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From: [e-mail] (james vassilakos)
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Subject: STORY: ST-PBeM Turn #36 - Skirmish
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Date: 30 May 1995 13:42:24 -0400
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*******************************************************************************
                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #2
                              A Matter of Policy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                   Turn #36
                                   Skirmish
===============================================================================
              Copyright 1994 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved
*******************************************************************************


  Cast & Crew
  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
  ST-PBeM GameMaster       Jim Vassilakos      [e-mail]
  Lt. T'lar                Ronnie Simonds      [e-mail]
  Lt. Morchainte           Brian Chrisman      [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. Duran          Tony Hayes          [e-mail]
  Lt. St. James            John Brengman       [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. de la Sangre   Carlos Jensen       [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. Hawkins        Tony Hayes          [e-mail]
  2nd Lt. Xelha            Dave Shue           [e-mail]
  Dr. Bannister            Jason Stripinis     [e-mail]
  Lt. K'tar                Steve Mays          [e-mail]


Stardate 6003.28 at 1340 Hours: USS Phobos, Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vince fidgets in his seat, realizing that those idiots may end up blowing
themselves to pieces any second. "This is not going to be easy. See if you can
immobilize them with a few well-aimed shots. That way they'll keep still long
enough for us to transport them over here to safety."

Tsandzia looks up from her console, a bit perturbed. "Sir, they can't be so
stupid as to drive themselves to death. I wouldn't worry about them exploding,
unless you think they're suicidal. The build up could easily be a fake, trying
to freak us out of pursuit."

"Or they could just have an idiot for a captain, a possibility I wouldn't
discount. Have they answered our hails yet, Trozena?"

"No sir. It's possible that they are unable."

"Hogwash. They hear us loud and clear. I want their engines taken out."

"I think I can place a shot, sir," Ekstrom answers from the back.

Pacal turns around in his seat, looking mildly aghast. "Captain, may I remind
you again that we are still not sure of the ship's origin? If we do destroy
them on accident... I hate to think how many treaties we could be breaking."

"Yeah, well they shouldn't have been tailing us in the first place, Lieutenant.
They were cloaked for God's sake! They're the ones in trouble here!"

"Perhaps, but firing on an unarmed vessel?! Captain, might I suggest using the
tractor beam to capture them peaceably?"

"And risk them blowing up in our faces? I'll pass. Crewman, do you have a
phaser lock?"

"Aye sir!" Ekstrom responds.

"Then fire!"

Ekstrom's fingers flash across the controls, glad for his numerous hours in the
combat simulator on Albuquerque Station. A moment later, a crimson phaser beam
streaks out, nailing the fleeing vessel in the starboard nacelle. It proceeds
to fall out of warp, twirling end over end as numerous cracks form between its
aft cargo pod and the engineering section.

"Detecting hull breach in enemy vessel," Tsandzia relays. "Their SIF is
compensating. They're powering down their engines."

"Sir, I'm detecting some energy readings, looks like an escape pod being fired
up." Pacal looks toward the frazzled captain, awaiting his reply.

"Get a lock on all remaining lifeforms on the main ship. Transport them over
here. And get a tractor beam on the escape pod and bring it in also. Then get
us out of here."

"Security to transporter room #2! Security to transporter room #2!" Trozena
barks over the PA, relaying the instructions. Then he turns back around,
"They've got 'em, sir."


Stardate 6003.28 at 1345 Hours: USS Phobos, Sickbay
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake scurries through the hall in just his bathrobe, finally making it to
sickbay where he finds his entire medical staff looking somewhat bewildered. He
skids to a halt, staring at each of the faces he's memorized the evening
before. Their service records made them all look so... sterile. Like cogs in a
machine. In person, however, they look a bit different, less like items in a
list and more like genuine personages.

"Uh... hello everyone." Jake tries hard to look at least semi-dignified. "Look,
uh... the meeting's postponed until after we figure out what's going on. Did
anybody get hold of the bridge?"

Suddenly a burst of static pops from the PA speaker. "Security to transporter
room #2. Security to transporter room #2."

Jake dashes across sickbay, grabbing a tricorder and a field-aid kit. "Archer,
Perez, you're both with me. The rest of you stay here and get ready for
business."

