Friday, July 29, 2011

[USS Charon] SD241107.29 || "Diplomatic Warfare - Part 1" - Ambassador Ian Lamont

USS Charon

“Diplomatic Warfare – Part 1”

Lamont tugged at his regal suit jacket smoothing out several stray wrinkles that were threatening to form along its edges.  He had clothed himself in the highest caliber of ambassadorial regalia in preparation to meet with a Romulan diplomatic envoy.  He had been given only a tepid reception upon his arrival by his Romulan counterparts.  It had taken two days of negotiations to obtain an audience with a Proconsul Lai I’Sarian and two Romulan senators.  The deihuih or Romulan Senate was an immense bureaucracy steeped in centuries of tradition and politics.  Lamont despised its horrid inefficiency and draconian procedures.  It had did manage to somehow govern and had withstood the test of time as a viable institution however flawed.  He was apt to give it some credit – not much, but some.  He had little time to evaluate the pros and cons of Romulan government.  His focus lay elsewhere on more pressing matters.


Ian paced the transporter room like a new father waiting for news on the birth of a child.  He was impatient.  The Romulans had delayed his meeting three times in the last four hours.  He couldn’t be sure if they were stalling to achieve some minor psychological advantage or if they had yet to craft an official response to recent events.  One could never quite tell what Romulan minds were thinking. 


Time had certainly moved quickly.  That much was known fact.  Only a few weeks prior, a Romulan task force had appeared over the planet Vulcan with the sole goal of destroying all life on the planet.  The commander of the doomed expedition was reported as insane and mentally unbalanced and the Romulan government had quickly distanced themselves from the action.  Now, Lamont found himself mediating the largest public relations disaster in modern memory between the Federation and the Romulan Empire. 


Tensions on both sides were exceedingly high.  Admirals at Starfleet were practically tripping over themselves in line to decry the recent provocation and use it as a provocation for military action or in extreme talk, even war.  Politicians were squabbling how best to use the attack to further their own agendas.  There was talk of renegotiating the boundaries of the Romulan Neutral Zone, sanctions against the Empire, restrictions in trade and commerce, and other punitive measure which only added to smoldering tensions and years of mistrust on both sides.  And here, all alone, Lamont had been given the sole task of keeping the peace at any and all costs.  It had been made quite plain to him – his career hung on a single outcome.  If he could preserve the peace and negotiate some sort of truce agreement then his position as a member of the Federation’s diplomatic elite would be forever secure.  If he failed to maintain the fragile peace and talks devolved into military action or war his career as a diplomat would likely come to an abrupt end.


The tension was palpable and only a few knew just how high the stakes were in this dangerous game.  There was a part of him that both relished an opportunity such as this to prove himself to the universe as well as to himself while another part of him trembled with paralyzing fear of the highest order.  He carefully juggled the tension, expectations, emotions, and stress working to focus on the task at hand.  He had a job to do.  Failure at these negotiations could impact millions possibly billions of lives for the worst.  It was not a legacy he could even comprehend.  Failure was not an option.


Ian turned to the transporter chief stopping mid stride hitting the engineer with a cold, icy stare.  “Any word from the Romulan delegation?”


“No sir.  Nothing yet.  Same as when you asked me ten minutes ago.  We’ve been politely asked to wait.”  Lamont muttered something unintelligible and returned to his pacing of the room.  Physical exertion for the moment aided him in focusing his thoughts.


Speaking with several senators and a proconsul was a start.  He hoped that he could eventually obtain an audience with the Praetor, the chief executive, of the Romulan Empire.  There was a path out of this crisis – he just had to find it and quickly.  The seas of opinion were especially turbulent given recent events and a dark storm roared on the horizon.  Circumventing the storm was still possible, but every hour lost slowly closed that window of opportunity and should the storm arrive – it was anyone’s guess who or what would survive its immense wrath and deadly fury.


The doors to the transporter room parted as a lone lieutenant entered carrying with her several padds.  Lamont stopped abruptly at the far end of the room upon hearing the familiar hiss of the doors.  He recognized the crewman, but was puzzled at her appearance.  He did not have the time or patience to deal with distractions.


