Star Trek: Suicide Run
Chapter 1
Admiral Sesok sat behind his desk, staring silently out his office window. It was a terrible thing; to deliberately ruin the career of a man and virtually sentence him to death. It was a desperate, callous move, one that he disagreed with to the depths of his soul. But Sesok had been overruled by the Council. They thought the plan to be a necessary one. A diversion to cover the tracks of the real operation. Two ships with the same directive; one expected to succeed, the other, never intended to.
Silently, he noted the document on his PADD, and started the plan in motion. Instead of being reprimanded and demoted, one arguably unstable Starfleet commander was promoted, put in charge of a ship, and given a mission. Commander-cum-Captain Lestan Darkraven would be in command of the recommissioned Excelsior class ship "Star Tiger." His crew would be composed of the worst dregs that Starfleet had to offer. Every "implacable," every "intractable," every "malcontent" that they could break loose from their current assignment. That meant several would have to be released from the stockades.
Working the opposite end of the assignment would be the Galaxy class vessel "Iliad," crewed by the best and the brightest and commanded by a seasoned veteran of the Federation/Cardasian conflict; one Andrew Gavrilov. If any Captain and crew could beat the odds of crossing Cardassian space and coming back, it would be Gavrilov. The Star Tiger would be a calculated sacrifice, for the greater good. They would be sent in along a supposedly secret, preplanned course, the information would be leaked to the Cardassian government. The enemy fleet would move to intercept and destroy the invading Federation vessel, leaving the actual path open for the Iliad and her crew. Star Tiger and her crew would be annihilated, Starfleet would disavow any knowledge of the operation, saying it was a renegade vessel commanded and crewed by criminals, they would bring forth the records of those individuals and the case would be closed. They would forever be remembered as traitors. There could never be any official acknowledgement of the diversionary measure. The general populace would never understand. Sesok wasn't sure he understood it himself.
He perused some more of the text from his PADD. The second in command of the Star Tiger would be... the Admiral stopped and reread the text. He couldn't believe it. Marius West was to be the second in command. He leaned back in his chair. This assignment was getting more distasteful by the moment. Marius and Sesok had graduated from the Academy together. Throughout their careers, they had served together many times. They had both made Admiral within months of each other. Then, had come the scandal. His best friend had been accused of blatantly disregarding the Prime Directive. He had interfered with an internal conflict of a developing civilization in the Derillion Sector. He had been busted from Admiral back to commander and placed in charge of a backwater space station, guarding the butt end of the Federation. Now, someone had decided to erase him altogether. Along with the rest of the dregs. Whatever Marius might be guilty of, Sesok knew he didn't deserve the kind of death he was being handed. Then again, the same could be said for the rest of the crew of the Star Tiger.
Emotionlessly, he signed off on the transfer papers. Again, he brought up the text on the ship, and studied it, shaking his head. He had tried to convince the council that it was foolish to send their operative out in a vessel so obviously outdated. The Star Tiger had been the original test model of the Excelsior class of ship. She had been sitting in dry-dock, all but forgotten for almost a hundred years. Her qualification for the job had been; when they tried a cold start routine on the engines, Star Tiger had been the only ship in the graveyard that had come on line. Several Ambassador class vessels had been passed over and a Nebula class. Besides, the council said, they didn't want the sacrifices to put up too much resistance. Better they thought, to end it quickly when it happened.
Admiral Armin Sesok finished his work and wearily, shut off the PADD. Looking out the window again, he whispered to himself.
"And may god have mercy on all our souls."
