USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50303.09 - 50303.15 |
[OOC: Takes place immediately after "A Brief Discussion About Women".]
Ensign Faraal walked casually down the corridor, making adjustments to the holo-simulation he was writing on the PADD in his hand. His mind was wandering. To nowhere in particualr, but wandering none the less. He didn't even see the Lieutenant burst out of engineering. They collided, Elijah dropping the PADD, and the Leutenant landing hard on the deck.
"Dammit, Ensign" swore the Lieutenant, "Watch where the hell you're going!"
"Yessir, forgive me sir." Stammered Ensign Faraal, as he held out his hand.
Ignoring the ensign's proffered hand, Savoie pulled himself up. Forgetting this incident for the moment and recalling the one he just left, regarded the ensign crossly.
"Let me ask you something," he said, pointing a finger at Faraal. "If you were to buy stringy pajamas for a woman, would you expect her to wear them, Ensign . . . Ensign . . . what the hell's your name?"
"Excuse me, sir?" Ensign Faraal's puzzled gaze went from the Lieutenant's face to the finger pointed at his chest. "Uhh, Ensign Elijah Faraal, Assistant Flight Control Officer, sir," he stammered again.
His expression suddenly shifting from a frown to a scowl, Savoie started at him some more. "Oh, so you're Faraal? Well, Ensign, I'm your department chief, Jeremy Savoie. Where are you headed?" he asked accusingly.
"My shift ended 20 minutes ago sir. I was on my way to ten-forward."
As if it were the least annoying suggestion he'd heard all day, Jeremy curled the corner of his lip thoughfully. "I could use a good drink right now. Come on Ensign, I'm buying," Savoie said grudgingly as he started down the corridor toward the turbolift.
"Yessir. Pleased to finally make your accquaintance" replied Elijah with a smile, picking up the PADD and following after the Lieutenant.
"You served on the Sovereign, huh?" Jeremy asked after a few moments of thick silence on the turbolift, his tone a bit less hostile. He wouldn't admit it to the lower-ranking officer, but he was pretty curious about what piloting that ship was like.
The bridge was a mess, and only got worse with each passing second. There were already casulties scattered over the deck, with more being added every minute. Curtis franitcally worked his console, trying desperately to compensate for the loss of shields and weapons. It was really useless however, the shield generator was out, it was up to engineering to fix that problem.
Not that the shields would be much help at this point. They had already been boarded, and the ship was a burning wreck. Given the current odds, Curtis wasn't banking on getting out of this one.
Then, a small glimmer of hope lit up his console.
"Sir! Engineering reports shield generators back online!" Curtis observed.
"It's a little LATE don't you think Lieutenant??" thundered Bhrode. "Transfer...."
"Transfering all available power to the shields, aye sir." Curtis spouted off. One step ahead.
Bhrode cracked a wry smile. MUCH better.
**********
The Galaxy was being held together by nothing but a prayer. Orion's prowled the decks, energy weapons pounded the hull, and in transporter room 2, yet another passenger was comming aboard.
In a swirl of light and atoms, Harry Mudd and seven of his look-alike women androids (rather breath-taking, by humaoid standards at least) materialized on the transporter pad.
"Imagine the nerve!" Mudd began, a bit flustered. "Granting me assylum and then not beaming me aboard! You would think they didn't want me here. Ah well, we're here now."
The crewman manning the transporter station, who up until now had been too worried about the attack to notice anything, suddenly looked up at Mudd.
"Hey! What are you doing here?" the crewman demanded.
"My good sir! I was INVITED here by your Captain, who is aparrently a rather rude fellow. I had to beam myself aboard! Some people!" Mudd said.
"But you can't be here! The ship is under attack, it's not...."
A large energy beam slammed into the ship, shaking the deckplates and causing a large chunk of ceiling to crash down upon the transporter crewman in mid-sentence. The crewman was rendered instantly uncouncious.
"Oh my!" Mudd exclaimed, "How horrible! Young man? Are you alright?"
