[UF][FanFic] Redneck: Wilderness Pt. 2

[Kris Overstreet]

Chapter 4/THEN

Cheltopolis, Salusia
January 17, 2159

Kris sat behind his desk in the United Galactica Assembly,
taking notes as the old Tellarite ambassador held forth at length on
the benfits of a strong centralized military command, as opposed to
the disorganized cooperative efforts of the UG's own tiny starfleet
and independent operations such as the WWWA, the WDF, the Royal
Salusian Navy, and the smaller CFMF and other mercenary or
planetary-defense forces.
Kris had fought like hell to get the Confederate Freespacer
Alliance, the civilian government of the Freespacers, recognized by
other worlds, and after the reform of the Galactica from a treaty
organization to a true governing body in 2100, he'd managed to gain
representation for the CFA in the Assembly.
Unfortunately, this meant some poor soul got stuck in meetings
just like this one, listening to some blowhard with delusions of
statesmanship insult some of the fundamental principles of their
existence.
In 2132, Kris had been conned into the job, and out of command
of the CFMF, by then- Chief of State Michael Hanrahan, and even as
he'd served diligently and faithfully to serve the needs of the over
500,000 Freespacer nationals, he sent messages back to the Fleet
begging for a replacement.
After the upcoming vote, on a bill which would make all
military forces in the UG subordinate to the UG Fleet command, Kris
would be slipping out to speak with Her Royal Highness, Queen Asrial
Arconian of Salusia, about an extension of the fleet's contract for
patrols and MASS bases along the Salusian section of the UG- Kilrathi
border. Then, he'd spend the rest of the evening listening to Washuu
run down the list of legislation for the next two weeks. All long,
boring work, with only the occasional perk.
One perk in particular presented itself now, thanks to the
boar- uh, bore whose speech was finally winding to a halt. Kris buzzed
in his request for acknowledgement, and when the President recognized
him, he rose from his chair and began to speak. Translators echoed his
words in dozens of languages, including English for those Terran
colonies with little experience in American Deep South accent.
"Honored gentlemen," Kris said smoothly, "I rise in respectful
opposition to the remarks made by the ambassador from Tellar. Please
believe me when I say that I have the utmost respect for the
ambassador; after all, anyone who could swallow so much ripe horseshit
as he spewed is a man to be reckoned with!"
Pausing only a moment to allow the other ambassadors to gasp
and the President to begin gaveling the podium wildly, he continued,
"Of course, the ambassador has much good cause to advocate the
centralization of the military forces of the Galactica; after all, all
of us know how difficult it is to make ends meet, with those three
shipyards and the measly 500 weapons outlets to support him." The
gasps and protests peaked, with a tiny hint of laughter from certain
human ambassadors.
"And never let it be said that the ambassador does not have
the best interest of the Galactica in mind... as well as the best
principal and best dividend." Kris smiled in his heart as well as on
his face. Everything he said could be (and had been) backed up by
documentation, audio and video recordings, and the transaction records
of the Salusian, Tellarite, and Sirian stock exchanges... and it felt
-really- good to stick it to the time-serving old hog, anyway.
"However, I must disagree with the further dissolution of the
meager income of the Galactica assembly in an attempt to police what
is already adequately policed by the many individual forces of the
member governments. Perhaps the ambassador feels insecure with his
security notes. I have no such fear.
"Honorable beings, there is no need and no desire for the
amalgamation of the free and local military forces into one monolithic
fleet, especially when such a move would represent a grave loss of
freedom to the member nations. Speaking as a former mercenary, I look
on such a move as a threat to my employment and liberty. Speaking as a
former revolutionary, I look on such a move as a violation of the
rights of the people.
"As a Freespacer, I look on such a move as just plain -wrong-,
and I hope my fellow ambassadors will look beyond the arguments of
this <sweii moishh>-" a Tellarite insult of the Second Order- "and
veto the bill in question. Thank you."
Throughout Kris' speech, the President never stopped gaveling
the podium, calling for order, quiet, and most of all for Kris to shut
the hell up and sit down. When Kris finally did so, the President
didn't notice for about five minutes.
After a further hour of less colorful debate, the bill was
brought to a vote, and it died a quick death as the Salusians,
Zardons, and Planitians led their power blocks into a united No vote.
As Kris left the chamber, which was now clearing out for the Special
Orders schedule of the day, he bumped into the Tellarite ambassador,
his porcine face flushed and beady nearsighted eyes gleaming. "Sir, I
have one thing to say to you," the Tellarite grunted.
"Say it," Kris said, staring right back.
"It's, 'sweii MOI-shh,' not 'sweii mo-EE-shh.' " With that,
the Tellarite turned away, mumbling, "If I'm going to be insulted, a
human might have the decency to do it RIGHT."
Kris chuckled to himself and walked to the elevators, savoring
the moment. When your job is this dull, he thought to himself, you
need all the relief you can get.

