwilling to pry into details of how he knew, but she did know that it put others more at ease knowing what was next, and that generally improved reaction times and performance. It wasn’t an accurate assessment of how the crew would honestly react if the same situations happened unsimulated, but even with that flaw, it was good practice.
   His com panel beeped, demanding his attention. “Bridge,” he said calmly. The voice on the other side of the line was indistinct even with her Vulcan hearing. “Acknowledged,” Perkins said to the mystery voice. He pursed his lips before making his announcement, “Secure from ship’s drills. Damage control petty officers take inventory and make report to the DCPO by twenty-three hundred. All drill monitors muster on the mess decks for debriefing. All hands, turn-to, clean up ship.” T’Sala looked at him with a raised eyebrow; her head slightly tilted and allowed some of her long, dark hair to fall over her left shoulder. “Guess I was wrong.”
   “Indeed. Helm, resume course and speed for way point one.” There was but the slightest pause before she could relax her posture from rigid to Vulcan relaxed before an alarm went off. "Report!" she ordered.
   "Klingon cruiser has just been detected on long range scans, bearing three-one five," Perkins reported to her. "At present speed and course, we will cross their line of travel in two minutes. They appear to be heading towards the main shipping lanes off of New Alexandria."
   "Have they detected us?"
   "Unable to determine at this range, however not very likely."
   "Helm, match speed to target, plot a shadowing course. Mister Perkins, yellow alert." The ship decelerated without much hassle, no one really noticed anything was amiss until yellow lights started flashing from everywhere. There was a momentary hum as the phaser capacitors began their warm up routine, but this too went largely unnoticed.
   "Course plotted and laid in, sir," Michaels reported from the helm. "We should be maintaining range outside of their sensors."
   "Very good; Mister Perkins..." She was interrupted as McDougal entered the bridge.
   "T'Sala, if you please, continue," the tall man said. Ever present at his heels was the XO, nearly a head shorter than he, and her flame red locks a sharp contrast to his short, dark hair. She's like a lost puppy with no self esteem, always seeking approval both the captain and the tactical officer shared the same thought.
   "Mister Perkins, rig ship for silent running, and reduced electrical. Captain, we have detected a Klingon warship on long range scanners, his course indicates a possible convoy or supply point raid. We are shadowing him to verify."
   "Very good, T'Sala, I relieve you. Take your post and see what you can learn about our friend."
   "Aye, sir," she said as unemotionally as any Vulcan would have. Despite her emotional repression skills, she still felt depressed deep down about not finishing her first watch. She stood and walked away from the command chair towards her station where Perkins stepped back and allowed her access. Having no where else to go for the moment, he stayed by her side to assist if needed. "Our range is closing, staying outside assumed sensor range of Klingon vessel. Hull class is Delta-six or seven battle cruiser, unable to verify more specifics at this range."
   "Very well," the captain said, taking his seat. His exec stood beside his chair, watching the screen. "Miss Jones, man the aux panel, set it for sciences and aid tactical in identifying that ship." She looked at him, disappointed, silently nodded and took a seat at the port station and began to run a parrallel scan with tactical.
   "Sir, target has accelerated," T'Sala reported.
   "Compensating," Michaels said.
   "Picking up a priority one distress signal from U.S.S. Pensacola and several freighters. They are under attack by a Klingon drone cruiser, type seven hull, messages repeat."
   McDougal pressed his 1MC button, "Red Alert, all hands to battle stations, this is not a drill." He paused a moment after closing the line. "Helm, best speed to target, try to keep us on his six when we arrive in weapons range. T'Sala, set phasers four and six through eight to defensive, proximity load photons one and three, full overload tube two, drain the batteries if you have too. Coordinate high warp kick down to occur at best range for proxies and keep us going at best combat speed."
   He didn't wait for a response from his crew, nor did he hear it. The words rang in his ears as did the bitter taste of 'DEFEAT' had hung on his tongue. It was a Drell-seven drone ship that had fired the last salvo that destroyed Apollo, one that had a notorious history of attacking trade convoys on this side of the neutral zone. McDougal didn't seek revenge, just survival.

Czar "Jerimiah could have been a bullfrog" Mohab, who notes that corpsmen often go with the frogmen, too

[Governor Ronjar]

'Let the slaughter begin!'

My Liver Eatin' Johnson reference comes from American frontier folklore about a man named Jerimiah Johnson. He had confrontations with tribes of American Natives who did everything up to and including killing his wife. He bent on revenge toward said injuns, and was renown for hunting them down and, most tales say, eating their livers, either for survival or to 'gain an essense of their spirit'. There was a movie in the late 60's, early 70's about the man, which portrayed him as a hero, leaving out the liver eatin'... I believe Robert Redford played ol' Liver Eatin'. Wicipedea likely has a page on this movie, and perhaps even some history on the story behind it.

Look it up when you have time, it can only add to the fun of your stories.

I'm liking where your story above is going. Nice, straight forward prepare for combat feel right now. And very militarial with all the nomenclature and watch-precedure. Bravo. Almost makes me think of the new BSG. [am also hoping that the new Trek movie will emulate some of this stuff as well...]

Keep 'er cumin'!

--thu guv!

[Czar Mohab]

Hope it doesn't feel rushed

   
   Cerberus shuddered and slowed to a crawl in space, lights throughout the small vessel dimmed noticeably. McDougal surveyed his bridge crew for signs of uneasiness and found none. Confused, he asked, “Why have we slowed?” The answer, it seemed, was obvious to all but him.
   “Low power,” Jones replied. “We don’t have enough to maintain your speed and charge everything.” She looked up from her panel and met his gaze. “You weren’t here for the trials, so I guess you didn’t know; we can’t maintain one hundred percent power for longer than ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”
   McDougal turned swiveled his chair to face aft. “Well, then, engineer, give me those ten minutes.” He saw the look of ‘I’d better not’ on his engineer’s face. “Do whatever you need to do, just do it quickly.”
   “Powering up number three,” she said reluctantly. The ship sprang forward as if shot from a sling, and the lighting resumed its normal illumination. Before she could offer protest, the computer spoke up in her place.
   “WARNING. WARP FIELD RADIATION EXCEEDING TOLERANCE LEVELS. RADIATION LEVELS WILL EXCEED MAXIMUM SAFETY LIMITS IN TEN MINUTES.”
   “Disable audio warning,” the captain ordered. “And power down that engine in seven minutes. T’Sala, what does the tactical picture look like?”
   The Vulcan busied herself with her controls before responding. “Four small, two large and two super freighters under fire, most have taken light damage. Frigate Pensacola is attempting to draw fire. We are approaching optimal firing range for proximity torpedoes, estimate we can succeed in hitting target’s number four shield.” Her panel beeped a frantic warning. “Freighter Lost Luggage has lost all warp power.”
   “Helm, give her everything you can.” McDougal spun quickly back around to face the view screen, as the door to the lift opened. Lieutenant O’Kelly walked onto the bridge with an armed escort, standing by to protect the bridge should it be invaded. “Oh, good, I was about to call for you. Have all available teams standing by in or near the transporter rooms. May not need you, but you never know.”
   Saddened slightly that his first ‘official’ trip to the bridge was cut short, he simply replied, “Aye, sir,” and left the way he had come, leaving behind his four guards.
   “Firing tubes one and three,” T’Sala reported. On the screen, twin red orbs of fire projected themselves towards the Klingon ship. In a brilliant flash, they were gone. “Both detonated on target.”
   “Reload tubes as standards. Range to contact?”
   “Fifty thousand and closing fast. Contact is continuing to target freighters." She seemed frazzled, as frazzled as a Vulcan could get anyway. "Thirty thousand," she called off.
   "Fire non-defensive phasers and torpedoes at one thousand," McDougal ordered. "Helm, make our speed warp one point two by the time we get to firing range." He could almost hear the protest from his tactical officer, and interrupted her before she could utter a sound. "Fast load the torpedoes if you have to, and stand-by on the drones."
   On the viewer, the range closed between frigate and cruiser. Several phasers lances shot out from the freighters in a vain attempt to ward off the unwelcome guest. Cerberus managed to close the gap and slow in time; red hot lances of phaser fire ripped into the Klingon's aft shield, followed by three red orbs of destruction. The protective shield faltered and failed, allowing the torpedoes unhindered access to the unprotected hull. Whether it was luck or a good tactical officer's targeting skills didn't matter, as the single overloaded weapon found its mark in the main impulse complex, causing massive eruptions of fire and escaping atmosphere. "Overload all torpedoes, all available power to shield one. Helm, stay with him, but let him open to three thousand." Cerberus remained behind the warship, dwarfed by its massive size. Four pinpoints of energy erupted from the now wounded combatant; drones sent to their next target. Without hesitation, Cerberus fired her defensive phasers, destroying the incoming missiles almost effortlessly. "Tactical, priority targets: warp, impulse and weapons, in that order."
   "Aye, sir," T'Sala replied. She began making the required adjustments on her panel. "Incoming transmission, sir," she added as her panel beeped. "Priority one message from Star Fleet."
   "Put them on hold, this is a bit more important." McDougal mentally envisioned the chastising he would receive form command for delaying a high priority transmission, but justified it with the lives that would be saved. Unless its something more important he thought. "Overload phasers, too, Miss T'Sala. Let's end this."
   The Klingon ship managed a small counter attack with its phasers, and began a vain attempt to shake its adversary. In this attempt, the range between it and its former prey increased, allowing precious time for the freighters and their lone escort to escape. Phasers and torpedoes once again struck out at the Klingon, this time severing its port warp nacelle and almost destroying the other, along with severe structural damage. Out of power, the Klingon slowed to a stop, and began a slow turn to port. "Open a channel," McDougal ordered. T'Sala did as instructed, and before she could acknowledge that the channel was open, her captain spoke. "Klingon vessel. You have violated our space for the last time. I'm giving you two options: surrender or be destroyed." In response, the warship fired its only powered phaser and its four drones. "Have it your way then. It is fitting that Cerberus would guide you to the gates of Hell." McDougal motioned for the channel to be closed. "Fire everything available, and keep firing until they surrender or are destroyed."
   It was only a few minutes more before the Klingon ship exploded from Cerberus's continued onslaught. "Secure from battle stations, secure from red alert," McDougal ordered. "Shut down number three warp engine and Miss T'Sala, would you be so kind as to receive the transmission from Star Fleet?"
   T'Sala worked her board for a second and replied, "It was text only. We are to report to Base Station at New Alexandria for ship modification and passenger pick up."
   "That's all there was? No specifics?"
   "None, sir."
   "Well then, helm, you know what to do."
   
Czar "And so they continued..." Mohab

[Governor Ronjar]

Not much of a fight there, was it? A D-7 should put up a hellova fight, no matter who's beatin' on it IMO.

The transition between the security guy arriving on the bridge and firing the first torpedoes of the fight seemed rather abrupt to me. I'm all for firing as she comes to bear, but some lead in helps.

I don't wish to over critique, however. The rest of the story and indeed the over all writing of this chapter/tidbit arre very good and discriptive. The fight just seemed lacking. But then, I'm one for LONG fight scenes, and am not always a sound judge. Perhaps you did not want this fight to detract in any way from the rest of the story.

Any way, am itching for more! Reall y wish to see where the Cerberus goes. I like the crew and would like to see them interact even further as the story goes on. McDougal seems to have an axe to grind in some way, likely in consequence to his previous defeat. Wanting to see where this leads...

--thu guv!

[Czar Mohab]

Not much of a fight there, was it? A D-7 should put up a hellova fight, no matter who's beatin' on it IMO.

D7D... supposed to be 'distracted' by trying to take down the freighters, and treating the frigates as 'flies on a carcass', saving them for last, and not expecting the 'lucky shots' that ended up crippling it. Also, should have included more about recent shield damage from defenders and weapons' status.

I try to stay true to SFB/SFC style battles, and was going off of an old 'house rule' that I found long ago, whereas one could target specific things and a success would mean damage/distruction of said things with remaining damage then following the DAC; along with a second rule that uses the DAC but allocates damage differently. Damage is applied to system A. When all of system A is destroyed, reroll remaining points on DAC, repeat until all points resolved. All damage occurs to a "block" of that system on the SSD, example would be the Fed CA with 8 labs, in two blocks of 4. DAC calls for lab, and only one of the blocks would receive the damage. Weapons handled similarly to the normal rules (i.e. facing weapons first, then others). I think I covered most of it. If I confused you, go with the "lucky shot" deal and call it good 

I don't wish to over critique, however. The rest of the story and indeed the over all writing of this chapter/tidbit arre very good and discriptive. The fight just seemed lacking. But then, I'm one for LONG fight scenes, and am not always a sound judge. Perhaps you did not want this fight to detract in any way from the rest of the story.

Bingo. This battle is not the important part. Its what is coming later that will be the focus. This was just a "get a feel for ol' Cerberus" incident.

Any way, am itching for more! Reall y wish to see where the Cerberus goes. I like the crew and would like to see them interact even further as the story goes on. McDougal seems to have an axe to grind in some way, likely in consequence to his previous defeat. Wanting to see where this leads...

You'll get that, and more, in time.

Czar "Fuzzy clarity" Mohab
[/color]

[Governor Ronjar]

Ah, I see. They just didn't seem much like lucky hits given the presentation. And yeah, the before hand info on the D-7's previous damage would have given a better head's up. I expect most freighters traveling in deep space to be armed. But mentioning such goes a long way too.

So far as fight scenes go, I don't go by any kind of game rules. I try to emulate the combat damage shown in Movies 2, 3 and 6. Though I note that 3 did not show torps blowing through the hull. Given the uber sharkage, I imagine Enterprise and even the BoP has at least partial shielding in place when hit.

The rules you quote don't sound too bad though.

More of same, please.

--thu guv!

[Czar Mohab]

Its that time again, folks... One more posting...


   Rear Admiral Baker paced behind his desk in his office, and his anger permeated the room. McDougal stood across from the desk at attention, and waited for the short, stocky man to finish his tirade. “I believe in Unity, commander. I believe that we all can benefit from acting as one fleet with a combined goal, and I believe that there can be galactic peace in our time. What you have done today could have put a damper on our peaceful relations with the Klingons.” Baker paused a moment, enough for McDougal to squeeze a word in edgewise.
   “Sir, with all due respect, they were attacking one of our trade convoys. Did you want me to sit back and let innocent civilians die?”
   “No,” Baker replied calmly. “You followed the book in that regard, answering the convoy’s distress call. I am surprised that you pulled it off with such a small ship. However, destruction of the Klingon vessel was unnecessary, and a bit extreme. Your own combat records show that the ship was crippled and unable to escape. You could have left them for one of our local patrol ships to tow them in for repairs.”
   Without hesitation McDougal interrupted the admiral, “So now we are offering aid and comfort to the enemy? They were attacking innocent and mostly unarmed vessels. If I should have done anything different it would have been to beam their crew into space, then destroy the cruiser.”
   “Mind your place, Commander.” The anger in the room thickened. “Remember that you are addressing a superior officer.”
   Only in rank, McDougal thought. “Is there anything else, sir?”
   “As a matter of fact, there is.” The man stopped his pacing. “I have gone over the schematics for your vessel. She is quite impressive when she can use all of her warp power. There was a technical memo from her space trials, either to add more shielding to the dorsal hull or extend the center engine up higher away from said hull. Star Fleet has ordered us to make the required modifications to support your new missions.
   “The Klingon Empire has been without a proper delegate at Hyperion Station for quite some time, and with a recent change in the pace of which Operation Unity is gearing up, one is required there in a very rapid manner. A Klingon courier ship will deliver the ambassador to you at the station here in a week, and you will depart immediately following and make best speed for Hyperion.”
   “Why not any other ship? We’re not…”
   Baker interrupted him curtly. “Yours, sadly, is the only one fast enough to reach Hyperion from here before the next meeting of the Unity Council. And as part of our retrofit of your ship, you will be capable of carrying this diplomat and his aides.”
   McDougal eyeballed him rudely. Cerberus is a ship of war, not intended to carry the enemy he thought to himself. “Are we done here?”
   “You will be more respectful, Lieutenant Commander,” the words escaped Baker’s lips with an evil puff, “or you will find yourself on report! You are dismissed!”
   Silently, Cerberus’s CO turned, lifted his hands to chest height, and strode out of the office. McDougal was glad that his body covered the obscene gesture thrown the admiral’s way.