Lieutenant Commander Galen O'Mara stood in the center of the floor in Warp Engineering, looking in disbelief at the object of his miserable luck. First model TransWarp engines. A great experiment that had failed miserably. To actually work, the TransWarp system had to be constantly monitored and tinkered with. Starfleet had quickly abandoned the project as hopeless, stripped the two other Excelsior class vessels of the drive and pushed the Star Tiger into mothballs for future reference. Now, the antiquated ship and all her myriad idiosyncrasies were his headache. Idly, he wandered over to one of the massive control consoles for the TransWarp drive and started tinkering. That's what Galen was, more than anything else, a great tinkerer. It was also why he was shuffled from base to base, ship to ship. He didn't believe that the Starfleet Technical manual was the ultimate end all and be all of engineering. If he knew a better way, he used it. Unfortunately, his commanding officers didn't agree with his rather loose interpretation of the rules. In fact, most downright frowned on Galen. So he had been transferred, and transferred, and so on, until he ended up on the Star Tiger. In Engineering on an antique, that he was expected to have up and running within days. Oh well, at least he would be able to do things his way; after all how much farther down could they send him?
The shuttle Aquarian pulled up along side the Star Tiger and cruised by, heading for the flight deck. Smartly, the little craft whipped around and into the hangar. A few Ensigns were present, finishing the installation of the one way force shield that allowed the shuttle deck to remain open to space. Even this piece was a hand-me-down from another decommissioned ship. The Aquarian landed gently and the door swung open. Commander Marius West stepped out, and looked around. He half snorted in disgust, half looked around in reminiscence. The Excelsior class had been the first vessel type he had been assigned to right out of the Academy. That had been over fifty years ago, and the ship design had been considered obsolete then. Somewhere, someone was really getting back at him. That was fine. He was more than willing to pay the price for what was considered to be his "mistake." He had saved thousands of lives on Sergod 2 in the Derillion sector, and to him, that was more important than his rank. If Starfleet didn't feel the same, well then, they should.
An Ensign, walking up to the shuttle to attach monitoring and refueling cables, noticed the rank pips on the old man's collar. He eyed the pips, and manipulated his jaw slowly, as if trying to make a decision. Finally, he came to one. He stood up straight (after finishing his task) and roared...
"Officer on deck!"
The other crew members moving in a lackluster manner about their tasks, stopped and stared at the new arrival. None made the move to salute the officer. West raised one eyebrow and looked in ruffled amusement at his crew.
"At ease, everyone. Go about your duties." He turned and looked at the man who had announced his presence.
"Ensign...?"
The individual approached the commander and stopped, looking steadily in the old man's eye.
"Grave, Commander."
"Thank you Ensign Grave. Have any other of the command personnel passed through here on your shift?"
"No. Other than Lieutenant Commander O'Mara, you're the first one aboard." the man said tonelessly. Marius looked keenly at the man before him. He was a bit old to be of such low rank.
"What's your crime, that you got sent here?" the Commander asked, nonchalantly.
The other shrugged.
"I like to fight. I decked a few officers in the Klingon Fleet. They busted me and put me in the stockade. I got five years hard labor. A week ago, I'm released and assigned here."
The old man contemplated the Ensign's story. It sounded familiar. Too much so.
"Well, I trust you'll keep your antagonistic tendencies under wraps?"
"Do my best Commander West."
The older man was surprised that the sullen looking individual before him even knew his name. He nodded politely and moved past him toward the corridor.
"Commander!"
West turned and looked back.
"Damn fine thing you did on Sergod 2. We all heard about it in the stockade. Good to be serving under you." the man smiled slightly and nodded.
The Commander smiled back and turned back to the open door. Now, to the bridge.
Lestan Darkraven was a man of questionable genetic history. His accent was tinted of French. His hair was uncharacteristically long (for an officer) and very blonde. He stood about six foot and two inches tall and was very muscular. His eyes were of an intense blue, that seemed almost to change with his mood. His medical history was considered classified. A scholar, with more than a passing interest in the occult, he seemed to come alive at night. Darkraven had entered Starfleet later than most, registering his age as twenty-four. He was apparently independently wealthy, though nobody could actually say how much he was worth. Promotions seemed to come quickly for him (also rumored to be connected to his wealth, and where he spread it liberally), until an incident that stopped his career advancement in it's tracks.
