Star Trek:
Crusade
Chapter one:
Stardate 53417.3 Earth Calendar year 2377
Captain Martin Snyder stood proudly at the large windows of the commander's office overlooking the spacedock section of the Utopia Planitia starship repair facility on Mars. All around him buzzed the continuous activity of intense starship maintenance, and his three hundred and sixty degree window gave a spectacular view of it all. All around him, starships were constantly entering the facility, or leaving it. The actions were all done at slow impulse speeds, thanks to the ban of warp travel within a solar system, so the Captain could get a beautiful look at every ship as they traveled.
He marveled at the gracefully aging Excelsior-class vessels, behemoths in their day, but only lightweights compared to some of Starfleet's most recent designs. Snyder stared in awe as a super-massive Galaxy-class ship lumbered out of one of the station's larger docks just to his right. Those ships were always an impressive sight to behold, even after seeing at least one docked here every day ever since the first one was built. The most marvelous thing about the Galaxy line was that, while admittedly huge, they never gave any sense of foreboding or fear when you saw one. They always seemed to radiate peace and exploration, the two ideals the Federation lived by.
Four small ships left their collective docks and began a series of long, slow, and lazy maneuvers obviously intended to test some new or redesigned engine system. The ships were of the newer Saber-class, small and nimble, but extremely affective in times of war. He remembered when the prototype was built at that very dock. There were few civilian news anchors present at that time, considering the overall military application of the Saber in general. After years of constant war either with the Borg, the Dominion, or the Romulans, the people of the Federation were getting a little tired of it.
Fortunately, it had been two years since the last shots were fired in the horrible Dominion war. It had been a blissful two years of peace and prosperity. Even the Romulans were slowly becoming friendlier toward the Federation. Though some, Snyder included, still held the shadowy doubt that the Romulan overtures were merely a precursor to some new treachery. The alliance with the Klingon Empire had never been stronger, and new planets were being brought into the Federation nearly every month.
At least, that's what the public believed.
Snyder, like all Starfleet and high-ranking Federation members, knew that, although this was a time of unparalleled peace, the effects of the war years still lingered on the Federation like a stagnating malignancy. Planets were still in desperate need of food and medical supplies, some were without power, and still others were completely lost to the Federation, as if they never existed. Snyder knew that the Federation Starfleet still had done nothing for these planets, in favor of programs dedicated to the rebuilding of the tattered fleet, and the restoring of those "core" worlds hardest hit by the war, Earth included. Billions of man-hours and uncounted resources were being used every day to help restore the image of the Federation and its Starfleet, and not a single ounce of it was being directed to those "lost worlds".
Snyder inwardly sighed at that fact. So many resources being diverted to simple cosmetic problems. It seemed to him like if it wasn't Earth or Vulcan, and you weren't on a ship with an NCC registration, you didn't exist in Starfleet's eyes. Whenever he thought about that, it always seemed to dull the majesty he felt when he overlooked the operations of his base.
Snyder noticed that the Sabers had completed their maneuvers and were heading back to their docks, which was his cue to go back to work. Ship supply requisitions and personnel transfer requests didn't read and approve themselves, you know. The captain had long ago set up a routine of watching a few ships come and go, do a little work, go back to the ships, and then work again until the day ended. It helped to keep him relaxed and stress-free, a luxury not many other station commanders could afford. Snyder set himself up in the most comfortable position his desk chair could afford him, and began picking at the half-meter high stack of padds on his desk.
Upon reading the fifth request for twenty self-sealing stem bolt containers to docks one through nine, Snyder's desk comm. began to beep a low, but incessant sound meant to get his attention and make sure he stopped it as soon as possible. He kept a finger on his stopping point, to make sure he didn't have to go through the entire document again, and looked up. He dropped the padd when he saw the file being displayed. He had to stare at the screen for what seemed like an eternity before it finally registered what he was actually seeing. It was just one simple sentence, but one he would possibly never forget. It stated simply:
Captain Martin Snyder, service number 087-551A, has been hereby relieved of the duty of Master of Operations at Utopia Planitia, and has been hereby reassigned the duty of captain of U.S.S. Ulysses, NCC 74944, effective immediately.
