-= Bridge, USS Lone Star =-
Felix's legs woke him up before life had the opportunity. They roused
him at three in the morning; he knew better than to resist the joint
cause of his body and his mind. Each compelled him to rise, than rang
sonorously through his nerves and senses to ensure the message was
answered. Within twelve minutes he was on the bridge and on his second
cup of coffee, and on his third status report from an unamused night
shift. Nobody needed the captain around for the last two hours of the
night shift.
When the Captain had arrived on the bridge Harun was just hitting his
rhythm for the evening. While the proud Cardassian would never admit it
to any of his Starfleet crew members, working the late shift was
actually rather wretched for him. Only the years of training and drill
that made the movements on the conn automatic kept him a competent pilot
until his brain caught up with his body.
He looked up briefly from the sixth diagnostic of the evening when Felix
came in and settled to read the status reports. His greeting was the
standard “Good evening Sir,” but Harun knew better than to ask the man
why he’d decided to check in on the night shift. After the rather
unfortunate incident with the Admiral the Cardassian did not want to
give any further impressions that he was doing anything untoward on the
Lone Star. Questioning the Captain would give way to discussions that
he had something to hide.
He had just pulled up the mapping to see about getting ahead of the next
shifts work when an alert flashed across his screen with a soft beeping
noise. Slender grey fingers moved across the controls as he frowned and
brought up the long-range scanners. His dark brows knitted together
while the data populated on his console. “Sir,” he said, tilting his
head in Felix’s direction though not actually turning to face the man,
“you may want to have a look at this.”
“Beats status reports, whatever it is.” Felix was up on the shoulder of
his helmsman before the man’s statement had finished. Their eyes tracked
a wiggling spot, initially a point on Harun’s monitor with gravometric
and course heading data rolling around its position. “Put it up on the
main viewer, Mr Touvey. Any guesses as to what this bucking bronco might
be?”
“Bucking what?” The words were out of his mouth before he remembered
that he wasn’t asking Felix any questions he didn’t want answers to and
he was turning in his seat to peer at the human. His hands still moved
across the helm despite his momentary distraction, a credit to good
Cardassian multitasking, and the display appeared on the main viewport.
“An old fairground game. Still found in Yridian bars.”
Harun turned his eyes away from Felix to look upon the larger display
that was no closer to telling him what lay off to the port side of the
Lone Star than it had on the smaller screen. Harun didn’t understand
what it was about making things larger that gave humans the impression
that it would yield more information but he supposed it was a
compensatory thing.
Turning his eyes back down to the console he got back the scanner
report, “It appears to be some sort of explosive. Scanners are detecting
trace amounts of radiation with…” Before the Cardassian could finish an
explosion rocked the Lone Star and brilliant golden light intermingled
with hues of red, blue, and green flashed across the main viewport.
Harun squinted his eyes against the bright display and then said,
deadpan. “It’s some sort of pyrotechnic Captain.”
From the major colours came a multi-spectral sizzles that fizzed out,
emanating into dimensionally geometric curves – floral and mathematical,
the CO surmised. “A firework. Probably. But let’s do this the right
way. Yellow alert, raise shields. Mister Touvey, heading 660 mark two,
three quarters impulse. Evasive manoeuvers for anything inbound.” He
patted the back of the helmsman’s chair.
“Yes, sir,” Harun’s eyes dropped from the viewport to his console even
though his hands had begun the task. He had just begun to maneuver the
ship away from the ship when the sensors picked up several more small
objects. More fireworks Harun thought irritably until the sensors flared
to alert him to a large object coming up behind them.
Automatically the conn officer put the ship in a starboard oriented nose
dive a great deal faster than the three quarters impulse that the
Captain had ordered. He looked up at the view screen to see the long
gray underbelly of a ship passing over them and from its hull fluttered a
large cloth like object that Harun couldn’t pick out the origin of at
first. Without waiting for Felix’s order he increased magnification on
the cloth.