As a Commander, serving aboard the Federation diplomatic vessel "Sarek", he had been assigned to escort and guard the soon to be married daughter of an Ardanan ambassador. She was to be married to the son of the ambassador from Merak. Such a bond was to insure a working link between the agricultural world of Merak and the mining world of Ardan. One problem; the daughter couldn't stand her groom to be. The young woman couldn't reconcile herself to being the object in a deal. She begged and pleaded with the young Starfleet Commander to allow her to escape, and not be entrapped in a life of which she wanted no part. Lestan turned his back and never looked, as the ambassador's daughter took flight. While no one could actually prove that it was deliberate dereliction of duty, the higher echelon of Starfleet insured that Commander Darkraven would never advance beyond that rank; irregardless of his monetary situation.
Captain Lestan Darkraven looked upon his promotion and subsequent command assignment with more than a bit of trepidation. He knew what he had done and knew those who in the Fleet had blackballed him. When he suddenly found himself promoted, those individuals who had been against him, had seemingly done a 180 and where now in his corner. Then he found that the Star Tiger was a recommissioned ship, of a class antiquated almost sixty years before. More than that, it was the original prototype of that class. Quietly, through non-regulation channels, he checked the background of the crew being assigned to his command. More trouble. He soon realized that his promotion was more a part of his punishment, than any sort of a reward.
The private, D-Warp shuttle "Maharet" approached the Star Tiger and swung itself into position for landing. Lestan brought the craft in expertly, parking next to the "Aquarian". He looked about the interior of the bay, before disembarking. Several crewmen were moving about, completing various tasks. Quickly, he swiveled his flight chair about, and made for the door. The air on the Star Tiger seemed to be stale in comparison to that of his shuttle. He noticed a few of the crew staring at his ship. He smiled to himself. It wasn't everyday one saw a DeVass Concepts Mark IX. There were only a handful of them operating in the Galaxy. They were owned by the mega-rich or planetary governments. Considered to be the absolute top of the line in luxury, personal interstellar transport, they were unbelievable expensive. Lestan owned two. The second, "Point-du-Lac", was being delivered.
The Ensigns nearest him and the shuttle quickly noticed his pips and stood at attention. He smiled and waved them to relax.
"Ensign." he smiled at a woman standing closer than the rest.
"Yes, Captain?"
"Please see to my shuttle, will you? Refueling, servicing, and the like."
"Yes Sir."
Quickly, he turned and headed out the door and towards the bridge.
Lieutenant Commander Lia Stronn walked down the corridor towards the turbolift. Hurrying from an intersecting hall, Marius West nearly bowled the slightly built, Deltan woman over.
"Terribly sorry Lieutenant..." the old man stopped and looked in disbelief at the face of the woman he was helping to her feet.
"That's quite alright, Admiral West." she replied, her voice soft and musical.
"Commander now." West replied, catching his breath, "Pardon me Lieutenant, but am I incorrect, or weren't you barred from serving as a counselor in Starfleet?"
"You should know, Commander," the woman shrugged and smiled, "after all, you presided at the hearings. I do appreciate the fact that you did vote in favor of dropping all charges."
The elder laughed, and took the young woman's arm, guiding her into the turbo lift.
"It seemed a matter of semantics, at the time. Yes, you did break regulation by sleeping with several of your patients, but not one of them would testify against you. Several even went so far as to purger themselves in your behalf. I'm just sorry I was overruled in the matter."
"Quite alright. I've been reinstated and placed on the Star Tiger as Ship's Counselor."
"Really? Well, I don't know weather to congratulate you or not."
"Why?"
"Because, someone, somewhere is going to a lot of trouble to reassign quite a few "undesirables" to this command. It almost looks like the Fleet is cleaning house."
"Pardon me, Commander, I don't know weather I should be insulted or not," the woman grinned, "being described as an undesirable.'"
"Bridge." West said, as the doors swished shut. "Our Captain has been blackballed as well. I checked. Still have a few friends in the upper echelon." he chuckled.
The beautiful, bald woman frowned. "Then you suspect... what?"
"I don't know." the other replied, shaking his head.
Dr. Jane Franken looked about her sickbay, and ground her teeth in frustration. The equipment was hopelessly outdated. She could never continue her experiments here, let alone minister to the patients she was supposed to keep in good health. She went to her desk and sat. Staring mutely for a moment at her terminal, she finally puzzled out how the antiquated piece of junk worked.