Just then, a damage control team entered the room. The team leader, a Terran ensign with an unfortunate confrontation phobia, looked toward the rubble and then to Mudd.
"What...what happend here??"
"That young man needs help immediately!" Mudd pointed as several team members scrambled to the site, "As for me, I MUST see your captain at once. Please take my lady friends here to the quarters I no doubt have waiting for me. Could you point me in the direction of the bridge?"
The ensign, taking a moment to process what was just said, stammered "But..but...you can't just...WALK on to the bridge! It...it's not allowed! You can't...can't...."
"Oh never mind!" Mudd huffed, "I'm sure I can find it myself!"
Mudd turned to the androids, "I won't be long my dears, just have to attend to some business."
With that, he exited the room to the sounds of Ensign Confidence's continued objections.
***
"Transfering all available power to the shields, aye sir!" Lt. Geluf said.
"Get my weapons back! We're sitting ducks here!" barked Bhrode.
The ship rocked and buckled under the stress of the continued pummeling. Officers frantically moved from one station to another, checking consoles and running orders. In other words, it was the worst possible time that Mudd could have stepped on to the bridge.
Harry, unnoticed by the extreemly busy crew, surveyed the action before him, bringing his eyes to rest on the captain's chair.
"Captain! Captain! Excuse me, are you busy? Could I have a moment?" Mudd called out.
"Who the hell is...." Bhrode began, turning around. Only to find the one person he didn't need in his mind at the moment....
OOC - Takes place before all the pirates
were caught by Corgan and crew.
The turbolift was in sight, Cutter could not have been more than 20 feet away from it. He was wearing an open vest, loose shorts and a pair of spats on his feet. A strip of white cloth was tied around his head and left arm, their ties hanging long and loose from their knots. Perfect clothes for flying, clothes that would flap in the wind and let the breeze tease his skin. He grasped an isolinear chip in his right hand, containing a holodeck program purchased from Crom some days ago. It was a fantasy landscape, containing a variety of natural land and water features, with 'the occasional extra surprise,' as Crom put it, whatever that meant.
But, it was not meant to be. Twenty feet away and the red alert klaxons went off. The lights in the hall dimmed and filled with crimson light. Moments later the ship rocked with weapons fire. Bhrode had apparently pissed off some foreign species, his arrogance and temper ruining a situation that could have most likely been solved with tactful diplomacy, or at least that's what first popped into Cutter's head. He sighed and began to return to his quarters, where he would stay until the crisis was solved.
The door to his quarters opened as he approached, but he was shoved inside onto the ground. "Ist! Ka!" he exclaimed upon landing. Cutter rolled onto his side to see who had shoved him. There was an orange skinned humanoid in his quarters, rummaging through the belongings on Cutter's desk, an Orion.
"Ey, what are you doing?" Cutter called, sitting up.
The Orion paid no attention to him. He was busy placing PADDs and Cutter's possessions into some sort of back pack. "Ka," Cutter sighed, rising to his feet, "Computer, alert security."
Again, the Orion looter paid him no attention, except to speed up his grabbing and stuffing. "Ey! Not those," Cutter cried out as the Orion open his desk drawer and pulled out the box of holoprograms he had bought from Crom, "I just bought those." He dashed across the room towards the pirate, but he was not caught unawares.
The Orion turned suddenly as Cutter approached and let his fist fly. He struck Cutter on the side of his jaw, redirecting the Fruna'lin's momentum and causing him to tumble over the coffee table onto his black sofa. "Ah, ist," Cutter moaned, rubbing the throb in his face. The Orion simply laughed and continued his pillaging, stuffing both the box of holoprograms and the silver decorated Starfleet issued container from Cutter's desk drawer into his sack. He then moved onto the shelves that sat next to the desk.