“Lieutenant Lumindale?  Do you have business here?”


Lt. Alexia Lumindale nodded with her usual bold confidence.  “Yes sir.  I have come to assist on what will no doubt be a difficult and challenging assignment.”


Lamont nearly cracked a smile, but the gravity of current events prevented any sign of emotional response.  He couldn’t afford such trivial gestures and the Romulans were not known for being jovial in diplomatic settings.


“Lieutenant your dedication to duty is admirable, however now is not the time or place.  I would ask…”


“Excuse me sir”, she interrupted.  “I believe you are about to beam down where few Federation diplomats have ever tread, without security escort, and without assistance of any form during the coming talks.  You need my assistance on this mission.  The stakes are too high for a single person to complete such a task alone.  I say this with all due respect to your rank and experience sir.”


Lamont would have been deeply offended had he not been acquainted with the lieutenant’s records.  Alexia Lumendale was a gifted student and talented officer.  Her degrees in communications and political science made her an ideal candidate for a future posting within the Diplomatic Corps assuming that was where her career goals were focused.  The two had spent many hours together debating various topics and issues and Lamont had come to appreciate her views and opinions as informed and well supported by facts.  He did not agree with her on many things, but she was one of the few individuals aboard he could actually speak to without boring or forcing into a comatose, vegetative state, during a conversations on diplomatic issues.


“Lieutenant”, Lamont stated coolly.  “I cannot even begin to relate the gravity of the situation.  Furthermore, you are out of line by requesting permission to accompany me to the surface.  This is not a field trip nor learning exercise.  I cannot and will not introduce an unknown element into negotiations.  It has taken me nearly 48 hours alone to convince the Romulans to allow me to beam down for negotiations.  They are on the defensive, are struggling to deal with current events, and are dangerous and unpredictable as a result.  Your request is summarily denied.”


“Ambassador, please.  You cannot go down there alone!  I can act as your adjunct.  Should a need arise for information pertaining to the current talks I can provide it.  I have in my hands all relevant documentation related to recent events.  I’ve cross referenced the material in chronological order to ensure it can be retrieved at a moment’s notice.  Additionally, I have gathered the Charon’s communications and sensor logs of the event as well as records from the Vulcan ships involved in addition to all planetary observations.  You need me sir!  I can help.”


Lamont was impressed, but his answer was still the same.


“How did you obtain that information lieutenant”, he sternly replied.  “Much of that data has been classified.”


“I have my sources and had to call in a few favors, but it was all worth it.  Don’t you see?  This is an opportunity of a lifetime!”


“It may be a tragedy, calamity, and outright disaster lieutenant.  Did you stop to consider that possibility when pilfering classified information?”


“Sir, this could be a historic event.  How can I stay away?  How could I look myself in the mirror without doing everything possible to witness history firsthand – whatever the outcome?  I recognize the importance of the mission sir.  That is why you need me.  I swear on my rank and name to remain utterly silent and invisible.  You and the Romulans will hardly know I am even present.  Please sir!  I’ll do anything for this experience.  How else can I excel in my field if I am denied access to the very substance in which I have studied?”


Lamont rubbed the bridge of his nose.  He felt a headache coming on however the lieutenant had made a valid point.  Having someone there in the proceedings could indeed be useful if for no other purpose than to provide silent moral support.  He would need every advantage to ensure success.  He knew she was skilled, talented, and sharp.  Her appearance and willingness to risk challenging a superior officer were signs of a strong will and deep convictions.  Still – she was something of an unknown and another variable Lamont would have to factor into already complex social and political calculations.


He said nothing for several moments while he evaluated her proposal.


“You are willing to assume the risks?”




“The Romulan Commander’s name involved in the incident, what was it again?”


“Admiral Itsak tr'Sahen.  He has been listed as a rogue officer by the Romulan government which has disavowed any knowledge of his plot or activities.  He was killed during recent events.  Furthermore he was a relative of the captain, although I’m unsure if that is common knowledge sir.  I shall omit that fact if requested.”


“And his intentions?”


