DO NOT CONTACT FOR ART COMMISSIONS-you just get blocked.

Star Trek – "AGEE 1-17"

Hello Everyone:

I write for the love of it….if you like the story or have comments or questions, just let me know. Your thoughts are greatly appreciated.

Cooper :)

CHAPTER 1

"Captain on the bridge."

The announcement was made the second James T. Kirk stepped onto the bridge of the starship Enterprise. The words never failed to send a tingle of pleasure up his spine and he straightened subconsciously.

Four long strides and he was sitting in the captain's chair in the center of the bridge. On the main screen, an old Convoy Class merchant vessel was spinning slowly on an invisible axis. Near the aft of the gourd-shaped ship was a ragged hole where a propulsion port used to be. A single light flashed weakly along one side of an otherwise dark ship.

"Status report."

Lieutenant Uhura turned in her chair to face him, one hand cupping a silver earpiece as she listened to a message only she could hear.

"Distress call, Captain," she said, frowning slightly in concentration. "The message was recorded thirty-seven days ago and placed on a loop. There was an explosion on their engineering deck—stabilization, gravity, and propulsion units no longer functional. Life support barely operational." Uhura's almond shaped eyes rested on Kirk as she concluded softly. "No response to our hails as of yet, Sir."

The captain nodded. "Keep trying, Lieutenant. Spock," he continued, swiveling in his chair to face the science station. "Any life readings?"

The lanky form of his science officer was still bent over the viewer, a blue band of light framing his eyes and flared eyebrows as he slowly twisted a dial on the control board. With the slightest purse of his lips that might, from a human perspective, mean frustration, he stood. "Unclear, Captain. Radiation leaks from the destroyed propulsion unit are interfering with life scans. However, decks two and three, including a loading bay on deck five, remain pressurized."

The captain's hazel eyes drifted back to the dark, spinning ship on the main screen. Pressurized areas meant there was still a possibility of survivors, but without life scans a physical search would have to be made.

Kirk bit back on a grimace. One of his first space competency tests at Star Fleet Academy had involved a simulated rescue on a ship with malfunctioning stabilizers and full gravity grid failure. He'd learned the hard way, along with his unfortunate teammates, that it was best if Jim Kirk didn't eat before space walking. To this day, the sight of Nagelli noodles still made him queasy.

"Do we have any information on what she was last commissioned to transport?" he asked Spock. "I don't want to beam over there to find cracked canisters of Delton mining corrosives."

"Current contents unknown," Spock replied evenly before raising an eyebrow and adding, "However, the Gyrating Ginny was listed as stolen two point four months ago from a repair facility on Avos IV where it was scheduled to have a faulty propulsion connector replaced. As of that date, the holds were empty."

Ensign Chekov snorted softly from the tactical station. "Wery stupid to steal a wessel in need of repairs," he muttered, his voice thick with both a Russian accent and scorn.

Kirk heard the comment. "That may be true, Mr. Chekov, but thieves don't have to be particularly smart to be dangerous."

Pavel Chekov shot an embarrassed look over his shoulder, surprised that he had been caught mumbling to himself. "Aye, Sir," he said sheepishly before staring at his station displays and ignoring the smirk Sulu sent his way.

Kirk smiled at the navigator's back. Chekov had been on the Enterprise nearly four years and, in some ways, still seemed as young as he did when he'd first arrived. For that, Kirk was glad. He liked to believe that his crew escaped the sometimes jaded views that often infected senior officers.

"Mr. Chekov, relay the ship's diagram to my datapad," Kirk said. "I want to know every nook and cranny aboard that ship."

"Yes, Sir!" Chekov said eagerly, clearly pleased to be given a task.

"Sir," Uhura called out. "Mr. Scott has a Damage Control Team ready on your order."

"Tell him to remain on standby till the ship's secure," Kirk replied, then recalling which security officers were up next on the mission roster, added, "Have Security Officers Tomo and Smith meet me in the Transporter Room in five minutes—phasers and grav-boots." That said, Kirk leaned on an elbow as he flicked the toggle on the command chair that gave him direct communication with Sick Bay. "Captain to Sick Bay."

There was a pause and then, "McCoy here."

"Bones! Just the man I wanted to talk to," Kirk said, unable to keep the glee from his voice or the grin from his face. If he wasn't looking forward to the task at hand, his Chief Medical Officer was going to downright hate it. What was the old saying? Misery loves company? "Looks like we might have a medical situation on our hands, Doctor, so—"

The southern drawl that cut him off was thick with sarcasm. "Oh? You mean the 'situation' that's currently spinning out of control with possible fugitives on board?"

Kirk's mouth fell open and he narrowed his eyes at the small speaker. How the hell did McCoy already know about the Ginny? Looking back, he was a little surprised that the doctor wasn't already on the bridge. His visits were always surprisingly well-timed.

Suspiciously so.

"Yeah," Kirk said dryly. "That one. Transporter Room in five, McCoy, and don't forget your grav-boots." He flicked the toggle before McCoy could respond and glanced around the bridge.

Which one? He thought. Which one was McCoy's rat?