Star Trek Online

In the Shadows of War

Chapter 3

Stevaan rubbed at his eyes in a vain attempt to bring them into focus. Glancing to where the ship's time was displayed in the lower right of his monitor, it took the briefest of moments for him to calculate that he had been going non-stop for the last twelve hours. Aside from the mental lag in doing such simple math telling him he was very tired, the time also reminded Stevaan that he hadn't eaten in several hours. At which point, his stomach grumbled to add its opinion to the matter. Stevaan stood up gingerly; his muscles and joints stiffened from remaining still for so long, and went over to a small locker in the corner of his quarters. Popping the lid up and open, he fumbled around inside for a moment before withdrawing with a large sealed ration pack and his canteen. The best that could be managed with main power still offline.

Returning to his desk, Stevaan opened the ration pack and poured out the contents. Unfortunately the refit station only had the most basic of emergency rations on hand, so the meal before him looked more akin to a child's set of multicolored building blocks, all in their own individual wrappers. A porous looking beige bar labeled carbo-fiber concentrate, a brown square wafer of protein supplement, and a handful of small packets of rainbow hued solids containing various supplemental sugars, minerals, and vitamins. Stevaan took up the protein wafer first, tearing away the wrapping. Biting into it and slowly chewing, Stevaan was put off by the almost paste like consistency of the wafer. Judging by the taste, someone in an R&D center somewhere had thought to add a flavor that approximated dried meat to the wafer, but didn't quite get there as far as Stevaan was concerned. He grimaced slightly as his senses tried to process the incongruities between flavor, texture, and even the smell which he tried not to pay much attention to.

Stevaan took a large swig of water from his canteen and shook his head, chuckling to himself as he began opening the rest of the packets and placing them into a pile on his desk. He found himself amused by the thought that he had found something less palatable than the Cardassian field rations that some resistance members had managed to steal back during the Occupation of Bajor. Stevaan took another bite from the protein wafer as he turned back to his work on the large wall monitor, only briefly noting that he was already getting used to the rations odd properties. The monitor on his wall was a cacophony of lists and inventories, much of which he had already forwarded to Admiral Baasch. Most of it was requisitions for materiel to more quickly complete the Bastion's refit. Raw materials, reactor fuel, even personal armaments. Additionally, Stevaan was trying to predict and list out which supplies would be useful to have once deployed. He knew that these were essentially wish lists, with Starfleet moving to mobilize so many ships are once, and all of them undoubtedly in need of something.

Stevaan reached for another of the colored ration blocks on his desk, having finished the protein wafer. He could only guess that he had reviewed these lists and requisitions a half dozen times so far. Stevaan knew that it was partially from wanting to be absolutely certain that all his supply bases were covered. But he could not deny to himself that part of him was trying to avoid moving on to the next requisition need. That of personnel. Stevaan stood and stretched his back, still chewing on something that he could not identify the flavor or texture of, and so chose not to. Asking for supplies and materiel was easy. One stembolt would seal just as well as another, and any given bucket of deuterium would burn the same as the next. But people were so very different. People were so very complicated. Stevaan chuckled at a remembered saying from his Temporal Mechanics instructor at the Academy.

You think this is hard? This is just time. If you want hard, go down the hall to Anthropology.

It had mostly been a slight in-joke between Academy staff, but Stevaan had seen some truth in the jape. Individual sentient beings were so complicated that there had yet to be a math or science that could accurately predict how they would react or behave at any given moment. And yet, here he was, having to figure out the best way to squeeze several hundred unique individuals into a single ship, and in such a way that they would behave and perform in the most efficient and effective manner possible. And on top of it all, he was going to be purposefully placing these people into highly unstable and dangerous situations. A position every ship captain or commanding officer dreaded. Of course, procrastinating was not going to help anyone.

"Computer. Have all critical materiel requirements had appropriate requisitions filed?"

The computer whirred for only a moment before replying. "Affirmative."

"Good. And the requisitions for standard operations?"

"Materials and supply requisitions for standard operating parameters have been filed and logged with Starfleet Materiel Command."

Stevaan nodded knowingly. "Alright then, Computer, clear screens of current data and begin new cross referencing search. Display all Starfleet personnel that are up for, or are eligible for reassignment, within, oh, ten lightyears of this current location. Specialty flag on any files with any variations on the following keywords: determined, adaptable, teamwork, insubordination.

Stevaan knew the kind of people he liked – intelligent, creative, dependable, and a decent stubborn streak. Having the brightest and most book smart crew in the fleet wouldn't help you if no one ever took their own initiative, or stood up for their work. Of course Stevaan also tended to like his stubborn streaks a little broader than most Starfleet captains did.

The computer obediently removed all the files currently on display and began to create a list of Starfleet personnel on screen. The names began to appear at sporadic intervals. A few names would appear all at once, and then it would be several moments before one more appeared, and so on. Stevaan knew that the process would take quite some time to run and compile, even if the Bastion's main computer weren't mostly offline. The thought made him sigh internally as he reached for more ration cubes. Just the other day, he was ready to dig in and work with meticulous attention to detail on his new ship, and after a few months, have her launched and ready for anything. Now, he felt like the work could not be completed fast enough. It felt like the ship, and by some extension himself, had been ambushed, and he was now scrambling to assess the situation and get into the fight. It helped assuage his concerns only slightly that this was a very accurate description for the series of events that had actually transpired to bring him to this moment. But he didn't care how this had come to him. Only that it had, and that he wasn't ready. And therefore he had to catch up. His only concern right now was how to catch up faster.