“That is yet unclear, however his goal was the destruction of the Vulcan people by means of a specially engineered retrovirus which was to have been dispersed into the Vulcan atmosphere.”


Lamont nearly smiled.  She was indeed well informed for a junior officer – dangerously so.  He would have to question her at great length about her ‘sources’ given the sensitive information involved.  He was unwilling to mentally explore the possible lengths she may have gone to in order to obtain her information, nonetheless, she appeared fully versed on the situation.


“Ambassador Lamont.  The Romulan delegation has just signaled sir.  They await your arrival.”


Lamont looked up at the transporter chief.  “Finally.”


“Ambassador”, the lieutenant exclaimed having not received and answer to her initial question.


“Lieutenant, this goes against my better judgment however you appear to have gone to great lengths and appear well prepared.  You may join me however I have pre-conditions.  Say nothing.  Express nothing.  I don’t want to see you move or catch the sound of your breath.  You must be a statue showing nothing by stanch stoicism whatever transpires.  No complaints, no speaking, no movement – no anything.  The talks could last for hours meaning both of us could be without food, drink, or rest for long periods of time.  I shouldn’t have to say more, I believe you understand what is at stake.”


“Yes sir.”


“Then you agree to my terms?”


“Yes sir.”


“Make your way to the transporter pad lieutenant.  Let us not keep the Romulans waiting.”


The lieutenant moved to the transporter pad without any hint of emotion or adulation.  Lamont however could sense her excitement.  It danced in her eyes a telltale marker of the excitement that was likely flowing within her.  Indeed this was a rare opportunity – with all the fun and excitement one could have dancing about a ticking time bomb.


Lamont stepped onto the transporter pad next to his newly appointed adjunct.  The talks had yet to begin and he already craved a tall glass of Romulan Ale.  In a fleeting thought he wondered if that pilot Athalla had set aside any of the bottles he had given away.


“Sir, are you certain you do not want a security escort”, the transporter chief asked.


“Absolutely not”, Lamont shouted back.  “Not only would the Romulans object, but they would only serve to create additional mistrust and tension.  I’ll…we will be fine.  Energize.”


Ian felt the tingle of the transporter as the room disappeared before him.



To Be Continued…


Ambassador Ian Lamont

Diplomatic Advisor


Lieutenant Alexia Lumendale (NPC)

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

[USS Charon] SD241107.26 || "Buried Treasure - Part 2" - Amb. Ian Lamont & Lt. Leon Athalla

U.S.S. Charon

“Buried Treasure – Part II”

Ignoring the inquisitive stares of passing crewman, Lt. Leon Athalla, pressed on down the corridor pushing an antigrav sled ahead of him with minimal effort.  The sled contained a recently discovered crate bearing the regal crest of the Federation Diplomatic Corps.  There was only one person aboard the Charon who could be the chest’s owner and Athalla felt compelled to return the property to its rightful owner.  Walking down the near empty hallway, Athalla had seldom been on Deck 2.  The entire deck housed most of the ship’s senior officers and given Leon’s unique issues with authority being around the Charon’s top brass was hardly an ideal situation.  And yet, here he was on deck 2 – and finally at his destination.


Leon looked down both ends of the corridor before adjusting his wrinkled flight jacket and tunic.  His hair was a tangled, sticky mess of blond from hauling cargo crates the past few hours – punishment for one of many unique issues he had with authority.  Reaching out he pressed the door chime at the entrance to Ambassador Ian Lamont’s personal quarters and waited.


[ Moments Earlier…]


Lamont closed the channel as the image of a past associate faded to the mirror finish of his computer terminal.  He had called in a few favors in recent hours.  His decaying networks of contacts and pawns had been of some marginal usefulness despite his inattention and lack of maintenance.  Those favors had uncovered deeply troubling news.  It indeed appeared that old family rivals were quietly plotting against him from the shadows like stealthy assassins patiently waiting for an opportune moment to strike.  Old enemies thought to be dead or gone had quietly resurfaced from their slumber and were now directing their tireless gaze upon the last heir of the Lamont family line.  They felt threatened and yet Lamont was at a loss as to why.  He was a junior diplomat on a starship lightyears away from the Federation’s heart and utterly removed from most political intrigue.  He lacked any real political power or direct influence.  They knew that and yet still old rivals had begun to again conspire against him and his family name.  What did they fear and why?  Ian had no answers – only questions and vague inferences from a few trusted contacts.  He needed more information.  Most of all he needed to remain vigilant.  His enemies were numerous and they had set their sights upon him. 