There's a resounding response of aye-sirs as everyone gets down to looking
busy. Until the patients come rolling in, however, there's not much they can do
aside from wait and pray.


Stardate 6003.28 at 1340 Hours: USS Phobos, Sickbay
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Hawkins finally gets back to main engineering, he expects to see pure and
total chaos. Not only is the ship in a state of battle, but he just sent the
majority of his people to their cabins to get some sleep. What he sees are
engineers in their pajamas, jockey shorts, and nightgowns mixed in with the few
others who were too tired to change. As for panic... well, there isn't any.
Everyone is much too tired for that!

"Engine efficiency!"

"Ninety-six percent and purrin' like a kitten," Gardner smiles. "Looks like
the warp field realignment was a success."

"We can thank the new warp geometries as well," Hawkins hits a few keys, seeing
where the power is going. "Okay, divert all power from non-essential systems,
and cut aft, aft-starboard, and port-aft shields. We're gonna need every ounce
we can get if the Capt'n wants warp 8."

Suddenly there's a loud, high-pitched noise and a flash of crimson light. Then
the ship slows down, finally dropping out of warp entirely. Gardner makes a
face, "Holy-fart, don't tell me the fuses popped."

"Nope," Hawkins consults the command logs, "T'lar took us out of warp. That
flash was the phaser conduits sparking. They do that a bit on these old boats."
Hawkins smiles, checking the power grids one more time. "Good. Things are
lookin' good people. I'll be headin' up ta the bridge if anybody decides they
need me." On the way there, he hears Trozena's announcement over the PA, and
ends up bumping into Dr. Bannister and two of his medical staffers.

"You headed to the transporters, Doc?"

"If you'll get out of my way," he goes rushing by, leaving Hawkins to trail
along behind.

"Damn that guy moves quick."

During the renovation at Albuquerque, the construction crew had the presence of
mind to chop down the wall between transporter rooms 2 & 3, effectively making
one double-sized transporter room out of two normal-sized ones. This is where
the bulk of the incoming "enemies" arrive, and hence, where Bannister and
Hawkins end up. They both watch as ten shifting yellow beams coalesce from
haphazard streams of particles to blobs of matter to fully formed beings. Not
just beings, but human beings! One of them wields a spraying canister of fire
retardant. Another is putting on a vacc suit. Still another is holding an
engineering tricorder, and yet others are rubbing their bruises or clutching
sprained or broken body parts. The last one, however, holds a laser carbine,
and she doesn't look particularly happy about having been taken prisoner.
Hawkins and Jake both gulp down a lump of air as Kris runs inside with Soroc,
Linanes, and Sorrows. Turak, meanwhile, resides behind the transporter console,
pulling out his own phaser in response to the recent turn of events.

"Miss, put down yer weapon." Hawkins gestures toward the numerous security
personnel, "Wouldn't want anyone gittin' hurt now."

She points the gun straight at him, then at Kris as she steps forward.
Meanwhile, more of the "prisoners" are pulling out firearms.

"Drop your weapons!" Kris shouts.

"Uh... okay... er, I mean, no!"

Hawkins gulps, "Eh... look, this is silly. Which one of y'all's in charge?"

A moment later, one last beam (probably being redirected from transporter room
#1) coalesces into a somewhat short, rotund fellow with the sort of hairdo that
would make an ostrich flush in shame (picture that one ambassador from Babylon
5). Definitely not a human, by any means, unless he got some pretty severe
cosmetic surgery in preparation for halloween. In fact, Hawkins can't even
begin to guess at what he is, though the term "leader-type" seems to do most of
the describing.

"...idiots! Stinking human fools! I want those shields back up now! Oh my God!
What's happening to my legs?! Oh no, not again!"

He pats himself off after he's finished re-materializing, as though the process
of being transported got one dusty. When he's finally done, he looks back and
forth at the fire fight about to happen and realizes that he's standing
directly in the center of the soon-to-be crossfire.

"Tell them to hand over their weapons," Kris demands, walking over to the woman
with the laser carbine.

"You don't frighten us, Federation pig-dogs! We will never surrender!"