Cutter rose silently from his sofa and creeped towards the Orion. He took the long, white strips that hung from the band around his left arm and stretched them out with his right hand. When he was close enough, he jumped the pirate, quickly wrapping the strap around the Orion's neck and pulled tight. "I'm not a violent man and I'm not a materialistic man, I don't care what you take," Cutter whispered into the Orion's ear, "but, please, put the items you found in my desk drawers back."
The Orion stopped his struggling and held his left arm out in a show of cooperation. Cutter loosened the strap around the pirate's neck in return, small steps. But then, the Orion jabbed his arm backwards, stabbing Cutter in the chest with his elbow. Cutter was knocked backwards, but his left arm was still attached to the Orion's neck. The tension sent Cutter spinning into the wall and the Orion falling backwards.
The wall Cutter fell into was lined with art and artifacts from his home system. One of them, a long pole spear with a blade on one end and a padded hook on the other, a type of weapon that was used on Fruna over 2,000 years ago. The crash into the wall knocked it off his hooks and onto Cutter's lap. He looked up to see the Orion scrambling away on all fours. He paused to lift himself to his feet. Cutter grabbed the weapon and swung it across the floor, grabbing one of the pirates feet with the hook.
The Orion tumbled across the floor once more, but he was quicker to his feet than Cutter was. He turned and grabbed a pistol from his belt and fired once. The blast sent Cutter back to the floor, stunning him unconscious, leaving the Orion to escape without pursuit.
Chad Vicenik
Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Chief of Astrophysics
USS Galaxy
A nice, hot shower after a nice, long run in the holodeck. A nice romp through the hills of New Zealand had made him feel his age and he was eager to wash away the accumulated sweat and get something that was at least attempting to be nutritious in him. But, like most of his plans, this was not to be as the klaxons began to blare. "Another Red Alert accompanied by another battle readiness test," muttered Jack as he wrapped a towel around his waist. His guess that it was all just a training exercise was refuted, however, by violent shaking and an overall sense of wrongness.
Jack was relieved to see his room in order, however. Everything seemed to be were it should be. His uniform was folded neatly in a ball in the corner. A half empty bottle of rotgut was on a table near the replicator. A variety of PADDs were untouched on his small desk. The Orion was snarling at him from across the room. Yes, everything was in order. ~Wait, back up.~ thought Valhoun in a millesecond.
A complex dance between the synapses of his brain began in the shortest of instances. After some debate it was decided that the Orion definately didn't belong. It was also agreed upon that the Orion was probably there to steal something, as that is what pirates generally do. However, action wasn't agreed upon until it was resolved by the various parts of Jack's brain that his liquor collection was likely the only thing of value and the first thing that would be stolen.
The Orion seemed to be in shock at the encounter and, to be sure, the encounter wasn't exactly on Jack's list of things to do that day. Standing with his left hand holding the towel around his body he could only manage, rather lamely, to say, "Uh, stop right there or I will... that is to say you'll be... uhm... Leave now or you'll be... err laid to burnination."
Jack's body sent a memo to Jack's brain: Where were you on that one, genius? Nice word there, pal. Burnination? I suppose that's a form of the verb 'burninate'? Riiight.
Jack dropped his towel to the floor which led the Orion to distraction which led the Orion to a palm to the nose. That, in turn, led the only witness of his loss of vocabulary to fall to the ground. Hard.
He managed to get into his uniform in record time and was pulling on his second boot as the Orion began to regain consciousness. Valhoun stomped on the Orion's head, serving to fully adjust his boot. After tying the intruder up as best he could he was in the corridor trying to make some sense of the insanity.
Phaser fire reverberated through the corridor as he approached the marine's weapons locker. The Orions must have taken the time to do some internal scans and obviously found out where the weapons were. Jack could imagine Orions lifting the Photon torpedoes off their racks and trying to beam them back to their ship.
Although it is impossible to be sure, Jack swore he heard Dalhquist yell at some fleeing Orions, "Stop running you cowards, it takes longer to aim at moving targets!"
It was true that several marines had cut down a number of Orions at the enterence to the weapons cache. A swift thinking corporal tossed Jack a phaser rifle. "Who stationed you men here? Gunney?" He saw their heads nod in unison. It was good thinking of her, as always.