He was but a child the last time they had moved against his family.  His father was their target and they succeeded in ruining his political career and ambitions as well as tarnishing the flawless reputation of Lamont family name.  They destroyed his father and the resulting fallout had cost both of them nearly everything generations of Lamonts had toiled to obtain.  Ian slammed a fist onto his desk.  “Not again”, he shouted between clenched teeth.  His father had attempted to fight them spending most of the family’s fortune and wealth in the process.  The attempts had been abysmal failures.  However, Ian’s father had attempted to reclaim that which had been lost – honor, prestige, and political clout.  Ian had been a child and had been spared most of the personal humiliation – he had much less to lose and that was a key difference.  If past enemies wanted a fight he would only be too happy to give them one, but this time, the fight would be on his terms, by his rules, on the playing field of his choice.  Being on the Charon, dozens of light years from anywhere, they could not reach him – at least not for the moment.  That gave him time to prepare.  He had no intentions of underestimating his opponents – he only hoped they would grant him the courtesy of vastly underestimating him, his resolve, and his tenacity.


An unexpected ring at his door snapped the Ambassador from his passionate thoughts.  Looking up he wondered briefly who aboard had any reason to interrupt him.  Suddenly, Ian was gripped with paranoia.  Could they possibly have someone aboard?  A spy?  An assassin?  “Just a moment”, Lamont shouted as he fumbled through a desk drawer.  He finally located a type-I phaser whose capacity to function was in question given its age and lack of use, but the ambassador retrieved it nonetheless.  Moving to the door he stood just outside the doors, phaser at the ready.


“Come in.  Its open”, he called out masking the tension he felt from his voice.


The doors slid open and an unfamiliar face appeared.  Lamont reacted to the intruder grabbing the man’s collar and dragging him to the wall pressing his phaser to the man’s head.


“What the hell”, the man called out resisting the urge to react with a weapon at his head.  “Have you lost your mind!”


Lamont swallowed taking several deep breaths.  Recomposing himself the ambassador recognized the man.  He was one of the pilots aboard.  Name was Athalla if he correctly recalled.  The two of them had shared a few shuttle rides and exchanged in conversation on occasion.  He removed the weapon and apologized.


“Forgive me Mr. Athalla.  That is your name if I recall?”


Leon turned his face contorted in an angry scowl.  “Is that how your greet all of your guests Ambassador?  No wonder everyone hates politicians and diplomats!  Are you sure peace is really your profession?”


Lamont quickly shoved the phaser into his pocket.  “My sincere apologies lieutenant.  I…I have something of a minor security problem as of late.  I apologize for my behavior.”


“Well you won’t get many peace treaties with tactics like those”, the pilot quipped dusting himself off.


“I’ll keep that in mind”, Lamont replied.  “Is there something I can do for you Mr. Athalla.  I am afraid I have a great deal of work to attend to at the moment.”


“I stumbled upon something you might find to be of some value”, Leon replied moving back into the hallway to retrieve the antigrav sled.  Pushing the container into the Ambassador’s quarters, Leon lowered the antigrav to the deck and kicked open the crate revealing the crest of the Federation Diplomatic Corps.


“I take it you might have lost this sir?”


Lamont blinked instantly recognizing the container.  Moving to his knees, Lamont carefully entered several codes into a lock which released the container’s seal.  To his dismay the lock flashed indicating it had been tampered with.


“I assume you have seen the contents”, Lamont asked as the cover hissed open revealing the crate’s refrigerated contents.


“Of course”, Leon answered.  “Why else would I have brought it straight here.  I don’t know of many others aboard who transport materials under diplomatic seal.  Besides, if I let a few Romulan locks stop me, what sort of pilot would I be?”