The woman with the carbine winces a bit, then hands over her gun, "Uh... here.
Take it." The others do likewise, "Uh... here's my gun. And here's my pocket
knife. And... uh... here are some rubber-bands."

"You idiots! You stinking human fools!" The Captain gnashes his teeth, ready to
take a swing at Hawkins who begins grinning from ear to ear.

"Hurmph, guess y'all didn't need my help any!" Hawkins turns to the short
scowling guy. "Calm down, now. I think Capt'n Vince is gonna wanna talk to
y'all so let me git y'all warmed up a bit. What is yer name? Where are ya from?
Why were ya following us? An' why did ya run?"

The alien captain grits his teeth, "Go and boil your bottom, son of a silly
person! I blow my olfactory organ at you!" And he does, too.

As Hawkins wipes himself off, Jake checks the alien over with his medical
tricorder. "Amazing. According to my readings, he's a Tricani."

"A what!?" Hawkins exclaims.

"The Tricani are a dead race," Kris explains. "They were killed-off during the
Klingon-Lyran wars."

"Not all killed-off! Now would somebody mind telling me why I am here instead
of on my ship?!"

Kris turns to Sorrows and Linanes. "You will provide an escort for the wounded
to sickbay. I will take the rest of the prisoners to the brig. Any questions?"

"The brig!?" The Tricani Captain screams, bug-eyed and fuming. "Do you _know_
who you are dealing with?!"

"No, would you mind telling us?"

"I am _Admiral_ P'notto of the Tricani Star League!"

"Uh-huh."

"I am also the Interim-Governor of the Star League as well as..."

"As well as its last surviving member," Kris finishes the sentence for him.
"Now if you'll kindly come with me..."

"And if I refuse!?"

"Then you'll get to experience the effects of phaser-stun at point blank," she
shows him her phaser. "I assure you, it isn't in the least bit pleasant."

The admiral growls at her. She grows back. In short, they head off to the brig.


Stardate 6003.28 at 1355 Hours: USS Phobos, Bridge
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you picking anything up from the other ship at all? Energy readings, life
signals, any kind of activity?"

"All life signs are gone, everyone has beamed over to the Phobos, sir." Pacal
adds. "There are a couple small fires in their engineering section, but they
don't seem serious."

"And their engines?"

"Their engines have automatically shut down."

"We'll send a boarding party to investigate. There might be some important
information on that ship. Lt. Cmdr. tr'Remas, you have the conn. I'll lead the
boarding party myself. See if you can get something out of the prisoners. If I
should not return, Hawkins has all information relevant to our mission. Well?
Is nobody coming along with me or what?"

Pacal sighs, "Sir, might I point out that your safety is in question should you
board the other ship."

"Yes you may, but I won't listen to you."

Pacal makes a confused face, again thinking about suggesting to the Doctor that
the Captain get a full psychiatric check-up at the earliest possible
convenience.

"Pacal, I'm able to take care of myself. Remember, I used to be a security
grunt. If I survived for years wearing a red shirt, a little cargo freighter
certainly isn't going to hurt me. Besides, I enjoy it. It's one of the reasons
I joined Star Fleet in the first place." As he turns around he mutters to
himself, 'Of course, there was that other little matter with being
disinherited...'

"Aye sir." Pacal admires the logic. "Sir, might I volunteer to be part of the
away team."

"You most certainly may," Vince rubs his beard. "But you get to wear the red
shirt this time."

"Sir, I really prefer this yellow one."

"Well, okay. But no more favors." Vince heads toward the turbolift. "Oh, we
need someone to have a look at their cloaking device. Engineering seems to have
their hands full, so we will might have to bring someone from the science
department," he glances toward Tsandzia before heading into the lift.


Stardate 6003.28 at 1400 Hours: USS Phobos, Brig
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Kris finally arrives with her load of prisoners, she sees that Duran has
found Sarin, and apparently under the most peculiar of circumstances. Sarin,
whose appearance is generally immaculate, seems a bit ragged around the edges,
his hair messed up, his face scratched where Histlin got in a few licks, and
most alarmingly, a bruise on his cheek.

"Well hello, Kris," Duran mentions. She ignores him long enough to deposit the
captives into a nearby cell. Then walks over, a tired look on her face as
P'notto is screaming behind her about rank and insubordination, two subjects
already on her mind.