   The week passed without incident, and the arrival of the Klingon delegate on board Cerberus marked the beginning a terrible time for Senior Chief Johnson, the ship's 'doctor'. Standard procedure for newcomers to any vessel in the fleet was a preliminary physical, to verify that there were no ailments or contaminants or viruses that could infect the crew. Normally, this was handled by the transporter's bio-filter; but in the case of the Klingons, they had walked in right through the airlock. Now, three very large and very angry Klingons stood in the cramped sick bay, waiting for the captain's final ruling. Again, the Klingon ambassador protested, stating that they had been scanned by the station's transporter system when they beamed aboard. Johnson knew it was a lie, as the Klingon transport docked to the station just as Cerberus had, intending to make full use of the liberty port, just as they had done for the last week.
   "You came on board this ship right in front of me," Johnson reiterated for them. "And I watched you as you left your ship, you were not transported." This argument had gone on for almost twenty minutes before the captain was called to resolve the issue. Doc was just happy that the Klingons went to sick bay at all. The door to sick bay, one of three on board that was of the 'twin slider' type usually found on larger vessels, swished open to reveal O'Kelly, the CO, and that 'lost puppy', the XO. Does she ever leave him alone? Doc thought to himself. "Skipper, good, glad you are here. We have an issue..."
   "Had an issue, Doc," McDougal corrected him. He turned to face the fatter Klingon, who he supposed was the ambassador. "You will either submit to the scan or be confined to quarters the entire journey, without any ventilation. Doc will only perform a viral and bacterial scan, nothing more, but either way, this ship doesn't leave until you cooperate."
   "Ah," the fat one spoke, "so you are the one the new Klingon opera 'Hell Hound' sings of. We are impressed by how you handled the Divine Prowess."
   Well, two for one, the CO thought. He's the head cheese, and they're not too pissed. "Lieutenant Commander McDougal, ambassador. Translated, the ships name is, roughly, 'Hell Hound'." At least I'm famous somewhere.
   "We will submit to your scans. Being an ambassador, I've grown accustomed to certain luxuries, ventilation is one of them." Doc moved over to his desk in the now very crowded sick bay. Besides the people, there wasn't much in it, two fold down diagnostic beds, two gurneys, and random knick-knacks and assorted medical equipment. Doc found his tricorder and removed the remote scanner from it. Activating the scanner, he waved it over the Klingons, starting with the ambassador. The ambassador chuckled, jiggling his fat and ruffling his graying hair. He spoke something in Klingon, and the two others joined the chuckling.
   "You are right," Jones said from behind them. "The scan shouldn't find your concealed weapons."
   "That's why you're still going to be confined to quarters for the duration," McDougal added. "The safety and security of the ship is my number one concern."
   "Commander, I must protest!" the large Klingon whined.
   "They are clean, and fit as a fiddle," Doc added.
   "Good." McDougal smiled a fake smile, one he was hoping his guests would know was fake. "Ambassador, if you and your men would be so kind as to follow Miss Jones and Mister O'Kelly to your quarters. I know they'll be smaller than what you're used to, but they are a conversion of four of our three-man suites, with all the room you'll need." He eyeballed the fat ambassador. The quintet left sick bay and headed for the ambassador's quarters, six security guards joining them outside the double door. "Sorry about that Doc."
   "No worries, sir..."
   "You can call me Shawn, Doc," the CO interrupted. "You always could."
   "I know, Shawn. I didn't think it was appropriate anymore."
   "Just because you married and divorced my sister doesn't mean we can't still be good friends."
   "Well, thanks for helping to deal with the Klingons. I was honestly considering killing one of them, removing his liver and serving it to the other two with some fava beans and a nice chianti, and just for kicks join in..."
   "But why waste good wine?" They shared a laugh that didn't last long enough and left them in an awkward silence. "Doc, Jeremiah, seriously, I didn't know that you thought I was..."
   "Holding a grudge? No... Its not that, it was just awkward. I only knew you through Cindy, and when she left me..." he paused and sat in the chair at his desk. "I thought I'd lost a friend, too."
   "You lived with her for three years, I grew up with her. And as I recall, I warned you about her." They laughed again.
   "That you did, that you did..." he was interrupted by the 1MC clicking on.
   "Commander McDougal to the bridge," T'Sala's musical voice chimed over the announcing circuit.
   "Guess that's it for now," McDougal sighed. Silently, he turned and headed towards the door.
   "Shawn?" Doc started. "Thanks."
   "Anytime," he responded, and left sick bay. Doc sat in the now empty room, pondering whether or not the station's morgue would have a spare liver handy.

   Without a sound, the lift door opened and allowed the CO egress onto his bridge. Without missing a beat, he strode to his command chair and spoke at the same time. "Stand-by to get underway." He nearly ran over T'Sala, who had just vacated the command seat, when he heard the Engineer's voice behind him acknowledging his order. "Shouldn't you be in the engineroom?" he asked of her.
   "Thought about it," she responded with a slightly whimsical tone. "Decided not too. XO wanted to run things down there this time. Engines are warmed up and we are free of shore power, sir."
   With a confused but all-knowing nod, he sat in his chair and pressed his 1MC button. "All personnel not wishing to go underway, please disembark at this time." It was a wasted effort, as the ship had been sealed for almost an hour. Anyone still on board was either daft or going with them anyway. Note to self, recommend changes to that dumb procedure. Closing the line, he continued, "clear all service umbilicals and all access brows. All standard running lights and markers to full illumination. Cast off all lines."
   T'Sala worked fast, and without much pause, she 1MC'd "Ship is underway."
   McDougal slapped his armrest hard. "T'Sala, remind me to put you in for a pay raise." Unnoticed for the moment, the door to his puka had popped open. "Helm, ahead full impulse."
   "Aye, sir," Micheals replied. "Space doors are only just opening." Cerberus lurched forward from her berth, promptly closing on the mostly shut doors that led to the freedom of space beyond. "We won't make it."
   "Urgent message from Admiral Baker," T'Sala interrupted.
   "Helm, ninety degree roll to port. T'Sala, on screen."
   Admiral Baker's face filled the viewscreen, anger in his eyes. "I hope you plan on slowing down, mister!"
   McDougal adjusted himself in his chair, lifting his left foot to rest on his right knee. He brushed up against the door to his puka. Quickly and without looking, he withdrew one of the stogies. Fortunately, 'VICTORY' was at hand. "Not really. We're late, sir, so if you have anything important to say..." He deftly opened the tube and extracted the cigar and match. Quickly, he bit off the stub end and spit it towards the viewer, barely clearing Micheals' head.
   "This act of insubordination will not go unpunished! I am ordering you to cut your engines at once before you collide with the space doors!"
   "Very well, sir," he replied snottily. He struck the match on his raised boot and lit his cigar, filling the area around his head with a thick gray-white smoke. "Helm, cut impulse engines, set course for Hyperion, stand-by for maximum warp and engage as soon as we are clear. That good enough for you, admiral?" He took another drag. Victory sure is sweet. Cerberus completed her roll and started to escape through the still opening doors. Mere centimeters remained for clearance of her lower hull, the center warp nacelle, and the doors. The admiral's jaw dropped and he remained speechless. "Well, if you have nothing more to say, we'll be signing off. See you in a couple of weeks. Cerberus, out!" The line closed and the small ship lurched into warp speed, leaving behind several stunned persons who watched from various vantage points.
   "Never liked this place anyway," Micheals commented.
   "Never liked that dork, either, McCloud added from behind them.
   "And now all we have is the sweet sweet smell of victory!" McDougal drew another puff from the stogy, and indeed a sweet aroma filled the bridge.

Czar "I hate Baker, too" Mohab, who notes that our CO will be wearing his Milkbone undies for the upcoming butt-chewing.

[Czar Mohab]

Chapter the next:
   Engineer’s Mate First Class Peter Roberts paused a moment in front of the auxiliary impulse relay panel, and entered a few of the numbers displayed into his data pad. Since Cerberus was now fully warp capable, the impulse engines had been regulated for surplus power generation duty, and the readings had hardly changed in the last two days. EM1 Roberts sighed, and moved on to the next panel in the engine room, and logged another set of unchanged readings. It was an hourly ritual that began when the system’s auto-logger failed. The only solace he had was knowing that his fellow watch team members were doing the same in the lower levels of the engine room. Roberts smiled at the thought.
   “Something amusing with the impulse coil temperatures?” the XO interrupted his train of thought. She had, in recent days, been spending way too much time not on the bridge, and managed a bad habbit of sneaking up behind people.
   Roberts continued his smile and turned toward her voice. Probably the only thing she’s good at is bugging the grunts working down on the deckplates, he thought absently, and almost aloud. “No, ma’am,” he replied to her query. “Just having myself a happy thought.”
   “Care to share?” she countered, genuine curiosity showing on her face.
   “Not particularly…” he managed when a very welcome interruption forcefully broke the conversation.
   “XO!” came the shout of McCloud’s voice. “Thought I’d find you here.” The engineer came out from behind a small series of panels that proudly displayed the ship’s warp power distribution system. “Let’s go,” she said calmly, trotting to the slightly stunned executive officer and grabbing her by the arm. “You’ve been harassing my personnel too often lately, and I’m ordering you to leave.” She shot the EM1 a wink as she drug the XO out of the engine room. She stopped their exit but retained her firm grasp on the XO. Turning to Roberts, she added, “We’ll be making a ten minute stop at zero two thirty, think you can have the auto-logger fixed in that time?” They did, after all, have to be not at warp to access the components; the computer would fry otherwise.
   Roberts grinned at the pair. How she’d managed to talk the captain into dropping from warp for such a small repair was beyond him, but she’d managed it. “Of course, ma’am,” he replied sheepishly. With only a nod, the engineer turned and continued her exit, her prize close at hand. Roberts hastily finished his log set so he could prepare for the repairs. He looked at a wall chronometer, and sighed. Twelve minutes to gather the right tools and repair parts was going to cut him short.

   “Olivia,” Jones protested as they entered the turbo lift. The door shut silently, cutting off her view of the intermix chamber. “I don’t think that was…”
   “Shut up,” McCloud interrupted her. “Deck three, galley,” she ordered the lift. She released her grip as soon as she was assured that there was no chance of escape. “Captain’s ordered me to keep you out of the engine room. And since we’re not on any sort of watch requirements for a while, I thought we’d catch a snack and sit and chat.”
   “What’s there to chat about?” Jones responded harshly. She gave her long time friend a very evil eye. They had been through almost everything together since first meeting at the academy. That is, until they were both selected as engineer’s on different ships. When Cerberus was in initial man-up, both McCloud and Jones were contenders for the open XO and engineer’s billets. With the grace and wisdom that could only come from Star Fleet’s top brass, Jones was selected as XO over her better qualified friend. It wasn’t rivalry that brought this fact to light, it was just the plain and simple truth; Jones never wanted to be anything but an engineer, and never strove for any higher goals, while McCloud had not only applied for XO on her former ship, but was being groomed for the job by her former exec. Jones' remembrance was interrupted when the lift door opened.
   They strode in silence into the mess decks, a rare sight for the few non-officers there engaged in several different recreational activities. They walked to the service window between the galley and mess decks and McCloud called for the galley watch captain. A brief argument ensued of whether he should make them something or if they should use a replicator, but in the end, rank prevailed and the cook disappeared to make some quick dish for them to snack on. In the meantime, they walked over to an empty table and sat down across from each other. There were ten rectangular tables, each with four seats; three other tables were occupied. The normal din caused by too many people in too small a room at mealtime was but a small and quiet chatter.
   “I explained to the captain,” McCloud started, “your situation. You and I both know that you are the better engineer. But you really need to start acting like an executive officer.”
   The explanation was blunt, but honest. Jones sighed, and spoke, “You are right. Delicious irony, though. Give the untalented the job requiring talent…”
   “I hope that you don’t see it that way, really.” She reached out and touched her friend’s hand. “You’ll make a wonderful exec and an even better captain when the time comes. The Brass probably just wanted to jumpstart your career. They know that I’m a hot candidate, but I still need the time in the engineering spaces.”
   “So you are saying that we are where we are supposed to be?”
   “Exactly. We need to learn our jobs and be the best we can at them. When it comes to placing its officers, Star Fleet rarely goofs.” She broke contact with her friend’s hand and they exchanged smiles. The cook arrived with two bowls of ‘beanie weenies’ and deposited them in front of the two officers. He grumbled something about it being two hours past midrats, and walked back to his arduous duty of preparing for the upcoming breakfast rush, three hours away.

   “There it is again, sir!” Perkins announced excitedly from the tactical console. T’Sala’s ears perked as she swiveled around in the command seat to face aft. “Burst of high energy static detected on the main communication frequencies. I can’t detect where it came from, but I can tell you that I think we were an intended target.”
   T’Sala bore a certain curiosity for the unexplained, something that she had always written off to being a scientific interest. Now, unexplained bursts of static piqued her curiosity to its extreme, and made her pause to ponder the situation. This was the third time since she took the watch that such an occurrence had happened, and had she been more emotional, she might have been annoyed. The computer was busy trying to decipher the first two, assuming that they were indeed transmissions. If they were, who were they meant for, and where was the source? “Run it through the computer, as before,” she said calmly. Then again, it could be just static on the lines. “And inform the captain.”

   The Klingon ambassador sat at the small desk in what was his office. The lights had been turned down to their lowest illumination without shutting them down, and they competed with his computer screen for which would provide the most light. The message scrolled across his screen, forcing him to worry. It wasn’t exactly the transmission he had anticipated, but it was close enough. K’Tark stood from his seat, his hand reaching out and shutting the screen off. He would spend a few moments pondering the cryptic words hidden within the message, then return to his slumber.


Czar " " Mohab, who promises more tomorrow

[Commander La'ra]

Allright.  Now that I've got more meat to chew on, I'll try and make a longer more useful comment.

This far, I'm enjoying the story.  You've created some nice tension aboard, both with the visiting Klingons and between the crew, and the pacing is very quick...always good when the story keeps moving.  Characters are idiosyncratic enough to be distinctive, but for the most part, they're not over the top...though this leads me to one of my main bits of constructive criticism.

McDougal is currently and enigma to me.  Part of me thinks (and enjoys the idea) that you're deliberately making him out to be a tad bit unstable.  He's displayed very poor judgement at a couple of points already, and I'm anxious to see what he does next.  But another part of me notes that he is, in some ways, the 'combative loose cannon, ready to kill and die for the Federation despite spending his formative years in a culture that deeply values peace' we see a lot of in fan fic.  If you're trying to make us wonder which he is, and play a bit with our sympathies, excellent work.  I won't say I have a problem with him yet, as I'm not sure what you're up to with him.  I WILL say I have a problem with Admiral Baker...not that I don't like him, he's obviously meant to be disliked...I just think that the 'door incident', especially paints him to be far, far, FAR more childish than his rank and age would imply.  He did, after all, take action that, with only a small miscalculation, could've heavily damaged or destroyed a Star Fleet vessel.

I also have to chime in with the Guv and say that the fight with the Klingon cruiser was a bit too...easy and quick.  The Cerebus was, after all, heavily outmassed, outpowered, and outgunned.  I realize you're going for a SFB feel for the fights, though, and compared to, say, ST II, SFB ships kind of have a glass jaw..  I also feel as if the fight was a bit...obligatory.  It didn't engage me, as it seemed there was little reason for it.  Had there been more follow up to it...more exploration of why the Klingon ship attacked and the resulting political fall out of both the attack and it's destruction...that last bit might not've been a factor.

I realize I've written at greater length about what I percieve to be flaws that I have about the virtues of your story;  please don't take that as a sign that I'm not enjoying the tale.  I am, and am eager to see what happens to the crew of the USS Cerebus.

Or, as Grim would say....'MORE!'

[Commander Maxillius]

Yeah, the bit between the admiral and McDougal at departure screams '80s cop-show, if you make the admiral the police chief and McDougal the loose cannon detective, smoking the tires on his Mustang (Cerberus) as he leaves the station (Starbase).  I like 80s cop shows, and if you're not gunning for realism you're doing a great job at this! 

Small nitpick though.  Is the XO supposed to be a flirt or a slut?  I'm getting from her that she's got that kind of thing in mind a lot of the time and it would be unfortunate if she is the latter.  It would make for some interesting plot twists for sure, just I'm not sure what you're going for there yet.

[Governor Ronjar]

While I'd be very tempted to initiate the 'door maneuver' to piss an admiral off, I don't think I'd risk my command over it. I was disappointed in the poor choice and the Admirals lack of real response to it. Seems to me such a CO would not alite the center seat much longer after that stunt, especially after being ordered not to and then defying said admiral.

Beyond that minor but enjoyable tibit, I like the confrontation with the Klingon party and the end of the last chapter where the Ambassador gets his secret message. I'm itching whole heartedly to see where that goes. Also liked the Hannibal Lecter moment with the Surgeon.

Am waiting patiently for more.

--thu guv!

[Czar Mohab]

Due to totally unforseen issues, I will have to break my promise of another installment today. You can read about it here, still alittle shook up so might be a day or two. Or not. Depends how i feel.

About the comments:

Tried to explain that the XO wasn't confident in her abilities as XO, she is neither flirt nor slut, just unsure. She's a good engineer to be sure, just not trained yet as an XO. I have planned for her a defining moment where you will see that she is, indeed, worthy.

At this point, McD figgures he's got nothing left to lose, he's lost his chance at being a full captain, been demoted, lost his ship and crew, and had been chewed out for doing the right thing. Risky? Sure. Could have taken them out and the station? You betcha. I tried to give the feel that the helmsman would have stopped if he wasn't too sure they could make it, but live and learn. I knew several people with nothing to lose while in the navy, one was even a full bird captain. They all would do things that would cause trouble, and they almost all responded with, "Whatcha gunna do, demote me?"