Lamont looked up at the seemingly multi-talented pilot.  “Indeed.”


Gingerly lifting a bottle, Lamont carefully examined an 80 year old bottle of Romulan Rhennish.  The bottle was as expensive as it was difficult to obtain.  He was certain this crate had been destroyed in recent action aboard the Charon with the rest of his extensive alcoholic collection.  It appeared some small fraction had indeed survived and the lieutenant had been thoughtful enough to return it.


“So lieutenant – what do I owe you for your generosity?  I assume you expect some form of compensation for your troubles?”


Leon chuckled.  “The thought had crossed my mind Ambassador.  It isn’t everyday one happens across a chest full of rare and expensive alcohol.  I must admit the temptation to retain it for myself was quite strong.”


“Yes I am sure your intentions are pure and noble.”


Lamont carefully returned the bottle to the crate closing and securing its lid.  “Hmm…what would constitute a suitable reward?”  Ian considered the situation for several moments as a radical idea began to form within his churning mind.  He gazed intently at the pilot.


“Uh, is there something wrong sir”, the lieutenant said keenly aware of the Ambassador’s intense and unusual scrutiny.


“How good are your combat skills lieutenant?”


“Excuse me?”


“Your combat rating?  Hand to hand, marksmanship, - piloting even?  How good?”


“Good?!  I’m the best!  There isn’t a pilot aboard who can out fly yours truly.  As for combat skills, I’m no jarhead marine, but I can hold my own in a firefight.  Why do you ask?”


“And your fellow pilots?  Are they equally as cocky and full of themselves?”


Leon might have been offended if he wasn’t aware the Ambassador was toying with him.

“Indeed they are.”  Leon had no idea what the Ambassador was on about but he would humor the man.


“Very well.  You may have the crate and all of its contents.  Feel free to share with your fellow pilots with my compliments though I recommend that you not drink everything in one sitting.  Many of those bottles are worth your weight in latinum pilot and it would be a crime to recklessly consume them in a single all-night binge.”


Leon was dumbfounded.  “You… are giving me the crate?  Everything?”


“Yes”, Lamont answered.  “I have little need for such things at this time.  I had assumed they were lost for some time now.  Please.  Accept that treasure chest as a token of my thanks.”


“Ambassador!  I cannot accept this.  I can’t even begin to calculate the value of the spirits in that chest.  I could buy a used fighter for what some of those bottles are worth on the black market.”


“Indeed you could – but would you trade so fine and exquisite spirits for mere credits or latinum?  That would be a high crime.  I can assure you that those bottles contain nothing short of ambrosia.”




“Stop babbling lieutenant and accept the gift graciously and with dignity.  I do not offer such gifts often nor do I give them lightly.  In return I require something more of you.”


Leon laughed.  “So there IS a catch!  I knew it!”


Ian turned to face the pilot his expression serious and somber.  “Lieutenant, I have a personal problem of unknown severity which may very well involve my immediate safety.  It is not a matter for ship’s security and certainly not something I wish to be publically known.  It is a private matter.  I require some assistance in personal defense.  I am not a soldier – you however are.  You friends are as well.  Should the time and need arise might I rely upon you in certain matters of personal defense, possibly even training?”


“Well that would depend on the situation, but I would say that your extreme generosity should easily procure you a few semi-sober pilots if and when you should require our unique brand of services.”


Ian nodded.  “Thank you lieutenant.  I appreciate your candor and honesty.  I am confident I can trust you.”


“Well let’s not put the cart before the horse Ambassador, but given certain factors I’d say you just hired yourself a pilot.  An expensive fee to be sure, but hey it was your decision.”


“I am confident my trust and faith are not misplaced.  Enjoy yourself lieutenant.  However, would you do me an additional favor?”


“And what is that Ambassador Lamont?”


“Save a bottle or two of the Romulan Ale.  I much prefer drinking in the presence of friends than alone.”


Leon smiled.  “Very well sir.  I look forward to a few drinks in the future where I can perhaps toast my benefactor.”


Lamont nodded.