"If it doesn't interfere with your duties, Mr. Khemsa, I would *appreciate* it
if you would give me a report on this situation immediately. You can start by
telling me how you found the ambassador... and why he looks like he was just
attacked by an Arcturian Bearcat."

"Well, since you *asked* so politely... but it'll have to be quick. I'm pressed
for time just now. You can join the Captain and me later for a full briefing.
In short, Sarin was here when I arrived trying to talk with Histlin. He
frightened her, she tried to repel him, and I separated them."

Kris looks toward Sarin, a bit perturbed. "We'll get to the bottom of this
later." Turning back to Duran, "Anyway, we've detained some new guests. They
are from a ship that was caught tailing us while under cloak. One of them
claims to be the leader of the former Tricani state. The Captain has asked you
to question them. I need to get back to the bridge." She points at Sarin, "And
you, my friend, are coming with me." She shoots Khemsa a look that clearly says
"Don't even THINK about countermanding me on this one."

Before she makes her exit with Sarin, however, she stops just inside the force
field projectors. "By the way Mr. Khemsa," she says softly. "If you think that
the Captain has given you free run of this ship, you are dead wrong. My duty as
security officer on this ship is to protect the lives of all aboard and to
protect the interests of the Federation and Star Fleet, and if ANYONE....even
you, or the Captain, go against those interests... it is my duty to stop you."

Duran approaches her, somehow managing to smile as his teeth involuntarily
grind together. "With all the respect due your rank," he begins, almost
whispering, "get off my back, get a life, and get over it. You're just a petty
lieutenant with delusions of godhood."

Kris' jaw drops, but she says nothing, realizing that she wouldn't be able to
get a word in edgewise even if she tried. Duran, meanwhile, continues with a
slowly increasing volume.

"I'm really sick and tired of this little power struggle you've got going, and
I have no further time to deal with it. If you want to speak to me again, you
can do so with the respect and common decency due any living being or you can
keep your whining mouth shut."

By this time he has the full attention of everyone in the brig.

"Further, if I ever see you treating any of your staff the way you have treated
me, I will make it my life's work to have your ass discharged from the fleet.
Do *I* make *MYSELF* clear, *LIEUTENANT*."

Duran pauses for the briefest moment as he notices that all the prisoners are
staring at him. "Don't you people have manners?!"

Admiral P'notto shrugs, "What? This is the entertainment, no?"

Duran steps with Kris and Sarin into the antechamber where the prisoners
hopefully can't listen in. "Look, Kris. If you want to work out our differences
like mature adults, I'll be happy to talk it out at your convenience. But if
you want to continue with this attitude like you own this damn ship..."

Kris pulls out her pink slip.

"Where did you get that?!"

"It was lying around," she pockets it again. "Look, Duran... we *really* have
to talk... preferably in the gymnasium where I can beat the living puke out of
you with impunity."

Duran grits his teeth again, "Kris, I'd love to come down and play but unlike
some people, I have work to do. If you want to meet me later, that'll be fine."

"Any place, anytime." She heads off with Sarin, studying the vulcan ambassador
out of the corner of her eye. When they finally enter the turbolift, she turns
toward him, eyebrow raised in perfect imitation. "You know, Ambassador, if I
didn't already owe you one, I might just shoot you in the head myself and get
it over with. Hell, a court-martial ought to be easier than guarding you."

"They'd do worse than court-martial you," Sarin replies. "Either that or they'd
pin a medal on your chest. Perhaps both."

Kris stares at him, a bit perturbed, "Excuse me?"

"You're excused. By the way, where are we going?"

The turbolift comes to a halt, "Uh... well, I figured after all the excitement,
you could use some rest."

"On the contrary, I feel perfectly refreshed."

"That's too bad. I'm confining you to quarters, effective immediately."

Sarin stares at her. "Lieutenant, I am a Federation..."

"...Ambassador, I know. You're also my responsibility, at least until we get to
Rigel." Kris types in the entry code. "I've arranged these new quarters for
you. By the way, I'd suggest that you clear your visitation schedule for
awhile. You'll notice that I'm re-setting the lock. Nobody can open this door
now save for myself, Oein, or the Captain. I'd prefer to limit the list even
further than that, but my powers only extend so far."