“Welcome,” he read slowly since it wasn’t a language he was overly familiar with, “Rally enthusiasts.”
“That may be a –”
One of the tendrils of the cordon licked the primary optical sensor,
interrupting the captain. His eyes darted between the pricks of light.
There would be a pattern or progression – he spotted it, holding his
legs steady as Harun played dodgems with a hodge-podge of shuttlecraft.
Racers, and otherwise. Scrabbled together. Not entirely spaceworthy but
with hectoring love and stray parts under the bonnet.
Not far off a Bobcat.
“Zero one zero mark four zero, get us up and out!”
Harun’s fingers flew over the console as he tilted the ship upward
seemingly oblivious that he had not warned the crew to find something to
hold onto. The viewport showed a spinning display of ships and
fireworks before he increased speed and the Lone Star shot up like a
cork from a champagne bottle, neatly threading the needle between two of
the larger ships that looked as if they might have been modified cargo
ships in the brief glimpse that was seen before the Lone Star was
completely free of the fray.
With the immediate danger past he leveled out the ship and adjusted the
scanners and magnification so that upon the screen the whole parade
could be seen. He recognized a few of the ships by their configuration
and he frowned, “A race, Sir?”
Anchored back in his chair, Felix extended the command terminal
projection from the arm rest. The race diagram and current status – as
far as he could discern them, anyway – appeared at the bottom of the
viewscreen, just as the remainder of the bridge crew relieved the
previous day’s final shift and slotted into their places.
“There are more than four thousand ships out there,” Felix said,
astonished. “What have we just walked into? Zolog? Harun, hold our
position.”
“I’m trying to isolate official traffic, Captain, but the computer is
learning on the job. This is a major event, though. It’s being relayed
out to – several dozen systems, possibly more.”
Harun shifted in his seat and resisted the urge to inquire for more
details about the race. As a pilot he was naturally competitive, as a
Cardassian it was worse for there was a burning need to prove his
superiority to the whole of the quadrant. He managed to contain himself
even though it was a moment before he noticed the alert on his console
that told him they were being hailed.
“Sir,” he said as he looked down at his display, “We’re being hailed
by…” He squinted at the name on the identification sequence of the
transmission. “A representative for rally enthusiasts incorporated.”
Once he was bidden he tapped to open up the channel that was audio only.
“Attention unidentified vessel,” a nasally voice that sounded like it
was coming from the depth of a well sounded through the bridge and set
Harun’s teeth on edge for its rather imperious tone. “This is Viliana
Zets of the Olympic Rally Race Course Commission. You are in the middle
of the course for the first race, vacate immediately or you will be
forcibly removed.”
For once, de l’Isle concurred with his helmsman. “This is Captain Felix de l’Isle of the Federation Starship Lone Star
– and, well, I doubt it, Mrs Zets.” He paused while her scanners, and
those of the ships that hovered about them with curiosity, registered
his ship’s offensive array.
“And that’s just the guns,” murmured Lt Commander Animo via the forearm
unit of the captain’s chair – at a frequency only Felix could hear.
First contact, commander, he reminded his chief scientist, who really had no business trying to read his mind at a time like this.
“The Lone Star has travelled a long way to witness this – spectacle,” Felix decided, after exchanging a glance with Harun.
There was a pregnant pause on the channel. Far longer than Harun was
particularly comfortable with because silence in communication was,
historically speaking, never a good sign for the Lone Star. Yet just as
he was about to turn towards Felix to make a suggestion Ms. Zets came
back on with her tone had changed to something that oozed skepticism.
“Oh really?” Ms. Zets sounded like a grade school teacher that had just
been told that the dog had eaten homework. “I wasn’t aware that the
Federation had any interest in the games. Surely a formal announcement
could have been sent to the committee indicating your attendance so that
you could have been formally received. At the very least you would have
been directed where to place your vessel so that you were not in the
middle of the opening procession. This is really highly inappropriate.”