"Good, good. It looks like they've gotten the message. You, you, and you, take some phasers and," Jack paused as security alerts scrolled down a nearby console signalling where help was needed, "arm whoever you can on your way to Deck 24--that's the torpedo magazine. It looks like the Orions are busy in the Saucer section and that Corgan guy has a hardon for getting more help up there."
The marines ran off, phasers in both hands. Security must have their thumbs up their asses if they need marines in the saucer section. Most of the marines would be on this deck in the Stardrive section. Jack wondered how many would volunteer to fight their way to the cargo bays of the saucer section, taking fire and killing Orions all the way as they huffed it through half the ship. Probably all of them.
Everything was screwed. Platoons and squads were all jumbled. Major Log apparently cobbled together a few mixed squads and was sweeping the hot spots as they were reported. He didn't know where Betty was... Jack should have asked Dalhquist before he ran off. Valhoun wondered if Dahlquist could function for long periods of time if seperated from the Gunny. There were a number of marines that seemed to be the personal slaves of the Gunney. Well, they probably aren't afraid of death.
The marine section seemed empty all of a sudden as most of the marines scattered after being ordered to defend other areas of the ship. The Orions were smart and sought easier targets. Security was probably the same way... a brief fight over the arms rooms and then a mass exodus of both Orions and Security personnel.
Jack had turned the small console in the arms room, used mostly to keep track of the weapons held within, into a make-shift command center of sorts. The ships intercom was too busy to effectively monitor the incoming reports and all the firefights and power shortages made it spotty at best. Valhoun smiled as a report of Orions fighting in the fighter bay scrolled across the small screen. Apparently Leftenant Angelenea was working inside the cockpit of her fighter when the Orions took control of the docking controls and began to try and pillage some fighters. Although a bit rash and causing more than a little damage, she fired her phasers at the docking bay doors and spaced a half dozen Orions.
His good mood was short lived, however, as the Orions must have noticed the marines streaming from this deck and put two and two together. If the marines began defending other sections of the ship then it stood to reason that the dozen that had fought off initial attacks were no longer there. Disruptor fire pinned Valhoun into the arms room.
A stream of fire slowed the approach of four or five Orions but Valhoun couldn't get in a good shot. Another marine was pinned down alongside Valhoun. Jack remembered his name as Dyne... a private almost as new as he was.
"Dyne, you alright?"
"Yessir."
"Keep your head down and keep firing... not like we're gonna run out of ammo, right?"
"Yessir."
Private Dyne was a good shot and soon two of the Orions had parts of them missing. The Orions must have had enough of that as the the remaining pirates grabbed their wounded comrades and disappeared in a transporter beam.
"Well, that was interesting. Nice shooting, marine."
"Yessir."
"Not too talkative are we?"
"I'm bad with words, sir. A fact that has landed me in many delicate conundrums, sir."
Jack grinned, "Sure, private, sure... it's sad that you probably get more women than me."
"Yessir."
He was reassured when a group of marines with a number of prisoners appeared. They'd just cleared the deck below and had no idea where to put the handful of Orions that weren't dead or had gotten away.
"Well, I'd suggest putting them in the mess hall but that might be in violation of the Geneva Convention. Today was meat loaf, right?"
"Yeah it was, sir. I wasn't born on Earth and never thought that cow meat was supposed to be that color." Some hitherto unknown (at least by Jack) marine commented.
"It isn't marine, it isn't." Answered Jack as he caught his breath. He began issuing orders once again on the fly. Hoping that it would work out in the end.
Jack was tired. It had been a rough couple of days to say the least. He felt bad that he was going to grab a few hours of sleep while he knew damn well he had marine techs still fixing consoles and grunts cataloguing what could be missing or out of place. He promised himself he'd find a way to repay them for all the bull that they'd gone through. And the casualty reports weren't good. Funerals. More that anyone could handle.