"Thank heaven for small favors," Sarin intones. "Might I ask why?"

"Consider it a sort of security quarantine. We have several new guests on
board, and I'm not sure what their connection is to you... if they're connected
to you at all. And, since you seem unwilling to talk to me about any of this...
well, you see my position."

"A form of punishment."

Kris shrugs, "I prefer you look on it as the logical consequence of your
actions. Punishment is such a harsh term." She smiles. "Get some rest
Ambassador. And sweet dreams." Kris allows the door to slide shut before
hitting the nearest comm-port.

"Mr. Ekstrom, I want a continuous security scan on the ambassador's quarters.
If anything gets in or out of there, I want to know about it immediately." Kris
pauses, stifling a yawn. "I'm gonna head down to the gym. Unless the universe
explodes, or I get orders from the Captain, I'll be there for the next thirty
minutes. Then, I'll relieve you."

"Sir, with all due respect, I'm perfectly capable of relieving myself."

Kris bites her lip, wondering why everyone on this ship has to be a comedian.
"Of course, Mr. Ekstrom... if you'd like to meet me in the gym, perhaps we can
take care of that. Permanently!" She cuts the line with a devilish grin, then
heads off toward the gym, the perfect place to work off some aggression.


Stardate 6003.28 at 1400 Hours: USS Phobos, Transporter Room #2
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake continues to look over the remaining prisoners, administering first aid
for a variety of bruises, sprains and broken bones. One thing he forgot to
bring, however, was grav-stretchers. Without them, getting people to sickbay
gets a bit tough. Sure, you can transport them, but double-transporting isn't
always a good idea with wounded people. Causes all sorts of incidental
inflammation that makes treating the person more difficult. One of them is in
serious pain as it is. He apparently rammed his head into a bulkhead when the
ship dropped out of warp. Must have been one heck of a jolt.

Suddenly the turbolift doors open, and Vince walks in, a bit surprised to see a
bunch of wounded humans in his transporter room. "We attacked a human ship?
This isn't going to look good in the report." Then he lays eyes on Dr.
Bannister, all decked out in his pink bathrobe and bunny-slippers.

"Ahem."

"Sir?! Uh... I had to report to sickbay when the Red Alert was called. I was in
the shower, sir."

"Well, it's a good thing you put _something_ on. Are you planning on seizing
control of my transporter room while you're at it?"

"No sir. We're just waiting on the grav-stretchers. Ah, here they are now." He
helps one of the patients into the stretcher.

Vince makes a concerned look, noting the blood seeping through the guy's head-
bandage. "There wasn't any scuffle, was there?"

"Sir, these people dropped through seven levels of warp space in about the time
it takes to snap your fingers. I think you can figure out the rest for
yourself."

Vince nods. He's been in decelerations before, but never one like that. There
must have been one hell of a lurch, people flying across rooms and into walls,
the whole bit. "We're going to be boarding the other ship in a few minutes." He
looks over his shoulder as Pacal comes through the door with Tsandzia.

"Great, can I tag along?" Jake gets more strange looks from the pair of
lieutenants. "Uh... just give me 90 seconds."

"This ought to be amusing."

Pacal, "GO! 90...89..."

Jake takes off like a flash and sprints toward his quarters. Hawkins,
meanwhile, just grins. "Bet you he makes it."

"...86...85...you're on...84..."

Somewhere in the upper fifties, Jake sees K'tar enter the corridor and ends up
diving between the Klingon's legs. "Not now, K'tar! I'm on a mission from the
Captain!"

"Where is he? I want to smack his head?"

"In TR-2! But you're gonna have to hurrrrryyyy!"

Pacal, "5...4...3...2..."

K'tar comes in, looking rather bewildered. A second later, however, Jake slides
back through the Klingon's legs. (Pant pant... whew!)

"Either someone tells me what is going on, or else I get... annoyed." K'tar
makes a mean face.

"Er... the good doctor was just showing off."

"Sorry would have been here sooner but I stopped by to pick these up," Jake
flips a phaser to Pacal and the Captain, then begins to throw on his med-kit,
his engineering tricorder, his medical tricorder, and (last but not least) his
two highly-polished, black leather boots.

