Just Get There! (P2)

Posted on Mon 27th May, 2024 @ 11:37am by Izwyx 'Lo
Edited on on Thu 20th Jun, 2024 @ 11:05pm

1,831 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: O' the Cardiff Rose
Location: T’olana
Timeline: MD10

Previously- https://sb109.sim-station.net/index.php/sim/viewpost/2317

-Start-
Previously- https://sb109.sim-station.net/index.php/sim/viewpost/2317

-Start-

{UFP Star Cradle Ticonderoga}

The Vanguard-class Star Cradle pumped along at warp 2.2, a pace it could sustain forever under virtually any circumstance it was intended for--towing, repairs, refits, even overhauls if they could focus on just one ship at a time. It was essentially a starbase with the extras trimmed down, and internal cavity reduced for medium-tonnage vessels. Its trailing body truncated and diverged into pylons to allow docking vessels to berth within the warp field. The toadstool form revolved in the classic “Martian Invader” spinning motion, a side effect of internalized warp coils and a truly staggering capacity to handle mass within the field.

Their recent voyage across Romulan repatriation zones had tested the limits of what it could handle. Every system had a graveyard of still serviceable ships, but without a local shipyard, no major repairs could be done. Any stop in any system was almost always met with dozens of urgent requests from desperate Romulans making anything last as long as they could. By the first year of duty, everyone on board had learned some Romulan Basic, made friends and seen hard times together. Her crew could strip and reassemble Romulan freighters like they were toys.

So now, at the end of their year-long voyage, with only two more stops to make, they delivered their final passengers to their new homes. Bittersweet farewells kept the ship abuzz with a light energy, and when the midday meal was announced, only those on duty didn't attend. Those dutiful souls would know a second feast, but everyone knew the first one was the better one. A call went out, and a call was answered, as in the small scales of social living and grand scales of galactic migrations.

“A toast!” Yirika raised her glass to the Captain. They sat across a wide-open table from one another. Nearly seven thousand people in a space able to hold just about that many dined standing, kneeling, anywhere they could find to be that was a part of the crowd and festivities.

The gathered people raised their drinks. Yirika called out, “To the Federation for sending us the Ticonderoga!”

Methods varied, some tapped the table, others crossed arms, but the toast was met with drink and cheer each time.

“To T’olana, may we bring blooms and sunshine!”

More drinks and cheers. Others raised their glasses and pronounced their own toasts.

“To the D’ontaran people, separated only by distance.”

“To the Federation for fulfilling their oaths and then some.”

There was a correcting tone, “Thank Starfleet, The Feds voted to let us suffer.”

Argument was swiftly settled by shushes, but Yirika took it in stride.

“This ship is both Starfleet and Federation, so I will thank them both. But any organization will have a breadth of people who may disagree. So let us be thankful to these fine people who have shown us nothing but love and kinsmanship.”

So quashed the hubbub died away, and the people dined for their final farewells. Happy chatter and forlorn hearts knowing tonight was their last night together.

***

{USS Allegheny}

Lieutenant Digga Kreypa had his reasons for coming out this far, her name was Molly. She was reason one through five, actually. To the Capellans, a mate was for life and chosen very carefully for that reason. Molly’s divorce from him was one of only hundreds over a thousand years, but her reason had been his inability to have children, a loophole in their legal traditions which granted default judgement to her. Starfleet offered him a transfer off-world, away from his troubles but somehow nowhere felt far enough away.

His assignment to the Ticonderoga had taken him to the fringes of the Beta Quadrant, and out this far, he finally felt a sense of peace. There were people who needed him, and he could be whoever he wanted. Plenty of need for a father figure in a community to the ones who needed it.

“Ticon, Allegheny is loaded and primed for departure.”

Control responded, “We’re gonna miss you Diggs. Send us a letter once you’re settled in. Departure granted, safe travels.”

The runabout was jammed to the gills in carefully compressed materials to be unpacked on the colony surface. He felt the mass shifting fields struggling under the unusual load and increased power to internal fields. Once the weight settled firmly had activated thrust and flew from the loading bay, exiting the Ticonderoga at warp 1.3.


{Romulan Freighter “Slaked Thirst.”}

Yirika stood next to the captain of their little freighter, as proud as punch at their departure into new lives. Captain Kloss was in similar departures, but stopped short of giving the order.

“Why must we exit at warp?”

Yirika shrugged, “From what I remember Izzy said the Ticonderoga undergoes stress in the transition into and out of, taking a lot of effort in general to get to Warp. Sustaining the field and staying at speed is preferable to a full stop.”

Kloss pondered, “We shouldn’t experience too much shear, but this isn't a Starfleet runabout, the Allegheny might transit fine-“

Yirika stopped him, “Kloss, they’ve slowed down as much as they can, and we did this like eight other times. Give the order; you’ll carry us through.”