Czar "Thankfully its a slow night at the office" Mohab, who was very elated to have a couple of these " "" "" " nearby yesterday

[Czar Mohab]

Warning to sensitive viewers: Slight sexually oriented content ahead:

   He recognized the tall, dark haired man in the center of the bridge as Fleet Admiral Rickover. It was a damned funny sight not seeing anyone in anything but their skivvies. The rest of the bridge crew turned and saluted as he exited the lift onto the massive bridge, a veritable army of ‘tighty-whities’ surrounding what he presumed was his command chair. He walked slowly past unnamed crew members, their faces a blur. He thought he recognized someone from Apollo, but that was impossible. Other faces seemed familiar, too, all from past ships. Except someone from Cerberus, it seemed as if his entire starship career was represented by a familiar face from each prior posting. And all faces of comrades long since put to rest. Rickover was the enigma; he was wearing nothing but a warm smile, and he was still living, although much grayer than this person in front of him. “Welcome aboard the Super Battleship Cerberus," the older man said to him. “She’s ready to depart on your orders, Admiral McDougal. He liked the sound of that, and smiling himself he took the center seat. That’s when he realized that he, too, had been reduced to skivvies. Damn funny way of commanding a ship he thought.
   Something beeped, far off in the distance. Sounded like a door chime. “What the hell is that?” he asked the bridge crew. It beeped again, louder this time.
   “We don’t know,” they all began in unison. “It’s your dream!”
   A clouded haze filled his mind. The door beeped again, and with a snap the dream faded to nothingness. “Lights, low,” he demanded of the computer. Slowly, the lights in his quarters came up to a low intensity, revealing the disheveled state of his quarters. His mind wasn’t up to speed yet, and not fully realizing his own condition, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and kicked over an empty bottle from celebrations of earlier that evening. “Enter,” he said as he stood. Little McDougal also stood, at full attention, taking a glimpse of the outside world through Big McDougal’s undergarment. Fortunately, he managed to find a sheet to cover himself as he sat; the door to his quarters swishing open as buttocks met mattress, bathing him and his quarters in a harsh light. He squinted and saw the silhouette that formed in the doorway. It almost vanished as the form stepped in and the door shut behind. He became immediately aware of three things: he was hung over, he really had to urinate, and it was the XO that corrupted his dream.
   “The bridge has been trying to contact you,” she began. Not fully aware yet of her surroundings in the dim light, she stumbled on her CO’s haphazardly discarded uniform jacket. She picked it up and placed it half-folded on a nearby chair back. “T’Sala wanted you to be informed about ‘strange bursts of static’ on the com lines.”
   “Not so loud, please,” he said, rubbing feeling back into his face.
   “Are you intoxicated, sir?” She looked puzzled. Deep in the recesses of her mind, she recalled that the commanding officer shouldn’t ever be drunk, but she had long forgotten the exact regulation number, if it even existed.
   “Not anymore,” he sighed. “I just got a bit carried away after the eng left.” He paused and looked through the dim light at the two bottles that once held a thick green syrup-like and highly intoxicating liquid. He licked his dry lips and continued, “how long have they been trying to contact me?”
   “About twenty minutes, sir. They called me to investigate; I told them you were probably in a deep sleep.”
   “I was, and having a fine dream, too.” Forgetting his problem, he tried to stand, and was promptly reminded why he shouldn’t. “Miss Jones, you’ll excuse me, but I really need to hit the head.”
   “I understand. I’ll wait for you here.” She turned her back on him to give him some privacy as he headed to their shared bathroom. Not wanting to miss the shot, he sat down on the cool plastic seat and let his muscles relax. Jones noted that he’d left the door open and took advantage of the opportunity. “Sir, why didn’t you tell me yourself?”
   “Ha!” he exclaimed. “You’re absolutely right! I should have told you myself.” He stood and flushed, recovering his undergarment from about his ankles and pulling them to a loose fit. Confidently, he strode from the bathroom and made his way quickly to a clean pair of trousers. Snappily putting them on, he continued, “I need you to be an exec, plain and simple. We’ll work on that together, okay? I need everyone right where they are supposed to be right now, until I know what everyone can and can’t do.”
   “I understand, sir.” She looked at him over her shoulder and realized that he was half dressed and was tussling with a clean shirt. She turned completely around while his shirt covered his head and grabbed the jacket next to her. When he was ready to receive, she tossed him the jacket.
   “Thanks,” he said, snatching the garment mid flight. He tucked his shirt in and sat on the bed to finish dressing. “How many of these static bursts has there been?”
   “Three so far,” she replied.
   “Let’s get to the bridge then.” He finished with his boots and stood, draping the jacket over his arm. He walked to leave, escorting the XO along with him. “By the way, you never mentioned you spoke Klingon.”
   “That’s because I don’t speak it. But I can understand it plainly enough.” They walked out of his quarters and into the empty corridor towards the turbo lift.
   “When we get a chance, maybe we could teach each other? I’ve always wanted to learn that.”
   She didn’t reply, feeling as if he was making an advance on her. She didn’t mind the prospect; he was an attractive man, with many good qualities. She just didn’t want to be the ‘Captain’s Woman’.
   “I’m not looking for a date, if that is your concern,” he added, “just a study-buddy.”
   They paused at the lift door and waited for the next car. “Agreed, then, but only after we drop the Klingons off and we’re back on our patrol.”
   “Then its settled, we’ll start as soon as we get to the Kzinti border. I’m sure that we’ll have more than enough time after what I pulled at New Alexandria.”
   They walked into the lift when it arrived, and made the short trip to the bridge in silence. When they arrived, T’Sala was standing beside Perkins at the tactical station. “Three more bursts, sir,” Perkins informed them. “We’ve run them all through the computer, but they keep coming out as static, not transmissions.”
   “Has anyone received any transmissions since this began?” the XO asked. McDougal took the empty engineer’s console and reprogrammed one of the screens to mimic the communications panel.
   “Unknown,” T’Sala began. “Klingon Ambassador K’Tark has received two messages from the Klingon High Council, but has yet to read them. Several other crew members have received messages, but they have been nothing out of the ordinary.”
   “Try to do a power usage report,” McDougal said. “Maybe we can track the messages down by cross referencing when someone might have powered up or down a console.”
   “That could take some time,” Jones added.
   “Well, then, get to engineering and assist McCloud.”
   She took one of two steps towards the lift. “I thought you didn’t want me there?” She smiled at him and his obvious contradiction of orders. He shook his head and she departed the bridge.
   “Yellow alert,” McDougal ordered calmly. “Let’s get to the bottom of this quickly.”

   K’Tark sighed as yet again he was interrupted from his slumber by an ‘urgent’ message from his superiors. He hated this mission. Hated everything about it. It wasn’t the Klingon way to blow up a station just to kill a handful of enemies. But he did as ordered. He tried once to override the neural command sequencer that now controlled him, and failed. His masters had punished him hard for that, but it was worth trying. It was why he couldn’t be transported aboard for this mission, and why he couldn’t submit to a deep scan of his biology, everything would have gone up right there. His two body guards were equally trapped in the same net, forced to do their masters’ bidding. No matter now, soon they would be dead, the Klingons would be blamed for the destruction of Hyperion and Operation Unity would fail.
   When he got to his computer screen, he saw that there were three waiting messages for him. The first ordered him to gather his two cohorts and view the next two with them present. He wasn’t even allowed to protest the order in his thoughts, and was forced to wake the other two Klingons.  They gathered around the tiny screen as K’Tark opened the next message. A loud burst of static that lasted only a millisecond erupted from the unit, and the three Klingons paused as the new programming took hold. The third message displayed promptly afterwards.
   “UNITY COUNCIL MEETING MOVED TO EARTH. UNABLE TO HAVE YOU REDIRECTED TO ATTEND. MISSION ABORTED. FINAL PROGRAM INITIATED. YOU HAVE SERVED US WELL.”
   K’Tark grunted in disbelief. They now had less than an hour to live. His two guards left him at the terminal, preparing to face death by combating each other, in hopes that theirs would be seen as honorable deaths. Knowing full well what would happen to him, his guards and this ship; and knowing that there was nothing that he could do about it, he began to compose a message in Klingon earmarked for his son. He only hoped that the mechanical part of him would allow him to finish this message, and someone would understand it in time.

Czar "Think I missed midnight by a minute or ten" Mohab, who notes that if "morning wood" is inappropriate, it can be edited out without harm to the story.

[Commander La'ra]

At this point, McD figgures he's got nothing left to lose, he's lost his chance at being a full captain, been demoted, lost his ship and crew, and had been chewed out for doing the right thing.

The instability is definitely coming across, then.  Now I'm wondering when he'll realize he's unstable.

[Czar Mohab]

Sorry, more detail than action...

   Cerberus’s engine room was arranged in a ‘neat and tidy’ layout, covering a total of five decks, with auxiliary machinery rooms taking up spaces one deck above and below the main five. Unlike traditional warp core ships, Cerberus and her half-sister ships had the main warp intermix chamber in the forward most part of the expanse, utilizing all the space aft for computer panels and other equipment.
   The impulse drives were on the top two decks in the aft most section of the room. Just below those engines lay the three lifts; the one centerline was the two man engine room lift, and to either side were the normal ship’s turbo lifts. The Turbo lift system only stopped at the deck just below the impulse engines, the main engineering deck, and the deck immediately below that. The Two man lift traveled the whole height of the room, and just for redundancy, several ladders were spaced throughout.
   Sitting centerline, was the ship’s heart, the intermix chamber. On its forward most side was the ‘aftermarket’ warp plasma conduit for the third warp nacelle. This pipe extended forward for two meters then took a forty-five degree slow turn upwards towards the nacelle a few decks above. One hundred and twenty degrees to either side of this conduit were the standard issue port and starboard warp plasma conduits, making a straight line towards their respective engine pods, only beginning to turn after they reached the concealment of the ship’s bulkheads. All three of them connected to the warp core at its dilithium chamber, where matter and anti-matter met with the crystals and became useable plasma. A handful of smaller conduits entered and exited at points along the crystals’ chamber, providing cooling and warp plasma to power other ship’s systems.
   Around the warp core stood a circular railing with small monitoring panels placed equidistantly around the rail. There were three breaks in the thing, allowing personnel access to the core should that become required. Around the aftermost section of railing were two ‘offices’, the port side being reserved for the on watch Engineering Officer of the Watch (EOOW) and had room for at least one enlisted person; someone to run the ‘small stuff’. On the other side, was the engineer’s personal office; having control panels to completely control everything, and giving her all the important readings. Sub-important readings could also be easily accessed. Right now, the engineer was busy recording a highly detailed power usage report, listing every component that had been turned on or off in the last hour. It was a daunting task, and she was almost ready to call one of the on watch personnel to assist her when she saw the lift door softly and silently open.
   McCloud stared dumbly as Jones walked into the engine room. “Captain wants a power usage report,” Jones started without stopping her walk to McCloud’s console. “Every time anyone powered up or powered down a computer console in the last hour.”
   The engineer found her voice, “I’ve already started. I can use your help.” She moved her chair over and allowed the exec to stand next to her in the cramped space. “I thought that you were banned from here?”
   “Later, okay?” Jones replied. She glanced at what her friend had started and brought her own screen up to match. “You get power ups, and I’ll take power downs, that should cut our time in half.” McCloud didn’t say anything, but refocused her attention to the power-ups. They worked together in silence, waiting for an answer to pop out in front of them.

   “Sir,” Perkins announced, “picking up a low-level power signature on long range sensors.”
   “Source?” McDougal responded to him, quickly vacating the engineering station and taking his seat in the center of the bridge.
   “Reading is in our flight path, sir, we are closing fast. It does not appear to be moving.”
   “Helm, can you avoid it?”
   “Of course I can, sir!” the helmsman replied, obviously miffed that the CO would question his abilities. “We are about two hours ahead of schedule, sir, we can stop to investigate if you’d like.”
   McDougal pondered the thought. An unidentified power source, that just happened to be in their flight path, with just enough time available to stop and take a peak. “Take us to it, but keep us out at a safe distance.” The captain sighed. At least there will be something interesting to do on this trip.
   “Report from engineering, sir,” T’Sala said from behind him. He turned around and noticed that she had assumed the engineering panels. “They are about sixty percent complete with their research; Commander Jones says that so far there are at least seven computer consoles that have powered up and six that powered down within the specified time frames. One of them is in the Klingon ambassador’s quarters, sir.”
   “Report from security, sir,” Perkins interrupted her. “Three security guards were injured, one critically, attempting to break up a fight between the two Klingon guards. They have been restrained and separated; K’Tark has claimed diplomatic immunity and he will control them more closely. Report from sick bay, all three guards will survive.”
   Before McDougal could interject, Perkins kept going. “Now receiving updated telemetry on the unidentified object, sir. Power source is Romulan, from a War Bird class cruiser. Hull shape conforms to early War Bird designs… Sir it is possible that this ship has been adrift for almost one hundred years…”
   McDougal didn’t respond, just turned to face the view screen. Rowdy Klingons, injured men, and a derelict Romulan cruiser… Why me? “Maintain course to the War Bird, double the guards at the ambassador’s quarters, and put the ambassador on the line for me.”

Czar "Now it gets good" Mohab

[kadh2000]

Cool....you're right about excitement coming now...

[Governor Ronjar]

Woot! I like warbirds! Other than the Scimatar [why a Romulan ship named for a human sword?], I like pretty much every Rom ship that has been seen on screen. They look cool, even the green ones.

Liked the engine room detail.

And if the point, as you say, was to show the CO as on the deep end, then point made. But that Admiral really should have done someting... But then maybe he's a lilly-liver...

--thu guv!

[Czar Mohab]

I hope you likes, the best is coming!

   “K’Tark is not answering our calls,” T’Sala said. “He says that he is composing an important document for transmission to the Klingon Empire and must not be disturbed. He adds that he will be more than happy to cooperate in any inquiry that you have as soon as he is finished.”
   “Wonderful,” McDougal replied to the status update.
   “No life readings on board that ship, sir,” Perkins quickly changed the subject. His hands danced across the panel like they were performing in a ballet, and at a speed that rivaled T’Sala’s. Cerberus had finally come to a complete stop close enough to scan the vessel without putting herself into real danger. “No power generation systems online, however, emergency power is operational and so is life support.” On the view screen, the larger ship tumbled slowly end over end, and gave its smaller guest a grand view of the giant eagle painted on its belly. “Reading no signs of warp capabilities, this ship was sublight only. The gravity in this sector is pulling on that ship in several directions simultaneously and almost equally; it should, however, drift eventually deeper into Federation, then Klingon space… If I continue a projected course, assuming no one stopped to move it, it should arrive in the WYN Star Cluster in about… three thousand years…”
   “Two thousand, eight hundred, ninety-seven,” T’Sala corrected him. “Sir, we are reading no damage to the ship; it is possible that the crew starved to death or abandoned this ship before setting it adrift. There is no indication of any bodies on board, however that does not exclude the possibility of long term decomposition. I believe that we may be able to restore enough of its own power systems, as there is fuel available for its impulse drives.”
   “And we can just as easily start it on the path we choose with a tractor beam and a push, lieutenant,” McDougal replied. He was more interested in the safety of his ship and crew, and yet his curiosity was pulling him toward the derelict.
   “Sir,” Perkins spoke with cause and alarm, “universal translator has detected and translated the ship’s name. Closest match is… Sir that ship is named Cerberus!”
   “Impossible!”
   “Actually, it translates out to be ‘Dog of Hell That Has Three Heads’…” T’Sala interjected. “It does not seem to conform to typical naming strategies of the era.”
   “Well,” McDougal said calmly. He folded his hands together and brought his index fingers to a point, which he brought to the tip of his nose. “I guess a further investigation is in order.” He poked blindly at the 1MC button on his chair. “XO to the bridge!”
   “Bridge, XO,” she replied, “I’m on my way already…” the door to the lift swished open, and the com line died as she walked onto the bridge. She swiftly walked to the forward port ‘aux’ console and sat. “I needed to use a bigger console, We’re almost done with compiling the power usage report.”
   “Negative, XO, I have a feeling that our Klingon friends are somehow involved with the com line static, I just don’t know how. I’m going to lead an away mission to the War Bird. You are to stay here and see what you can uncover with the Klingon. Perkins, Michaels, you’re with me. XO, the ship is yours.”
   “Sir,” Jones protested, “Change to regulations state that the commanding officer is no longer allowed to lead…”
   “Check the books, Miss Jones, it specifically calls out ‘dangerous situations’. I don’t foresee any danger on this one. I’ll contact you shortly.” He stood and walked with his helmsman towards the lift that Perkins was now holding for them. Almost as an after thought, he added, “Have Doc, Lieutenant O’Kelly and an off watch engineering technician meet us in transporter room one.” He stepped into the lift and smiled at her as the door shut.

   The transporter operator had admitted to not knowing the layout too well of the Romulan vessel, but McDougal couldn’t have been any more pleased by where they did materialize. He looked around the bridge and noticed that there was no real seating at any of the control stations. He and his party wore atmosphere masks, allowing them to breathe clean air in case Cerberus’s sensors lied to them and the Romulan ship’s air was toxic. Doc quickly brought out his medical tricorder and began to survey the air. McDougal walked to the main control stalk in the center of the bridge and attempted to identify the panels there. Engineer’s Mate Second Class Mitchell Walker walked beside his commander and set down the equipment he had brought with him. The EM2 opened one of his two cases and extracted two wire probes that he plugged into an open receptacle.
   “Air’s clean,” Doc stated matter-of-factly. “O’Kelly and I will search this deck for what remains of the crew.” Doc and the security chief turned and left the tiny bridge and headed aft.
   McDougal watched them go as he removed his breather. “Perkins, what do you make of all of this?” he asked.
   The young science officer took off his breather and started up his tricorder. “Almost seventy years old, sir. There hasn’t been any life here in at least fifty. The tric’ is beginning to translate some of the Romulan words on these panels…”
   “Sorry to interrupt you, sirs,” Walker started, “but I have finished interfacing with the ship’s mainframe. Everything should be accessible through this portable console here. I’d like to go to Engineering and do the same there, and see if I can’t get you some power.”
   McDougal nodded and watched him go too. Overall, the internal space onboard the Romulan ship was smaller than that on Cerberus, and he doubted that the young tech would get lost.
   “Sir,” Michaels chimed in, “If I can find the helm I can reprogram her to head to the nearest starbase, once we have the power to do so.”    Perkins looked up from his tricorder and pointed to one of the panels on the stalk, then continued his scan about the bridge.
   McDougal chuckled softly to himself. “All we really need to do is get this beast pointed in the right direction and download the ship’s logs. Star Fleet will probably donate it back to the Romulans anyhow.” He paused to stare out the tiny viewport at his own ship as the war bird slowly tilted around again.