Astounded by his remarkable fortune, Leon activated the antigrav sled and bid the Ambassador good day before leaving his quarters.  He was still somewhat shocked the Ambassador would part with such valuable merchandise so easily – either that or the good Ambassador was in far more trouble than he had let on.  Somehow, despite the immense value of the alcoholic gems he pushed before him, Leon had a nagging suspicion he had somehow received the raw end of the deal.  Only time would tell he supposed.  For now he had a several bottles of vintage Romulan Ale to become deeply acquainted with. 



Ambassador Ian Lamont

Diplomatic Advisor


Lt. Leon Athalla



Tuesday, July 26, 2011

[USS Charon] Stardate 241107.27, Duty Log. CSci CMDR Arcos Darye

Commander Arcos looked up from a control panel, wondering if the latest scans had been received by the geology team.   It was a standard routine for bridge personnel to take the scans necessary to conduct the research required for the entire science department.  From the bridge science controls, astrophysics would receive object trajectory and gravitational effect, as well as star data; Geology would receive data on object composition and stability, biology would receive data on any life forms and ecosystems selected from additional scans to assist the operations team, and of course star charts would be added or updated with every scan taken within the voyage.

"Commander…" came the voice of his administrative assistant.  Arcos leaped up at the console to see the geology transmission bleeping.

"Ah Mr. Vorn…" He grinned.  "…Just in time to take in the report from geology,"  Arcos pushed a few buttons on the console and put a note in the log that the geology had received the latest scans of the planetoid in queue for  next analysis.

"Ah, yes.   But actually what I was referring too…" Vorn started to trail off as Arcos continued to work on the sub-routines on the auxiliary science station beside the main station taking scans of the planetoid.

"Alright, just a sec, Mr. Vorn."  Arcos tapped a few buttons beginning the self diagnostic ending the maintenance to the science station.  He had taken it upon himself to perform the routine rather then let engineering do it.  Not that he didn't trust engineers… its just that his station was his station, if an engineer wanted to service her… fine, but if he had the time he'd rather do it himself.

"I fail to see why engineering wasn't called sir." Mr. Vorn commented.

"Mr. Vorn… theres somethings in life that you look forward to as a science officer…"  Arcos started then grinned, realizing that he was starting to lecture.  "Servicing your departments station ought to be one of them."  He paused, then started again.  "Is that what you've come asking about?  Surely there is a lab report to send my way after your personal revision?"

"There is, but some things ought to wait until the department head has completed what he's assigned himself to top priority… "

"Now you're catching on. " he laughed.  "so what do you have for me."

"Just a couple personnel reports for you to review before you submit to the XO."  Vorn continued… "We've got a few crewman ready to move on to technician status… and a couple technicians readyto move on to specialist… that is if you think their service merits."

"Alright, but why not just place them on my desk with the other reports."  Arcos asked.  Why would his administrative assistant come all the way to the bridge.

"There is one other personnel request…" Vorn continued.

"Oh?"  Arcos asked a bit curious.

"Yes it's the request for the science department head teams performance reviews."

"Oh I see, Mr. Vorn.  Are you a tad bit excited?" Arcos grinned, realizing the ensign probably was hoping for a promotion it seemed.  Arcos would have to meet with either the XO or the 2XO once his report was ready to file.  The promotions of officers would be up to the ship command team of course, but Arcos knew the enthusiasm of a young officer all to well.  He had the same spontaneous spunk when he was Vorn's rank… probably why eventually he did get that promotion.  "well Mr. Vorn, looks like you have the science station." 
CMDR Arcos Darye
Chief Science Officer
USS Charon
Ens Vorn (NPC)
Science Admin Asst
USS Charon

[USS Charon] SD241107.26 - Arrival Log - Captain Khiy Kanryth

[Shuttle Maranon]

The emerald orb in all its luster twisted below the tiny shuttle.  Thin sheets of cloud stretched windblown across the horizon as amber dots of city lights speckled on the dark continents.  Ch'Rihan- Romulus as his compatriots called it was a far cry from Vulcan.  How fortunate his ancestors must have felt when they stepped foot on such a bountiful planet after having lived on that hot and desolate rusty world.  Khiy stared at it for a moment as his fingers tapped away on the pilot's console.  The actual pilot sat in the auxiliary chair showing apparent dissatisfaction at having been relieved- but Khiy was oblivious to it.  He pulled the shuttle into higher orbit and lined up with the Charon's docking bay.