Snyder neatly composed himself and tried to get back to work, but it was no use. All he wanted to do was whoop with unrestrained joy. He had waited practically his entire career for this moment. Ever since he graduated from the academy, he always was assigned the jobs most others would avoid like radioactive waste. Either the door operator at the giant starbase orbiting Earth, the maintenance supervisor aboard the U.S.S. Gorgon, or now most recently, commander of a ship repair facility. It seemed to Snyder that Starfleet just wanted Snyder as far away from starship command as possible. At least, until now.
Just as Snyder was feeling his most euphoric, his comm. beeped once again. This time, he didn't hesitate to answer.
"Captain Martin Snyder of the Federation starship Ulysses reporting." Snyder inwardly smiled at how official that title sounded.
The image of Rear Admiral Shuraz, an aging Andorian, filled the screen. His constantly indignant expression was the stuff of legend. It was rumored that in the early days of his career, Shuraz had simply stared down a group of Romulan battle cruisers, forcing them to flee without a shot being fired. Unfortunately, for the observant person, that always-mad expression could be easily seen for the act it really was. It was common knowledge that an Andorian's antennae always revealed their mood, no matter how hard they tried to control them. The antenna had basically three different "moods": upright and alert for any of the positive emotions, rapidly twitching for agitation and nervousness, and straight back for outright angry.
And unfortunately for Shuraz, that bit of knowledge always made his gruff attitude seem even hollower than it really was. Snyder could clearly see the older Andorian's blue stalks standing straight up.
"Don't get too excited, Captain. You're not the first to be granted command of a starship."
Snyder's smile withered at that comment.
"Admiral Shuraz, you always had a knack for bursting ego bubbles when they were at their most delicate."
"And believe me, that is a talent I am very proud of."
"So, my good Admiral, what brings you to contact my lowly station?"
The Admiral looked down for a moment, possibly reading some document or statement. He looked back up after only a moment.
"Captain Martin Snyder, as you already know, you are now in command of one of the newest Starfleet vessels. It is the opinion of the Admiralty that you have displayed the necessary talents and skills required for starship command duty. Due to the extenuating circumstances regarding the mission, you will be allowed to select your entire command crew on your own, we will not assign one for you."
"Wait a minute, "extenuating circumstances"? Are you implying that this is a secret mission?"
"Incorrect, captain. In fact, this mission will probably be the most publicized since the Voyager mission just a few months ago."
"May I ask what this mission entails, then?"
"As you know, Starfleet has spent the greater part of these last two years rebuilding only the core Federation worlds, effectively ignoring the plights of the others, the so-called "lost worlds", especially the ones on the extreme borders."
"You mean."
"Yes, Captain. Starfleet finally has enough manpower and resources to initiate a project dedicated to reestablishing contact with worlds either lost or overlooked during the conflicts with the Dominion. This will be officially known as Operation: Recover, and will entail the constant vigilance of a small fleet of ships. Your secondary objective is to resupply those worlds desperately in need of assistance. You will extend every olive branch available to make sure the people know the Federation still cares."
Snyder couldn't believe his ears. After so long in desperation of those lost worlds, their salvation was finally on its way, and he was to be part of the team that would be responsible!
The Admiral continued, "Your ship will arrive at dock twelve at your station in approximately seventy-two hours. You will be expected to be ready to leave as soon as it arrives. You will begin crew assignment as soon as possible. A list of available candidates will be sent to your office aboard the Ulysses per your arrival. Admiral Shuraz out." With that, the blue-skinned Admiral's image winked away, leaving Snyder's screen once again black.
It wasn't long before the immediate need to whoop in glee came over Snyder once again. And if it wasn't for the stack of padds still on his desk, he would have.