   K’Tark ginned at Jones with a sharp, toothy smile. “I have control over my men, commander,” he said, almost apologetically. “We were partaking in an ancient ritual. Since I have no son of my own, I was testing these two to see who would be most worthy of the extremely honorable right.” Something about the massive Klingon’s expressions didn’t seem right to her, almost as if he was concealing something.
   “We just wanted to make sure that there wasn’t going to be any bloodshed on board,” she replied to him. “By the way, are you aware that you have two waiting messages from the High Council?” There wasn’t an easy way to dance around the spiny bush, so Jones just plowed through it. “Have you received any messages since you have been on board? There is a possibility that your room’s com lines have malfunctioned…”
   Sausage fingers rose into view on the main screen then fell with a loud slap as the Klingon began a deep belly chuckle. “I have known of those two messages, I chose not to read them yet. As for your other question, I am afraid that I must say that…” he stumbled on the words, choking down serious pain and presented himself as if nothing was wrong, “we have not received any other messages.”
   Jones sat in the command seat, puzzled at the thought. If not them then who? Was it really just static? Would they really tell us? “Is there anything else we can do for you, ambassador?”
   “I have written a message to my family that I wish to be sent off at once. There is nothing confidential so you can do your duty and scan it if you like,” he paused a moment to catch his breath. “Just be sure that it is sent within the next few minutes to my son…” The screen blanked and for a brief moment the bridge crew paused.
   “His message is standing by to be sent, sir,” T’Sala said from behind the XO.
   “Let me see it,” she sighed and stood, walking to the port aux station. “He’s trying to say something without being able to say it. He made mention of having no son and yet sending this to his son… It is all in Klingon and a mix between ancient dialects and current ones…” she started as the message displayed on her screen.
   “I think that there may be a secret message in it,” T’Sala said calmly. “I will assist you in trying to decipher it.”
   Twenty silent minutes passed on the bridge as the two worked on the translation and decryption of the ambassador’s message, when finally Jones had to take a break. She keyed for her captain’s com line and when he answered, she immediately began to fill him in on recent happenings.
   As soon as he was up to speed, she added, “we’ve managed to isolate the following words: ‘KLINGONS’ ‘ACCIDENTAL’ ‘OUR’ ‘GET’ ‘CAUSE’ ‘INNOCENT’ ‘A’ ‘WILL’ ‘FAULT’ ‘THE’ ‘WE’ ‘ARE’ ‘MASTERS’ ‘FOLLOWING’ ‘BOOM’ ‘NOT’ ‘SORRY’ ‘SHIP’ ‘OFF’ and ‘ORDERS’. Some of those repeat, but that is it so far. I can have more in depth results once we discover the order that these go in.”
   “Good work, XO,” McDougal’s voice replied. “We’re almost done over here, maybe ten more minutes and this ship will be underway on its own power again.”
   “We should have more answers for you by then. Cerberus, out.”

   K’Tark could feel the build up within him. He watched as the two guards struggled against their restraints and envied them. They would die here, despite being compelled to find a population center before the end. He wasn’t so lucky, however, as his programming would force him to the main bridge, the control center. Eventually, he would no longer be able to resist the urge and he would go. But he would delay the end as long as he could. This ship and her crew were innocent and did not deserve to die. Hopefully his message would be figured out in time, and the three of them would die in the hard vacuum of space. It was a small price to pay to preserve the honor of the Klingon Empire.
   He was impressed with his ability to fool the device in his mind, deceiving it into allowing the message, telling the crew to either get off the ship or beam the Klingons away from the ship. He thought back to his encounter with the human woman, Jones. She could understand his words well, and this message should be simple for her. He sat down on his bed, and hoped beyond hope that they would get it all sorted out soon. The pressure built up inside him, just as the Masters had said it would. He knew he had less than ten minutes to live, and had done everything that he could to save them all.
   A random thought crossed his mind, almost too simple. He stood and walked to the closer of his two bodyguards. He would not be permitted to kill either of them, but he would be allowed to combat them, a fight that would call the guards outside into the quarters. It would be a fight that would not end until he was either stunned into submission or killed outright. Either way, all three of them would them be in the same area when the end came, and the damage to the ship would be minimized. With a grunt, he kicked the guard square in the groin. The guard screamed in surprise, and attempted to stand against his restraints. K’Tark continued his assault, even as the ships guards burst in.
   Phaser beams streaked into his hide, singing the skin beneath his armor and his clothing, but it wasn’t enough. K’Tark continued the assault, the only feeling he had was the growing urge to leave and make his way to the command center. He fought on, struggling to speak against his controller. “Just kill me,” he wanted to say, but what came out sounded like Klingon combat grunting. Finally, the fatal shot hit home, and his back-up programming kicked in.

   “We cracked the code, sir,” Jones’ voice cracked through the communicator he held in his hand. “It is the best that the computer could come up with given the words we had and the time, I'm reading it to you as it comes across, we haven't fully read it yet ourselves: ‘We were forced into this by our new Masters. The Klingon Empire takes no responsibility for this incident. Save yourselves, get off the ship and save the innocent, or beam…’” The line went to static, and McDougal tried frantically to call his ship. The war bird rotated itself again into view of Cerberus. He could see through the tiny port hole his ship as one large explosion erupted from behind the bridge module, burning bright orange as it was fueled by escaping atmosphere.
   “Oh my…” he managed as his jaw dropped. Cerberus now burned quietly in space, and there was nothing he could do.


Czar "Getting there is half the fun" Mohab

[Commander La'ra]

Klingons compelled with internal devices to act as suicide bombers?  Wild.

Might not've been the best choice though.  Clearly, a less stubborn race might've worked better.

[Commander Maxillius]

Looks like they have to power up the Romulan ship after all

[Czar Mohab]

Something short and sweet to keep you all in suspense:


   Jones righted herself from the deck, sharp pains from being flown across the bridge scratching at her mind. She stumbled in the ill lit room; made her way towards the source of the brightest light. Breathe she told herself, and realized that she had been holding her breath. Before she continued, she felt the pull of ever growing vacuum on her, and decided better of it. The light flickered in the waiting turbo lift car, its door jammed open by a relief helmsman, her lifeless body slowly being squished in half by the door. Jones made note that T’Sala had managed to survive, and was coming to her aid. A long hiss of escaping atmosphere grew louder as they approached the lift. They entered the car and shoved the body out onto the damaged bridge, allowing the car’s door to shut. The hissing stopped and was replaced by the whoosh of fresh air filling the tiny car. When she could breathe again, she simply ordered, “engineering,” and the car did nothing.
   T’Sala operated the control panel for the lift, programming a route manually for the car, bypassing damaged sections of the path. They had been fortunate that the car would move at all, and that it was largely undamaged, as a hull rupture had found itself at the top of the lift tube. The car had blocked the escape of precious air, and prevented explosive decompression on the bridge. Tardiness of the relief helmsman had saved their lives. Without much warning, the car finally began its wandering journey towards engineering; the slam of the emergency bulkhead above them was both felt and heard. “Emergency force fields are holding around the main breach,” T’Sala commented dryly, “however there is insufficient power to maintain them for long. Emergency bulkheads have shut in areas not protected by the fields.”
   Jones only nodded in reply. After many twists and turns, and a much longer lift ride than was usual, the car stopped and deposited them in the engine room. They were greeted by the computer’s voice, boldly stating, “ANTIMATTER CONTAINMENT FAILURE EMINENT.” Quickly, the duo entered into the busy fray of crew attempting to fix this new and very soon to be fatal problem.

   “I have minimal power available,” Walker’s voice came through over McDougal’s communicator. “I’m stabilizing the ship now; we won’t be spinning much longer. I should have us free to navigate in about ten minutes, sir”
   “The sooner the better,” he calmly replied. “Keep me informed, McDougal, out.” He quietly closed the device and set it down on one of the panels.
   “Sir,” Perkins began, “I think there is now sufficient power to access the ship’s sensors.” He pointed at the panels as they returned to life. “And with luck, we’ll be able to better see what happened on Cerberus.” Perkins laughed a little. “Both of them, if you’d like, sir!”
   “No, Mister Perkins, ours will be just fine.”
   “Very well, then.” He walked over to the resurrected science and sensor station and began to poke at the controls with the help of his tricorder. Michaels offered him the temporary control panel, but Perkins refused him. A couple of moments passed, and now slightly angered he said, “I can’t read a lot about the ship, these sensors are too old and inefficient. Cerberus shows as off our bow, damaged and with minimal power. There is one massive hull breach where the ambassador’s quarters were, exposing three decks to vacuum; and two smaller breaches; one on the bridge and one on deck five forward. Sir, that one must have been caused by something not related to the main blast, its too far forward.”
   “I thought that the sensors weren’t that good?”
   “They’re not, best guess given that I also have a visual feed. Additional information coming in now; there are survivors on board, unable to determine how many, and life support is on emergency power. It looks like the blast tried to burn away our extra warp engine… wait… reading a power failure in the antimatter containment system, I think. If that is correct, they’ve less than a minute to stop it, or there’ll be another boom… and possibly another, they’ve drifted closer to us, we’re in the blast range.”



Czar "Hang little cliff!" Mohab

[Governor Ronjar]

Dead body...pinched nearly in half in the turbolift door...the only way off the bridge for our heroes... I like it. I'm liking this tale better by the post.

--thu guv!

[Czar Mohab]

Thank you all for reading thus far. Special thanks to those who have commented, and even those who are awaiting a good place to put a comment. Speaking of which, after reading this, I suspect there will be many. Or not. Either way, here's another installment:

   It was either pure genius or just fate that had put the emergency bridge control systems into the engine room. While the engineers worked at restoring power, T’Sala and Jones worked on shutting down systems, rerouting bridge controls, and attempting to regain control of the now drifting vessel. The successive thumps from decks above signified the collapse of the emergency force fields and closure of the emergency bulkheads. “I’ve managed to reroute power from the field generators to the containment systems,” Jones said. “I’ve bought us maybe twenty minutes, tops.”
   “I’ve accessed thruster control,” T’Sala started, “I should have us stable in one minute. We will not be able to move after that.”
   Jones nodded in silence and turned towards the engineer’s office. After a few steps, she saw her friend’s motionless form slumped over her console. One of the technicians stopped her entry, stating, “EMAT’s come and gone. No one  is to touch her until we can get her to sick bay.” He pointed with a thin index finger. “Part of the panel shrapnel impaled her through the leg. Nicked the femoral, and lodged there.”
   The Emergency Medical Assistance Team was what small ships like Cerberus relied upon when there were less than six personnel in the medical staff. Made up from regular crew members, the individuals were trained in advanced field first aid and treatment. They were good, but no where near as good as a skilled surgeon. Jones walked up behind the unconscious engineer, and paused a brief moment to reflect on their close friendship. “The impulse engines are destroyed,” she said to her friend. “But the warp drive… the warp drive looks stable and we could restore it, restore power to the ship at least.” She paused and wiped a tear from her eye. “You and I are the only ones who can repair it, you know? We don’t have the time to wait on someone else who might not know what to do… You are not allowed to die without permission… and as your senior officer, you don’t have that permission.” She turned and grabbed a tool kit from a locker behind them and left the office, choking back sobs as she went.
   “T’Sala, I’m going to start repairs on the warp drive to get us some more power. I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes, and I’ll let you know when you can begin the restart procedure.”
   T’Sala raised an eyebrow at her, and watched her head towards a Jefferies tube. She turned towards an impulse engine operations panel and began to search for a way to begin repairs there, in case her XO failed.

   “Cerberus is stabilizing her approach,” Perkins relayed the information from his science panel. “They’ve also stabilized the antimatter containment fields, from what it looks like, they rerouted power from the force field emitters.”
   “Well that should buy them some time,” McDougal commented. “Options?”
   “At this point,” Michaels started, observing the status of the engine restart on his temporary panel, “not to many. We could try to dock with her…”
   “No good,” Perkins interrupted. “We lack three things, a docking point, a tractor beam, and a well operating control system. I’m not questioning your skills as a helmsman, but since we don’t have the first two…”
   “Wait,” McDougal interrupted him, “I thought that even though they were less functional, ships of this era still had tractor beams?”
   “Not this one, the Romulan Empire has always been a bit behind the times, and even if the technology had existed when this ship was operating, it never received the upgrade.”
   “I won’t argue that the ship sucks,” Michaels added, “but why couldn’t we try to dock anyway?”
   Perkins sighed and began to explain to him, “Optimal docking point for this ship to Cerberus is at one of the two saucer hard points. With a hull breach on deck five, and without the emergency force fields, we’d still be trapped on board. The other docking points are either not compatible or we just wouldn’t fit.”
   “What about transporters?” Michaels asked. “Oh, I forgot about the technology on board. Perhaps using a shuttlecraft?”
   As if on cue, McDougal’s communicator chirped for his attention. He quickly snatched up the device and activated it saying, “McDougal, here.”
   “Shawn,” Doc Johnson’s voice called over the device, “we’ve managed to tour the entire ship. We’ve detected no traces of humanoid remains. Wherever the crew went to, they left in a hurry. We found tons of personal belongings, nick-knacks, uniforms, rotted food… you name it, they left it.”
   “What about the shuttle bay, did you see any craft there?”
   “Bay was empty,” the security chief responded. “No signs of struggle or fighting anywhere on board, either.”
   “Very well; you two make your way to engineering and see what you can do to help, McDougal out.” He closed down his communicator and set it back upon its previous perch. He took a deep breath before continuing, “We need to find a way to either start moving Cerberus on her way to a repair facility, or start communicating with one.”
   “I won’t be able to run the communications system until more power is restored, let alone see if it still works,” Perkins added. The lights brightened and the distant hum of the impulse engines could be felt through the deckplates. “Guess I’ll start running that check.”
   

   I warned you about using Klingons. They’re too stubborn, thought the mind of O’Pellentyippt’k’l, the second of two of the Masters present in the small craft.
   They failed? thought the mind of P’T’sloonghtf, commander of the expedition. Impossible. The tiny, sleek craft remained motionless, near the extreme of its sensor range, and well outside of their target’s. We’ll have to finish them ourselves.
   I’ve asked this before, but why don’t we just give the Andromedans of this time our technology? It would be much simpler.
   We’ve been attacked every time we’ve encountered them. They don’t recognize us as their future selves. The only way for us to succeed is for the inhabitants of this galaxy to fall. You know that.
   Of course. O’Pellentyippt’k’l’s mind almost shrieked in alarm, There is another ship, Romulan. Now there’s a race stupid enough to carry out our plans. Wait, there are six humans on board.
   Curious developments, these are. They will all have to be destroyed. Move us in to closest safe attack range, slowly, I don’t want them to see us until it is too late.
   Neither vessel poses a threat to us in their current state. We can be in and out in five minutes!
   Mind your place! These are humans we are dealing with. They are crafty and devious. We will approach under stealth. There is no alternative.
   As you wish. Without further thought, the tiny ship began its slow approach to the stricken vessels, waiting to unleash it’s furious wrath upon them.

Czar "Surprise!" Mohab

[Governor Ronjar]

Well...frak me. Andromedans are friggin everywhere, man... *looks under bed...*

--thu guv!

[Czar Mohab]

Is that really so bad? *eyes something moving behind the guv*

Hehe All I can say is hang tight, its still gathering steam. Unfortunately, it had to be Andromedans as there wasn't much fun in a "random explosion while on a random patrol" set up to get done what I want to get done.   

OT - - I've kind of also been working on a different story at the same time, so that's why the delay. Its so different, in fact, that the only reference to ST:Anything will be what happens to be on the TV at one point.
 - - I've also been tossing around ideas and started laying the foundation for a sequel to this epic, but any info given about that would spoil this one.

Czar "I promise  ,  ,  ,  , and  , but not necessarily in that order" Mohab

[Commander La'ra]

But what about  ?

I had the bizarre feeling it was the Andro's after the ambassador mentioned his Masters and said the Klingon Empire was not responsible.  That said, while I usually am not fond of the Andro's as bad guys, your setup seems different enough that it's hooked me. 

Liked the inclusion of the 'stubborn' line.  Whether that was on account of my comment or not, it still tickled me.

Keep it comin'.

[Scottish Andy]

Hi Czar, sorry for not getting to this before now, but you'll likely be glad of the omission by the time I'm done... lol. I'm going to go through this a post at a time as if I'd answered after each. As you should know from my critiques of the Guv if nothing else, I'm kinda... anal. Consider yourself warned.

So, to begin.

He was greeted by what he recalled was his executive officer, but with so many new faces and names to learn, it could have easily been the engineer or some other officer.

Without knowing the details of his assignment to the ship, I would have thought he would familiarise himself with the service jackets of his senior crew at least. If he's been hurriedly or suddenly reassigned this line makes sense, but that is not explained in the story.

He silently noticed that the bridge lacked a proper navigation or communications station.

One would assume that the Navigational functions are at Helm, and Communications are integrated into Tactical/Weapons as in TNG, but again this is not stated here, though it is in the next chapter.

I really liked the "cigar scene". A good, solid bit of character work there, giving us some backstory and personality.

...We had known that the former CO would take shots at ships and stations across the Zone, using long lance drones…”
“How did he get away with that?” Jones asked. “Wouldn’t that have shown up in the supply logs?”
“He would have them added in secret, and logs altered. He was caught when one of our survey cruisers...