Every marine in command of anything had been up for days after the attack. And he was no exception. The thought of a half decent night of sleep was welcome. What wasn't welcome was a slew of messages begging to be viewed. He sat wearily at his console, content with checking to see if any where truly important and ignoring most, if not all of them.
"Computer, sort messages by importance and rank of sender."
Instantly a dozen messages were rearranged. Jack was relieved that Bhrode's name wasn't on top of the list. Wait. Stop. Rewind. Fleet Captain Bhrode isn't at the top of the list? Jack's brain suddenly became interested.
Jack smiled. A General and a Colonel had left recorded messages. Though that would normally never invoke a smile from Jack this was different. These crazy bastards were family. And, better yet, his family. Messages from Laertes and Dylan Valhoun. Shining stars of the family that had no trouble covering up any blemishes that he had left on the family name.
He was also not surprised to see that, months after retirement, his uncle was still patching into secure military channels to send his day to day transmissions. Jack pitied the first wet-behind-the-ears ensign monitoring a comm relay to restrict Laertes' access. That ensign had better first invest in a healthy supply of boot lubricant.
Jack pressed a key and the image of his uncle flared to life on the small console. It was like staring into a mirror and adding 20 years. The man had a gaunt look about him. Gray, thinning hair didn't help the image. But there was an underlying strength and vitality that could not be denied. The man spoke in a strong, forceful voice that did not hide any emotion.
=============
"How are you Jack? I've been notified that you've accepted your assignment. Thanks for telling your old Uncle about that. Leve an old man to snoop around, will ya? Heh, I knew you had it in you though, boy. You picked yourself up nicely." Laertes was in a rather good mood but quickly turned sour momentarily to add, "But don't muck it up. Else I'll have your ass in a sling, boy." The chastising tone lasted only a second before the old man moved out of the way of the camera to show a wide shot of a beach, ocean waves could be heard in the background.
"Anyway, I'm fine, thank you for asking. Just enjoying retirement. Your father asked me to bartend at his place but he only plays the music that young drunk kids listen to. I'm an old drunk person and I don't need anything that'll hurt my head. I just need peace, quiet, and a beautiful woman or three. Speaking of which, Risa is a jewel. And, better yet, most of the men here are all pushovers. Just 'fleeters and civies trying to find an oh, what did the travel agent say? Oh yes, 'fleeters and civies trying to find an 'adventure.' Can you believe that? If they wanted adventure they shoulda joined the marines." Laertes finished by trailing off into laughter. He always laughed at his own jokes.
"But boy, you be sure and look after your little brother. He may outrank you but he's a damn fine officer. The kind that the 'upper-management' like to keep an eye on. And you know how that can go. Once Generals and, worse, those damn Admirals start tinkering with careers well, bad things happen. Like little puppeteers they are... puppeteers with far too much time on their hands. There are bad eggs in Starfleet, Jack. Maybe there have always been but its been different since the War. People are scared and there are misguided individuals doing misguided things."
The older man laughed, almost discounting his own ideas as the bored theories of a senile man. "Ah, but maybe it's just my imagination. Even so, be careful. Keep your men safe and keep two eyes open. I can't tell you much. And I mean that. Remember Jack, your men and your family are all that matter." With that Laertes raised a shotglass of some orange liquid and drained it before ending the transmission.
=============
Jack sat still for a moment. He mentally ingested all that was said. Usually his uncle was a far more talkative and jocular person. But, as always, Laertes' advice was best taken and used. Jack would have to think about what he meant later, when there was time to think about such things.
He hoped that his brother would have something better to say. Something that would shed a ray or two of hope on things. Jack started the next message. It was text only but the image of his brother instantly flashed through his mind as the information filled the screen. His brother was three years younger than he and looked more like ten years. Dylan was better looking, better skilled, and one of the jewels of Starfleet. A diamond in the rough that may, according to Laertes, be being fought over just who gets to cut that diamond and into what shape.