Crusade
Chapter one:
Stardate 53417.3 Earth Calendar year 2377
Captain Martin Snyder stood proudly at the large windows of the commander's office overlooking the spacedock section of the Utopia Planitia starship repair facility on Mars. All around him buzzed the continuous activity of intense starship maintenance, and his three hundred and sixty degree window gave a spectacular view of it all. All around him, starships were constantly entering the facility, or leaving it. The actions were all done at slow impulse speeds, thanks to the ban of warp travel within a solar system, so the Captain could get a beautiful look at every ship as they traveled.
He marveled at the gracefully aging Excelsior-class vessels, behemoths in their day, but only lightweights compared to some of Starfleet's most recent designs. Snyder stared in awe as a super-massive Galaxy-class ship lumbered out of one of the station's larger docks just to his right. Those ships were always an impressive sight to behold, even after seeing at least one docked here every day ever since the first one was built. The most marvelous thing about the Galaxy line was that, while admittedly huge, they never gave any sense of foreboding or fear when you saw one. They always seemed to radiate peace and exploration, the two ideals the Federation lived by.
Four small ships left their collective docks and began a series of long, slow, and lazy maneuvers obviously intended to test some new or redesigned engine system. The ships were of the newer Saber-class, small and nimble, but extremely affective in times of war. He remembered when the prototype was built at that very dock. There were few civilian news anchors present at that time, considering the overall military application of the Saber in general. After years of constant war either with the Borg, the Dominion, or the Romulans, the people of the Federation were getting a little tired of it.
Fortunately, it had been two years since the last shots were fired in the horrible Dominion war. It had been a blissful two years of peace and prosperity. Even the Romulans were slowly becoming friendlier toward the Federation. Though some, Snyder included, still held the shadowy doubt that the Romulan overtures were merely a precursor to some new treachery. The alliance with the Klingon Empire had never been stronger, and new planets were being brought into the Federation nearly every month.
At least, that's what the public believed.
Snyder, like all Starfleet and high-ranking Federation members, knew that, although this was a time of unparalleled peace, the effects of the war years still lingered on the Federation like a stagnating malignancy. Planets were still in desperate need of food and medical supplies, some were without power, and still others were completely lost to the Federation, as if they never existed. Snyder knew that the Federation Starfleet still had done nothing for these planets, in favor of programs dedicated to the rebuilding of the tattered fleet, and the restoring of those "core" worlds hardest hit by the war, Earth included. Billions of man-hours and uncounted resources were being used every day to help restore the image of the Federation and its Starfleet, and not a single ounce of it was being directed to those "lost worlds".
Snyder inwardly sighed at that fact. So many resources being diverted to simple cosmetic problems. It seemed to him like if it wasn't Earth or Vulcan, and you weren't on a ship with an NCC registration, you didn't exist in Starfleet's eyes. Whenever he thought about that, it always seemed to dull the majesty he felt when he overlooked the operations of his base.
Snyder noticed that the Sabers had completed their maneuvers and were heading back to their docks, which was his cue to go back to work. Ship supply requisitions and personnel transfer requests didn't read and approve themselves, you know. The captain had long ago set up a routine of watching a few ships come and go, do a little work, go back to the ships, and then work again until the day ended. It helped to keep him relaxed and stress-free, a luxury not many other station commanders could afford. Snyder set himself up in the most comfortable position his desk chair could afford him, and began picking at the half-meter high stack of padds on his desk.
Upon reading the fifth request for twenty self-sealing stem bolt containers to docks one through nine, Snyder's desk comm. began to beep a low, but incessant sound meant to get his attention and make sure he stopped it as soon as possible. He kept a finger on his stopping point, to make sure he didn't have to go through the entire document again, and looked up. He dropped the padd when he saw the file being displayed. He had to stare at the screen for what seemed like an eternity before it finally registered what he was actually seeing. It was just one simple sentence, but one he would possibly never forget. It stated simply:
Captain Martin Snyder, service number 087-551A, has been hereby relieved of the duty of Master of Operations at Utopia Planitia, and has been hereby reassigned the duty of captain of U.S.S. Ulysses, NCC 74944, effective immediately.