Why did he only get caught when another ship discovered what we has doing? What about the crew of the Apollo? There isn't a declared war if the UFP is working on détente. Why does the XO and senior crew let him fire weapons across the Klingon border? Why didn't they relieve him for conduct unbecoming a Starfleet officer, for trying to cause an interstellar war? The CMO should have forced him to undergo a psych eval at the very least.
This sticks in my craw.

In the crew introductions, I see a lot of good British names. Scottish and Irish specifically.
I also like the use of the 'Master Circuit' pattern for com channels, and the changing of the watches, but you may be going slightly overboard (pun intended) with the protocols (announcing "Ship under way" and all that). Starfleet is more informal than that, even under hardass captains like Jellico. "You/I have the Conn" is the most formal I've heard it except for an actual change of command ceremony.
This ship does seem to be rather heavily armed. 8 phasers for a frigate? 3 photon tubes is what a War Destroyer has, but 8 phasers is heavy cruiser/battlecruiser ground. I was thinking Cerebus may have lots of defensive phasers, maybe even individually numbered Gatling phasers like an SFB FFE.

“Low power,” Jones replied. “We don’t have enough to maintain your speed and charge everything.” She looked up from her panel and met his gaze. “You weren’t here for the trials, so I guess you didn’t know; we can’t maintain one hundred percent power for longer than ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

Hmm... shouldn't the captain have been made aware of this before taking command? Usually there is some preparation, some familiarisation with a vessel involved in the selection and placing of a ship commander?

Cerberus remained behind the warship, dwarfed by its massive size.

If you're going for an Okinawa-sized ship, you should know she's still 183m long, 77m wide and 5 decks thick. A D7 is 246m long and 160m wide, with about 11 or so decks. A D7 definitely outmasses the Oki, but she wouldn't really be "dwarfed". (See? Like I said, anal. ) Further, I agree a D7 would have put up more fight. After the Cerberus' second strike wiping out the D7's impulse, he still had full warp power, and a D7 has greater manoeuvrability than even a Battle Frigate, and 5 aft-firing Phaser 1s. Cerberus would have been at least slightly damaged, maybe moderately, as the D7 would have turned his full attention on the Cerberus at that point.

“So now we are offering aid and comfort to the enemy? They were attacking innocent and mostly unarmed vessels. If I should have done anything different it would have been to beam their crew into space, then destroy the cruiser.”

This indicates a personal antipathy towards or even outright hatred of the Klingons - which is fair enough to have based on his past - but saying so to an Admiral indicates extreme imprudence and lack of judgement on his part too. That kind of remark is enough to get you busted from the Fleet, never mind a reprimand.

Cerberus is a ship of war, not intended to carry the enemy

Wrong attitude for a Fred captain, but at least he kept it to himself this time. And the Federation doesn't build ships of war, or warships. They build starships, and ships that defend.

Translated, the ships name is, roughly, 'Hell Hound'

Cerberus is the proper name of the Hound of Hades. It doesn't mean "hell hound".

Cast off all lines

More 20th-century terminology. ST II uses "clear all moorings".

The spacedock doors stunt... If I were Admiral Baker - who I admit is typical of the politicised navy officers everywhere with his "we need to built peace" line that captains love to roll eyes at - I would send out a light cruiser or something to immediately relieve McDougal of command and court martial him. *shrugs*

More later - if you can stand it. Czar, please take no offence at these comments. I'm not saying this to wind you up, but to help you get better. Just ask the Guv. I did this to him as well.

[Commander Maxillius]

Andy could be a publisher with his mad-leet proofreading skillz    There's a reason why they call it "Andy-proofing" 


As for the future Andros...  Anyone know where I can find a story with dialog from "current" Andros?  Compare and contrast and all that.

[Commander La'ra]

I will now do my 'poke Andy in the ribs' post, a long and valued Dyna Fanfic tradition.  This is to control Andy's anal tendencies in the same way he seeks to control our grammar and attention to niggling detail.

Without knowing the details of his assignment to the ship, I would have thought he would familiarise himself with the service jackets of his senior crew at least. If he's been hurriedly or suddenly reassigned this line makes sense, but that is not explained in the story.

The first is a valid point.  The only counter-argument I can think of is that seeing a picture of someone and meeting them in person can be two very different things.  Well, that, and it's also possible that our protagonist just isn't that good with matching names and faces, an affliction I can sympathize with, and Czar did mention the 'so many to learn factor'...while I figure he would pay special attention to his XO and other senior officers it's still possible to not have anything near perfect recall of such details before having met the people in question.

I DID get the impression his assignment to the Cerebus was hasty.  I don't however, remember that being specifically mentioned.

He silently noticed that the bridge lacked a proper navigation or communications station.

No reason to have the reason for such right there.  Having it in the next chapter is fine, and also shows the Captain learning how his ship works in more detail.

I really liked the "cigar scene". A good, solid bit of character work there, giving us some backstory and personality.

Me too.

Why did he only get caught when another ship discovered what we has doing? What about the crew of the Apollo? There isn't a declared war if the UFP is working on détente. Why does the XO and senior crew let him fire weapons across the Klingon border? Why didn't they relieve him for conduct unbecoming a Starfleet officer, for trying to cause an interstellar war? The CMO should have forced him to undergo a psych eval at the very least.
This sticks in my craw.

This particular criticism is misplaced.  While, in a perfect world, your balances would counteract the Captain's checks, there was not enough information presented to make any assumptions about what happened.

We don't know the previous captains motives for firing, his method of hiding his actions from his crew or convincing them it was all okay, and we don't know that his crew didn't agree with his actions to begin with.  Hell, we don't even know that he wasn't acting under orders, and was then hung out to dry as a scapegoat when he carelessly allowed another Federation ship to see what he was doing.

There's plenty of scenarios that would allow this to happen.  It's actually less extreme than the actions of the USS Phoenix in the TNG episode 'The Wounded', and relatively typical using the real-world 'Cold War' as a guide.

In the crew introductions, I see a lot of good British names. Scottish and Irish specifically.
I also like the use of the 'Master Circuit' pattern for com channels, and the changing of the watches, but you may be going slightly overboard (pun intended) with the protocols (announcing "Ship under way" and all that). Starfleet is more informal than that, even under hardass captains like Jellico. "You/I have the Conn" is the most formal I've heard it except for an actual change of command ceremony.

Depictions of military protocol really depend on how the author wants to portray Starfleet.  While onscreen the organization is much more casual, that doesn't mean things can't be portrayed in a different light in other media.
 

This ship does seem to be rather heavily armed. 8 phasers for a frigate? 3 photon tubes is what a War Destroyer has, but 8 phasers is heavy cruiser/battlecruiser ground. I was thinking Cerebus may have lots of defensive phasers, maybe even individually numbered Gatling phasers like an SFB FFE.

I actually sort of agree with this, but the fact is, the Cerebus has whatever the author says she has, and the reader DOES have some responsibility to go along with it even if it flies in the face of source material not written by the author of the particular story.

Example:  You're very fond of the whole 'warp drive in the nacelles' thing for ships prior to a certain date, and have no problem using it in your stories despite the fact that canon clearly shows the system has never operated that way.  You use the idea because you prefer it, and others have the same right.

Hmm... shouldn't the captain have been made aware of this before taking command? Usually there is some preparation, some familiarisation with a vessel involved in the selection and placing of a ship commander?

Strongly agree.  That's sure as hell important enough to make sure the CO knows.  Why, imagine La'ra's reaction if someone didn't tell him something like that!  Or Ford's!

Or, God be merciful on the messenger who did finally tell him, Krenn's.

Cerberus remained behind the warship, dwarfed by its massive size.

Subjective.  The D7 is bigger, and to the crew of the Cerebus, 'dwarfed' might be an entirely appropriate word.

I've already said my own piece on the fight scene, so I won't comment any more on that.

This indicates a personal antipathy towards or even outright hatred of the Klingons - which is fair enough to have based on his past - but saying so to an Admiral indicates extreme imprudence and lack of judgement on his part too. That kind of remark is enough to get you busted from the Fleet, never mind a reprimand.

I doubt one remark would get him busted from the fleet.  You're overstating things.

I do agree with the 'extreme imprudence and lack of judgement' part, but I've already commented on that as well.

Wrong attitude for a Fred captain, but at least he kept it to himself this time. And the Federation doesn't build ships of war, or warships. They build starships, and ships that defend.

Depends on who's depicting the Federation.  Czar seems to stick closer to an SFB-style UFP, and their Starfleet is more militaristic than ST's.  In any case, this is the opinion of one character in the story, and while you are seeing it as the 'wrong attitude' for a Fed captain, that may very well be the point.

Cerberus is the proper name of the Hound of Hades. It doesn't mean "hell hound".

No, but it might've seemed close enough to the person doing the translating, and simplifying the comparison would be natural.

More 20th-century terminology. ST II uses "clear all moorings".

Author's perogative.  ST also uses warp-cores from the beginning.

The spacedock doors stunt... If I were Admiral Baker - who I admit is typical of the politicised navy officers everywhere with his "we need to built peace" line that captains love to roll eyes at - I would send out a light cruiser or something to immediately relieve McDougal of command and court martial him. *shrugs*

Stupid move on Baker's part, to do that, as if I were HIS CO, I'd put his ass in hock too for imperiling a Starfleet ship commiting a minor traffic violation.  Thus, it would be smart of him to let it go.

This opinion still doesn't change the fact I have serious problems with that whole scene.

More later - if you can stand it. Czar, please take no offence at these comments. I'm not saying this to wind you up, but to help you get better. Just ask the Guv. I did this to him as well.

Take this part seriously, Czar.  Andy is trying to be helpful, and he does this to everyone.  He's just a Scot and has no tact or manners.  To say nothing of his bad hygeine and fondness for sheep.

 

[Scottish Andy]

Take this part seriously, Czar.  Andy is trying to be helpful, and he does this to everyone.  He's just a Scot and has no tact or manners.  To say nothing of his bad hygeine and fondness for sheep.

Oh, you total bastard!    This, coming from a Suh-thu-ner! Oh pot, thou are black. 

As one of the Guv's characters said:

“Hey,” the helmsman held up a semi-threatening finger, then lowered it. “I don’t have a good come-back. But when I do, I’m gonna let you have it.”

In between personal attacks and such () Larry does make some good points.   I'll bear that in mind for critiquing the rest of the story.

[Czar Mohab]

But what about  ?

Liked the inclusion of the 'stubborn' line.  Whether that was on account of my comment or not, it still tickled me.

Didn't see that smiley, but that too ; and 'stubborn' was an inspiration from you.

Andy, La'ra did a good job covering for me in my absence, and I will only touch up on a few points, and possibly clarify:
 
The XO and Eng are same age, rank, gender, etc... When I was first posted to my ship, I could hardly find my way around, let alone determine who's face went with what name. To make matters worse, the Eng and the XO at that time(same rank and gender, similar age) actually looked alike. Only way to tell the two apart (for me, being new) was that the Eng looked like walking dead after a few days in port. Calling them by name was often a guess for me. I was going from personal experience with this.

As to Cerberus herself, see my production notes:

USS Cerberus, NX-12093
FFBX class (Frigate, Battle, Advanced)
3 PHOT FA 6 x PH-1; 2 FX; 2 LS; 2 RS 2 x PH-G; 1 LS; 1 RS Drone 2 GX*
SHIELDS: USE FFX OR XFF IN OP*
Warp 12+12+12* Imp 4* AWR 4* BTTY 4 (2 batteries at double charge)
Lab 2 C HULL 8 BR 2 AUX 1 EMER 1 TRAC 2 TRAN 2 SHUTTLE 2
DAM CON 6 EX DAM 6* SENSOR 6 5 4 3 2 1 SCANNER 0 1 2 4 5 6
MVMT COST: 1/2:1, TURN MODE:**
TBOMB/DUMMY:4/4
CREW SFB: USE FFX +1
CREW ST: SFBx10 + 2
MARINES SFB: USE FFX +2
MARINES ST: SFBx5 - 3

*PLAYTEST AND CHANGE AS REQUIRED, NOT TO POWERFUL NOW*
**LOOK UP**
I haven't done a lot of playtesting to tweak the power curve, and not having an SSD handy for FFB or FFX, I guessed at some things. I'll probably get some more comments about the curve, but its still being worked out.

D7D vs. FFBX:

Size matters not. It is hard to run this simulation for most desired effects without lots of SFB material that I am not currently in possesion of, not counting arranging for and playing it out. I did my best with SFC:OP and went from there. I used the assumption that this D7D was/is normally operating across the lines and wasn't full up on supplies, let alone focusing its attack on the two frigates it encountered. The focus of a convoy raid is to get in, do as much damage to the convoy as possible, and get out. Also, any D-series hull should be able to handle a mere frigate. BUT: My combat style focuses on the enemy's weakness, in this case, the #4 shield:

The protective shield faltered and failed, allowing the torpedoes unhindered access to the unprotected hull. Whether it was luck or a good tactical officer's targeting skills didn't matter, as the single overloaded weapon found its mark in the main impulse complex, causing massive eruptions of fire and escaping atmosphere. "Overload all torpedoes, all available power to shield one. Helm, stay with him, but let him open to three thousand." Cerberus remained behind the warship, dwarfed by its massive size. Four pinpoints of energy erupted from the now wounded combatant; drones sent to their next target. Without hesitation, Cerberus fired her defensive phasers, destroying the incoming missiles almost effortlessly. "Tactical, priority targets: warp, impulse and weapons, in that order."

    "Overload phasers, too, Miss T'Sala. Let's end this."

   The Klingon ship managed a small counter attack with its phasers, and began a vain attempt to shake its adversary.

I was attempting to convey that the smaller and "less capable" vessel had scored a very desirable series of hits. Alas, I should have mentioned that the other two "orbs of death" also impacted. 32 DPs without a shield = bad day for anyone. Diverting extra power to #1 shield along with the reduced speed of Cerberus should have indicated that there was some extra protection, even while O/L'ing torps, et al. Enough of this part though, its not the focus of the story.

Apollo

Ship of mystery and deceit! I didn't think it was a requirement to go into more detail about why or how, seeing that it was from McDougal's point of view. Would Command tell him why the ship would have those orders? Would Command even acknowledge such orders, had they actually been issued? Heck, wouldn't Command want to cover up this incident as best as possible? McDougal just didn't know exactly why or how, just that it happened. The old CO and most of those involved were relieved, those with a lesser knowledge or involvement were retained, only to sprout rumors and speculations about the incident. No more on this subject.

The DOORS of DOOM!

Can't a guy have a little fun with his writing? Conclusion to this infamous scene will eventually arrive. Towards the end. Which is a long way down the road...

WARP POWER LEVEL!

"Captain, I know you've only been assigned and on board for a few days, and we were going to tell you at the next staff meeting, but now that we're entering a totally unexpected and power intensive scenario, you should know..."

Going for the hastily assigned and not quite familiar with everything yet point of view.

Its the Federation, Jim, but not as we know it...

Depends on who's depicting the Federation. Czar seems to stick closer to an SFB-style UFP, and their Starfleet is more militaristic than ST's. In any case, this is the opinion of one character in the story, and while you are seeing it as the 'wrong attitude' for a Fed captain, that may very well be the point.

This is true. Now if I could just remember the quote that Janeway said about the TOS time period I'd be set. Something about space was bigger and more dangerous.

For a time period reference, I'm writing Pre-Operation Unity, Post General War... about Y192-194. I haven't set that in stone yet.

To sum up: the questions and comments, harsh or light or whatever you feel that they are, are desired. No offense was taken, nor was I miffed by anything.

Czar " " Mohab, who should look at the "more" button more often...
[/color]

[Governor Ronjar]

Holy Crap at the insane references to canon, quasi-canon and SFB rules!

Glad I'm only coming in on the tale of this conversation and not getting overly involved. My stand on all these should be reasonably well known. Write your story.

I myself am enjoying this tale, even over the spacedock door incident. If you say the ship has X-amount of guns, I'm right there with ya. The Frech mounted two 8" guns on the Surcouf-class subs in '35 and it worked. The only reason it didn't sink anything was the natural Frech propensity for being disinclined to do more than wave white flags at Germany during that time period [not quite tru, but to those other than the French, probably funny]. England had it's M-Class. It had a 12" gun! A 12-inch gun!!! The US Narwhal had two 6" guns, and it was VERY effective at what it did.

So I have no real technical quips over what you say a ship has. [this is also in response to when Endeavour eventually opens up with her Mark 4 phasers...which will one day happen]. 

I used to be the worst stickler for canon vs. noncanon, tech vs. what you see in an episode/book/story. It detracts from your ability to enjoy the tale if you're too worried about such things. Can it be pushed to beyond believable? Sure. Thus far, noe of us has gone any where near there. Though I am of the opinion the Cerberus/D-7 fight should have been longer... But then...I like me some long fight scenes...

--said too much about nothing...thu guv!

[Czar Mohab]

This is exactly why I should never post responses in a hurry. I forget to mention things.

Like how I was attacking this problem as a whole. SFB rules are being used as guidelines, to get an idea for what can and can't be done. Canon is being used as reference material, who Kirk nailed with a phaser or his tally whacker not included, such that an overall feel can be attained. I'd honestly believe that if I wrote solely to canon or SFB alone, alot would be missing. By blending the two, I feel I can accomplish more with less.

Quasi-Canon is what is the result, ships slightly more capable than others of the era, battles that can be shortened or lengthened to fit the needs of the story... No one complained (that I recall) when General Lee was introduced with four nacelles... Its all about what can be done with what was done.

