Fleet Captain
Koester of the starship Dauntless
walked into the office Admiral Cherryl Marlan had appropriated aboard Starbase 173. Behind the desk sat the Admiral, her face
buried in the padd she held in her hands.
It appeared she had not yet noticed Koester’s arrival.
The Fleet
Captain cleared his throat, and then said, “Fleet
Marlan
glanced up to see Koester standing at attention in front of the desk, then
toward the chronometer on the wall. Her
eyes returned to the padd, and a few more moments passed before she spoke.
“You’re
five minutes late. Sit down, Fleet Captain.”
Koester
took a seat in a nearby chair and waited patiently for the Admiral’s
attention. After a few more minutes she
looked back up at Koester as she placed the padd on the desktop.
“I’ve been
reviewing some of the latest stats compiled since the war ended,” Marlan said
in way of explanation. “It will take
some time before the fleet’s anywhere close to the strength it was before the
original Khitomer Accords were broken four years ago.”
Koester
nodded, still patiently waiting to learn the actual reason he had been called
into this meeting. After a moment’s more
silence, Marlan spoke again.
“Fleet Captain,”
she said, sounding very formal. “I’ve
been reviewing your log entries and reports from the last year of the Dominion
War. Some of us here at Command have
been disturbed by what we’ve found.”
Koester
waited, wanting to question what was occurring, but remaining silent.
“I want
you to know,” Marlan added, “that the final word in this decision came from
me.”
Koester
nodded again.
“I know
your family has a history of military service, not only in Starfleet, but going
back as far as the mid-20th century, and probably further. But Command has decided we can no longer
allow you, as a Fleet Captain, to refer to yourself by the title of Commodore,
even if unofficially.”
These
words were the last Koester would have expected spoken. Certainly not the reason his starship would
have been diverted from the middle of a mission and sent here! He opened his mouth to protest but was cut
off by Marlan.
“…So in
recognition of your valor and service, I hereby promote you to the rank of
Commodore, with all the responsibilities and privileges there-of.” A wide smile appeared on Marlan’s face as she
stood and offered her hand to Koester.
“Congratulations, Peter.”
Koester
was speechless. Flabbergasted, he
quickly returned the handshake and smiled happily.
Space, the Final Frontier…
These are the voyages of the starship Dauntless!
Its ongoing mission;
To seek, to chart, to explore…
Slipping the
surly bonds of Earth,
Going where none
have been before!
Commander
Virgil Dylan Kane, First Officer of the starship Dauntless, joined his Second Officer, the emotional Vulcan Commander
Jeff Bloom, Chief of Security Lt Commander (Carrie) K’danz, and Chief Engineer
Lt
“Last time
we passed through here, this room was full of wounded and dying starship
crews,” Kane commented, nodding his thanks as he accepted the glass of ale from
the waiter.
“Yes, the view
has changed quite a bit,” agreed Bloom as he glanced out the huge
transparasteel window toward their Sovereign-class starship holding station
keeping alongside the USS Nightwing. “And for the better, I must add. I can remember seeing dozens of ships,
Federation, Klingon, and Romulan, and not all of them operational when last we
stopped here.”
“Any idea why we
were pulled away from our mission and summoned here, Exec?” Johnson asked,
taking a sip of his own synthaholic beer.
“The
Skipper was to meet with one of the Admirals, but either he didn’t know exactly
why or he wasn’t telling me,” the human-turned-Bajoran answered. “He should be done with his meeting very
shortly I hope. We’re scheduled to
depart for the Ligon sector at 1300 hours.”
* * * *
In Admiral
Marlan’s temporary office, Koester was still smiling broadly as the Admiral
removed the five round gold pips from his uniform collar and replaced them with
a single black square pip with a gold circle centered in it. She then returned to her own side of the desk
and handed the new official Commodore the padd she had been reading when
he entered the office.
“Once
again, congratulations, Peter. Your new
orders are on the padd.”
Koester’s smile
slipped a little as he took the device.
He pressed the button and began reading its contents. Immediately his once broad smile flipped over
into a severe frown.
“No later
than stardate 53075, detach from command of USS
Dauntless NCC-75310 and report to Starbase
Lya III and assume command of the Fifth Fleet. Signed, Marlan, Admiral Cherryl, Federation Chief
of Staff.” Koester looked up at the
Admiral, who remained smiling. “Admiral,
I… uh…”
Marlan’s smile
dimmed slightly as she took her seat, looking at Koester with a mixture of
concern and confusion.
“Is there
something wrong, Peter?”
Koester took
his own seat across from the Admiral, placing the padd on the edge of the desk.
“Uh… I appreciate the recognition, Admiral, but…
uh…” Koester swallowed. “I don’t wish to leave the Dauntless. I’m afraid I can’t accept the promotion.”
Marlan
nodded, now understanding Koester’s change of demeanor.
“I understand
your position, but we can’t all stay in the center seat forever. Must make room for those up and coming young
officers.”