Chapter 4/NOW

CFA Washington
August 3, 2388

Kris yawned and tugged at the wraparound formal overtunic of
his uniform, awaiting the arrival of the current Chief of State,
Sleik, before commencing the strategy briefing. One of these days, he
thought, a Charismatic Vulcan will actually develop a sense of Not
Being Late.
Already seated around the room were the various high
commanders of the CFMF. Beside Kris sat Rear Admiral Aral Vorkosigan,
TacFleet Chief of Staff; across the table from them Brigadier General
Piotr Zev, the commander of the division of Freespacer Marines,
fidgeted in his chair; Commodore Hitoshi Isarugi, chief of MASS
operations, sat to the old Zardon's left; and Commodore Platt O'Keefe,
senior shipowner of the Support Fleet, lurked in the back of the room,
perched against the decorative railing along the bulkhead. Each fought
the boredom in their own fashion: Vorkosigan scribbled on a small
notepad, Zev daydreamed while juggling a K-bar knife, Isarugi designed
an updated design for a lateral sensor array, and O'Keefe painted her
fingernails.
Kris yawned yet again, triggering a sympathetic yawn in Aral,
who managed to smile through it. "Oh, please, Red, leave off the
yawning, or you'll have us all doing it." The Barrayaran commander's
dark grey-flecked hair ruffled a little as he tried to shake off
another yawn.
Platt yawned as well, the bun in her solid-white hair bouncing
half out of place, and chuckled. "Too late, Admiral."
General Zev smiled and said, winking an azure eye at his
commander, "Well, unlike some other people I could mention, I got a
full nine hours last night." Kris blushed a little at that. "Therefore
I am immune.. to..." The Zardon yawned deeply, setting off a wave of
yawns around the room.
Hitoshi tried to straighten his rumpled clothes and uncombed
hair and mumbled, "If Sleik doesn't get here soon, we'll all be stuck
with our mouths gaping like some demented fish."
"Ask, my wonderful friends, and you shall recieve," the Vulcan
said as he entered the room. Smiling and pumping the arms of each of
the staff members in turn, Sleik finally took his seat at the head of
the table. "Well. Good morning, gentlemen and lady, I hope the new day
finds you well."
"As well as can be expected," O'Keefe grumbled.
"Ah, but we can wish, eh?" Sleik's hyperactive smile didn't
vanish, but it did gleam rather less intensely. "I call this meeting
of the Confederate Freespacers Mercenary Fleet General Staff to order.
I move we dispense with the normal rules of order and just get on to
business. Objections? No? Excellent!" Sleik shuffled some notes, left
on the table by an aide, like a Nar Shadda hustler playing
Find-the-Fool with three sabaac cards. "Well, Commodore O'Keefe, how
goes the evacuation schedule?"
Platt frowned and regarded her nails as she said, "All
civilian transports aside from ours are en route towards Zeta Cygni,
with such guard as we can muster up. Roughly two-thirds of the deep
space stations in Enigma Sector are completely evacuated, either here
to Wilderness Station or to Zeta Cygni. I estimate another fifteen
days and we'll have done everything we can short of total evacuation
of all the planets in the sector."
"Excellent. Admiral Overstreet, what is the current situation
as regards GENOM?"
"Not very good," Kris said. "According to latest reports, the
fleets protecting the Salusal system have been forced to give up
Zardon. Salusia is still under siege, but with the additional forces
from Zardon, they might be able to hold out as much as another three
weeks, provided GENOM doesn't divert any additional forces to the
siege. As it is, GENOM will have severe problems digesting their
victory; I know from experience just how much trouble a ground force
can get into in the Mega-Cities."
"What's to stop GENOM from just bombarding the cities into
submission?" Sleik asked.
"They can't bombard the cities without destroying them," Kris
said, "and without the cities Zardon is nothing. The Cursed Earth
Reclamation Project hasn't made enough area habitable to make
wholesale destruction of even one Mega-City profitable. In any case, I
severely doubt the Justice Department will even consider surrender.
"To continue, the main GENOM fleet was at last report
finishing off most resistance on Earth. Olympus no longer exists, to
all intents and purposes. Imperial America surrendered on sight- hell,
practically rolled out the red carpet- but most of the other nations
are putting up a guerilla fight, along with the remnants of Olympus
authority. All in all, though, the main GENOM assault force will
probably move off in another day or so."
"Where do you think they will strike first?" Sleik asked.
"Hard to tell," Kris said. "You have to remember we're dealing
with at least two certifiable madmen here. First, Maximilian Largo
will probably concentrate on eliminating his foes. Second, we have
intelligence that the Butcher of Musashi is commanding the main
assault force, and he'll be going for maximum death and suffering. My
best guess is, either they'll go around and pick off the small fry
first, or they'll make a strike directly for the WDF fleet at Zeta
Cygni."
"Assuming they decide to strike Zeta Cygni, how long would it
take them to get there?"
"Interesting question," Kris said. "The thing is, GENOM has to
hold their fleets together for purposes of maneuver. About a third of
the ships- their Dreadnaught, the Ikazuchis- have warp drives, but the
main body of the fleet is Imperial-class Star Destroyers, and most of
those haven't been converted from hyperdrive to warp yet.
Furthermore-" Kris keyed up a star chart, with Earth, Zeta Cygni, and
the boundaries of Enigma Sector highlighted.
"As you know, Enigma Sector lies foursquare across any direct
line from Earth to Zeta Cygni." Kris said. "The massive obstacles in
this sector- black holes, subspace instabilities, rogue planets and
asteroids- restrict most of GENOM's ships to a set of specific paths.
The most probable track, considering all strategic and tactical
factors, brings the GENOM fleet straight through Wilderness Station."
"I see," Sleik said, no longer smiling at all. "What would you
think the CFMF's odds are against the enemy fleet?"
"Nonexistent," Kris replied. "We have only one ship comparable
to any of GENOM's heavy hitters. Largo's made sure we haven't been
able to build any more over the last twenty years, and before that we
didn't have the finances to do it ourselves.
"I've drawn up a preliminary battle plan which would allow us
to buy, say, two hours of time before we had to retreat. Anything
longer than that, any stand-up fight at all, would spell our
annhilation.
"I propose that all Freespacer ships evacuate Enigma Sector no
later than August 15, relocating to Zeta Cygni. At that time, the CFMF
would cancel its contract with the Federation and offer contract to
the WDF for the duration of the conflict. If the GENOM fleet attacks
us before then, the Home and Supply Fleets would evacuate immediately
while the Tactical Fleet distracts the main GENOM force. We don't have
the hitting power we'd need to make a stand-up fight, but we have more
speed per ship than any other major force in space. We can buzz around
the GENOM fleet's perimeter and sting them here and there, keep them
halfway bottled up for as long as possible, before following the rest
of the fleet to Zeta Cygni."
"Hm. Does anyone have any comments on the practicality of this
plan?" Sleik asked.
Aral Vorkosigan replied, "As far as I can tell, it's the best
we can do with the forces we have to use. I'd rate the Tactical Fleet
as equal to, say, a task force of fifteen Imperial-class Star
Destroyers. Our intelligence reads no less than seventy-five Imperials
in the main GENOM force, not counting the Ikazuchis, Victory-class
Star Destroyers, Interdictor and other cruisers, Cylon carriers, or
the Dreadnaught II. I wouldn't give us half an hour to live in a
stand-up fight, but a prolonged hit-and-run strategy should allow us
to get away with most of our force intact."
He smiled apopogetically at Kris as he added, "I'd prefer a
simple run-and-run strategy, but we have to buy all the time we can
for the WDF."
"It'd be nice if we could board and take one of the GENOM
ships," Zev said, "but we just haven't got the forces to do it. I've
already begun evacuating the Marines from all our units to Zeta Cygni.
After tomorrow, I won't be more than a secretary here, doing old
paperwork while my regimental commanders keep things in order. All
things considered, I don't see any options besides running now or
playing tag when GENOM comes... and I think GENOM's going to come
straight through here, real soon."
"As do I," Sleik said. After a moment, he said, "Commodore,
can the evacuation be sped up any more?"
"Not really, not unless we abandon some bases to evac
others faster," Platt said. "The best we can do is focus on the more
important strategic locations like we have been; we've already evac'ed
all nonessential personnel from all primary targets except Wilderness
itself, and we're almost done with the secondary-level list."
"Well, then we'll just have to continue as we have been," Sleik
said. "How long, at best speed, would it take for the GENOM fleet to
arrive? Assuming they come straight on?"
"Three days, give or take a couple if they stop to take out
other targets," Kris said. "If they abandon most of their fleet and
hit us with only their warp-capable ships, no more than eight hours...
but I don't think they'll do that."
"Well," Sleik said, "that will have to be enough. Commodore
O'Keefe, have your people ready to evacuate on two days' warning.
Admiral Overstreet, I leave the defense of Wilderness Station and the
Home Fleet in your capable hands. If there is no further business, I
have a thing..." Standing and bowing to the assembled officers, the
Chief of State departed.
Kris looked around the table and said, "Well, people, looks
like we have our work cut out for us. General, you can't do any good
here. Go ahead and move your HQ to Zeta Cygni. Aral, I want you to go
with him and act as a liason with the WDF high command. Make sure they
have all our intelligence and full readouts of our strength and
strategy. Commodore Isarugi, I'm recalling all MASS units to the
Tactical Fleet, effective immediately. I hate to do it, but any
further refugee convoys will have to settle for Support Fleet forces
for protection.
"And if there are no questions, I declare this meeting
adjourned."
"I have one question, Red," Aral said. "Do you have any
messages you want me to convey?"
Kris rubbed the ring on his right hand absently; his class
ring from the WDF Academy. "Um... no, no messages, really. Just let
them know we're out here, okay?"
"Will do, Admiral," Aral said. One by one, each of the
commanders left the briefing room, leaving Kris to stare at the
starmap on the viewer.
Three days, give or take.
Lord, Kris thought, please let it be more.