"Computer."
Working. the flat, toneless voice said.
"Have any command personnel reported in yet?"
Captain Darkraven and Commander West have just arrived.
"Good." the woman sighed, "Let me speak to the Captain."
Captain Darkraven is unavailable at this time.
"Unavailable? Why?"
He is currently between decks, attempting to track a malfunction in bridge control.
The gray haired woman raised an eyebrow and smirked. Lestan always had been an officer who liked to get dirty. It was a pleasant change of pace.
"Very well. Please notify him that Dr. Franken would like to speak with him at his earliest convenience."
Understood.
The powerfully built reptilian, Lieutenant Tzardoz, strode down the corridor, looking neither right nor left. He was well aware of the frightening picture he painted, moving quite a bit faster than the normal native of Gornar. The Star Tiger's Chief of Security was one of a handful of his people who had opted to join Starfleet, rather than their own people's space service. Tzardoz stood just over seven feet, a good height for one of his people, and was particularly fluent in the Federation Standard that all Starfleet personnel were required to know. The Gorn was the perfect security officer; driven, calculating, logical to a fault. His problem had been his apparent inability (or lack of willingness) to assimilate more fully into Starfleet social life. Being one of the first and few of his people in the Fleet, he had been subject to numerous party invitations as a representative of his race. Tzardoz had angered many of his superiors by consistently refusing any contact with these "Glory grabbing beaurocrats" as he had termed them. As such, the members of his race who were better at assimilating, or "kissing up," as one of his few friends called it, had advanced, while he had been assigned to backwater stations, research vessels, any duty which provided little opportunity for advancement, and less for mental stimulation. It was at one of these postings that he had met Dr. Jane Franken. In a quiet discussion in sickbay, he expressed his misgivings about his own fighting and defensive abilities. Though his people were exceptionally intelligent, their brains did not devote much room for the motor nervous system. Was there anything the Doctor could give him to help increase his reaction time? Quietly, Dr. Franken had explained that normal Starfleet Medical knowledge had nothing that could help him on a consistent basis. There were certain chemicals that could increase his reaction time over the short duration, but with certain undesirable side effects. However, would he consider an experimental treatment? She had been working on a chemical that could resequence DNA, and quite possibly she could adapt it to force his underdeveloped motor centers to grow. Having nothing to lose and being quite frankly bored, he had agreed. Within a month, his reaction times had increased a hundred fold. He was now just slightly faster than the average human. This made him vastly more dangerous.
Calmly he ducked to enter the turbolift, and was surprised when a short, dark haired female zipped into the lift with him. Taking every precaution not to frighten her, Tzardoz stood still, in the farthest corner and waited till she faced him. Then he spoke.
"Bridge."
The tiny woman appeared to be of human Oriental stock, as he understood such things. She was smiling up warmly at him and didn't look to be the least uncomfortable. The Gorn was immediately nervous.
"Hi! I'm Ensign Kilo Tedesco, Ops." she put out a hand.
Tzardoz nodded gravely, and accepted the gesture. His hand seemed to swallow her own in its depths.
"Lieutenant Tzardoz. Security."
"You're a Gorn, aren't you?" the woman asked, still beaming brightly.
"Yes."
"I thought so. It's one of the reasons I joined Starfleet. I mean, to meet alien races such as yours."
"I joined Starfleet because my own people wouldn't accept me." The giant reptile replied stonily.
"Why not?"
"They said I was too pacifistic."
The doors to the bridge swung open, and the two new crewmen walked out, straight into a chaotic scene. Part of the deck plating had been lifted and a pair of legs were waving in the air, the upper half of the body seemed to be trapped. Several of the bridge personnel were heaving frantically at the legs, trying to lift the individual out of whatever trap they had gotten themselves into. Kiko scampered down from the upper landing and over to the group of struggling humans.
"Are you alright in there?" she asked nervously, peering down into the hole, but unable to see any more of the trapped crewman.
"I am fine, Mademoiselle. Pardon, but could you please ask the people tugging on me to let go?"