Czar "think I rambled" Mohab

P.S. One more thing: You never see formal watch turnovers in TV trek, or movies, or even in other stories. You won't find much more in this one. The reason being is that it is assumed to have happened before, and usually there isn't time to be formal. Example from the real world, US Navy: "Battle Stations Torpedo" watch turnovers usually occurred as a high five "I had it, you got it" deal, often seen in the shows. I can neither confirm nor deny that once or twice there wasn't even anyone to relieve when I arrived.

[Scottish Andy]

Just finished this now, Czar, and I'm getting interested.

[Czar Mohab]

And now a small part to keep you all going. Sorry for the delay.

   McDougal smiled impatiently as the lights and systems on the ancient warship finally returned to a full operating status. “Well?” he asked Perkins. “Can we send a distress call or even contact Cerberus?”
   Perkins gave him a look of dissatisfaction. “We have short range only, not much farther than what our hand-held units can get us. Cerberus may be having issues as well, I don’t see any damage to the communications array, but I don’t know the full extent of her damage. We’ll have to wait for them to contact us, if they can. They do appear to have begun powering up the warp drive, but no way to tell how long this will continue, yet.”
   “Excellent,” the captain replied. He picked up his communicator and held it a moment. He had never heard of one running out of power during an away mission, but not knowing when he’d get the chance to recharge it made him think twice before using it. “Get me engineering,” he said softly, returning the device once again to its perch.
   Perkins nodded at him and pointed to a panel on the aft bulkhead. “Green button turns it on, third yellow down is the engine room, and the red button will close the channel and power the unit down.” Perkins held his tricorder up so that his captain could see the schematic, alleviating the need to explain how he knew. McDougal turned around and headed to the smallish panel. He followed Perkins’ walkthrough and waited for a response. “There should be a flashing button on the other side of the line, all they have to do is push it and…”
   The loud burst of static that bellowed forth from the internal communications system was hardly the response any of them expected. Before any of them could speak, a second and longer burst followed and just as abruptly faded, leaving dead silence in its wake. “I had the communications array set up for passive receiving,” Perkins started, “just in case Cerberus was able to contact us… but that static was similar to what we received before all this mess started.”
   “Source and destination?” McDougal questioned him.
   “Source unknown, too far out, I’d reckon. But I think I might be able to find the intended recipient…” Perkins’ voice trailed off as he set to work searching space and attempting to triangulate his sensors on the intended target. Silence filled the bridge, only broken by the soft beeping of the science console’s buttons being pushed. “Appears to me that the target was within the system, however I can not get any kind of sensor lock on where it was or anyplace where it might be.”
   “Cloaked ship?” Doc Johnson’s voice called from the now active com circuit. McDougal almost jumped in surprise at the voice.
   “Perhaps,” Perkins continued, “but also any vessel running in stealth mode would be hard to get a fix on with these sensors.”
   “Where was it at when it received the transmissions?” McDougal asked.
   “Approximately six kilometers from us, and five from Cerberus.”
   “Keep the sensors in sweep mode, who ever it is might get jumpy if they suspect that we know about them, and do everything you can to keep us looking crippled. Still there, Doc?”
   “Not like I can beam back home, Shawn, ” Doc answered sarcastically.
   “I need you and the el tee to see about any weapons and shields, we might need them.”
   “Shawn, this rat trap has been adrift for ages, its unlikely that anything would work well…”
   “There should be one type ‘R’ plasma chamber and launcher, control room is on deck two, centerline, against the forward bulkhead,” Michaels interjected from beside Perkins, reading the data from the temporary translator panel.
   “We’re on our way then, Walker says that the shield grid is fully functional, but we don’t have a lot of power to play with, so go gently. ”
   “Can do; keep us informed, use the ship’s intercom when you can, we’re trying to spare the hand units’ power.”
   “Will do, Shawn, Johnson, out. ” Instead of the normal click of the transmission ending, another burst of static filled the bridge speakers.
   “That one came from inside of us,” Perkins started, reading his panel, “directed towards the same area near us.”

   Despite forcing all emotion from her, T’Sala smiled. It was small, unnoticeable, a twitch in the right corner of her mouth, but she smiled. She had succeeded in rerouting the power grid, bypassing damaged sections and energizing still functioning circuits. It was fortunate that her success coincided with the XO’s restoration of the warp power system. Granted, they still had a very long way to go to make the ship operational, but T’Sala was pleased with the progress. She realized her invisible smirk and forced the emotion away.
   “Try the communications array again,” Jones’ voice came through T’Sala’s panel. “I bypassed the major fault, we should have something.”
   “External communications are on line,” T’Sala replied in her calm Vulcan voice. “Range is currently extremely limited, however.”
   “It’s a start. How about sensors? Are they functional?”
   “Fully functional, now that we have sufficient power to run them.” The warp core hummed and thrummed softly behind her as the computer brought it up slowly to a stable power output.
   “Sounds like we’ve managed to escape catastrophe for now. Any other system I need to look into while I’m in here?”
   “No, ma’am. Technicians are working to repair the transporters and restore access to the shuttle bays. Estimate ten minutes for completion.”
   “I’m on my way out then, see you in…” Jones’ voice was cut off by two separate bursts of loud static. “Was that what I think it was?”
   “Fascinating, and yes it was. Sensors are attempting to triangulate source and destination. Pinpointing now… Source is unknown; however, the destination is a small vessel, approximately the size of a shuttle craft. I am attempting to regain lock-on.”
   “Here,” Jones called from across the engine room, and closing down her communicator. She placed her tool kit down on a nearby desk panel and continued her approach to T’Sala. “Can you predict course and speed?”
   “Zero point one warp, heading towards us, range is five thousand kilometers and closing.”
   “Any idea who our guests are?”
   “Negative at this time. Detecting transporter activity.” T’Sala paused and watched her sensor board as the last bit of the lock on faded into nothingness. Even the tell-tale wisp of engine exhaust vanished from the sensor’s watchful eye.
   “Contact the captain and inform him of our situation.”
   “Unable to comply, jamming is in progress.”
   “Power up all available weapons and shields,” Jones said, sounding panicked. “And target the source of the jamming.”
   “I would advise against that, the source is coming from the Romulan vessel.” A third burst of static interrupted the exchange. “As was that.”

   “Tactical drone is aboard the Romulan vessel,” O’Pellentyippt’k’l’s thoughts filled the small cabin. “Receiving telemetry, extermination program initiated.”
   “Good, very good,” P’T’sloonghtf’s reply came. “And the Federation vessel?”
   “Shields and weapons are powering up; a useless tactic. They shall not detect us again.”
   “Excellent. With the information gathered from our spy on Earth, we should be able to continue uninterrupted, once we finish here. The fools of this galaxy should never have established a focal point for their campaign against us. With that Romulan vessel, we can safely destroy Hyperion Station and create a rift amongst them.”
   “Once the campaign to claim this galaxy is complete, what will become of us?”
   “You mustn’t worry of such things.”
   “Every attempt to invade this galaxy has been thwarted, P’T’sloonghtf. Our own galaxy is almost destroyed…”
   “I realize that temporal mechanics is a hard subject for you, however, once we succeed, you’ll not remember a thing, this galaxy will be ours to rule over, now enough of this nonsense.”
   “I have finished the final programming for the drone. As soon as the humans are destroyed, we can eliminate the Federation vessel and continue on with our plan. Both vessels are attempting to search for us. Maintaining stealth against the Romulan vessel is proving difficult. They have intermittent sensor locks.”
   “The drone better hurry then.”

   
Czar "Just a teaser, more soon" Mohab

P.S. "el tee" = L.T. = LT = Lieutenant

[Czar Mohab]

OK, You all win. Here's some more for you to keep you going. Is it sad that I dreamt most of this scene?


   O’Kelly dodged another phaser blast from the massive assault robot that had materialized behind them. He shouted for Doc to continue towards the massive weapon’s control room whilst he would try to persuade the robotic beast away from there. So far, the plan succeeded, the massive contraption was lumbering behind O’Kelly, following him through the corridors of the ship’s second deck.
   There wasn’t much to them, most of the crew’s quarters were on this deck, and his recent tour gave him a slight advantage. He made his way through to one of the open doors and ducked inside, avoiding yet another blast of phaser fire. There was one luxury that this vessel had, and that was what on Earth would be called a cast iron claw footed tub, and it was located within the confines of these quarters. The assault drone paused as it found the proper programming to negotiate the smaller framed door, allowing the security chief more time to prepare.
   O’Kelly drew his weapon and fired at the two closer feet of the tub, and with a resounding thud, it fell slightly on its longer side. Quickly, he turned and fired another shot, this time aimed at the robot still struggling to get through the door. He stopped his assault temporarily and dove behind the tub as the monstrosity finally gave up ducking and just forced its way into the room.
   It was humanoid in shape, and had it not been a robot, it would have been very muscular. O’Kelly took a moment to recall the image of the drone in his minds eye; round dome for a head, large chest and arms, more than two meters tall, short, stubby legs and red glowing eyes, all set on a jet black frame, both arms sporting inhuman hands and hard welded weapons. A flash of inspiration crossed his mind just as flashes of phaser fire splashed against the slightly overturned tub.
   O’Kelly sprang straight up, all of his weapons training flooding through him as he made his mark in the split second afforded him. Phaser light illuminated the room as the beam spat from his weapon and struck home on the robots left eye. Temporarily blinded and possibly enraged, the drone began firing wildly about the room, never once coming close to O’Kelly. The Lieutenant cursed softly as the phaser began to heat in his hands, a not so subtle warning that he should cease fire soon. He couldn’t, not yet, not until that ever so satisfying pop of the drone’s head exploding would echo through the room. Its head turned a bright white, and with a silent explosion erupted in a cloud of sparks and debris. It was after O’Kelly ceased firing that the pop came. He smiled, but his elation was cut short as the drone continued firing, this time in his direction.
   O’Kelly managed to duck, enough to avoid being seriously hit, but one of the shots hit him in the left shoulder. He ignored the pain, helped along by adrenalin. His mind raced for a new solution, this time he wouldn’t be able to surprise the robot. He felt the tub beginning to heat up as the robot continued its onslaught. And then, nothing, the beast stopped firing, a faint whirr came from it. Reloading, O’Kelly thought. He leapt up as fast as injuries would allow, and fired again, this time at the mechanical’s left leg. The phaser drained itself of energy, and in a slow motion blur, the robot raised its arms while O’Kelly dropped his spent energy pack and reloaded.
   The mechanical was fast, but O’Kelly was faster, his lance of energy striking the drone in the groin, severing its left leg from the rest of the body. With an explosion of sparks, the robot fell forward. Undeterred, the robot self severed its other leg and began to rise again, using its long arms now as legs. Two doors opened on its chest, revealing four yet unknown weapon muzzles. “Fekn fantastic,” O’Kelly said as he charged the still recovering robot. He ducked around and behind it, and landed a ferocious kick to its back, forcing the beast to fall forward slightly. O’Kelly kept pushing, using all the weight he could to knock his assailant over. With a thud, the robot fell again, but did not attempt to return to a standing position.
   O’Kelly quickly backed off away from the beast, and commenced discharging the remainder of his phaser into the back of the hideous thing. With his free hand, he retrieved his communicator and attempted to call his captain, but was thwarted by static on the line. Even under sustained phaser fire, the robot continued to live, and it began to struggle again to its “feet”. A shimmer of transporter light shone briefly above the robot’s shoulders and faded, revealing a new head.
   “Bloody self replicating bastard!” O’Kelly shouted at the machine. “Why can’t you just die?” Phaser energy once again depleted, he quickly swapped in his last charged pack. As the empty clattered noisily to the ground, he noticed an open hole in the robots armor. He set the controls of the phaser to overload and jammed it into the hole. For his efforts, the robot thanked him by reaching around and grabbing his right elbow, crushing humorous, radius, and ulna under its brute strength. O’Kelly screamed in pain and surprise, and struggled in vain to be released from the monstrosity’s grip. Despite the pain, he reached painfully with his free hand and drew his palm phaser from his belt. He heard the whine as the other phaser increased its overload to near critical. Time was precious, and he began to use his last hope to try to sever the massive hand that held him from its arm.

   The ship rocked violently and suddenly McDougal’s communicator chirped to life. He walked to the device and opened it. “… I say again we’ve been invaded,” Doc’s voice came from the device. “ O’Kelly’s drawn the one off on deck two… There may be more…”
   “I think he might have got him, Doc,” the captain replied. “Stay focused and on mission. I’ll try to find him myself.”
   “I made it to the plasma control room. Tricorder says everything is in working order. I’ll see what I can do about getting this thing charged, or at least get the controls open for bridge control.”
   “Very well, keep us posted, McDougal, out.” He closed down the device. “Perkins?”
   “Still receiving intermittent contact from the hostile,” Perkins replied. “I believe that we can maintain lock long enough to charge and fire the plasma.”
   “Michaels, make sure they stay in firing arc, I don’t want them to escape what is coming to them. You both know what to do, and I don’t care who is in charge, flip for it.” With that, he turned and left to find O’Kelly and to help Doc.
   “Aye, sir,” they replied in unison. The duo turned to each other, and compared rank insignias on their chest patches, both knowing full well that Michaels was the junior. The helmsman pointed at Perkins with both index fingers in a “you got it now!” gesture.

Czar "Here we go!" Mohab, who notes that this isn't quite half way yet.

[Czar Mohab]

Would have thought that that would have gained at least one response. Oh well. Here's more. Side note: This section underwent a HUGE rewrite to make it flow better. And to make the fight scene much longer (although, it was really long before the edit). And to help Andy-proof.


   Cerberus shook violently, this time causing small explosions of sparks and smoke from overloaded and now damaged control panels. Slowly, she began sublight maneuvers with her warp drive to shake her attacker. Behind them, the tiny black speck of a ship let loose torrents of charged energy. “Shields are failing,” T’Sala said, her calm voice seemed misplaced in the din. “Power grid overload,” she said as the ship shook again. “Shields have failed.”
   “Where’s the damage?” Jones asked her, slightly panicked. “Can you restore power to the shields?” Cerberus shook again as the enemy’s energy weapon sliced neatly into bare hull.
   “I believe I can.” The Vulcan turned and started for the tool kit that Jones had left. “It will have to be done manually at junction three seven alpha.”
   “I’ll go,” Jones said, grabbing T’Sala by the arm. She looked to the small alcove where the engineer was only just recently. EMAT had finally come to take McCloud to sickbay, without much notice to the busy crew about the engine room. “You can pilot the ship faster and better than I can, just make sure that there is atmosphere for me on deck three when I arrive.”
   T’Sala halted her advance, silently nodded and watched as Jones started to leave the engine room. She quickly turned back to her panels; she brought up a schematic of the ship, showing the power distribution network and damages already taken. She busied herself with one hand rerouting power to the emergency force field grid and opening pressure bulkheads that would allow Jones access to deck three and the damaged power relay.  With the other, she programmed the ship’s helm on an evasive course away from the relatively unseen attacker.
    Cerberus shook yet again, this time as she made a staggered jump from sublight to faster than light speed. Unbeknownst to them, this activity prevented further weapons impact, for the moment. “XO?” T’Sala questioned as she opened a channel to Jones’ communicator.
   “Jones,” came the hurried reply. She sounded almost as if she were panting
   “I have rerouted what power I could to assist you. Emergency force fields are currently holding, and atmospheric pressure is beginning to stabilize.”
   “I’m almost to deck three now; I’ll keep you posted, Jones, out.”
   The menacing attacker switched into high warp speed, intent on finishing what it had started with it’s now escaping prey. Blue-orange fingers of light licked forward towards the almost helpless frig-naught, missing the ship enough not to cause serious harm. Cerberus’s jerking, erratic course was the only thing keeping them alive. T’Sala felt her hands grow weary with the constant exertion of piloting the ship, literally single handedly, but she forced herself to work through the pain, the cramping sensations, and the ominous distraction of Cerberus’s growling hull.

   Jones crawled out from a Jefferies tube and emerged onto what remained of the after portion of deck three. She walked carefully amongst the rubble towards the gaping hole that was the hull. Stars streaked by the massive opening in the rent hull, the occasional flicker of the emergency force field reminding her of how close they were to annihilation. We got damned lucky she thought as she looked upon the scorched nose of the center warp drive nacelle. It was a miracle that the thing wasn’t otherwise damaged.  In the distance, she could make out the dark form of their attacker, highlighted by the blue-orange wisps of energy weapons it was continuously firing. It didn’t look much different than any shuttle currently in Starfleet service; save that it was either constructed from a glossy black substance or painted that way. It was at least as large as a large cargo shuttle. Sleek lines flowed over the craft from its pointed nose, only interrupted by the protrusions from weapons mounts. She’d counted eight forward, mostly from the weapons discharging. Jones suspected that the ship had more. Had she been able to see the ship fully, she would have seen another six mounted weapons, two each to port, starboard, and aft. Whatever propelled the craft was seamlessly integrated into its hull, either for protection or streamlining; she could not determine which. And there was that slight change in color above and below what she suspected was the control center, a slight variation of blackness. As to what these areas were for, she could only guess.
   Another though occurred to her. Quickly, she opened her communicator and signaled for the engine room.
   “T’Sala here,” the Vulcan replied.
   “Are we out of the jammer’s range or did it go off line?”
   “I do not know, I can not read anything with sensors in the state that they are in. Power to primary systems is fluctuating.”
   “Swing by the Romulan vessel, then. I’ll keep this line open as a test. If the jamming is stopped, contact the captain and inform of our situation, and see if they can assist.”
   “Altering course.”
   Jones smiled and quickly turned towards where a mangled access hatch held the power relay she sought. The hatch was already mostly off, and removing it was a breeze. She was surprised to find that there was a lone body, sitting silently, arms locked on an open door frame. She’d thought that the blast and sudden vacuum would have expelled them all into space.
   Quickly, she reached inside at the node and forced the main breaker on. A lightning snap from behind her caught her attention, and in a flash, she felt herself being pulled towards the opening in the hull. In the distance, she could hear the successive thumps of emergency bulkheads shutting. The rush of escaping atmosphere became deafening, and with all her strength she attempted to make her way to the safety of the Jefferies tube. She lost her footing and slid, farther from the safe confines of the hole, and towards open space. “T’Sala!” she shouted as her communicator flew from her hand.