"There are so many warbirds..." the demoted copilot casually chatted as his face pressed against one of the side windows.  Eyes focused on the seemingly endless stream of massive winged ships that passed both above and below them. 

"This is Romulus."  Khiy stated plainly "I would be more concerned if there were no warbirds."  The shuttle jolted- but it was expected.  A thin blue stream of ambient light wrapped itself around the small shuttle.  Like a hand the tractor beamed gently guided the vessel into the Charon's hangar bay and released it just above an empty landing alcove.  Khiy released the shuttle's landing struts and set down.

[USS Charon]

As Khiy made his way down the small gangway he recognized a few faces among the many engineers and technicians filling the flight deck but none of them were senior staff.  He had ordered the ship's Executive Officer to meet him in the observation lounge along with a few of the other senior personnel.  Meeting him on the flight deck would have been a waste of time...

"Captain!"  A caustically sharp and shrill voice echoed loudly through the flight deck towards him as a young woman approached "sorry to keep you waiting.  I am Ensign Simone Akufe.  I was sent by Commander Tyrax to guide you to the observation lounge.  I hope your trip was well sir?"

"This will be unnecessary."  Khiy stated plainly waiving the excited woman off as he walked past her towards the turbo lift.

"I'm sorry sir but I was ordered too..."

"Then I dismiss you from your orders."  Khiy's tone was unintentionally caustic.  He was tired- his eyes showed a hint of it but he kept most of it hidden.  Although it was difficult to be pleasant in such a state.  He waved his hand a second time as he stepped into the turbolift.  The woman was wise not to follow.  When the doors closed he sighed.  The Charon was not where he wanted to be- but it didn't matter whether he wanted to be on the Charon or not- he didn't have much choice in the matter.  Apparently Starfleet needed him.

He just didn't understand why.

[To be continued.]

Captain Shiarrael t'Rehu
Commanding Officer
USS Charon

[USS Charon] SD241107.26 - Plot Prelude "Gates of Heaven"

"Gates of Heaven" – Prelude


Stardate 235807.10


Thunder rippled across the barren and dusty landscape.  The dozen or so spectators standing a mile from the blindingly white hot glow lifted their arms in unison shielding their eyes from the wall of sand churned up by a resonating shockwave.  The ground began to shake as if the earth beneath their feet had liquefied but the small group remained still- bracing themselves expectantly against metal railings, leaning forward with anticipation.  The glow slowly ascended towards the heavens leaving a smoky contrail in its wake as is ploughed through a set of cotton-like clouds.


A cacophony of shouts and cheers echoed through the sand-dust haze.


Aboard the rocket the lone pilot breathed heavily as the crimson horizon began fade to a blackness dotted by millions of tiny candle flames.  "I have broken through the exosphere.  I have made it."  He echoed into his microphone.  Excitement tickled at his lips but he hid his exuberance with a professional tenor- the small manned capsule at the head of the beast vibrated violently but slowly began to settle.


"You have made history!"  A voice returned through the speaker system in his helmet.  The pilot grinned to himself and cocked his head towards the dusty brown orb behind him as it started to take a spherical shape.  He then looked ahead as the small rocket hurtled towards the milky white dot of the first great moon.  As he roared into the dark side something caught his attention- a speck of silver sparkling against the dotted blackness.  His breath went still as he neared it. 


"There is something…" His voice trailed as the microphone returned static.  His eyes stared at the strange structure floating aimlessly through the space ahead of him- it was enormous- at least a hundred folds larger than his small rocket.  It seemed like a silver saucer with singed edges where bent scaffolding reached out into space.  He was speechless as it sat serenely locked in the orbit of the moon.  His mouth gaped as he noticed etching on it… shaped as: U.S.S. Horizon.


[To be continued]

Captain Shiarrael t'Rehu
Commanding Officer
USS Charon