"Everybody back off!" the little woman bellowed. Almost instantly, the area around the trapped person cleared.
"Now," said the disembodied voice, "would you please be so kind as to call Engineering and get a crew up here to cut me out of this mess?"
"That will be unnecessary, Ensign." Tzardoz rumbled.
"Excuse me, whomever you are, but you are not the one trapped between decks! I would like to get out of here!" the disembodied voice called, now sounding slightly annoyed.
"Relax your muscles. Become as limp as you can." the Gorn said, taking hold of both of the trapped individual's legs.
"Very well," the voice sighed, " but the rest of the crew has tried this already. I sincerely doubt..." Tzardoz heaved, and with a slight pop, Lestan Darkraven came lose from his predicament.
"Thank you very much!" the captain smiled, looking up at the Gorn, "Lets see... you would be Security Chief Tzardoz, no?"
Stunned, the reptilian officer lowered his Captain to the floor, and waited for him to rise.
"Yes Sir."
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Lestan Darkraven, Captain of the Star Tiger. Welcome aboard." the man grinned, offering his hand. Tzardoz took it, and immediately noted that the man's flesh was cooler than his own. Normally, this meant death in human beings, but the man before him seemed anything but dead.
"Thank you Sir." Tzardoz replied, releasing the Captain's hand.
"I think that completes our command personnel, does it not? I would like to schedule a staff meeting as soon as possible. We have much to discuss, as I'm sure you might guess."
The Gorn guessed nothing, except this was another backwater, nowhere posting for him. But he was determined to do his best, regardless of the situation.
Lieutenant Selon looked coldly at her quarters. They were, to her, cramped and inadequate for her needs. But what better was she to expect, on an antiquated tub of a starship. Her combadge beeped, breaking the Vulcan woman out of her dark musings.
"Selon here."
"Lieutenant, this is Captain Darkraven. Please report to
Conference room One in twenty minutes."
"Understood. Selon out."
The Vulcan woman turned and sullenly began to unpack her belongings. He could wait til she was damned good and ready to report to him. He sounded like another dandy; all romance and no work. She might not have chosen to completely follow the path of her people, but in that one aspect, he would find her as cold if not moreso, than all the rest. That and her extreme good looks had combined to make her life in the Fleet just short of hell. She had been shuttled from place to place, at each, rejecting the advances of her commanding officers. Selon expected this assignment to be no different.
It took her almost twenty five minutes to finish unpacking, at which time her comm badge beeped again.
"Selon here."
"Lieutenant," came the Captain's voice, "we are waiting on you." there was a hint of coaxing amusement in the man's voice. It took all she could do to keep from grinding her teeth.
"Understood. Selon out."
Steeling herself for the dressing down she knew she was headed for, the Vulcan woman walked stiffly from her quarters and to the turbolift. Five minutes later, she was standing before the doors of the conference hall. She stepped forward, and the doors slid open to admit her.
"Ah, Lieutenant Selon, so glad you could make it. Please, have a seat."
The Science Officer was momentarily taken aback by the blond, blue eyed human's easy manner.
"I'd like to introduce the rest of our little family; Commander Marius West," she looked at the old man, sitting just to the right of the Captain. Much too old to be a mere Commander. Almost mandatory retirement age.
"Lieutenant Commander Galen O'Mara, Chief Engineer," a dreamy eyed man, perhaps in his early thirties. Probably one to watch out for, if the Irish reputation was to be taken into account.
"Doctor Jane Franken, ship's physician," An older woman, early fifties, perhaps. Hair graying, expression severe.
"Lieutenant Tzardoz, Chief Security Officer,"
A Gorn! Now that in itself was surprising.
"Lieutenant Commander Lia Stronn, Ship's Counselor." A Deltan female! Even more surprising. And one reputed to make a practice of sleeping with her patients; man or woman. She settled into her seat, an ironic smile on her face. This might actually be an interesting assignment, if the Captain didn't transfer her out the first time she rejected him.