He took her genuinely happy face with a grain of salt due to her inexperience in these matters. Still he took a breath and began making orders for departure.

“Take us up, and perform the transition as we planned.” The words were tinged with worry, but Yirika had faith all was well and could only go according to plan.

Lifting from their landing pad, the freighter was only four decks tall and not much longer than wide. A prominence with deflector controls, dish array and a series of small porthole windows made a bow front of sorts to denote the “front” of the boxy vessel. The gentle thrust moved them to the edge of the interior cavity for their vessel where the “top” of their space opened to reveal space, albeit contained for the moment behind a field.

Transition from warp space to normal wasn’t too risky if the speeds were low, and at 1.3 Kloss felt his alarm slip when the slightest turbulence passed without comment.

“Exactly according to plan Kloss. Well done. Carry us home now.” Yirika beamed, exultant at their good fortune.

***

{Slaked Thirst- Anteroom for the bridge}

Kloss kept them at warp 4, T’olana wasn’t far at that speed, just a half-day's ride. He was excited, and there was a jubilation to everyone’s motions. He didn't notice the course change, in avid conversation with his second officer. He only noticed the doors opening to the rear of the bridge due to the pressure change on his ears.

Three shots, Captain, Second, Pilot. Heavy stuns were a young man's game and Kloss felt his heart seize at the shot. Through watery eyes blackness swirled, but he saw the face of a Klingon in the final moment as consciousness ebbed for the last time. There were no alarms, those had been disabled. No warning for the exultant population crammed into a hold and series of makeshift pod units that they were no longer going to T’olana.

”Check?” One Klingon asked in a low voice. He spoke to two others, a tall and lithe female in scale armor, whose Kur’leth sat at her hip like the swashbucklers of old Earth. Next to her, a smaller male was already in systems, seemingly a well-equipped specialist. He wore less armor, but wore a personal shield on his belt. He ran to the command interface and immediately began typing into a personal keypad.

”Aye, they’ve set the table.” He replied to the leader, still towering and armed with a disruptor rifle held in one arm.

“Make rendezvous, Signal K’rtorg the acquisition is complete.”

The specialist confirmed the order in a sharp sound, much like, “Ha.”

He looked to his second mate, “Axl. Find me the right face to send a message.

The Klingon Amazonian was reading the reports the other specialist had dug up on crew complement. It took no time at all to discern the friendliest face in the group's leadership, starting at the top nailed it in one.

”Yirika, Sire, a Romulan. She leads the delegation.”

”Sounds right. Prepare our coercion methods, rough it up, suggest local solar storms.”

”Aye Sire, I’ll extract a worthy performance or I flay until she does.”

”Sounds delicious. Don’t tempt me on the job.” The leader gave a sharp laugh, and the other two followed. She began wiring life support, rigging airlocks, removing safeties on radiation monitoring, creating a system of control allowing three to control the ship of 1502.

“Sire?!” The specialist was standing over Captain Kloss, and asking for help.

“Ckall? What?”

Kloss was dead, the fingers Ckall had at his throat a clear indication of checking for a pulse. This was a problem, they needed to masquerade until they were out of range and Kloss would have most likely ensured route security with biometrics. If the Captain was dead there was nobody to update the computer, and the deviation from their flight path would send an automatic distress call.

“Axl, new plan. We need to simulate an accident that would disable our comms. Ideas?”

Ckall and Axl considered, and Ckall answered first, “Sire!? We have another problem!”

The display showed to their front a Starfleet runabout, still on the original heading.

”Put us back on the original course and heading, we need to lose comms now and it needs to be an accident!”

Axl yelled over Ckall, “We can scramble it, not disabled but garbled.”

Ckall also shouted, “We are back on course, but the runabout is hailing us!”

”Do as Axl has suggested, signal K’rtorg and update rendezvous to present coordinates! Answer hail and distort outgoing.”

A screen in major need of tuning swirled and futzed. The sound of screeching forced them to mute the inputs. Ckall had already sent a message explaining a computer issue is causing minor systems outages over radio bands. The old and overused freighters were plagued by such issues and it wasn’t out of place.

The Allegheny channel opened and Lieutenant Kreypa replied over bridge speakers as clear as day, ”Slaked… we can repair if you want to? No need to push through; T’olana isn’t going anywhere.”

Ckall was a natural spy and adopted a clearly Romulan tone, clearing up the frequency at times to sell authenticity. He slyly responded, “It’s nothing to fix, just bad circuits needing to rest, we are bypassing. We can make it just fine, Allegheny.”

Their leader approved of the ruse, and the Allegheny acknowledged by closing out the channel without much further ado.

A text appeared in his gauntlet uplink.

-TBC-

 

RSS Feed