In the following silence that signaled that Ms. Zets was winding herself
up into a tirade of righteous indignation Harun gave a glance to Felix
and then said quickly in a way that he used to placate his particularly
fussy aunt, “Actually Ms. Zets, we’re not formally representing the
Federation. This is a matter of personal interest… we heard about the
games and the crew expressed an interest in watching the festivities.”
The Cardassian’s expression gave a silent indication of ‘help me sell
this’ to both Felix and the rest of the bridge crew.
Felix beamed, ever his first reaction, as he both forgave and
appreciated his pilot’s intervention. Good save, he thought, while
adding, “The officiating staff is particularly notorious in our sector
for… for their protocol. And their reception for external observers.”
“Oh really,” said Mrs. Zets again sounding even more skeptical. However,
before she could go on yet another monolog it sounded as if someone in
the background was clearing their throat. “One moment,” Ms. Zets said
and the comms went silent again though the channel was still open.
After a moment that felt far longer than it actually was Ms. Zets came
back on, her voice dripping with false enthusiasm. “The committee
expresses its formal welcome to its esteemed guests of the Federation
vessel Lone Star and her crew.”
Harun visibly cringed at the way the games official drew out the vowels
of the words ‘Lone Star’ as if someone were grating their nails down a
metal surface. However, he managed to keep his mouth shut as Ms. Zets
continued, “We are now sending the coordinates for you to dock your
vessel at the VIP platform so that you might attend the opening
ceremonies. A committee representative will meet you there to answer any
questions.”
The last bit sounded as if Ms. Zets was saying them through clenched
teeth or whatever tooth-like equivalent the female possessed. “Welcome
to the games.”
Harun dropped his eyes down to his console as an alert flashed across
the screen, “Coordinates have been received Captain. Setting course.”
The Captain watched his Cardassian officer carefully. It seemed that,
despite his casual dislike for all things Starfleet, the Lone Star had
become his home and sanctuary these last months: enough that he was
defensive on her behalf.
"Sounds like we are welcome, Mr Touvey, wouldn't you say? Take us in."
The trip to the platform was a short one even at impulse. Harun kept the
sensor array up in order to ensure the Lone Star did not have anymore
near misses with the cavalcade of ships still progressing to what Harun
assumed to be the opening ceremonies.
It was all routine until the feedback from the sensors to where he had
to park came back and he frowned. Did they really think they could fit
the Lone Star into a slot that small? With his brow ridges knitting
together, Harun’s hands flew over the console much in the way that he
had when he was dodging ships not an hour before but this was far more
nerve racking.
“It's going to be a tight fit Sir,” he said as he slowly positioned the
Lone Star’s hull between two smaller luxury vessels. For the first time
since he boarded the Lone Star, Harun was wholly dependant on the Lone
Star’s guidance system and he bit the inside of his lip until he tasted
blood as it went through the docking sequence.
When the display lit up green he let go of his lip and hoped no one had
noticed how nervous he’d been. “Docked, Sir,” his voice was steady
despite his nerves.
“Good job, Mr Touvey.” Felix was even-handed but Harun would know that
he’d noticed the discrepancy in performance. Nobody on the bridge would
have picked up on it, and he wouldn’t take it any further – for now.
Turning to Zolog, he formulated the job to come.
“Have Tonx and Dr Vaughn meet me in transporter room two. Zolog? You’re
with us.” Felix then hesitated. Edie was technically the ranking officer
but experience told him he’d need four Slobarian boars to tow her away
from her engine room. And he was pissed with Perdita for pushing her
luck at the wrong moment.
So why not? Hand it to the Cardassian. For now.
“Harun, you’ve got the bridge.”
Felix swept off with Casparo Zolog in tow, just as the morning shift
poured through the other turbolift doors, ready for another new day in
Starfleet.
-=-=-=-
By Captain Felix de l’Isle and Lieutenant Harun Touvey