=============
From: Col. Dylan Valhoun To: Lt. Jack Valhoun
Subject: Congratulations
Leftenant, eh? Not too shabby. I expect that you'll soon be rising up through the ranks the way you were before that 'fleeter decided to play God. I'll try to see you some time. I've been swamped with--get this--paperwork for months. And none of it is interesting. I may be the aide to a Sub-Marshall but I'd rather be a private on a rifle range plugging away at targets.
I exist in a constant movement between Earth and Mars. Always running some errand or being introduced to a new Admiral or General. I swear, for every one that retires two are created. I don't want to be a politician but you wouldn't believe some of the things that carry on.
On a lighter note, can you guess who took home the boxing title this year... again. Me, baby, me! I wish they'd let me in the younger age brackets. I could still teach those new guys a thing or two. Can't wait to go round for round with you again. Who knows? Maybe you'll win. Ahh, sometimes I even crack myself up.
Visited Dad last week. His bar and restaurant are doing well. He's really broadened his horizons since we left home. He's always busy and he even dates. Well, I guess we can't get all the women in the universe.
Once again, as soon as I can pry myself away and you get some down time I'll try to beg, borrow, or steal a shuttle and get out there. Maybe I'll get a friend of Laertes' to authorize one of those requisition forms that got you that damn shuttle for so long and for nothing more than personal use.
Good times, good times.
=============
Jack probably could have guessed the contents of the message before reading it. Dylan was always the pride and joy of some superior officer. There must be, in Jack's opinion, a lot of officers that don't have sons or don't have sons to their liking and insist on taking a younger officer under their wing. It is a trap a lot of people fall into since it is just so tempting. Dylan has probably ate five course meals with Admirals and Generals ever since being stationed on Earth. It must be a good enough job if insanity doesn't set it. Jack couldn't stand not being in the field and he couldn't fathom how Dylan could survive doing paperwork.
Well, it was time to get some sleep. There was sure to be some terrible, life-shattering event going on tomorrow... like always on the Galaxy. At least life wasn't boring.
BackPost. 2 hours before my previous "Rude Awakening."
Klaus sat and strummed his bass. His PADD lay off to the side with it's screen displaying a message. It had been beeping the new Message beep for a while but Klaus finally put the Bass aside and picked it up.
============================================
From Cmdr.(RET.) Misha Volkv. To Lt. j.g. Klaus Fienberg
Hey Dok. I am sorry to say that I am retiring. The Skipper, despite being angry for my recent incompetence, is a little sad too. I know. I'm just an old Russian. It's time to head back to old Smolensk and rejoin my family.
It's unfortunate. You were next in line for seat as the New CMO. Instead some strange young doctor showed up. I really don't like him, and the Skipper usually heed's my warnings. But The Skipper seems to wanna try him out first. He's this young man Named Gunther Engleman. (OOC: At this point, One would see Klaus' jaw drop and him utter "Mein Gott!") He's just strange, and very dark. It's almost like he carries a shadow around him.
I know about your "No Lacy news" Policy, but I thought you should know, She left the crew a matter of days before Engleman arrived. I have no Idea where she went, but as far as I know it was for personal reasons. Most likely she went back to Betazoid. She must have went on extended leave of abscence.
I would have sent a picture of Dr. Engleman, but I didn't have time. Besides, We're in Earth orbit and I have to worry about getting a dog for the grandchildren. Goodbye Gentleman German. I hope to see you again old friend.
Oh, and that nutcase Savage gives his regards.
END MESSAGE
=========================================
This was definitly a different Gunther Engleman. Not that same man whom was killed at DS9.
"I know I saw that man die. I couldn't have gotten to him. The Promenade was infested with enemy troops."
But One thing slipped Klaus' mind. Despite DS9 having been retaken shortly after Gunther's death, a body was never recovered.
And Lacy, why would she suddenly leave the Sturmovik. It was almost as if she knew Gunther was coming. But why?
At the appearance of the dilapidated ship, streaked with laser scores hanging outside his sloped window, the man in black rose from his seat and gazed out the window at it.