As the names continued to be listed on his wall monitor, Stevaan turned slightly and spun his desk terminal around to face him. He may have to take what he could get as far as standing crew, but he was going to need a top notch senior staff. And for that, he was willing to pull every string and call in every favor he had. Though, he had to admit to himself, that it would also probably take every bit of pull that Admiral Baasch had as well. He already had a short list of desired persons in mind, not all of whom were Starfleet personnel. And more than one that would undoubtedly raise eyebrows with Command. But Stevaan focused in on the immediate task at hand, which meant covering the critical bases. No matter what he hoped or Darin promised, Stevaan knew that he and his ship would be seeing combat sooner rather than later. This demanded three critical functions that would be core to all future operations - the crew's readiness, ship and equipment performance, and the tactical capability of the two together. Stevaan grinned to himself, as a number of names immediately leapt to the front of his thoughts, and reached out to tap the interface key on his desktop computer interface.

"Computer. Display personnel files, service records, and all associated assignment records for Lieutenant Commander Shaelis Corra, Lieutenant Karlya Uton, and Commander Timothy Magrath."

The computer chimed and processed the request, but halted suddenly and displayed a Starfleet Security logo, along with a string of text that Stevaan recognized on sight as a standard warning of security protocols. The computer alerted him verbally shortly after the image appeared.

"Attention. Classified documents and files are associated with the request as stated. Access to certain files are restricted."

"Computer. Access all associated files. Authorization; Daar Stevaan, six-one-zero-two, foxtrot-sierra, three-seven. Display results to main wall station."

The computer chirped momentarily, and then began to display the requested information on his wall monitor, automatically creating three columns of scrolling data, one for each named individual. Stevaan only gave the streaming information a cursory glance, since he was fairly familiar with all three of them. Corra was one of the best biologists and biochemists that he knew of, though he found himself hard pressed to think of any others that he had ever met. More importantly, she was the best doctor he had ever come across, with the added bonus of experience in field medicine. Karlya was an old friend, a young woman that he had mentored in his younger days as a starship engineer. He had kept abreast of her career when he could, and was pleased to see that what he had not known about was even better. The list of commendations for creative engineering solutions had grown considerably since he had last checked on her, causing him to grin, and make a mental note to ask her about them all when he next had the chance. Stevaan paused a moment to look over some of the information scrolling up Commander Magrath's column. Stevaan had only met the man in passing, but knew much of him by reputation. Stevaan whistled softly to himself as a list of engagements that Magrath had played a role in scrolled by. To the best that his memory could recall, it seemed the young man had managed to put himself into practically every Borg engagement in the last fifteen years. A record anyone in Starfleet could respect.

Stevaan nodded thoughtfully as he turned back to his desk interface. The three officers now on his wall monitor accounted for the core of starship operations, and assured him that the Bastion would be ready for any situation, make it through any fight, and be able to be ready for the next emergency in short order. But that still left him with some more specialized roles still needing filled. Not to mention someone that could keep everything running together smoothly. Several names filled his thoughts, but there was one that stood out. Stevaan gave a soft sigh as a sense of reluctance suddenly filled him. He reached off to the side of his desk, and not feeling anything, looked over to see that he had finished off the unappealing ration pack entirely. Taking a deep breath he sat up straight and began accessing the ship's communication network.

A few adjustments later, and he sat back as his signal was bounced into subspace. As he waited, he looked at the display of ship's time again. It was very late. Or extremely early, depending on how you looked at it. He had no idea what time it was locally to where he was calling, though he hoped it was not the middle of the night. A minute later the display on his screen flashed momentarily to show a greenish colored logo he did not recognize. The logo promptly disappeared, and was replaced by the face of a Romulan woman that he had not seen in a long time.

Her jet black hair shined gently in the lighting of the room she occupied, falling in waves past her shoulders, brushed back and clipped in place in such a way that only allowed a hint of the points of her ears to show through. The angles of her cheekbones and the soft hint of the ridge across her brow caused soft shadows about her face that leant a look of mysteriousness and temptation. The woman on screen began talking before fully turning her attention to the call.

"You've reached Virinat Aquifer Processing, how can I…"

The woman's words trailed off as her gaze met his. Stevaan could feel the back of his throat begin to tighten as he saw the sense of recognition and realization dawning in her deep black eyes. Several variations of greetings and salutations raced through his mind, but he couldn't decide or focus. The woman raised an eyebrow as her delicate lips pulled into a tight line, the look on her face shifting smoothly from one of recognition to one of mild disdain, and Stevaan's mouth went dry.

"Hello Stevaan. I must admit that I am surprised to see you. I was under the impression that you had forgotten how to operate a comms system."

Stevaan tried to smile, but he knew the look directed at him all too well, and any hopes of an amicable conversation withered.