Chapter 5/THEN

UFP StarFleet Command HQ, San Francisco, Earth
February 21, 2387

The word used most often concerning Admiral Heihachiro Nogura
should have been superannuated.
Since most people do not have the word 'superannuated' in
their vocabulary, he is more usually referred to as 'the old fart'
behind his back.
The small, shrunken, frail-looking Japanese man had
begun his military career as a lieutenant on a United Galactica patrol
ship, shortly before the disaster commonly referred to as "Sonset."
For over a hundred years, he had played politics from both sides of
the big guns, forcing worlds to make and keep peace, preserving some
tiny semblance of order, and building a force which could maintain
peace and order throughout the newborn United Federation of Planets.
Heihachiro Nogura, although no longer the Chief of Staff of
the Admiralty, remained the effective commander of the Federation's
StarFleet. It was Nogura's plans for defense and attack which
perculated down through the ranks to the ship commanders, Nogura's
strategy and tactics which were taught in StarFleet Academy, Nogura's
will which permeated the halls of StarFleet Command. Nogura planned
everything the fleet did, every move, every addition, every
subtraction.
And Admiral Nogura became very irate when those plans were
upset by a very junior commander such as Captain Aya Nakajima.
GENOM had been growing more and more unresponsive to the
demands of the Federation, demands to stand down their security
forces, to permit free elections on those colony worlds founded by
GENOM, in short to quit behaving like a corporate empire poised to
conquer the galaxy. Nogura did not believe for a moment that GENOM
would listen to those demands- that reason, and that reason alone, had
prompted him to support Commander Benjamin Hutchins' efforts to
rebuild the long-dead Wedge Defense Force. The last thing the
Federation needed in these volatile conditions was war on any of its
many, many hostile fronts- the Kilrathi, Klingons, Cardassians, and
Romulans were active threats, and there were dozens of other, smaller
possible threats which could weaken a Federation preparing to fight a
war against GENOM.
Nogura's strategy boiled down to this: Don't piss off the bad
guys.
And Aya, Nogura feared, had done just that.

Aya Nakajima fidgeted in her chair, awaiting the reconvening
of her court-martial board. In the gallery behind her sat several of
her command crew: her brother Homare, whom she had requested as her
first officer; T'Pall, a young, attractive female Vulcan who served as
helm officer; Claire Lemno, communications officer, half-Caitian and
all cute; Shran (or as close as they could render his Andorian name),
the chief engineer; and Irving Shwarz, the weapons officer. Each
waited as anxiously as Aya- each had known Aya for some time, most of
them having graduated with her from StarFleet Academy four years
before, and shared her subsequent meteoric rise- worried for their
commander.
At the tender age of 24, Aya was the youngest Starfleet
officer ever to hold the rank of Captain... a rank she would apparently
hold for all of two months, ending in the next few minutes.
Finally the three admirals filed into the hearing room; first,
Admiral John Morrow, Aya's direct superior, dark African hair paled
from stress and worry; after him came the Old Man himself, Admiral
Nogura, walking slowly and stiffly, precise parade cadence and stride,
even at the age of 128 the example all of StarFleet rated itself by;
and Admiral Roger Cartwright, the current Chief of Staff, the closest
thing the Admiralty had to a loose cannon himself. Each one sat down
and organized their notes, leaving Aya to fidget in the silence for a
few seconds longer.
Finally, Nogura raised a small mallet and tapped a small bell
hanging before him on the court bench. "This court will come to
order," he said, quiet voice still strong and clear despite the years.
"The defendant will rise," he continued, and as Aya stood he said,
"Captain Ayami Nakajima, you are accused of the following violations
of Starfleet regulations, Federation treaties, and international law;
"Violation of regulations regarding the social conduct of
on-duty personnel.
"Failure to maintain a StarFleet ship in a state of combat
readiness.
"Violation of the Imperial Klingon Neutral Zone, established
by the Treaty of Organia.
"Unauthorized engagement with Imperial Klingon forces.
"Wilful damage to StarFleet property, specifically the USS
Constellation, NCC-1017-A.
"Illegal and unauthorized modifications to StarFleet property,
specifically the USS Constellation.
"Cruel and unusual punishment, in the case of the insanity and
mutiny of Lieutenant Commander Spack.
"We have heard the testimony of your crew and yourself, and we
have studied the flight recorders of the Constellation. Do you wish
to add anything else before we pass judgement?"
Aya locked eyes with the ancient admiral and said, "My ship
entered the Neutral Zone by accident and was attacked by a full
Klingon battlecruiser squadron. Despite heavy odds and an attempt on
my life and chastity, I managed to save my command from destruction,
in the process giving the Klingon Empire a bloody nose they won't soon
forget. If the Klingons were considering an attack, they damn sure
aren't thinking of it now."
"Language, Captain," Admiral Cartwright rumbled, his brown
hands rubbing together idly.
"As for my installing a prototype Wave Motion Cannon in the
shuttle bay of my ship, it was on my own authority- in cooperation
with certain engineers at Ut- um, what was Utopia Planitia- in
response to the blatant lack of aft-facing armaments on the ship. This
gunnery blind spot has been corrected in most StarFleet vessels of
cruiser class or larger, but remained in my ship, and I corrected it
in the most expiditious fashion I could."
Admiral Nogura quirked an eyebrow, a habit he had picked up
from the Vulcan delegate to the Federation High Council. "Captain, it
sounds very much like you expect a commendation for your initiative in
this little... escapade." Venom dripped from his voice at the end,
revealing a deep, deep anger which had had time over the past week to
fester and grow.
When Aya did not rise to the bait, Nogura said, "You may be
interested to know that Admiral Cartwright felt the same way. His
dissent to the following decision is on the record. However, Admiral
Morrow and I are in agreement.
"Ms." - he paused to let the title, or lack thereof, sink in-
"Ayami Nakajima is immediately stripped of all rank and privlege in
the StarFleet of the United Federation of Planets. She is immediately
discharged with dishonor, and is barred from service in any branch of
StarFleet, in any fashion. She is stripped of all benefits and
pensions accorded to StarFleet officers, and her back pay for the past
two months has been siezed to be put towards repairs to the
Constellation."
Aya stared in shock at the admirals. She had expected a
demotion, possibly the loss of her command, but complete discharge- in
disgrace- hadn't entered her mind. How _dare_ they kick her out, after
she'd worked her entire life to become a StarFleet captain? After
she'd won a battle at 3-1 odds against her? After she'd field-tested,
in combat, a ship-mounted Wave Motion Cannon?
"You...." Aya's eyes bored through the gallery, filled with
officers and family members, then to the admirals staring at her
quietly. "You..." Her breathing grew heavier, and both her advocate
and the prosecutor moved aside...
"YOU STARFLEET COMMANDERS ARE ALL A BUNCH OF SHITHEADS!!!" Aya
screamed. "Your mothers ate cow dung! Your sisters all had their
pictures in the Galactic Horse Breeder's Monthly! You-mmmmph!" Homare
had left the gallery and, with T'Pall and Claire's help, dragged
Aya away from the bench and towards the courtroom doors.
Before they could quite get out the door with her, Aya managed
to get her mouth free. "LET ME GO! LET ME GO! YOU TRAITORS! LET ME
GO!!! LET ME-"
The doors closed behind them, and the admirals stared at the
swinging doors in shock. Finally, Admiral Morrow mumbled, "Should we
press charges for contempt of court?"
Nogura smiled slightly. "What would we do, discharge her? No,
let her go. She is nothing now, a minor annoyance. Without a ship to
command, she can do the Federation little harm. StarFleet Intel will
make sure she doesn't go to the Romulans or Kilrathi with any
sensitive information."
In a louder voice, Nogura said, "This court is adjourned," and
he rang the bell three times, then stood and strode out of the
courtroom, leaving the muttering officers and dignitaries to gossip to
themselves.
There is no room in the service, Nogura thought, for renegade
captains. I said it to Robert April, I said it to James Kirk, and I'll
keep on saying it until they lay me in my grave.
And that Benjamin Hutchins can go to hell.