   McDougal made his way to the site of the explosion on deck two quickly. Fortunately, the hull didn’t breach, but there was a hole that now opened down to deck three below; but there was no sign of O’Kelly or whatever had invaded them. The charred crater and quarters lead him to believe that there was no way anyone could have survived if they had been here when the explosion occurred. He left the blast zone and made his way to Doc, following a trail of dried blood.
   “I can’t run this and treat his injuries at the same time,” Doc’s voice called to him as soon as he was in view.
   “I have it from here, Doc,” he replied, running towards and hurdling over the pair in the narrow corridor. He made the last meter or so to the panel and quickly resumed where Doc had left off. “How bad is he?”
   “I can’t do much for him here,” Doc said solemnly. “He’ll need to be transported to Cerberus as soon as possible, and transferred to a hospital facility soon after. All I can do is alleviate the pain, and hope he doesn’t die.”
   “We’ll get him home, Doc. We’ve lost to many already, no more.” He turned his attention fully to the panel and tricorder, and deftly rerouted controls to the bridge. McDougal opened his communicator and called for the bridge. Before there was a response, he could hear the huge weapon begin to power up. “Can he be moved?” he asked, closing the device down.
   “You act as if I am a dead man,” O’Kelly replied through gritted teeth. “I just might need a little help is all,” the security chief finished with a wet cough.
   “Then let’s get back to the bridge.”

   T’Sala clenched her jaw and willed her hands to move faster. Restoring the power relay had restored the shields, but not soon enough for one of the attacker’s shots to impact onto bare hull, temporarily shorting out the force field emitters. Precious seconds ticked by as she began to slowly reclaim the state of the invisible fields that protected her XO. “Engineering to Commander Jones,” she called as the force fields finally coalesced around the hull breach. “Commander Jones, please respond.” Silence was her only reply.
   Quickly, she shifted her focus to the task at hand. She used her skills to route every erg that she could through the device, forcing the sensors and targeting systems back to full operating capacity. T’Sala continued her evasive piloting, and turned Cerberus onto her back, heading straight for her attacker. Another energy weapon found home, this time the forward shield taking the full impact of the weapon’s furry as the two ships passed each other in the inky black of space.
   A small blip appeared on her targeting screen, labeled simply as “S1”, right behind Cerberus. Six of the eight phasers the ship wielded were in arc, and with a simple button push, two went into defensive mode. There was just enough of a lock on to the target, and the two defensive phasers fired; a total of eight successive shots found their way to the enemy ship, each shot impacted its forward hull. Nothing was noticed to have happened. The tiny shuttle-sized craft should have exploded in a shower of debris and flames, but remained, continuing to fire at Cerberus.T’Sala perked her left brow in astonishment. Though the ship was no larger than one of Starfleet’s own larger shuttles, it certainly held up well under fire. She was uncertain whether the attacker had extensive armor or some other device to absorb the energy sent to destroy it.
   T’Sala dropped the erratic maneuvers and managed fire the four overloaded phasers in arc, their hull blistering energy zipping backwards into the dark assailant. Finally, a small explosion as the last of the four found its way through whatever was holding the energies back. The blip slowed momentarily, and on her tactical screen, fully materialized into more than the “this is what I think it is” that the computer was reading.
   On her tactical readout she could see that she had closed in with the Romulan  vessel, and the enemy was still firing its weapons. Cerberus shook under the assault, each of the weapons finding their mark and being absorbed by the aft shields. T’Sala made a hard turn to port, keeping the Romulan vessel aft and opening the gap between them. “Cerberus to Commander McDougal, come in please,” she said after opening a channel. “Commander McDougal, respond.”
   “Lieutenant Perkins here,” the young tactical officer’s voice filled the engine room speakers. “We don’t know how this is going to pan out, but we need you to stay closer to us. The vessel has dropped enough stealth for us to maintain a solid lock-on. CO’s ordered you to hold your fire but keep them moving and in our forward arc.”
   T’Sala read her sensors again, this time displaying a more in depth read out of the tiny ship. “Our sensors are showing this vessel to have similar characteristics to Andromedan vessels,” she reported over the line. “It seems to have both shield generators and power absorbing panels.” Cerberus rocked again, this time as her port shields absorbed the blows.
   “That information is not in the data banks on this old cow,” McDougal’s voice called back. “But at least we have a better picture now. Just keep them following you for another minute or so, we got a surprise baking for them.”
   “Acknowledged.” T’Sala’s panel beeped a frantic warning as more shots from the attacker were fired, this time at the Romulan cruiser. The shots were absorbed by the cruiser’s shields, and the smaller vessel turned as if to flee, having now seen with its sensors what the two ships had in store for it. “Locking on tractor beam,” T’Sala reported, and in a flash a beam of energy leapt forth to grab the fleeing ship. The Vulcan quickly jammed her ship into reverse, and started to rotate her captive to the forward arc. Cerberus’s hull whined and shuddered under the strain, but held fast under the sudden shift of momentum. With a long sweeping turn, Cerberus positioned herself facing the cruiser with her prey in between them. “Torpedoes armed, phasers recycled, diverting all power from movement into the tractor and shield one.” T’Sala’s voice sounded calm as an autumn breeze over a whispering brook.
   “Firing plasma!” Perkins shouted over the line, his tone a sharp contrast to T’Sala’s. A moment of brief static filled the line as the cruiser released a fresh baked, extra hot ball of plasma towards the attacker. Cerberus released the tractor hold and began to back slowly away as the deadly plasma neared. Two missiles spat out from the frig-naught, and impacted simultaneously with the plasma. This release of destructive energy ripped through the tiny vessel, sending small parts of it away freely into space, yet as a whole, the thing remained.
   T’Sala didn’t hesitate, and Cerberus let loose every pent up electron from her phaser banks and expelled the three held photons. The phaser fire destroyed the vessel, and the three red orbs danced into the blast and exploded harmlessly, but creating a brilliant display of destruction.
   “Romulan vessel,” a deep humanoid voice called over the com lines, “You have violated Federation space and attacked one of our vessels, stand down and prepare to be boarded.”

   “This is Commander Shawn McDougal, captain of the starship Cerberus, currently in command of said Romulan vessel.” McDougal made a note that everyone on the bridge somehow found humor in the situation, even O’Kelly, who fought hard to not laugh. “To whom am I speaking?”
   “This is Captain Smyth of the  Survey Cruiser Galileo. Sorry to spook you Commander, we detected weapons fire on our long range scanners and found you here. We’re standing down now.”
   “Very well, sir. Both of these vessels have received damage, and we have wounded. Can you assist?”
   “We’ll be in range in two minutes.”
   “Sirs,” T’Sala interrupted. “Cerberus lost several power relays in that last exchange. I am unable to maintain life support or warp power for movement.”
   “Copy that, Cerberus,” the man’s gruff voice replied. We’ll make you our priority, hope you don’t mind, Commander.”
   “Not at all, just make sure you get everyone, bodies included. We also have a high priority patient here.” Doc nodded to him in relief, as if the commanding officer had forgotten. Out the observation porthole, the small crew watched as the survey cruiser dropped from high warp near the Cerberus and continued its approach at impulse speeds.
Czar "I ain't done yet" Mohab, who notes that this is now on the endward side of half way

Will O'Kelly and McCloud survive? What about Miss Jones? Stay tuned for another installment of Second Chances!

[Czar Mohab]

Somehow I forgot that this was a LONG weekend, being at work and all... but, just to let you all know, the next section is being edited for 'realism' and flow. Well, the next section after this one that is.

   McDougal was quiet as he rifled through the personal belongings of Lieutenant Commander Selma Jean Jones. It was a hard process, mostly because he didn’t know her well enough to know what to keep, what to toss and what to send home to her family. He’d given up sorting for the three long ago and just started to pack out everything. Her quarters were a mirror to his, with the exception that hers were immaculate while his had remained somewhat disheveled before the universe tried to stomp on him yet again.
   Thirteen crew members had perished that day, two weeks ago now. Cerberus managed to crawl under her own power into one of the massive repair bays at Starbase Hyperion, with much thanks to Captain Smyth and his crew. In honor of the dead, the small crew that piloted the crippled frigate lit every one of her lightable lights, a beacon to guide her lost children home. The wounded, totaling sixty-five, had been transferred to the station and most had recovered fully; but at present, McDougal was sans engineer, security officer, and a handful of not-so-critical positions.
   “Shawn?” a familiar voice called from behind him, sending a chill down his spine.
   “Over here, Admiral,” he replied, half heartedly. Yesterday he’d watched as Baker’s vessel arrived in the sector. He had dreaded this moment since, and hoped that Baker would catch up with him.
   Baker walked in from McDougal’s side of the shared head,  and sighed as he passed into Jones’ quarters. “I didn’t expect to find you,” he started bluntly, “especially after that stunt you pulled at New Alexandria.”
   Here comes the butt chewing, he thought. McDougal stopped packing momentarily and straightened his back. He sighed, “Permission to speak candidly, sir?”
   “You’re going to say that you hate me, my style, and possibly my great aunt Thelma for not dropping me on my head more as a small boy, right?” Baker smiled slightly.  “I get that a lot, son, so don’t you worry, I won’t take offense,” he raised a thin finger as if to guide his next words home, “but Aunty Thelma did have a killer gumbo recipe…”
   McDougal squared his shoulders and turned to face the man. Anger at being mocked held at bay for the moment, he simply said, “Permission to speak candidly, sir?”
   Baker waved his right hand at him, a gesture that mimicked his words, “Whatever you need to say, go ahead.”
   McDougal produced a communicator from his belt and operated one of the tiny dials, setting it to ‘record’. “You don’t mind repeating that do you sir, for the record?”
   “I don’t know what game you are playing at here… Yes, you have permission to speak freely.”
   “Good,” he said calmly, hoping to hold all the pent up anger he had just a moment longer. He set the device down on top of Jones’ bed and turned silently to gaze out the small window afforded to these quarters. The view was spectacular, despite being framed in such a small way. He looked out over the forward hull, the ship’s glistening grey-white hull reflecting much of the work lights positioned about in Hyperion’s major repair bay. Work bees and shuttle craft of all types darted around the busy complex, but his gaze fixed and held fast on two vessels that were docked near to Cerberus.
   It was Operation Unity at work, peace through the cooperation of war, for the two vessels ahead were Kzinti and Klingon. Days ago he’d met with both captains in the stations main bar, and was shocked when they laughed, joked and even held conversations with others of the normally warring species. It was an odd philosophy to him, but the Klingon explained to him simply, “Tomorrow we may fight again as enemies, but today, here, we meet as friends.” McDougal had taken part in the festivities, and managed to milk some important information from the Klingon.
   “Do you know how many died on this little excursion of yours?” he asked the admiral coldly.
   “Thirteen, if memory serves.”
   “Thirteen of my men and women died because of you, Admiral.”
   “I hardly think that…”
   “I’m not finished!” This was the first he’d raised his voice to the short man. He turned abruptly to face him, scowled down into his eyes and held up a threatening right index finger. “Because you,” he poked the admiral in the chest, “had a gripe with me about destroying that enemy vessel.” He paused and let the anger flow from him. “Do you recognize that vessel out there?” he almost yelled the words and pointed to the viewport. The admiral paused a moment and McDougal shouted, “Look!” He resisted the urge to ‘persuade’ the admiral, and allowed the man a brief moment before restating his demand. He moved aside to allow the admiral access to the window.
   Hesitantly, Baker complied and looked out the small viewport. “I don’t recognize either of them,” he said calmly. “And I have half a mind to put you on report!” Baker calmly turned around.
   “Negative, Admiral. You know which ship that is! It’s the Decimator, the same ship that dropped off the ambassador to us! The very same ship that left New Alexandria a full hour before we departed, Admiral, and the same ship that arrived three full days before we were scheduled to arrive.”
   “Maybe it is,” Baker replied. “What of it?”
   “You told me that Cerberus was the fastest available.” McDougal again poked at the admiral, this time, though,  he was standing out of reach.  “You told me that the Klingon vessel was not granted passage through Federation space! Yet there he is, right before us. Had the Klingons taken the ambassador as planned, they could have decoded his message faster than we could have, and saved a lot of lives.”
   “You’re making a big mistake, here,” Baker said threateningly.
   “No, I’m not.” McDougal retrieved his communicator and keyed it to an open channel. “Security to the XO’s quarters. Medical team to the XO’s quarters.” He didn’t have time to restore the device to its resting place as Baker made a mad dash for the exit. Cerberus was mostly unmanned, and of those on board, most would likely be yard workers, there to begin much needed repairs. McDougal hoped that the security detail and medical staff that he’d persuaded on board hadn’t left yet. Without further hesitation, he started up to a run and sped after the now escaping admiral.
   Baker ran through the corridor with speed and agility that was uncommon for a man of his age. But that was where McDougal held an advantage, as the younger quickly closed the gap. Through the empty corridors they ran, until Baker finally turned to stop, panting. McDougal was still a bit behind, and didn’t have time to prepare for the phaser beam that struck out at him. Set to kill he mused as he dove to the floor. “That’s not very Starfleet of you, Admiral!” he taunted. He managed to jump back in time as another beam of death shot at him. He smiled lightly at the scorch in the carpet where he once was.
   “You will never understand!” Baker shouted as he fired again. The shot went way off the mark as he was turning to flee again. His escape was cut short as two phaser beams found his torso. “The Masters will prevail!” he shouted as he slumped to the deck, not fully stunned.
   McDougal motioned to the two security guards to hold their fire as he approached the crumpled form. He kicked the admiral’s weapon from his hand and gazed down at him. “Med team here!” someone shouted from behind Cerberus’ CO. McDougal’s view clouded over with red from anger and narrowed to a small tunnel. Baker tried to stand, but McDougal felled him with a swift and forceful kick to the jaw. The anger passed almost wholly as he heard a satisfying crunch from Baker’s face.
   “Doc,” he said shakily as the adrenalin rush began to flee his body. “There’s the patient.”

Czar "Ain't I a stinker?" Mohab, who is open to ANY comments (you too, lurkers ), including guesses *HINT HINT* as to who is of the 13 dead (hint: at least 10 have no name )

P.S. If you don't wanna guess now thats fine, but I'd still like to know later if I killed your guess or not

[Czar Mohab]

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

[Czar Mohab]

Yeah, its cheezy as all heck, but here's the other part for today:

   McDougal walked into Admiral Hastings’ office slowly and deliberately. He didn’t think it odd that one admiral or another would want to fry him for his actions. It was just odd that Hyperion’s new CO would want to do so in private, instead of the usual Court Martial or Admiral’s Mast. “Take a seat,” Hastings said calmly from behind his massive oak desk. McDougal pulled one of the two empty chairs opposite the dark skinned admiral back and sat silently. “Would you like some coffee or tea?” he offered, a thin but genuine smile forming.

   “Hot chocolate, please, sir” McDougal replied. “With three of those big marshmallows on top.”

   Hastings paused a moment to access the computer screen on his desk, then turned and rose towards the room’s replicator unit. After ordering the machine to produce two cups of McDougal’s brew, it beeped and whirred and produced the desired drinks. He handed one to McDougal and sipped sloppily from his own. “That actually sounded pretty good,” he said to McDougal.

   “I wanted something different, sir. I remember having these as a child, they usually calmed me down.”

   “I’d suppose you’re pretty stressed over this, Shawn. Let me put this out right now: Its not going to go like you think it will.”

   “Fair enough, sir.”

   Hastings resumed his seat and turned back to his computer and began to read from what was displayed. “Let’s see now, disobeying a direct order, endangering the lives of others, endangering Starfleet assets, engaging in field operations as the commanding officer, assaulting a superior officer, conduct unbecoming, and insubordination. My, these are grievous charges against you.”

   “In my defense, Admiral, Admiral Baker’s order to cut engines was obeyed. And he’s dropped the assault charge.”

   Hastings looked at McDougal. “I know, I haven't updated the file yet. I see that here, in both the ship’s and station’s logs, that you did cut your engines. Not the best way to exit an installation, but I guess it worked. Were you trying to make a point with that maneuver, or just horsing around?”

   McDougal paused and straightened himself in his seat. He took a slow sip from his mug, and noticed that the mallows had begun to melt. “Perhaps it was a little of both, sir.”

   Hastings nodded. “I see here that Baker has attempted to put in your record that you are a ‘loose cannon’. I’ll take care of that… there. That remark is now stricken. I doubt that there will be a repeat performance of that incident. But it will cost you in the long run. You might be looked over for promotion to Captain or even being placed on something other than a frigate.

   “Of course, sir. I wasn’t thinking about the consequences at the time of my actions, and I accept full responsibility.”

   Hastings again turned back to his screen. “Now, why did you choose to board the Romulan vessel? Didn’t your Exec clearly object?”