"Ready, Captain. K'tar, are you coming too?"

"Coming? Where?"

"To the ship we just captured."

K'tar makes another confused face, "Of course."

Vince nods, "Good. You are to set your phasers on stun. We are already short on
staff, so I don't want anybody doing anything stupid." He points to one of the
security guards who is leaving with the patients. "You're coming too, Mister.
Just in case we have any trouble." Rule number one. Never board a potentially
hostile vessel without at least one red-jerseyed guard.

"Uh... aye sir."

Hawkins grins as he steps up to the transporter platform alongside the Klingon,
"By the way, K'tar. How did it go with that neutrino-lepton idea of yours?"

"Energize." The transporters begin to whine.

"Do not remind me, or I shall be forced to commit great acts of violence."

"That good, eh?"

A moment later, they're off and away, the Phobos transporter room giving way to
a view of a smoky engineering section.

"Okay, I want the fires out ASAP. Nobody is to go anywhere alone. You are to
move in pairs. Pacal, take someone with you and try and find the logs. Hawkins
and K'tar, find the cloaking device. See what condition it is in and if we can
somehow 'borrow' it. You, come with me."

"Name's Linanes, sir."

"Fine. We're going to have a look around. The rest of you see to the fire."

"Aye. Captain, are we looking for anything in particular."

"Well... who, what, where, when and why they were cloaked and following us...
especially the last part. Oh, and see if they've just come from the 'querque."

Pacal and Tsandzia head off toward the command section of the vessel, leaving
K'tar, Hawkins, and Bannister to flush through the engineering section, putting
out fires and trying to find the cloaking device.

"Looks like they have auxiliary power online," Hawkins comments, checking over
the control panel after the crackling of flames has subsided. "Time to start
lookin' for that cloaking device. Ever seen one?"

"I did a design paper on cloaking devices when I was in the academy," pipes in
Jake.

"Well, it's about the size of a large coconut." Hawkins gestures with his
hands, "And is should be hooked into the shields somewheres 'round here."

"What is a coconut?" K'tar looks annoyed.

"Oh, I'll replicate one for you. You'll like it, K'tar. It's a bit like
cracking open a skull, only harder."

"I shall be the judge of that." The Klingon pulls up a fallen piece of
paneling, revealing the device in all its glory. It's green in color, and
shaped like an oblong icosahedron, bunches of wires sticking out from every
corner and facet. This one's also a bit larger than a coconut. In fact, it's
larger than a bowling ball, and probably a lot heavier.

Hawkins pulls out his tricorder and begins scanning it.

"Hmm... I don't have a lot a experience with these, but my guess is that it
wasn't installed quite right, look." He shows K'tar the display. "That's
probably why we were able ta see 'em in the first place."

"Yeah it was misaligned here and here," Jake says as he points to the
tricorder. "It created a ghost image would be my bet."

Hawkins rubs the back of his neck, "So whaddya think? Can we put this puppy on
the Phobos?"

A burp of static comes from the ship's PA.

"We've entered the bridge," Tsandzia reports. "Lights are on, but nobody's
home. It looks like the fire-prevention system took care of all the other hot
spots."

Hawkins finds a comm-port and taps into the PA channel, turning it into a
party-line of sorts. "We found the cloaking device. Looks like they misaligned
it. That's why we could see them."

"Curious," Tsandzia comments.

Vince's voice breaks over the line, "It is salvageable, Commander?"

"Salvageable, yes. Usable for the Phobos, unknown, but we're working on it."

Tsandzia marvels, "I'd bet the technical specs are in the ship's computer. This
is a much smaller ship, however, so we might only be able to cloak 'part' of
the Phobos. With some fine adjustments, however, we could probably look like a
small scout vessel."

"Exactly my thoughts."

Tsandzia grimaces as another thought strikes her. "Ya know, this is going to
sound like a really bad idea... but if the cloaking device doesn't look like
it'll be easily reconfigured to meet the Phobos' needs, perhaps we could fix up
the engines on this ship and use her instead."

Vince arrives on the bridge, "How are you doing? Is their subspace transceiver
in order?" He reaches over and hits a few keys on the communications console.
"Alien ship to Phobos. Do you read?"