Koester
sighed, admitting his personal defeat.
In his heart he had always known there would come a time he would not
command a starship. Especially
considering the incident in which the Dauntless-74658
had been lost just over a year before.
As he thought about it, he had to admit that being granted command of
the new Dauntless for the past year
had been a major stroke of good fortune.
“What
about my ship? Who will assume command?”
“A new
commanding officer will be waiting at Starbase
Lya III. Don’t worry. She’ll be in good hands.”
“Thank
you, Admiral.” Koester sighed once
more. “I guess I’ll be heading out
then.” As he quickly moved out of the
office, the new Commodore tapped on his combadge. “Koester to Commander Kane.”
“Kane
here, Skipper,” came the reply.
“What’s
your location, Exec?”
“Level H
Officer’s Lounge. It’s about time you
got out of that meeting, Skipper. We
need to depart for Ligon V in less than an hour.”
“Change of
plans, Exec. Your mission to Ligon has
been postponed a few days. We just got
new orders.”
Kane’s voice
took on a new tone of concern.
“From the
sound of your voice, Skipper, can I assume it’s not an easy mission?”
“Actually,
Exec, it’s a great mission,” Koester said, his voice dripping with
sarcasm. “I’ve just been promoted.”
* * *
*
The doors
of the Ready Room swished aside as Commodore Koester stepped back onto the
Bridge, heading toward the Captain’s Chair at it’s center.
“Commodore
on the Bridge!” a new Ensign who had recently reported aboard the Dauntless called out. A number of crewmembers at the stand-up
consoles around the Bridge perimeter snapped to attention. Koester simply sighed.
“Can I
make one thing perfectly clear,” the Commodore said to everyone on the
Bridge. “I appreciate the extra sign of
respect and all, but it’s getting on my nerves. No more announcing my arrival on the
Bridge. Is that understood?” Everyone either nodded or responded in the
affirmative.
“Status?”
the Commodore asked as Commander Kane stepped down to his seat from the Science
console on the starboard side of the Bridge.
“All
crewmembers present and accounted for.
The ship is ready for departure, Skipper.”
“Very well. Helm, set course for the Lya system. Ahead, Warp 5.”
“Course
plotted and laid in, sir,” responded Lt Commander Kevin Fry from his position
at the helm. “Estimated time of arrival
at Starbase Lya III; four days, seven
hours.”
“Very
well,” Koester replied as he moodily settled further into his seat and the Dauntless warped away toward her
destination.
As he too
took his regular seat, Kane asked, “Any idea who the new CO will be?” Koester looked at his First Officer with an
expression of mild irritation.
“I have no
clue, Exec. All I was told is he’s qualified
and will be at Lya III when we arrive.”
* * * *
“Bridge to
Commodore Koester.”
Koester
slowly opened his sleep-encrusted eyes, rubbing at them slowly as he sat up in
his bed.
“Go ahead
Bridge,” he said after a yawn.
“Sorry to
disturb you, Commodore, but we just received a top priority communiqué from
Starfleet Command,” explained the voice of Commander Bloom over the intercom.
Koester
swung his legs out of bed and into a pair of furry slippers he kept there as he
got up and wrapped a robe around himself and stepped toward his desktop
monitor.
“Patch it through
down here, Jeff,” he ordered. A moment
later the dark screen flashed to life, first showing the emblem of Starfleet
Command before changing to the face of Starfleet Officer the Commodore did not
recognize.
“This is a
priority one advisory being sent to all Starfleet and Federation vessels
operating in or near Sector 3-4-2,” the female captain said. “A terrorist group responsible for recent
attacks on commercial shipping within the Zylar sector has intensified their
assaults. They are now being held
responsible for a recent strike against the USS
Hermes and the loss of contact with USS
Okinawa, currently callsign Starfleet
One, at 1500 hours.”
Koester
took a sudden breath when he realized the implication of the last part of the
message. He activated his computer
terminal as the unnamed captain finished the priority message.
“All
vessels are advised to avoid Sector 3-4-2.
However, any vessels making any contact with USS Okinawa are to immediately inform Starfleet Command by the most
expeditious means. Starfleet, out.” The screen blanked out to the emblem of
Starfleet Command, then turned black.
“Computer,
display a star chart of this vessel’s plotted route,” ordered Koester. A moment later an image of the local area of
space appeared on the screen, the starship’s course plotted as a red line
between the Bajor Sector and the Lya system.
“Now,
computer, indicate Sector 3-4-2 on the chart.”
Koester’s
mind started to race as a square of space was outlined only two parsecs off the
Dauntless’ plotted course. For the first time in almost two days, the
Commodore smiled.
Koester jumped
out of his desk chair and rushed to his dresser, quickly pulling out a duty
uniform and throwing it on. He just as
quickly ran out into the corridor, leaving the chart on his monitor blinking
the outline of the nearby sector.