   “As I stated in my logs, sir…”

   Hastings interrupted him, “This isn’t as formal as you think it is, Commander, you can drop the ‘sirs’ for now. Think of it as ‘CO to CO’ talk.”

   “Very well then,” McDougal replied, slightly confused. “Yes, she did, and, as I stated in my logs, I did not foresee any real threat to the landing party. Ships sensors and later our CMO and security chief confirmed that there was no life on board. On top of that, the XO was busy solving a riddle.”

   “I saw that. But it is the policy and should be adhered to. You could have technically gone over after your crew had verified there was no threat. Lets see now, ah yes, the whole ordeal with the ‘Masters’.” Hastings paused a moment as he perused the pertinent files to refresh his memory. “Ah,” he said at last, “you said that ‘talking with the Klingon commander about the ambassador led me’ err, you, sorry, ‘to believe that Baker was behind the transfer.’ Also says that you accessed the logs and managed to triangulate the sources of some but not all of the ‘static bursts’ you received.”

   “With all due respect, it’s all there in my official report.”

   “Yes, it is; surprisingly enough I find it hard to believe that you could have done all this alone.”

   “Again, I take full responsibility for my actions, but I had help from my science department and some of the station’s facilities. The first series of bursts came from behind us; I speculate that the unknown craft was shadowing us to ensure that the ambassador was delivered on time. The next three bursts were from New Alexandria itself, the one unknown, and from within the Romulan vessel. T’Sala has stated that it was most likely the kill droid that boarded it.”

   Hastings chuckled, a deep belly chuckle that echoed through the room. “Did she really say ‘kill droid’?” A huge toothy grin split his face, his pearly whites contrasting his dark skin.

   “Actually, she did.” McDougal shared the smile. ‘Kill droid’, it seemed, wasn’t a normal Vulcan phrase.

   Hastings stopped laughing slowly and wiped a tear from his eye. “Do you know why you’re really here?”

   “Ass chewing, I thought,” McDougal replied.

   “No, not today. Starfleet Command has issued me orders to investigate everything you’ve uncovered regarding these ‘masters’. We found and removed the control mechanism that they used on Baker, this much you know, and fleet wide everyone is being scanned for their influence. So far, only a Kzinti delegate on Earth has come up positive.

   “Sensor logs revealed that the vessel you encountered had Andromedan influences in its design, but no one that has seen the imagery has been able to confirm this; add to that the ship emitted a large amount of temporal radiation, leading us all to believe that the ship was from another time period, but we know not when.”

   “Admiral, if I may point out, that is all the information I have already provided to you.”

   “I know I was making sure I hadn’t missed anything.”

   “You have everything.” McDougal reiterated.

   “The incident between you and New Alexandria will have to go on your record.” McDougal nodded, he’d already figured as much. “So will your encounters with the masters, and even assaulting Admiral Baker. In spite of all this, Starfleet has decided that you are to keep your command, and be promoted. I guess remoted? Either way, once Cerberus is back on her feet, you’ll get your promotion to full Commander.”

   McDougal smiled inside himself, not wanting to show the admiral his true feelings. “About my ship, there’s a rumor going around…”

   “…that she’s to begin a refit with more science equipment installed? True statement. You’re new missions, in a nutshell, are to seek out new life and go where no one in the fleet has gone before. The peace brought on by this Andromedan campaign will most likely be over after the enemy has been routed. The Federation wants to turn back to its exploration role with what assets it can while not being truly at war with its neighbors. To this end, we’re modifying Cerberus into a long range exploration and recon vessel.” Hasting swiveled his computer around to show his guest the new schematics. “The order to modify Cerberus came through last night. We’ll have you out in space in three weeks. Long story short, beefier engines, longer engineering hull, more shuttlecraft, lots of cargo room…”

   “They’re getting rid of me,” McDougal said in surprise. “How long are these exploration missions supposed to be, anyway?”

   “They’re not getting rid of you,” the older man said. “They’re just keeping you out of trouble, for now. There’s a lot of frontier space to explore, you’ll likely find all sorts of life and strange new things.”

   McDougal smiled and turned back to him. “It is why I joined, sir.”

   “And it’ll take however long it takes. If you’d like, I can get you transferred…”

   McDougal sipped from his mug again, deeper as the frothy brew had cooled some. “No… that won’t be required. She’s my hell hound, and I’m going to keep her to myself.”

   “Very good then, Commander, I look forward to seeing your vessel after we’re done. Starfleet’s ordered two more for the class, after the modifications.” McDougal smiled at him and finished his now warm chocolate. He chewed the sugary goop as the admiral continued. “I do have the unfortunate duty to ensure that you know full well how and when you did wrong.”

   “I’m surprised that there weren’t more charges against me,” McDougal replied.

   “Everything regarding the New Alexandria stunt sticks, except for the direct order and insubordination parts, and everything else is dropped as circumstantial. Give me your hand.”

   McDougal extended his left hand, palm down, to the admiral. With a loud smack and a flash of sharp pain, Hastings slammed his open palmed hand down across McDougal’s wrist. “Ouch!” McDougal cried.

   “Don’t do it again. And consider yourself reprimanded.” McDougal wasn’t going to argue being let off with a not so proverbial wrist slap.

   McDougal stood and extended his other  hand for the Admiral. Hastings stood and shook his hand firmly. “Thank you, for everything, Admiral,” McDougal commented dryly as he turned and left the lavish office.

   “They are getting rid of you,” the admiral commented as the door shut. “No one likes a loose cannon in the fleet.”

Czar "I guess I could end it here, but I won't, because I'm not done yet" Mohab

[Governor Ronjar]

I'm liking the way the story is going thusly. The reprimand over the 'door-stunt' was decently done and much makes up for it having happened in the first place.

The characters are coming along nicely. Killing characters off doesn't bother me as much as some, but doing it in the first instalment of the 'series' leaves us feeling like we didn't get to know them. But then, a first episode can be whatever you want it to be. I'm interested to see what new blood comes in, but also note that given the newness of this tale [if I am indeed right in that it will be a series] that all of them are still new blood.

The fight scene seemed a might cloudy to me. Lots of telling but not much discription. Fight scenes can be hard to pull of without turning into a confusing route of words. Perhaps your mentioned previous edit was more discriptive?

All in all, I'm liking this one. Sorry it took so long to reply. Been a MFing long week. I can't wait to see the end of this episode and read whatever comes next. Keep up the pace, my friend!

--thu guv!

[Czar Mohab]

Guv, et al... that battle scene... 'twas the unedited version... I posted the wrong one... 'twill have to stand until I can find the edit and edit the unedited edit.

**EDIT** The above about editing the edit no longer applies, as I have edited that unedited edit.

Off to read Czar's story on paper now. Reading the screen so much messes with my eyes.

'Tis why I switched to a new format, well, older format, but unused for a long time by me until now. I was thinking the paragraph indents would be ok enough.

Besides, that line right there made me have warm fuzzies all over. Kinda sucks 'cause its freakin' hot here.

Czar "I'll reply more, after a fashion." Mohab[/color]

[Czar Mohab]

I decided to say "heck with it" and just wrap this one up. I hope it was enjoyed by all, at least to some extend.



   McDougal almost jumped from his skin as he walked out into Hyperion’s Command and Control deck and almost right into his XO. “You really need to stop doing that,” he said to her , motioning for her to follow him to the turbo lift.

   She obliged, her hobbling gait setting their pace again. “They kicked me out of the recovery ward, so I figured I’d catch up with you,” she replied to him. “So, how’d it go?”

   “Slap on the wrist,” he returned, showing her the reddened flesh on his wrist. “Better than what I should have gotten.”

   Jones smiled at him, and they entered the waiting lift. “I didn’t think that that was allowed.”

   “Docking bay four, Cerberus,” he said to the computer. The car dropped rapidly, and sped towards its destination. “You’re not going to like what they’re doing to the ship.”

   “Oh? What are they doing?”

   “For starters, they are adding two decks and about sixty meters of hull, all to the engineering section.” He paused, looking for the right words. “New power plant and warp engines, upgraded sensors, larger shuttle bay… They’re turning what is obviously not a research and scouting vessel into a research and scouting vessel…” His voice trailed off, almost angry sounding.

   “Why is that so bad?” she asked, genuinely concerned. The lift continued about its trek through the massive station. “It sounds to me like she’s getting many vast improvements.”

   “Aye, she is,” he sighed. “They’re getting rid of me, plain and simple. Hastings denies it, but I just know…”

   “Know what? That finally the Federation is returning to its exploration role? That you’ve been selected to be one of this generation’s pioneers?”

   “I guess you could look at it that way.”

   She smiled up at him, touching his arm with her free hand. “Shawn, it won’t be that bad.”

   He looked deep into her understanding eyes, felt the warmth of her reassuring smile and touch. “It could be,” he replied with a smirk. “It could be.”

   The lift abruptly stopped and deposited them at Cerberus’ main access brow. Security posted there quickly recognized the pair and allowed them to pass. The trod slowly down the pressurized tunnel, leaving behind the station and entering the mighty ship. From this angle, they could not see any remaining damage to the ship, but being so far forward and on the starboard side, there wasn’t much to see anyway. They could, however, see several work bees swarming about the starboard warp nacelle, some had already attached themselves to the thing while others worked at the main joint with the support pylon. With a small, controlled explosion, the nacelle was free of the ship, and safely in tow of the work bees. “Olivia’s going to be pissed,” Jones said softly. The pair stopped and silently watched as the remaining work bees made their way towards the center nacelle.

   “Well, at least they’re quick about it,” McDougal commented dryly. He motioned for her to continue, and she began again with her slow limping pace.

   “Cerberus, arriving,” the computer’s female voice greeted them as they walked onboard the ship.

   “The hound from hell hath returned,” an unnamed crewmember commented cheerfully to himself. McDougal sought out the sound of the voice, listening intently as it continued to mumble other ramblings. Jones, perched on her cane, elected to stay behind and watch from afar.

   “Crewman!” McDougal shouted at the enlisted man he’d found waist deep in the deck just barely out of sight from the airlock.

   “Sir!” his startled reply came, with just a touch of a southern accent. He jumped from his work pit and brushed some dirt and dust off of his greasy coveralls before coming to full attention.

   “What the hell are you doing?” McDougal demanded. Time to play along as the hound from hell he thought playfully to himself. “Where’s your chief?”

   “I… I… I’m just running a diagnostic, s… s…sir!” he stammered. “My chief is on liberty… I… I don’t know where he is!”

   “Where’s your procedure?”

   “Sir?” the enlisted man asked, puzzled.

   “Everything you do aboard this ship has a procedure. You’re performing a maintenance item, correct?” The noncom nodded. “Then where is your procedure? How do you know you’re not f*cking everything up?”

   “Oh,” he said at last, a bit shaken by the captain’s use of profanity. “It’s in the pit. I got confused.”

   “Confused?!” McDougal, hands in fists now on hips bent forward and glared evilly at the noncom. “Get me your procedure, petty officer!”

   He jumped back into the work pit, and produced two data pads and offered them to McDougal as he stood from the hole. “One’s for accessing this part of the system, t’other’s for doing the diagnostic.”

   McDougal looked over the data briefly before handing the devices back to the noncom. “When can you perform actions without procedure?”

   “Casualty situations, sir!” he replied.

   “And…?” McDougal prodded.

   “And during routine ship’s operations; such as piloting the ship or operating the ship’s sensors.”

   “But…?” McDougal prodded again, a smile had tried to form on his lips, but he held it back.

   “But a copy of the applicable procedure should be available at all times!”

   “Very good. What’s your name, boy?”

   “Hull Technician third class Peter Lindsey, sir!”

   “Come and see me with your chief whenever he returns, it’s an order for both of you, HT three.” McDougal finally smiled at the man, and gave him a wink. “And don’t forget your ship’s qualification card.”

   “Aye, sir!” he said excitedly. McDougal turned back towards the XO and he jumped back into the pit, returning to his work.



   The pair made their way to engineering, unhindered by further interruptions of the captain’s playful and generous mood. As they arrived, they were greeted by an angry voice.

   “I don’t care!” Chief Engineer McCloud shouted. “You’ll have to wait until the warp core is fully out of the ship before you can continue!”

   “I have my orders, ma’am,” a Vulcan shipyard worker replied to her. “There is no danger to the ship or station in letting me continue.”

   “Is there a problem?” Jones asked the two.

   “Yeah, there is,” McCloud replied. “This…” she restrained herself from calling the man what she really thought of him, “person wants to begin cutting our fantail off.”

   “And where’s the problem?” McDougal asked.

   “Your engineer has informed me that warp core removal is currently underway, and that removing the fantail might cause the ship to shift enough to damage the core.”

   “She’s right to be concerned,” McDougal added.  “How long until the core is fully removed?”

   McCloud grunted. “It’ll be fully out tomorrow evening. They’ve only just begun to disconnect the thing.”

   “And how long to slice our ass end off?”

   The Vulcan paused a minute to ponder the question. “I am not familiar with that term, however, if you are to imply that the ‘ass end’ is the fantail, then it should be completed by zero five hundred tomorrow.”

   “I see,” McDougal said. He mulled the thoughts over in his mind. “You can cut the fantail after the core is fully out. You may, however, begin your hull cuts so long as the fantail stays attached until the core is out, or is removed before the core starts to move. Any questions?” They both shook their respective heads ‘no’. “Good.”

   The Vulcan walked away from the three Cerberus officers. “Have you seen what they plan to do down here?” McCloud asked.

   “Mostly,” McDougal returned. “I don’t know how any warp core bigger than ours is going to fit, though.”

   “You didn’t see the design specs then,” McCloud commented. She motioned them to her small office, where the three of them huddled around her computer console. She pressed a few keys and brought up the schematic for the new section of hull to be added to Cerberus. She then animated the picture, showing them where the new section was to go. “This section was originally intended for seven different Okinawa hulls,” she added to her statement by tracing the lines of the ‘H’ pattern. It was turned ninety degrees, but the soft outline of the ‘H’ remained. “As you know, were based on the Okinawa class, but a wee bit bigger, namely in the three extra decks and engineering department.” She traced on the screen where the ‘H’ and the rest of the ship fit together, then pointed out to the silent warp core. “This hull cut is ten meters aft of the core, but the insert comes in that ten meters, right up to where the core is now. There’ll be a new hole for the core to fit into.”

   “Any idea on how long this refit will take?” Jones asked her.

   “Yard rumor is two months, but I have it on good authority that it should only take three weeks before we are space worthy again.”

   McDougal smiled. “You do know what kind of engines we’re getting, don’t you?”

   “I heard some redesigned Constitution nacelles were available.” She smiled with the thought of the larger engines designed for a cruiser affixed to her ship.

   “Not quite,” McDougal sighed. “I hate to let you down, but…”

   “But what?” she pleaded.

   “New design engines. They’re based on successful Excelsior class technology, but even newer and more efficient.” He accessed her console and brought up the same folder that had all the new specs contained within. The file he sought after was password protected, and he quickly input the desired sequence of characters, opening the file. “Look.”

   Jones and McCloud both stood in amazement as the new warp engine spiraled around on the screen, it’s rounded shape giving a nod to the older, and simpler designs of the past. It was sleek indeed, and resembled the basic shape and look of the engines found on the ever successful Excelsior class, although notably much smaller. The rotation finally stopped as the animation mounted the engines to the image of Cerberus; their blue warp field grilles shone brightly upon their respective grey-white housings. The fore end of each had an armor reinforced cap containing a thin blue streak that bisected the engine horizontally. “Bussard collectors,” the computer labeled them in the previous animation. At the after end of each was mounted the end fin and atmospheric stabilizers, an add on to one of the ship’s new capabilities.

   “If you ladies would stop drooling a moment,” McDougal started, “I’ll reset the file encryptions so you both can access them, at your leisure. Miss McCloud, I’ll take my leave of you so you can return to your work.” McDougal finished his work on the computer and left McCloud where she was. He didn’t notice at first that Jones was following him. He paused and allowed her to catch up.



   The bridge was silent, save that of the random beeping of the few functioning control panels. Everything else had been shut down. Jones remained just forward of the tactical screen a moment, accessing one of the two replicator units recently added to the bridge. McDougal sat in his chair, already with a cup of iced tea in hand. He had already fished himself out a ‘VICTORY’ cigar, and was about to light it when Jones finally came over to his side.

   “You know,” he started, “Hastings offered me a different ship.”

   “I didn’t know,” she replied, startled. “You turned him down, I assume?”

   “Darn tootin’ I did. I couldn’t give this ship up. I’ve just gotten to know her, to know you,” he paused a moment and added, “all of you.” He stood up and offered the chair to his XO.

   “Well, I’m glad you stayed,” she said. She took the offered seat, a feeling of relaxation flowing over her face as the pain washed from her injured leg. “Thank you,” she said, relieved. “I, and we, were just getting to know you too.” She sipped from her mug of hot tea and smiled at him.

   McDougal made a look at the ship’s chronometer. “Time for the ship’s afternoon log update,” he said to her. He lit his cigar, and enjoyed the first couple of drags. “That’s been a long time coming,” he said, offering her the smoldering stogy.

   She took the stogy from him and drew in three long drags, and returned it to him with a playful smile. She depressed a small button on the chair’s armrest, and spoke: “Ships log, stardate…”

END

Czar "No heroes were killed in the making of this story" Mohab

Stay tuned for Cerberus, the next story!

[Czar Mohab]

I would HIGHLY recomend any fans of this series to reread this. You'll understand why soon enough.

Czar Mohab