(( USS Khitomer — Captain’s Office ))
The pneumatic doors slid open with their characteristic
‘woosh’ and Chief Mori, his new Aide stepped in and bowed. Nekkar was sooo glad to have him to keep things going so he could do his best to ‘handle’ Starfleet and their ‘requests’ for this report or that scrap of useless information. He passed on what they wanted, but he made sure he did not get so bogged down in the minutia that he lost sight of what was REALLY important.
“My Captain,” said the Japanese with a low bow.
“There is a new crewman, an Engineer.”
Devon smiled, “That’s good news, considering the job we have on our hands. Send him in.”
His Aide left with a bow, but never turned his back toward
Nekkar. It was considered less than polite. He ‘backed out’ of the office.
Devon made a mental note to ask him to relax. He doubts his words would have any effect on the Japanse non-comm, but he could at least try. In many ways, his Aide was a throwback to an ancient time on Earth, when Samurai pledged their lives into the service of their lord, or Daimyo. His ‘clan,’ the Mori-clan, was one of the most ancient in Japan. At one point the head of their clan even had a chance of becoming Shogun. Now, centuries later, his Aide still had much in common with the men who wore kimonos and sandals half a millennia ago.
Daarak noted the route indicated and quickly made his way to
the turbo-lift.
“Welcome”, said Nekkar as he rose to meet the new
man. Nekkar liked the way he stood, his ‘bearing.’ He was Acamarian, and sported a scar on his right cheek. The scar did not bother him. The man had been bloodied. That, in itself, was a rite of passage in his culture. Devon
reached out and shook his hand. His grip was firm. “Please, grab something from the replicator and sit…it will give me a chance to read through the PADD.”
(Response from JORAL:)
“Aye Sir,” responded Daarak, stiffly. “Thank you.”
He crossed to the replicator and punched up a double shot of
espresso. The tiny cup of steaming beverage appeared and Darrak lifted it from the replicator, pinching the cup handle with a thumb and forefinger that was far too large to pass through the minute loop of ceramic.
He raised the scalding hot brew to his lips, the rich coffee
aroma curled off the black liquid in wisps of steam. Daarak had discovered the beverage during an all night study group at the academy. A Medical upperclassman had pointed out that he could get a bigger caffeine jolt from regular coffee but there was something about the tingle that espresso left on
his tongue that kept Darrak coming back for more.
The Engineer turned carefully and returned to the Co’s desk
and sat in the vacant chair.
Nekkar sat and did quickly scan over his new Engineer’s
personnel file. By the time he sat back down, Devon had some basic idea about who he was sitting across from. He still had several questions for the man, though. He took a sip of his coffee and began.
“Again . . . welcome,” said Devon from his heart.
He needed good officers, and he needed them to stay. He had been granting requests for transfers, which he did not have to do, but, he wanted people working there who WANTED to be there. That, of course, led him to the question he had asked almost every new, incoming officer. “Let me start with a question I’ve asked all my new officers. Did you ask for this assignment or did they send you here?”
(Response from JORAL:)
Daraak smiled and steadied the cup on his right knee. “A
little of both sir,” he replied. “I asked for a position that would give me an engineering challenge while letting me get to know more about deep space vessels and habitats. Starfleet Personnel tagged on my experience at cobbling
together systems and equipment from different sources and cultures, mixed in my inexperience with top-of-the-line Starfleet technology like this,” he gestured with his free hand, indicating the Galaxy class vessel in which they sat. “and promptly cut me a set of orders to report here.”
“I know Starfleet has the right to send officers, especially NEW officers wherever they want, but, . . . . I’m trying to assemble a team that wants to be here,” began Nekkar. “This base and our current ’situation’ is without precedent. Therefore, I’m trying to build a team of men and women who understand the significance of this moment, this opportunity.
The spaceport is, . . . a wreck, . . . but it is getting better every day and new families are coming in, every day. We have a rather ‘daunting task’ of putting her in working order.”
(Response from JORAL:)
Daarak nodded, “You ain’t kidding, Sir.” He replied. “I had
some time to study the Station schematics on the trip out. The structural damage alone could keep a battalion of engineers occupied for months and the power grid leaks like a sieve. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had communications problems with that amount of ambient RF”.
“Of course,” said Devon with a laugh and a quick
sip of coffee. “If this was any ‘ordinary’ Federation base, we would have an army of Federation worker-bees welding new plating on and sealing the gaping holes you have no doubt seen . . . but this is not a Federation base at all. As you know, we’re in Ferengi space. Therefore, the Federation is ‘reluctant’ to invest billions of credits necessary to rebuild it. That brings us to the Ferengi, but, . . . . I’m sure you are aware of how the Ferengi want everything and everyone to be financially viable on its own. They practice a very harsh
financial Darwinism. If something can’t pay for itself, . . . it deserves to die. They were, no doubt, counting on the Federation rebuilding it for them. That is NOT happening.”
(Response from JORAL:)
“I’m sure the station residents will be eager to know how to
patch it up for themselves.” Said Daarak. “But I doubt they will be able to domuch without our backing.”