"Well people, it goes like this; we are here for a purpose. I have as yet to be informed of it, other than the fact that we are to get this ship into battle readiness in less than a month." Darkraven began.
Down the table, Chief O'Mara groaned quietly.
"I've been given carte blanche to do as I see fit in getting this vessel and her crew as ready as I may for whatever they decide to throw in our laps. So, to that end, I've taken the liberty of supplementing our operating budget with some of my own money. I wanted to inform you, and the other department heads, to make up your wish lists. I'll be assigning a special task force to work on filling them."
Marius West smirked.
"Pardon... Captain, but I don't think that's what Starfleet Command intends for us."
"Mr. West, please elaborate."
"I've been doing some checking. Do you know that each and every member of your new crew' has had some sort of disciplinary problem? Without exception, every person on board this ship has been reprimanded, busted in rank, thrown in the brig, and in some cases actually spent time in penal colonies. In other words, just about every undesirable in Starfleet is on this ship." the old man leaned forward, a keen glint in his green eyes. "What does that suggest to you?"
Darkraven digested this information for a moment. He knew that he had acquired a high percentage of problem' cases, but had not been quite aware of the extent of the infiltration.
"It sounds like we're going to be a prison ship."
"Not likely." Dr. Franken snorted. "Some of those penal colonies make hell look like a family vacation spot."
"You said we were definitely put here for a purpose." the Gorn rumbled, "Have you any idea what that might be?"
"Beyond the job of readying this ship, I have none." the blond man said grimly.
Marius West chuckled.
"Well, we'll find out soon enough, I expect. Why don't we just concentrate on the immediate problem; getting this ship moving."
"Agreed. Mr. O'Mara, do you have a preliminary report for us?" the Captain asked.
The Chief Engineer leaned back and sighed.
"All I can tell you is what you pretty much already know. This was a prototype ship. In fact, a lot of the stuff on board never made it into the final version of the Excelsior class vessel. We've got Transwarp engines, an experimental defense shielding system, some obscene form of phaser that I have no doubt is non-functional, and the photon torpedo setup is strictly laughable."
"And the good news...?" the Captain asked expectantly.
O'Mara looked at him blankly.
"That was the good news."
"Then I guess we have our work cut out for us."
The little group of command personnel grumbled and nodded.
"Mr. Tzardoz?"
"Yes, Captain?" the Gorn sat up straight.
"I would like you to start reviewing the personnel records of our new crew."
"Yes Sir. What in particular am I looking for?"
"A black marketeer." the Captain sat back in his seat, fingers steepled in front of the evil smile on his handsome face.
Thomas Grave was quietly building his still, between the inner and out hulls of the Star Tiger, just near the juncture of the saucer and primary hull sections. So intent upon his labors, in the dark, cool area, that he did not hear the approach of the intruder until it was far too late.
"Ensign Grave?"
Thomas Grave, black marketeer, bootlegger and general hell raiser nearly jumped out of his skin. Sighing, he turned to face his punishment. Then, he looked at the unnaturally large set of boots on the floor. Then up, up... up, into the face of... a species that he had only heard of. He swallowed very hard.
"I'm being sent back to the stockade, ain't I?"
"Not to my knowledge." the monster before him replied. The being cast a casual glance over the Ensign's shoulder at the mass of plastic tubing and illegal heat generators. "The Captain wants to see you. Sent me to find you when we realized you had taken off your combadge."
"Ah. Any idea why?" the human asked, beginning to wrap up his little structure. If the Gorn didn't ask, he wasn't about to tell.
"I believe he needs your apparent expertise in... acquisition."
Grave stopped in his tracks.
"Uh, he wants me to... liberate some stuff for him?"
"You'll have to ask him. He's waiting on us now." The alien said, moving to the side to allow the smaller man to precede him.
"Ah, okay. Say," he stopped suddenly and turned to his escort, "How'd you find me without my combadge. I didn't think internal sensors could monitor down here."
"They can't. I tracked you by scent. By the way, your... aftershave is most overpowering." the big creature seemed to shudder slightly.