"More sake!" Aya mumbled to the bartender. For the first time
in seven years, Aya wore civilian clothes. Even in the Academy, on
leave, at home, her Starfleet uniform had been a second skin. She
looked beautiful in her beige dress with gold trim, sapphire brooch on
the collar and silk purse over the shoulder, her formerly long hair
cut into a sporty pageboy look... but even in a drunken stupor,
slumped over a bar in one of the less respectable parts of Old San
Francisco, her private shame at being kicked out of StarFleet was
obvious.
Homare placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "Aya, maybe we
should go home, okay?"
"WHAT HOME?" Aya shouted. "I'm broke, dammit! I'm broke, I've
lost my commission, I can't go back to Mom and Dad like this! And I
don't have anyplace here to go to- my home was on the Constellation,
and they wouldn't even let me back aboard her to pack my things! Those
fucking StarFleet bastards!" Grabbing the sake bottle from the
bartender, she chugged the contents, gulping and gasping as she
drained the bottle dry. "AAAAAAAAAH!" she belched, slamming the empty
bottle down onto the counter so hard it shattered, spraying fragments
across the bar. "More sake!" she said, swaying on her stool.
"Aya," Homare said quietly, "you need to take a rest. Come
on."
"I dun' need no ress..." she slurred, "I'm havin' too...
much..." For a second, it looked like Aya would pass out, but suddenly
she bolted upright and shouted, "MORE SAKE, dammit! Can't have a party
without booze!"
Homare sighed. He had inherited their mother's calm
personality; Aya had inherited their father's near-infinite capacity
for alcoholic intake. He stepped aside and allowed T'Pall to place her
hand just above Aya's collarbone and pinched a series of nerves in a
peculiar pattern. Aya's eyes rolled up, then closed, and she collapsed
into a small pile on the barroom floor.
Homare paid the bar tab as Shran and Shwarz lifted the limp
Aya and carried her towards the door. As Homare turned to follow them
out, someone laid a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw a
human male, indeterminate age, average height or a little taller,
blonde-red hair and red beard framing a face which, in a crowd, would
attract little or no attention whatsoever. The uniform he wore,
however, did all the attention-grabbing he needed; a long grey
wraparound double-breasted tunic, covering the matching slacks down to
the knees, cuffed in a band of spotless white, sleeves marked with
five gold chevrons which bent back to wrap around each sleeve... and
two stars surrounded by wreathes on the wearer's left collar.
Nodding towards the door, the man said quietly, "Was that
Captain Aya Nakajima?"
Homare nodded. "I'm Commander Homare Nakajima. I'm her
brother," he added, and felt a little silly for saying it.
"Well, when she comes to, give her this," the man said, and he
handed Homare a small pamphlet with a printout folded up inside it. The
cover of the pamphlet read: JOINING THE CFMF: WHAT THE FREESPACERS CAN
DO FOR YOU.
Homare opened the pamphlet and looked at the printout.

TO: CPT. AYA NAKAJIMA, CFMF (PG O-6)
FROM: V. ADML KRISTAN OVERSTREET(PG 0-10), CINC TACFLEET CFMF

YOU ARE TO PROCEED TO DRYDOCK SHIP CFA NEWPORT NEWS (CFA-1145)
CURRENTLY IN EARTH ORBIT AND TAKE COMMAND OF CFF DEFIANT
(CFF-45). YOU ARE AUTHORIZED TO RECRUIT OR REQUEST YOUR OWN
COMMAND CREW. ONCE IN COMMAND, YOU WILL BE ASSIGNED DUTY WITH
THE FOURTH CARRIER TASK FORCE, CFMF, PATROLLING UFP-KILRATHI
FRONTIER SUPPORTING ELEMENTS OF THE SALUSIAN ROYAL SPACE NAVY.
EXPECT COMBAT CONDITIONS. MORE INFORMATION WILL BE PROVIDED
UPON RENDEVOUS WITH THE FOURTH CARRIER GROUP.

Homare looked up at the man in the grey uniform. "You're
giving Aya a command?"
"If she wants it," the man said. "Granted, the Defiant's a
Liberator-class guncruiser, it's a major step down from a
Constution-class UFP cruiser, but it's what I have for her. Plus,
she'll keep her full Starfleet pay grade and intra-service seniority.
Besides..." the man smiled, "We don't fire hotheads in the CFMF... we
hire 'em."
Homare smiled back, just a little. "I'll have a talk with
her... who should we contact if she decides to accept?"
The man glanced around the room, then shrugged and
said, "There's a CFMF ship in orbit. Contact it and ask for Redneck.
They'll put you through, or leave a message if I'm unavailable." With
that, the man nodded to Homare and left.
Shwarz brushed past Redneck in the doorway. His thick glasses
flashed in the neon light as he swiveled to stare at the man walking
off down the street. Turning back to Homare, he said, "Do- do you know
who that is?"
"Um... Redneck?" Homare said quietly.
"That's the Freespacer commander himself! 'Redneck!' My God,
do you know half the stories they tell about him?" Schwarz sighed.
"Man, I wish StarFleet had a starfighter corps. I should have gotten
his autograph."
"Aya did," Homare said, and he showed Schwarz the orders, at
the bottom of which lay an illegible scrawl which might, at some point
in the distant past, have included a K, an O, and a couple of T's.
Shwarz stared, drooling slightly at the page, not daring to
touch it. "My... God..." he said at last, "what'll happen next,
Gryphon himself come and offer us a battlecruiser?"
"Come on, Irv," Homare said, "let's go sober up my sister and
tell her the good news."

Chapter 5/NOW

Freespacer Home Fleet, orbiting Wilderness Station
August 9, 2388

The CFMF Defiant slid into position in the Home Fleet orbital
pattern, home again from another of its commanding officer's battle
readiness drills... or, put more honestly, wild parties. Aya Nakajima's
command had a reputation for being tight, but not in the disciplinary
sense; the incredible amounts of Romulan ale smuggled aboard the ship
attested to the nature of the ship's "extended anti-stress relaxation
periods."
The party had ended eighteen hours before, when the fleet-wide
recall arrived:

SPECIAL ORDERS OF AUGUST 8, 2388
TO: ALL SHIP COMMANDERS, CFMF TACFLEET CFMF SUPFLEET CFA
HOMFLEET
FROM: V. ADML. KRISTAN OVERSTREET, CINC TACFLEET SUPFLEET
SLEIK, CHIEF OF STATE CFA

COMBAT IMMINENT REPEAT COMBAT IMMINENT. ALL TACFLEET AND
SUPFLEET SHIPS IN ENIGMA SECTOR TO YELLOW ALERT STATUS
EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY.