The grace of the Galaxy's gunmetal grey hull fell away under him as the decks meshed into the saucer section, running lights blinking in a domino effect as they tumbled after each other around the hull. The edges of the Galaxy registry numbers arched and careened away to the horizon of the vessel, where the new ship hung suspended just beyond the edge.
He reached for his communicator to call the bridge, but thought better of it. This was likely some civilian shuttling service that was in need of assistance and happened to fall in the Galaxy's path, and so he ignored it. If the bridge needed him, they would call.
The Galaxy's Chief Federation Officer eased himself into the plush sofa lining the portals, where he propped his elbow upon the edge of the headrests lining the back of the furniture, and rubbed his beard.
Why was this Henderson so special to the Liaison Corps? What did the Ambassador-General see in the human? There was such turmoil between the politicians and military... comprehension was virtually unattainable.
He rubbed the brisge of his nose and breathed deeply. He needed to meditate.
He opened his eyes and gazed out at the stars. Kelva II was out there. He followed the constellations as best he could, but without training in stellar cartography it was difficult to pinpoint the location of his new home.
Instead, his cool blue eyes fell upon the swirl of the Andromeda Galaxy. Out this far, the milky swirl of his real home was much more clearer and more easily seen by the naked eye.
That planet was now dead, according to the calculations of their best scientists. Exiled. These humans had offered them the hand of friendship and a new home. Their repayment will be salvation from their chaotic descent into extinction. The Kelvans would help them along their evolution into something superior to what they are. They would mould these Federation types into Kelvan society.
They would plant the seed and spread their tentacles out beyond. Politics is where most integrated Kelvans had taken the path, as that is where the power lay. The Federation and Starfleet were fearful of the Kelvans in the fleet, so their presence was minute. They were instead assigned to non-militaristic positions due to their inability to recognize inferior lifeforms as their superiors.
So this is where Curran's path had taken him. He'd been inserted into Starfleet via the Liaison Corps with no need to recognize Starfleet as authority, but the temper the fleet's power and resilience in the Hawk/Dove movements. His race had been majorly involved in the Federation political aspect and needed to control the Starfleet in some regard.
He rose from his position of solitude on the veloured sofa and it came to him that this Henderson was indeed the power behind this vessel. He was the Chief Tactical Officer and a key personnel figure that needed to be bent to his will.
As he gathered his reports of the key officers on this ship into his arms, he packed them into his satchel, and strode to the bulkhead doors, only to be knocked off his feet by a huge slamming of what felt like an energy weapon impacting on the hull.
He caught out of the corner of his eye, several smaller ships darting about the saucer section of the Galaxy, pounding it with firepower that should not have been coming from ships of that size. The Galaxy shook with each pounded blast.
Kylar slammed open the bulkhead doors, to find Orion traders scampering through the corridors, phasering open doors and blasting scurrying crewmembers.
Security obviously hadn't made to this deck yet. Either it was poor response time on their parts or they were preoccupied.
Curran ducked his head back inside as a phaser blast scorched the deck plating by his ear. He could feel the heat from the deflected blast.
Quickly, he rushed to his oak-stained desk in the opposing office from the sofa and methodically keyed the security panel that released a Type II phaser into his waiting hands.
As the cold metal dropped into his hands from the ejection plate just under his desktop, the doors skirted open to reveal a green-skinned Orion, whose eyes glittered at the souvenirs of delegations past presented to the Galaxy over the years. The museumk pieces lining the mural wall behind the dining table just made his eyes light up, almost as much as the phaser blast that flattened him.
Curran rose from his shadows with the phaser resting firmly in his palm.
It was bad enough he was stuck out here without Kelvan reinforcements, but he'd be damned if they stole from him, either.
The door parted again to reveal another pair of Orions just as the Kelvan was pulling the original one out of sight.
The three of them just stared the other down, and with a cry, the Orions jumped Curran and wrestled him to the floor.
504