"Thanks. Got it on special discount from..." he petered off realizing he was talking to a security officer. Not the best person to be chatting with about your day to day illegal activities. Grave opened the lock between decks, and crawled out into a storage room. Quickly, he got up and turned to see how the giant reptile was going to get out through the exceedingly small portal.
Tzardoz seemed to contract on himself, to visibly grow thinner and he slithered through the hatch. The Gorn got to his feet just as quickly as the human had. He stood there, teeth glinting in the dull light.
"Shall we proceed?" he gestured towards the storage room door.
Armin Sesok looked sternly out the forward viewport, as his shuttle approached the Star Tiger. The ship was a swarming mass of activity outside, with dozens of people in EV suits crawling across her outer hull, making adjustments and replacing running lights. To this point, the Admiral's main problem had been keeping the ship a secret within the fleet. All supplies and service for the ship had been drawn off of secret emergency stores that had been laid aside years before. Nothing was coming through main channels. Besides the Counsel, and the Captain of the Iliad, no one else in Starfleet knew of the existence of this ship and crew.
"Sir, shall I do a flyby, before putting us in to dock?" asked the shuttle pilot, an edgy man by the name of Barclay.
"Certainly, Commander. I haven't seen one of these old birds in years. You know, the Excelsior class was my first vessel. I was an Ensign, in Engineering." the old man mused, as the shuttle began a long, slow pass of the ancient starship.
"Indeed, Admiral? I've long admired the design."
"Yes, a sturdy vessel, if not as beautifully streamlined as those of today." he sighed, lovingly, staring dreamy eyed at the ship.
"I think she has a lot of personality over the newer Fleet ships." the Commander said chattily, "I wouldn't mind serving aboard her."
The Admiral's dreamy expression went cold.
"No, Commander Barclay, I don't think you want to do that. Not at all..."
The two men fell silent as the shuttle finished its journey and swung around into the shuttle bay. They landed bumpily next to two luxury class D-Warp shuttles. Barclay stared wide eyed at the phenomenally expensive vehicles. Sesok barely spared them a glance. He was already familiar with Darkraven's ostentatious attitude about his wealth.
"Come along, Commander. They aren't expecting us, but I don't want that to make us later than we have to be."
"Yes Sir." the other man said, finishing the final shutdown of the little ships' engines. He spun around and hurried out the door after his commanding officer.
The crew which was working in the bay, looked particularly scruffy to Barclay. There were many instances of non-regulation uniform changes and hair or beard growth. It seemed that the Captain of the Star Tiger was running a pretty loose operation. Either that, or they were so involved with the actual task of readying the ship, that he was deliberately overlooking such things for the interim. He saw the Admiral standing in front of an old-style intership communication unit. The older man appeared to be digesting the view and trying to remember just how the device worked. Before Barclay could offer help, the Admiral reached out and touched the device.
"Admiral Sesok to Captain Darkraven."
There was silence for several moments before anyone answered. Then, it was a female voice.
"Um, Admiral? This is Lieutenant Commander Stronn. The Captain is unavailable at this moment, is there anything I can help you with?"
"Yes, Commander, I want to speak to Darkraven. Whenever he becomes available, please send him to conference room one."
"Very well Admiral."
"Oh, and one more thing, Commander." the older man said, almost sheepishly.
"Yes?"
"Where is conference room one?"
"You want me to get all of this stuff. In less than a month."
"Yes, Ensign Grave, yes I do." Lestan Darkraven said, a ghost of a smile playing about his face. The two men sat in the Captain's cabin, the junior officer swilling occasionally from a glass of ancient Scotch that his senior had given him. Not only was Scotch his preferred drink, but this was the best brand that had ever passed through his lips. But Thomas Grave never let good booze interfere with business negotiations. He took a deep breath, feeling the burn of the drink, then he continued.
"Sir, I'm good. In fact I'm probably one of the best at what I do in the Fleet. But I got caught. There's maybe only three other men who could come close to my hustle."
"They're probably on board." the Captain interrupted.
Grave paused.
"Well, that would certainly be helpful." he hesitated.