ALL TACFLEET SHIPS ARE HEREBY RECALLED TO WILDERNESS STATION,
ENIGMA SECTOR, EXCEPT CFMF PALENDROM (CFF-02) ON DETATCHED DUTY
TO SALUSIA.

ALL SUPFLEET AND HOMFLEET SHIPS ARE ADVISED TO PREPARE TO
EVACUATE ENIGMA SECTOR NO LATER THAN 8-11-88. ALL TACFLEET
SHIPS ARE EXPECTED TO BE AT FULL COMBAT READINESS NO LATER
THAN 8-10-88. ALL TACFLEET COMMANDERS ARE TO ISSUE REPORTS ON
COMBAT READINESS TO OFFICE CINC TACFLEET UPON RECEIPT OF
ORDERS.

ALL REFIT, REPAIR, CONSTRUCTION, AND MAINTENANCE WORK ON ALL
CFMF AND CFA SHIPS IS TO BE REDUCED TO THAT ABSOLUTELY
NECESSARY FOR EITHER COMBAT READINESS OR EVACUATION.

ALL NONESSENTIAL PERSONNEL CURRENTLY ON TACFLEET OR SUPFLEET
SHIPS ARE TO TRANSFER TO HOMFLEET SHIPS FOR EVACUATION.

ALL SECTOR EVACUATION EFFORTS ARE CANCELLED EFFECTIVE
IMMEDIATELY. ALL SUPFLEET SHIPS CURRENTLY ON EVACUATION
MISSIONS ARE TO COMPLETE MISSION AND REMAIN AT POINT
LYNCHBURG.

TACFLEET WILL COVER FINAL EVACUATION ASSISTANCE BY HOMFLEET AT
WILDERNESS STATION UNTIL ENGAGED BY HOSTILE FORCES OR 8-15-88,
WHICHEVER OCCURS FIRST. FULL TACTICAL DATA WILL BE PROVIDED TO
ALL TACFLEET COMMANDERS BY PERSONAL COURIER. HOMFLEET WILL
EVACUATE WILDERNESS STATION FOR POINT LYNCHBURG UPON ARRIVAL
OF HOSTILE FORCES OR 8-15-88, WHICHEVER OCCURS FIRST.

Point Lynchburg, in the current Freespacer code, referred to
the Zeta Cygni Dyson Sphere. The name went back to the original War of
Texan Independence, when the Texan forces, after fleeing the superior
Mexican armies for six weeks, chose a tiny hamlet called Lynchburg
Ferry to turn the tables on their foe. Despite being outnumbered two
to one, they surprised the leading Mexican army under
President-General Santa Anna and brought the victory which led to
Texan independence.
No one in the Freespacer high command held any delusions of
defeating the GENOM fleet at Wilderness Station, when that fleet came.
At best, the CFMF might score a minor tactical victory before
retreating- assuming an incredible level of luck and skill on the part
of the Freespacers. The actual battle plans, which Aya now awaited
anxiously, were set up to maximize luck and skill for the Freespacers
and deprive the GENOM fleet of as much advantage as possible... but
even then, the battle would be incredibly one-sided.
Aya groaned in her command chair and took another hangover
pill. As usual, she had consumed mass quantities during the latest
party, and now she paid the price. However, she could in all honesty
report to Admiral Overstreet that the CFMF Defiant was at 100% combat
readiness. The crew were in good spirits, the guncruiser was in full
operational condition, and the modifications Shran had proposed to the
ship had proven incredibly effective in testing.
"Thrusters at station-keeping, Captain," Homare said. "We're
here, Aya. Now what?"
Aya groaned slightly. Every noise stuck a new dagger to her
skull... "Maintain yellow alert, gunners and engineering on standby.
All off-duty crew are to report to Sickbay for medical examination.
Claire, check with the 'dock ships, see if we can get refueled in the
next two days. If we can, make the arrangements. I'll be at the
starboard docking port awaiting the courier ship. Homare, you have the
'conn."
As Aya walked up from the bridge pit towards the doors and
Homare took the center seat, Claire said, "Actually, Captain, the
courier is being beamed over from the Washington."
Aya paused, groaned, held her head in her hands. "Then call
for a courier ship. I want to see the Admiral personally, if I can."
Claire nodded, saying, "I'll arrange for a transporter to beam
you over to Wilderness Station. Admiral Overstreet is inspecting final
evacuation procedures today."
Aya groaned again. Her hangover was threatening to evolve into
a genuine migraine headache. "Wonderful. I'll just have to track him
down, then. Homare, hold down the fort until I get back. Claire, tell
whoever the transporter operator is to lock onto me and beam me
straight to the station. Homare, you take care of the courier."
"Um, right, Captain," Claire said, echoed slightly by Homare.
A few seconds later, Aya dissolved in a flash of yellow sparkles; a
second later, a second flash of sparkles resolved into the form of an
ensign from the CFA Washington.
"Maybe she ought to know that the Admiral's tour doesn't start
until 1000 hours fleet time," Claire murmured. A small clock on the
bridge wall read 0647.
"She'll figure it out," Homare said.
"Um, is Captain Nakajima here..." the ensign said. "I have to
give her these sealed orders..."

Landing Bay Four on Wilderness Station, normally a heavily
trafficked location, sat mostly empty this Tuesday morning, occupied
only by a handful of Freespacer ships and other ships unable to lift
or to make lightspeed. A handful of techs still worked on the power
connections, basic maintenance, and some cleaning, despite the ongoing
evacuation efforts throughout the station. Here and there, the
occupants of the ships still docked in the bay began to stir,
particularly the occupants of a mid-sized gunboat not far from the
passage leading to the station's Level 47 concourse.
The small ship, known only as 295-CH, sat quietly in its
berth, a large section of its hull plating retracted to allow access
to the outer sections of the engine core. Here and there, dark streaks
marred the original reddish finish, which had itself long since worn
to a dull shade of pink. Here and there, several fairly nasty weapons
prodded out of the otherwise sleek hull shape, warning any onlookers
that whoever was inside the ship was not at all easy pickings.
Inside the arrowhead-shaped vessel, a youngish-looking woman
sat up in her bunk and stretched.
0700, as usual. Stretches, first-level Sith meditation
exercises, then a quick calisthenics warmup, long black hair flopping
in an unruly mass around the woman's body. One final luxurious
stretch, a quick rearranging of the itches in her nightgown, and
disentangling a knot of hair from her left horn, and the woman known
as Rianna Santova walked over to the food processor, called up a pot
of Hyelian klah, and stepped into the shower while the pot brewed.
The sound of running water and and the cinnamon-chocolate
smell of brewing klah roused the ship's second occupant, lying in the
bunk above Rianna's. As usual, Mayl Popp'fl began the day by wrapping
her pillow around her head, smashing her long, pointed elfin ears
against her head. When this failed to shut out the noise, as it always
did, she moaned, rolling off her bunk to the floor, landing nimbly on
her feet. A moment later, the bedding followed her, half-drowning her
in pink and white floral-patterned fabric. Crawling out from the pile,
the redhaired elf looked around, eyes still bleary with unslept sleep,
and found her robe lying beside the bunks where she'd kicked it off
the night before.
Tying the robe around her, Mayl staggered towards the small
ship's head, pausing to turn off the food processor before the pot of
klah boiled over, and leaned against the bulkhead, moaning, "Aww,
Riannna... 's too early, fr' Tz'ldah's sake. Can't you sleep in for
once?"
The shower stopped, and Rianna stepped out, drying herself out
as she went. "Good morning to you too," she said, tucking the towel
around her body and reaching for the pot of klah. "Try not to stay in
there too long, there's a lot of work to do today."
"Yeah, yeah," Mayl grumbled, stumbling through the head door.
A few seconds later, when the shower came back on, she screeched,
"EEEEEEE! COLD!!!"
Rianna smiled and mentally tweaked the hot water line
back into operation, careful not to scald Mayl by accident. As she
poured a mug of klah and began to sip, a disembodied electronic voice
called, "Good morning, Rianna. Incoming e-mail from your mysterious
correspondent."
"Thank you, Subtracto," Rianna replied. The R2 droid which
operated most ship's systems grated on her nerves on occasion, with
his sarcasm and insubordinate nature- reminds me too much of myself,
she mused ruefully. Still, he did an excellent job keeping the ship
operational- when he could. Sipping klah, she activated the
terminal and called up the new message list. The list contained one
item, untitled, from an anonymous server.
Rianna opened the text-only message and read:

Rianna,

I hope this message finds you well. My sources informed me you
were in Enigma Sector, and I wanted to warn you that a large
battle fleet is en route to your general location at this
moment.

I suggest you either cooperate fully with the fleet or get the
hell out of there. The fleet will be arriving shortly, so
decide quickly.

I'm sorry I don't have time to say more. All my best.

Dad

Rianna read the message once, twice, three times. Well, she
thought to herself at last, that explains the evacuation code issued
last night.
What a wonderful time for the hyperdrive to go screwy on them
again...

Kris rode the lift down the levels of Wilderness Station's
central concourse, looking across the gap at the stores, shops and
restraunts, now mostly dark and deserted. The station felt quiet and
lonely without the normal press of commerce, travelers going to and
fro, free traders and businessmen doing their business in the cafes,
shoppers stocking up on supplies or shopping in the clothes shops.
Kris had a haunting image of a hundred dead and empty small-town
city centers from his youth, business and prosperity having moved
away.
I wonder, he thought, a hundred years from now, whenever warp
drive passes up hyperdrive once and for all, what this same concourse
will look like? Will the station live on, or will it wither and die?
And more to the point, he chuckled grimly, will any of us be
around to see, one way or another?
The lift stopped, and Kris emerged, followed by one of his
personal secretaries, Ensign James Joseph Condorcet XX. 'Little Joe'
presented the perfect image of the Overeager Ensign, blonde hair
impeccably combed, wispy mustache shadowing his lip, freckles still
clinging to his cheeks; Kris had assigned him to his staff more to
keep another commander from killing the young Condorcet than from any
desire for a more efficient secretarial staff. For example, where
today Kris wore a standard dress-down duty uniform with a blue
windbreaker thrown over it, Little Joe wore his full formal tunic- as
usual. In his hand he carried a datapadd, and at almost every
opportunity he would make some note or other about some minor detail.
For what purpose, Kris didn't know; he'd never asked for any of the
arcane data Little Joe collected, unless he'd told him to make a note
of it in the first place.
Privately, Kris suspected that Little Joe's nervous front and
eccentric behavior was a subtle ploy to encourage him to reassign him,
preferably to a starfighter squadron. Kris put down that suspicion to
unhealthy paranoia. After all, Condorcets in general were not much for
prolonged deception; it went against the very grain.
Besides, Kris smiled, Nervous Nellie or not, he's still a JJ.
The boy already had three lovers, each one ravishingly beautiful, and
every day, when he wasn't making some note or other, Little Joe was
trying to pick up more. Sooner or later, he'll hit some unsuspecting
squadron like a whirlwind, and then watch out. Shooting down pirates
with one hand, feeling up some unsuspecting woman with the other.
If there's anything one can count on in this universe, Kris
thought, it's the consistency of men named J. J. Condorcet.
Walking through the corridor leading to Landing Bay Four, Kris
said, "Joe, I need a list of all non-Freespacer ships still docked,
and reasons why they haven't left. I want that list on my desk by 1800
tonight, if possible."
"Will do, Admiral," Little Joe said. "May I remind you that
you have a meeting with the commanding officers of all our carriers at
1800?"
"Sure, you've only reminded me three times in the past hour,"
Kris chuckled. "Don't worry, it's not that important. I just want to
sound out the captains, see how their squadrons are, make sure they
understand their roles."
"If you say so, Admiral," Little Joe mumbled, making a note of
the comment on the datapadd.
Kris turned from facing Little Joe about half a second too
late to avoid bumping into a shorter redheaded person, arms full of
assorted bundles and bags, ears twitching occasionally with worry.
(Although in all honesty, even a slight twitch with those ears put
most people in mind of some primitive form of semaphore.)
Gasping for breath, Kris looked down to see the surprised and
startled face of Mayl Popp'fl. "Mayl!" Kris gasped. "What are you
doing here? Where's Rianna?"
Mayl gasped, "I'm sorry, I- oh! Red! Um, she's working on the
ship in Landing Bay Four." said, Her startled look faded into
indignation. "You know, you could ask about ME for once? 'Hi, Mayl,
it's been a while, it's good to see you, how have you been?'" Dropping
the bundles on Kris' boot, Mayl crossed her arms and pouted, ears
drooping pointedly. (Pardon the expression.) "You really know how to
make an elf feel unwanted, Mr. Rednecked Overstreet!"
Kris rolled his eyes, tuned out the pain from his half-crushed
foot, and said, "Hello, Mayl, it's been a while. It's good to see you,
I've missed having you around. How have you been lately?"
"Um, fine," Mayl said.
"Great, glad to hear it," Kris said. "See you later." With a
cheerful salute, Kris strode off, leaving Mayl to pick up her dropped
packets.
"OHHH...." Mayl huffed. Picking up each packet one at a time,
she muttered, "That Red is such an... _impossible_ old lie'vuur!" With
a twitch of nose and ears, Mayl huffed off towards the main concourse,
leaving Little Joe to stare after her.
For a moment, Little Joe stared after Mayl, sense of duty
struggling with his natural urges. Finally, Little Joe's basic nature
won, and he trotted off after Mayl, saying, "Wait! Let me get some of
those for you!" Kris paused, then turned and walked on down the
corridor, smiling when he heard the slap and the not-quite audible
Hyelian epithet.
A few seconds later, Little Joe caught back up, rubbing his
cheek. "Funny," he thought, "for a second there I thought she was
going for it."
"Mayl has better taste," Kris said, and smirking to himself,
he strode on, Little Joe trailing behind.