Snyder neatly composed himself and tried to get back to work, but it was no use. All he wanted to do was whoop with unrestrained joy. He had waited practically his entire career for this moment. Ever since he graduated from the academy, he always was assigned the jobs most others would avoid like radioactive waste. Either the door operator at the giant starbase orbiting Earth, the maintenance supervisor aboard the U.S.S. Gorgon, or now most recently, commander of a ship repair facility. It seemed to Snyder that Starfleet just wanted Snyder as far away from starship command as possible. At least, until now.
Just as Snyder was feeling his most euphoric, his comm. beeped once again. This time, he didn't hesitate to answer.
"Captain Martin Snyder of the Federation starship Ulysses reporting." Snyder inwardly smiled at how official that title sounded.
The image of Rear Admiral Shuraz, an aging Andorian, filled the screen. His constantly indignant expression was the stuff of legend. It was rumored that in the early days of his career, Shuraz had simply stared down a group of Romulan battle cruisers, forcing them to flee without a shot being fired. Unfortunately, for the observant person, that always-mad expression could be easily seen for the act it really was. It was common knowledge that an Andorian's antennae always revealed their mood, no matter how hard they tried to control them. The antenna had basically three different "moods": upright and alert for any of the positive emotions, rapidly twitching for agitation and nervousness, and straight back for outright angry.
And unfortunately for Shuraz, that bit of knowledge always made his gruff attitude seem even hollower than it really was. Snyder could clearly see the older Andorian's blue stalks standing straight up.
"Don't get too excited, Captain. You're not the first to be granted command of a starship."
Snyder's smile withered at that comment.
"Admiral Shuraz, you always had a knack for bursting ego bubbles when they were at their most delicate."
"And believe me, that is a talent I am very proud of."
"So, my good Admiral, what brings you to contact my lowly station?"
The Admiral looked down for a moment, possibly reading some document or statement. He looked back up after only a moment.
"Captain Martin Snyder, as you already know, you are now in command of one of the newest Starfleet vessels. It is the opinion of the Admiralty that you have displayed the necessary talents and skills required for starship command duty. Due to the extenuating circumstances regarding the mission, you will be allowed to select your entire command crew on your own, we will not assign one for you."
"Wait a minute, "extenuating circumstances"? Are you implying that this is a secret mission?"
"Incorrect, captain. In fact, this mission will probably be the most publicized since the Voyager mission just a few months ago."
"May I ask what this mission entails, then?"
"As you know, Starfleet has spent the greater part of these last two years rebuilding only the core Federation worlds, effectively ignoring the plights of the others, the so-called "lost worlds", especially the ones on the extreme borders."
"You mean."
"Yes, Captain. Starfleet finally has enough manpower and resources to initiate a project dedicated to reestablishing contact with worlds either lost or overlooked during the conflicts with the Dominion. This will be officially known as Operation: Recover, and will entail the constant vigilance of a small fleet of ships. Your secondary objective is to resupply those worlds desperately in need of assistance. You will extend every olive branch available to make sure the people know the Federation still cares."
Snyder couldn't believe his ears. After so long in desperation of those lost worlds, their salvation was finally on its way, and he was to be part of the team that would be responsible!
The Admiral continued, "Your ship will arrive at dock twelve at your station in approximately seventy-two hours. You will be expected to be ready to leave as soon as it arrives. You will begin crew assignment as soon as possible. A list of available candidates will be sent to your office aboard the Ulysses per your arrival. Admiral Shuraz out." With that, the blue-skinned Admiral's image winked away, leaving Snyder's screen once again black.
It wasn't long before the immediate need to whoop in glee came over Snyder once again. And if it wasn't for the stack of padds still on his desk, he would have.