"Requisition whomever you need. I'll have the lists downloaded to your PADD. I don't care how or where you get the equipment, just do it." the blonde man said, with a flash of a smile.
"Y'know, Captain, some of this stuff is going to be beaucoup expensive. Not to mention the danger involved dealing with the Ferengi and Romulans."
"Ensign Grave, money is no object. I intend to refit this vessel pretty much out of my own pocket. Starfleet is up to something. And I intend to be more ready than they apparently wish us to be." he replied, standing. The junior office stood also, and handed the Captain back his glass.
"Damn fine hooch, Sir."
Darkraven grinned.
"There's plenty more, and better where than came from, Thomas. now, if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment."
"Certainly Sir. I'll get right on this. Expect the first shipment in by the end of this week." Grave snapped off a salute and sauntered out of the Captain's quarters. The tall, blond man relaxed and sighed. Quietly, he turned and made his way into the bedroom. There, he went to the wall, where a personal replicator had been installed. This was the only such device on the ship, and operated independently of the ship's computer. It was totally self contained.
"Type AB negative. 98 point six degrees Fahrenheit." he said quietly. There was a flash, and a fluted glass appeared on the little ledge. The Captain of the Star Tiger reached down and picked it up. He swirled it slowly, like a fine wine, and admired the bouquet. Then he downed the red liquid in a quick slug.
"There. Now, on to the Admiral." He smiled, and placed the glass back on the little ledge for recycling.
Calmly, he wiped his mouth and walked out the door. In moments, he had passed through the corridors and up several levels to the conference room area. Inside the room, were Admiral Armin Sesok and another man, whom he didn't know. Luckily enough, they were facing away from him.
"Admiral, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?" he said quietly, startling the both of them.
"Captain Darkraven! I... I didn't hear the doors. Ah no matter. Not paying attention," the older man said. The other officer, a Commander, looked intently at the mysterious officer. He hadn't heard the doors either. And he had been paying attention.
"Welcome to the Star Tiger, Sir. I had know you were coming I would have arranged something." the smiling man said, moving into the room, hand extended.
"That was part of the plan, Captain." Sesok said, rising to accept the handshake. "No one in the Fleet, excepting for a select few like Commander Barclay here, knows about your current assignment."
"Ah, which is...?"
Sesok smiled grimly. This man was much too likable. He abhorred lying to him in this base fashion.
"You're going to be taking this ship into Cardassian space, on a secret mission. Backup will be provided for you by Captain Gavrilov and the Iliad."
Lestan sat down at the table quietly, and frowned. "Wouldn't it make more sense to use us for backup, Sir? I mean, this ship is an antique, and we're having a devil of a time requisitioning parts. It's almost as if we're not intended to have a working vessel."
Sesok tensed internally.
"Nonsense. I'll try and speed things up a bit for you. That's all I can do for right now. You'll receive more specifics right before you're to leave. I'm being forced to play Starfleet's hand rather close to the chest on this one. The Cardassians appear to have eyes everywhere."
"I sincerely hope this is a non-combat situation for us, Sir. The Star Tiger isn't outfitted to take on a D-Warp shuttle, let alone a Cardassian cruiser."
"I don't think you'll have to worry about that Captain. You're just a backup, and you're supposed to be an unobtrusive one at that. That's why the Excelsior class vessel. The enemy is familiar with our Fleet designs and specs. They know as well as we do how outmoded this ship is. They won't be frightened by it, and we think they'll ignore you entirely in favor of the Iliad." the older man said, blatantly lying. Inside, he felt
truly nauseous for what he was doing.
"Very well, Admiral. I'll await my clarification orders then,"
Darkraven said, standing and smiling stiffly.
"Good. We'll be contacting you shortly then. Commander?"
Barclay stood and followed the Admiral. He stopped briefly in front of the Captain.
"Good luck, Lestat."
"That's Lestan, Commander Barclay." the other said, a frigid smile on his features.
"Of course." Barclay smiled, nodded and walked out the noisily hissing door.
"Bloody hell." the blond man said mildly. Even his OWN kind ALWAYS confused him with that nit-wit.