A droid and a young-looking Santovasku woman perched atop the
Centurion gunboat, working to repair the glitched hyperdrive.
Subtracto was inspecting the secondary systems, making sure whatever
had happened to the hyperdrive wasn't about to happen to anything
else. Meanwhile, Rianna struggled with a power conduit on the
Centurion's hyperdrive regulator, trying to make the cable stretch
back to the main feed line. Dammit, she thought, this stupid thing
reached fine when I undid it...
In the back of her mind, Rianna felt a subtle disturbance.
Almost since birth, she'd been trained in the ways of the Force by her
mother; the lightsaber strapped to her jumpsuit belt bore proof to her
proficiency. Now she reached out into the Force, seeking the subtle
shift, finding at its core a familiar presence, a friendly one,
slightly distrusting, but accepting... and worried, she felt, about
several things.
"Good morning, Red," she called to the man walking through the
passageway into the landing bay. "Sorry to meet you like this, but
Mayl and I have been having some problems."
"Nice to see ya, Ri," Redneck said in reply. Rianna paused as
he probed her in a similar fashion, somewhat less proficiently; Red's
training had been short and very incomplete, and he'd had few chances
to improve since, but he could read the emotions of strong Force users
easily. At the moment, Rianna broadcasted mixed annoyance, slight
worry, and some confusion. Her father's message had only added to all
three emotions, although for different reasons than the original
cause- to wit, the comatose hyperdrive she was trying to coerce into
working order.
"So," Redneck said after a moment, "what brings y'all to
Wilderness Station? Not my charming personality, I think."
Rianna frowned. "This stupid hyperdrive died on us when we
stopped by to resupply last week," she growled, whacking the regulator
irritably. For a second, something whirred within the housing, but the
sound faltered and died. "I've been trying to get the thing fixed ever
since."
"You know," the Redneck smiled wryly, "you two have got a real
talent for timing this kind of thing."
"I've noticed," Rianna said, not smiling at all.
"Anyway, what brought you here at all?" Redneck asked. "This
ain't exactly the most popular hangout for civ-hunters, ya know."
"Well," Rianna grunted, lifting an access panel out of the
way, "we found this old document which talked about a Santovasku
outpost near here. We've been searching the area around Wilderness for
three months, but all we came up with was a few pieces of old space
debris and a Mandalorian ashtray."
"Yuck," Redneck said. "Say, I think I see your problem," he
said. Jumping up onto the ship beside Rianna, he looked carefully at
the panel before pointing out scorch marks along a small tube
extending along the surface of the main hyperdrive core. "This field
regulator has blown completely. The safeties must have shut down the
drive when you tried to jump last. Probably caused some minor damage
to the main drive control system- that'll be the hard part to fix.
This, though," he said, reaching into the engine and popping the
offending component out carefully, "this is a simple replacement
problem."
Rianna groaned. "What do you want to bet all of those
regulators are ready to go?"
"No bet," Red said, looking the part over carefully. "We still
have four Centurions in the Home Fleet patrol force, we should be able
to get the replacement part for you. Hey, Little Joe," Redneck shouted
to a young blondhaired man with a line of stubble along his upper lip,
"call Quartermaster and tell them we need a full set of hyperdrive
field regulators for a Centurion gunboat."
"Aye, Admiral," the young man said. "Will this take long?
After all, we got a lot of stuff to take care of."
"Aah, this won't be but just a bit," Redneck smiled, and
Rianna felt a bit of his tension bleed away at the prospect of
spending the afternoon wrestling with a piece of machinery. Compared
to the worries of managing a mercenary fleet, a broken hyperdrive
seemed like light labor, apparently.
"Well, then," she smiled, "let's get to work. Maybe we'll have
this thing up and out of here by this evening."
Rianna felt Red's mood crash back into deep worry. "Oh, don't
worry," he said, "one way or the other, you'll be out of here in at
most two days."
"Two days?" Rianna asked.
"That's when the main GENOM war fleet gets here, more or
less."
Oh, Rianna thought, so that's what Dad meant about that fleet.
Somehow, she thought grimly, I doubt I'd want to cooperate with them
very much.
"What's wrong, Ri?" Red asked, and Rianna smothered her worry.
She wasn't used to being around people who could read her the same way
she could read them.
"Just a little concerned," Rianna said. "Come on, let's check
out the rest of those field regulators..."

Aya Nakajima strode down the concourse walk on Level 47 in a
state of extreme irritation. Her hangover had finally dissipated,
thanks to nine hours of walking the floors of Wilderness Station
trying to locate Admiral Overstreet. She'd finally gotten a
maintenance supervisor to tell her that the Admiral had mentioned,
back around noon Fleet time, that he planned to check the various
hangars for ships either unable or unwilling to evacuate.
Having searched every half-derelict ship berthed in Main
Landing Bay, Landing Bay Two, Landing Bay Three, and Maintenance Bay,
Aya now strode into Landing Bay Four, determination undimmed, the fire
of righteous wrath in her eyes. Come earthquake or tsunami, she would
find Admiral Overstreet and get her briefing in person, even if she
had to turn the station upside down and shake it until he fell out!
Aya strode through the wide archway into the landing bay,
pausing and looking around at the dozen or so remaining ships. From
the nearest, a battered red Centurion gunboat, the noises of repair
work echoed into the bay. One voice in particular sounded familiar:
she'd been on the recieving end of some of the profanity it spouted
every so often, usually after an unauthorized engagement with hostile
forces.
Jaw set and eyes flashing, Aya stomped up the landing ramp
into the small ship, following the voices in the general direction of
the engine compartment. She turned a corner to see a tall sable-haired
woman with long thin curled horns, the sleeves of her jumpsuit rolled
up, wrestling with something inside a small compartment in the
bulkhead. Also with his arms stuck into the innards of the ship was
one Admiral Overstreet, duty uniform streaked with grease and scorched
here and there from what must have been some impressive mechanical
difficulties.
"Admiral!" Aya shouted into the already cramped compartment.
The admiral, startled, tried to rise from his position, caught his
head on the edge of the access hole, and crawled out, rubbing the back
of his head a bit.
"Admiral, I have been looking all over for you!" Aya said.
"How can I deliver my report concerning the readiness of the Defiant
when you're off hiding in some worn-out old-"
"Don't talk bad about my ship," the black-haired woman growled
as she kept on re-wiring the hyperdrive control circuits.
Before Aya could warm to the subject of the obvious
inferiority of the privateer's ship to her own command, the Admiral
murmured, "Y'know, Aya, most captains settle for written reports."
"I, Admiral, am not most captains!" Aya said proudly. "The
Defiant is 100% ready for battle, in whatever capacity you would have
us perform in!"
"Anti-starfighter duty," the Admiral said, trying to dust
himself off and in the process streaking even more gunk across his
shirt. "The other Liberator-class guncruisers don't have the Defiant's
speed, and I don't want to break up the class for this battle. The
Defiant will act as a mobile reserve, moving from point to point to
relieve pressure from starfighter attacks while the other guncruisers
maintain a relative position to the fleet. It's all in your sealed
orders... but you didn't wait for them, did you?" he said, smiling
wryly.
"Sir, I insist that the Defiant is perfectly capable of acting
against capital ships!" Aya snapped.
"If we were going up against anything approaching even odds,
I'd agree," the Admiral said. "However, I have no intention of
engaging any capital ships except by hit-and-run. Furthermore, the
fleet as a whole has to be considered. Simply put, the Defiant serves
better in a defensive position than in a lone offensive strike.
"Look, go to the Biscuit Baron on the concourse, they're still
open," the Admiral said, grasping her shoulders and gently but firmly
turning her around, "get something decent to eat and drink, then get
back over to your ship and get some rest, all right?" Aya found
herself shoved down the accessway towards the ship's hatch. "And
that's an order, Captain," he said, turning back towards the
half-dismantled control unit.
"Am I dismissed, sir?" Aya said, not quite ready to admit
defeat.
"GIT!" the Admiral shouted, and Aya actually found herself
fifty meters down the corridor to the concourse before she recovered
her composure.
I don't know what's worse, Aya thought, when he's chewing me
out or when he's polite.
Oh, well, Aya said, orders are orders.
Wonder if they still have the ThunderForce Zeta Wacky Meal...