"Oein here, sir."

"How is everything back on board? Do you have any news of the prisoners?"

"They're in the brig. Except for one who is still in sickbay. According to St.
James, one of them claims to be an Admiral P'notto of the Tricani Star League."

Vince makes a face, "Does she believe him?"

"You'll have to ask her that for yourself," Oein responds.

"Sir," Pacal looks up, "I've just managed to access the ships logs. You can
read them from this console."

"Alien ship, out." Vince presses a button, cutting the transmission. "What is
the name of this bird, anyway?"

"Translated... the TSV Last-Hope."

"Odd choice of names." Vince sits down, rubbing his hands together.

   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
   A much-abridged personal log of Admiral P'notto:

   Stardate 5907.29: I nearly lost my life twice today, first when
      the Lyrans attacked, and after that when the Klingons counter-
      attacked. They both claim Tricana as their own, and they're
      both willing to bomb the hell out of us to get it. Meanwhile,
      we can do no more than hunker down, waiting for them to go
      away.

   Stardate 5908.1: Great luck. The Klingons and Lyrans have taken
      their aggressions elsewhere, though I am not going to be so
      stupid as to wait around for their return. I am leaving today
      in the newly built TSV Last-Hope. With this new cloaking
      device, I should be able to cross through Klingon space
      undetected. Then I can talk to these idiots in the Federation
      who keep sending the Klingons aid. They should be sending us
      aid.

   Stardate 5908.23: Finally made it into Federation space. Was
      fired upon by a Federation ship when we tried to hail them,
      however. They must have thought we were Klingons. They would
      not fire upon a Tricani boat, would they?

   Stardate 5908.25: Met that Federation ship again. Decided to
      return their favor. Only they hit me back harder they I hit
      them. Weapons damaged beyond repair. Most of crew has died.
      This is not working out as I had originally planned. Damn the
      Federation!

   Stardate 5908.28: Luck at last. I find a Federation planet
      unprotected by defense boats, and the inhabitants are all too
      willing to help me in my plight. They call themselves Iotians,
      whatever that is, but they look human enough to me. That must
      mean they're with the Federation. They have no starships,
      however. Makes me wonder about Federation technology. But they
      say they've been trading with the Orions, who stop by from
      time to time. Now maybe there's a people who can help me.

   Stardate 6001.02: The Orions will have nothing to do with me.
      They say such a war is economically infeasible. I can't
      believe it. People are dying, and they're worried about money.
      I will continue on my present course, however. I understand
      that there is a race called the Romulans who hate the
      Klingons. I hate the Klingons too, so at least we have
      something in common.

   Stardate 6003.28: Docked at a place called Albuquerque station
      and saw the most amazing fireworks. I'll have to come back
      here. The entertainment is quite glorious. I am forgetting,
      however. Today is particularly important, as a person
      approaches me and says that the Romulans will help me, but I
      have to do them a favor. Follow the Phobos, they say. What the
      hell is a Phobos? I don't know, but I later find out it's a
      starship. A Federation starship. I will follow them. Sure. No
      doubt the Romulans have a score to settle, as do I.
   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Vince sighs, leans back, and rubs his face. Not only is that P'notto a dork,
but he's an irritable dork. The worst kind. "Secure a copy of these records as
evidence, will you Pacal?"

"They've already been uploaded to the Phobos, sir."

"Good. We can analyze the rest of their records over there. Hopefully they have
some technical information on the cloaking device."

"Doesn't look that way," Tsandzia remarks from the back of the bridge. "They
must have purged their records before being captured. Funny that they didn't
purge that log as well."

Vince shrugs, "Well, they probably didn't have enough time to think of
everything. By the way, Tsandzia. I'm glad you didn't bring that sack of
slime with you."

"Huh?"

"That blob-thing. I allow pets, but I'm glad you didn't try bringing it along
for the boarding. Just wouldn't have been appropriate."

Tsandzia pats her shoulder, feels nothing, then pats the other shoulder and
still feels nothing. "Ohmigod! Who stole my Blobby?!"


                      _   /|        Jim Vassilakos
                      \`o_O'        [e-mail]
                        ( )         [e-mail]
                         U          Riverside, California

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