Putting Stuff Together
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Bob Martens
Feb 4, 2011, 4:47:13 PM2/4/11
to startrek...@googlegroups.com
[San Francisco, Earth]
Bob set down the padd he was reading and cracked his knuckles. It had been a long day since the three of them had landed back on earth. They had all been assigned private quarters from the admiral’s office and were currently spending it as they saw fit.
The captain saw fit to do some more reasearch into one Jeral Krezek and where he might currently be. The last known location was here, asking for a leave of absence. That had been it. Nothing else since then.
Bob had served with another Krezek, Aran, in the past and now he was trying to find where that man’s brother might currently be. Sadly, no one seemed to know anything.
It was only a manner of time before he would be found, that much was certain, but patience was something hard to come by recently. Time was not their friend and the more time they spent gathering people together, the more dangerous it would be for everyone involved. In space they could run and hide, on Earth they could only delay.
There was an encrypted message from the admiral that had just arrived and Bob walked over to his private terminal and opened it up.
Captain Martens,
You have two weeks to gather your command staff. I have secured you a vessel for your use and will staff it as well for you. Gather what crew you want and let me know which positions they will be filling. Two weeks and I expect everyone to report to Deep Space 6.
Sincerely,
Becker
“That’s simple and easy,” Bob said quietly to himself and got back to work, pacing the floor of the room. His mind wandered for a moment as to what their ship would be like and how many he would again be commanding.
“Excelsior … more than likely,” Bob said with a little bit of disgust. Even though it wouldn’t be small and unassuming, it would be old enough that no one would really ask where an old, outdated Excelsior had gone.
He was excited about the idea of heading out to Deep Space 6. More than a few battles had taken place out there and he thought back to the Tarawa, his prior ship, and the valiant effort during the Borg incursion as they had sacrificed the ship to take out a Cube bent on destroying the station. It was all that stood between the Borg and the millions of people on Qualor Prime.
However, he had to force his mind back to the present and getting the crew together. They currently had three, which left eight to find. They were going to have to be everything and more … if that even made sense.
A light started pulsing on his station and Bob nearly got up without checking what the meaning of it was. One of the benefits of their current status was that Bob could watch Starfleet Intelligence’s own correspondence for anything out of the ordinary and check up on it.
This was one of those times.
“What have we here,” he started to analyze the traffic. Something had them spooked, obviously, because they were not being as careful as they should have been. “A Compound X … Starfleet Medical … psyche patient … intercept … Krezek!?”
The last name was all he needed to read. It wasn’t going to be fun chasing down Starfleet Intelligence when they had obviously set their mind to something, but this was obviously not going to end well for one Jeral Krezek if they didn’t get going as soon as possible.
Pulling out his communicator, Bob quickly dialed up Chandler.
“We’re on the move, meet me in the hanger in two minutes with as much gear as you can muster,” Bob said as he hustled out the door.
“How did you know what I was doing?” Tank asked.
“Call it instinct,” Bob said. “However, no time to talk, I’ll brief you when we meet.”
Closing the channel Bob was out the door and initiated the lock on his quarters as well. He hustled down the hanger and was able to procure the only battle-worthy piece of equipment in the entire place: a Scout.
Bob sat down in the pilot’s seat and began preparations. The console quickly hummed to life and as power filled the ship Bob smiled to himself. It had been a while since he had piloted a vessel as nimble as this, but he was sure he could manage.
Tank poked his head into the craft and had a seat as well behind Bob as he prepared his equipment.
“So … mind telling me where we are going or what we are doing?” he asked, working quickly.
Bob tilted his head back and just said, “saving Mr. Krezek from a fate worse than death.”
--
Sincerely,
Bob Martens
http://bobmartens.net
@boblmartens
Bob set down the padd he was reading and cracked his knuckles. It had been a long day since the three of them had landed back on earth. They had all been assigned private quarters from the admiral’s office and were currently spending it as they saw fit.
The captain saw fit to do some more reasearch into one Jeral Krezek and where he might currently be. The last known location was here, asking for a leave of absence. That had been it. Nothing else since then.
Bob had served with another Krezek, Aran, in the past and now he was trying to find where that man’s brother might currently be. Sadly, no one seemed to know anything.
It was only a manner of time before he would be found, that much was certain, but patience was something hard to come by recently. Time was not their friend and the more time they spent gathering people together, the more dangerous it would be for everyone involved. In space they could run and hide, on Earth they could only delay.
There was an encrypted message from the admiral that had just arrived and Bob walked over to his private terminal and opened it up.
Captain Martens,
You have two weeks to gather your command staff. I have secured you a vessel for your use and will staff it as well for you. Gather what crew you want and let me know which positions they will be filling. Two weeks and I expect everyone to report to Deep Space 6.
Sincerely,
Becker
“That’s simple and easy,” Bob said quietly to himself and got back to work, pacing the floor of the room. His mind wandered for a moment as to what their ship would be like and how many he would again be commanding.
“Excelsior … more than likely,” Bob said with a little bit of disgust. Even though it wouldn’t be small and unassuming, it would be old enough that no one would really ask where an old, outdated Excelsior had gone.
He was excited about the idea of heading out to Deep Space 6. More than a few battles had taken place out there and he thought back to the Tarawa, his prior ship, and the valiant effort during the Borg incursion as they had sacrificed the ship to take out a Cube bent on destroying the station. It was all that stood between the Borg and the millions of people on Qualor Prime.
However, he had to force his mind back to the present and getting the crew together. They currently had three, which left eight to find. They were going to have to be everything and more … if that even made sense.
A light started pulsing on his station and Bob nearly got up without checking what the meaning of it was. One of the benefits of their current status was that Bob could watch Starfleet Intelligence’s own correspondence for anything out of the ordinary and check up on it.
This was one of those times.
“What have we here,” he started to analyze the traffic. Something had them spooked, obviously, because they were not being as careful as they should have been. “A Compound X … Starfleet Medical … psyche patient … intercept … Krezek!?”
The last name was all he needed to read. It wasn’t going to be fun chasing down Starfleet Intelligence when they had obviously set their mind to something, but this was obviously not going to end well for one Jeral Krezek if they didn’t get going as soon as possible.
Pulling out his communicator, Bob quickly dialed up Chandler.
“We’re on the move, meet me in the hanger in two minutes with as much gear as you can muster,” Bob said as he hustled out the door.
“How did you know what I was doing?” Tank asked.
“Call it instinct,” Bob said. “However, no time to talk, I’ll brief you when we meet.”
Closing the channel Bob was out the door and initiated the lock on his quarters as well. He hustled down the hanger and was able to procure the only battle-worthy piece of equipment in the entire place: a Scout.
Bob sat down in the pilot’s seat and began preparations. The console quickly hummed to life and as power filled the ship Bob smiled to himself. It had been a while since he had piloted a vessel as nimble as this, but he was sure he could manage.
Tank poked his head into the craft and had a seat as well behind Bob as he prepared his equipment.
“So … mind telling me where we are going or what we are doing?” he asked, working quickly.
Bob tilted his head back and just said, “saving Mr. Krezek from a fate worse than death.”
--
Sincerely,
Bob Martens
http://bobmartens.net
@boblmartens
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