"What was that about?" Rianna asked Kris as he crawled back
into the access hole beside her.
"Oh, that was Captain Aya Nakajima," Kris chuckled. "As you
heard, she's not most captains, and thank God for that."
"Why do you let her talk to you like that?" Rianna asked,
tugging at a tiny relay which had developed an intermittent short.
"She gets results," Kris said, "provided you're not picky on
her methods. Since she's been in the Freespacers, she's countered at
least two potential incursions by the Kilrathi on Federation border
worlds." Of course, Kris thought ruefully, since the Kilrathi
government denied involvement, and the hostile ships involved had
never actually made it into Federation space, potential was all the
moves could be called. The UFP diplomatic corps in general were none
too happy with Ayami Nakajima, or her supreme commanding officer, at
the moment.
"Speaking of results," Rianna groaned, giving up her struggle
with the hyperdrive control circuits, "we're not getting any here.
Sorry, Red, but this control unit is fried, no question about it."
"Ah, don't throw in the towel just yet," Kris smiled, popping
out the offending relay with ease. "I've made hyperdrives work that
were in much worse shape than this."
"Like when?" Rianna grumbled.
"Probably before you were born," Kris said. "Back during my
Sabbatical, spent a century wandering the next galactic arm over
without seeing the first real maintenance facility. Here, do you have
a twist tie or something?"
"Um..." Rianna thought for a second. "Well... wait! Mayl
bought some powdered donuts, they were closed with a twist-tie! Let me
go see if she kept it..."
A few seconds later, a hand half-covered in white powder
reached back into the compartment holding a small red wire twist-tie.
"Of course," Rianna groaned, "she didn't actually use the thing to
-close- the bag, dammit."
"Oopsie," Kris said, imagining the donuts which must be lying
all over the deck somewhere. "Right," he said, taking the twist-tie
and sticking the ends into the circuit boards, welding the tips in
with a moment's burst of heat. "Okay, that should do it. Let's do a
power test."
"Okay, stand by..." Rianna vanished for a moment, and Kris
backed out slightly to get a better look at their handiwork. A second
later, sparks flew from the boards, and Kris shouted, "Turn it off!
Turn it off! Turn it off!!!" The sparks died suddenly, and Kris
inspected the damage.
"Damn," he said as Rianna squeezed in beside her, "that stupid
powder from the donuts shorted the boards."
"Well, that settles it," Rianna sighed. "Good-bye,
hyperdrive."
"Like hell," Kris said. "Get me a paper towel. This thing
-WILL- fly if I have to push it into hyperspace!"
"Um... can you actually do that?" Rianna asked, honest
curiosity filling her voice.
"Dunno," Kris said. "Never had the occasion to try."

A beam of golden sparkles resolved itself into the figure of
Aya Nakajima, barely raising a look from the Defiant's bridge crew.
Homare stretched as he rose from the center seat. "Hi, sis, how was
your briefing?" he said cheerfully.
"Um... interesting," Aya said. "Well, anyway, I'm tired and
sore, and I want to try out my new plushie Eiko doll, so I'm going to
bed. See you at 0800 tomorrow, Homare!" Brushing past an unfamiliar-
looking ensign, she walked through the bridge doors, yawning widely as
they shut behind her.
"But... Captain..." the ensign said at last, "I have to give
you these orders... they're confidential, you see..." For a long
second, the ensign stared at the closed doors, and the rest of the
bridge personnel stared at him.
"Oh, the hell with it," he said at last, and he threw the
sealed orders to the floor. Flipping open a communicator, he said,
"Washington, this is Adams. Bag this noise, beam me the hell out of
here."
A few seconds later, the golden sparkles faded, and Homare
reached down to read the label on the envelope:

ORDERS CPT. NARLA JIEMA
CMDG CFMF EXPLORERS WIND CFF-87

Homare paused for a long second, then dropped the envelope
back on the floor, gave the conn to Lt. Rini, and went to bed himself.
What a day...

Well away from Wilderness Station, the Freespacer fleets, and
the husk of a world they orbited, a lone Centurion poked its way
outbound in the general direction of Hyeruul.
Rianna locked in the hyperspace coordinates for Hyeruul and
reached gingerly for the hyperdrive switches. Twice before, she'd
tried this and got nothing but the dying whine of the sublight
engines. Red had assured her the repaired systems were good for at
least one jump, but Ri still had her doubts. Big, nasty doubts, with
sharp pointy teeth.
"I still wish you'd stay with the Home Fleet," he'd said as
they'd replaced all the access covers around the engine compartment.
"I don't think so," she'd smiled. "After all, we're looking
for someplace out of harm's way, and I really doubt Zeta Cygni counts
for that."
"Well," he'd said, shuffling his feet again, "um, may the
Force be with you and all that... and y'all take care of yourself..."
"Always do," Rianna had said. Then, out of the blue, she'd
continued, "By the way, Red, who is she?"
Red had blushed, aura glowing for a second before he brought
it under control, and he had said, "Her name's Terri Curtiss. I don't
know if you met her last time you passed my way. Assuming we both
survive the next few days, I've asked her to marry me. She's still
thinking it over, but..."
"Ah, so old Redneck's had his horns trimmed, eh?" Rianna had
chuckled. When Red's jaw had dropped, she'd smiled and said, "I can
get away with horn jokes. You can't. Remember that, okay?"
"Um, yeah," Kris'd said, managing to chuckle a bit. "Look,
you keep yourself together, I'll invite you to the wedding."
"No problem," Rianna'd said. "And by the way, I'm hardly a
kid, so quit thinking it."
"Am I showing -that- badly?" he'd blushed. "I was actually
thinking about you. Kinda wishing... well... wondering why we never
hit it off or anything..."
"It's not because of age," Rianna had smiled. "It's because
we're not the right type for each other. You're half Jedi, I'm half
Sith... and right now you are too screwed up mentally, you're getting
me caught up in it. Go on, let me get my ship out of here, before you
get me as screwed up as you are."
"Impossible," he'd laughed, and after a hug- which had
surprised Rianna, hugs weren't Red's style or hers- they'd parted, Red
to go be the Admiral again, and Rianna to do a final pre-flight prep.
Red, Rianna thought as her hand rested on the hyperdrive
switch, you don't know who you love. And if you've let your emotional
state screw over my ship, you and I are going to have a much longer
chat.
Oh well, Rianna said, here goes my atoms all over the
galaxy... Gingerly she pushed the hyperdrive switchs forward, and the
Centurion lurched like a wounded angel into a tunnel of light. Sighing
with relief, Rianna stood up and walked back to the living quarters;
food, and then bed, seemed a very good idea.
Mayl came out of the rooms, holding a large jug of iced tea.
"Was that what I thought it was?" she smiled hopefully.
"We made hyperspace," Rianna said quietly. "I've laid in a
course for Hyeruul. We should be there by Thursday."
"Yay!" Mayl said, and she threw up her hands to cheer. The jug
of tea slipped from her fingers and flew into the air in a graceful
arc, tea splashing from its spout, finally bouncing off the wall,
off the deck, and landing at last in the far end of the engine
compartment, spilling its contents throughout the room. Sparks flew,
blue flames flickered here and there, and the ship lurched back into
normal space, throwing Rianna and Mayl to the deck in a heap.
Mayl looked at the engine compartment, looked at Rianna, and
said quietly, "Oops. I by'phed it, didn't I?"
"Yes, Mayl," Rianna said, equally quiet, "you biffed it."