“Oddly enough,” said Devon with a hand motion to
the large viewport showing the distant spaceport, “we are making a go of it. We have a Fereng ‘Business Manager’ who is billing all ships that dock, and there have been other opportunities to earn enough to supply credits necessary
for raw materials. We’ve also employed a lot of civilians to help withrepairs.”
(Response from JORAL:)
Daarak thought back to his years on the Joral outstations
and the not so occasional near disasters. The situations always gave them terrific motivation to pull together and get things safely back in order. “It is always gratifying to see how people can pull together when they have to.” hesaid.
“What are our priorities for the spaceport?”
Devon held up his hand to count off the main issues on his
fingers, “One, . . Security. We’re NOT arming this spaceport for the Ferengi, nor are we leaving it defenseless. We are building a series of defensive turrets, . .. We can come back to them in a minute. Two, . . . the computer system. We’re NOT loading classified files of any kind anywhere on that spaceport.
I had them put in the largest ’stand-alone’ computer they
could and then had them attach a back-up power supply. It is both prepared for transport, and protected from un-authorized transport. I’m told we can beam it out or blow it up with no trouble at all. Three, . . . repairs. We ARE going to repair this place. That was part of the deal with the Ferengi, and, we’re going to put her right. Those three will be your main concerns . . . in that order.
Security is #1. Repairs will not slow the construction and deployment of the defensive turrets.”
(Response from JORAL:)
Daraak nodded, “Security first, Aye sir. Is there a tactical
threat to the area?”
Devon smiled. The man didn’t know. He broke the news without any ’sugar-coating’ as the Human say, “The Breen. You see, the ‘demage’ you see was caused by an all-out attack by the Breen 25 years ago. The Ferengi spaceport was doing a good job of protecting shipping in the area . . . . and
that cut into the Breen’s piracy, so, they attacked and killed or carried off every man, woman and child except for a few ‘lucky’ survivors.
We know the Breen are in the area, based on attacks on a
ship filled with a new, feline race. To be blunt, . . . it is only a matter of time before the Breen come back and attack again. While the Khitomer is here, I’m not worried, . . . but we can’t stay in orbit around this spaceport forever. Sooner or later, a ship will call and we’re going to have to weigh the risk to this spaceport against the lives of the people on a distant ship.”
(Response from JORAL:)
“So we have to make sure there will be a spaceport to come
back to.” Daarak scratched the back of his head thoughtfully as he leaned back in the chair. His body relaxed a bit from the stiff pose it held while his mind raced through the implications of what he’s just heard.
Devon looked at the PADD again, checking the man’s Security
clearance. “What I’m going to tell you is HIGHLY classified. The lives of thousand of people depend on my officers NOT letting this information out into the general public . . . . Presently, the vast majority of the defensive turrets you see in orbit are ‘dummies.’ They are hallow shells with just enough hardware to generate a shield against prying eyes.”
(Response from JORAL:)
Daarak’s eyes widened in surprise, “Dummies?” he said in
surprise. “Why not just deploy one of standard defensive solutions that Starfleet tactical are always bragging about?”
“Simple,” said Devon without any shame or embarrasment, “we didn’t have the photon torpodo launchers, or phaser
arrays, or even SENSOR arrays to build real ones . . . . so we put dummies out there in orbit. With their shield generators operational, they cannot be scanned. We installed some hardware to effectively ‘block’ them from scans.
Now, . . . FINALLY . . . we’ve started putting together some REAL defense turrets. They go out and we bring the dummies back to be ’serviced.’ No one but our Engineering officers and Security officers knows about the dummy turrets. If word got out . . . . the Breen would be here the second we sail away. So . .. keep that under wraps as the Humans say.”
(Response from JORAL:)
“Humans do seem to have a saying for every occasion don’t
they”, said Daarak. “That must have been what the Tri-cobalt torpedo charges were for. I wondered why they were sneaked in on a Ferengi freighter. We probably only need thirty percent of the turrets to be active if the threat is a few Breen pirates. By the time they mass a decent fighting force we’ll have this place safe enough to bring a Bajoran grandmother.”
I’m glad you’re up to the challenge, Ensign,” said Nekkar, happy to hear an officer with such confidence.
(Response from JORAL:)
“It’ll be a tough job but a doable one Sir,” replied Daarak.
“I’d better get at it. Who should I report to?”
“Your CO is Lt.Commander Maximoff . . . . ” said Nekkar but kept rolling with the bad news, “who is ‘missing’ at the
moment. We’ve got Security teams out searching for him. This should be a reminder to all of us that the spaceport was pretty much abandonded for 25 years. Now, we’re rebuilding it. There is no telling what dangers are over there, . . . so be careful.”
(Response from JORAL:)
“Then I’d better get over there and take a look for myself,
Sir.” Responded Daarak.
“Yes, . . . ” said Nekkar, again, impressed,
“please do beam over and have a look around. You’ll have an office there, as well an office here on the ship. You’ll have quarters there . . . and on the ship as well. In short . . . you’ll have two homes.” Nekkar stood and extended his hand, “Welcome aboard.”
Daarak took the CO’s hand and shook it. “Thank you sir.”
The door wooshed closed as he left.