* * * *
“Helm,
alter course to 010 mark 2!”
The sound
of Commodore Koester’s voice as he emerged from the turbolift startled the
members of Gamma Shift, the late night watch on the Bridge. Commander Jeff Bloom, the Gamma Shift’s
Officer of the Deck, turned the Captain’s Chair toward the upper deck of the
Bridge and raised his eyebrow at Koester in an extremely Vulcan looking
fashion.
“This is
very unusual, Commodore,” the emotional Vulcan Science Officer stated. “I can only assume it has something to do
with the priority message we received.
Is there some sort of crisis?”
Koester
nodded as he stepped down next to the Center Seat, motioning Bloom not to get
up since he had no intention of assuming the watch.
“You could
say so, Jeff,” the Commodore said as he watched Crewman John Lancaster maneuver
the starship onto its new ordered course.
“We just received word that the USS
Okinawa, callsign Starfleet One,
has disappeared.” Koester experienced a
degree of satisfaction from the look of silent shock on Bloom’s face.
“Starfleet One?!? You don’t mean…?”
“Yes,
Commander,” Koester said with a nod.
“The Presidential transport is missing.”
* * * *
A short
time later, the Briefing Lounge aft of the Bridge was filled with sleepy-eyed
Department Heads. Commodore Koester sat
in his usual seat at the head of the table, surrounded by Virgil Kane, Jeff
Bloom, K’danz,
“I’m sorry
for calling this meeting in the middle of the night,” the Commodore apologized,
“but a situation has come to my attention, and time is of the essence.” He looked toward Commander Bloom. “Jeff, if you would.”
Bloom
looked around at those seated around him and said without preamble, “At 0307
hours this morning, we received a priority one message from Starfleet
Command. Approximately thirteen hours
ago contact with the Presidential Transport Vessel USS Okinawa was lost. At the
time she was traveling through Sector 3-4-2 on her way to the diplomatic
conference at Arkana IV.”
Looks of
disbelief and concern covered the faces of all the Department Heads. Eyes turned to look at Koester.
“I realize
we’re scheduled to reach Starbase Lya III
before stardate 53075, Exec,” the Commodore said to Kane. “And that we can just make it on time at
current speed with no distractions. But
Sector 3-4-2 is too close and this is too important.”
Kane nodded
distractedly as Koester turned his attention to the others.
“Mister
Ga’gh, we could be facing battle of some sort in the course of our search. Have the ship ready to man battlestations at
a moments notice.”
“Aye,
Captain,” the Wilryk warrior responded.
“Jeff,”
Koester said, now turning his attention to the Vulcan man. “I want you and Lt Johnson to work closely
and fine-tune the sensors as sensitive as possible. We don’t know what happened to the
“Yes,
sir,” both the Science Officer and Chief Engineer responded together as the
Commodore turned to face his Security Chief.
“Carrie,
be prepared for anything. We don’t know
exactly how these terrorists operate, and I don’t want any intruders boarding
the ship unchallenged.”
“Of course
not, sir,” K’danz replied.
“And
finally, Kethry,” Koester said to his Ship’s Counselor and flesh and blood
Chief Medical Officer. “I hope we won’t
be needing your staff’s services, but have Sickbay ready just in case.”
“As we
speak, Captain,” Sutherland replied.
Koester
managed a small smile as he tapped his palms on the briefing table.
“Very
good. Dismissed.”
Everyone got
up and filed out through the two doors to the Bridge. Everyone except the Commodore and Virgil
Kane. Koester looked at his First
Officer with an expression of curiosity.
“Something
on your mind, Exec?”
“Yes,
Skipper. Why are you doing this?”
Koester’s
mouth almost fell open.
“What do
you mean, why am I doing this? The
Federation Council President is in danger.
We can’t just abandon him.”
Kane’s
features took on a stern look.
“Bull! Continuing on with our assigned mission
wouldn’t be abandoning President Jaresh-Inyo.
I’m sure Starfleet has at least a dozen starships out here looking for
the
Koester’s
features were now the ones that hardened.
He glared at his First Officer.
“It’s
about you losing the Dauntless, isn’t
it?” Kane accused. “You’re hoping to
pull a rabbit out of the hat at the last minute. Be the next James T. Kirk. Find some way, any way, to keep this ship!”
Koester took a
deep breath, held it a moment, then slowly released it. When he finally spoke, it was with an audible
control to it, as if the Commodore were close to exploding but knew that Kane
should not be the focus of that subdued anger.
“My duty
is to the Federation and my Commander-in-Chief.
I will do everything in my power to help find the President.” Again Koester took a deep breath. “If, however, my actions also assure me the
continued command of this vessel…. Who am I to argue?”
Kane was
about to comment further when he was cut off by Koester’s final statement.
“Now I
believe my last order was you’re dismissed, Commander.”
Kane
gritted his teeth, then nodded curtly, turning on his heels to face the doors,
and quickly exited to the Bridge.
Koester watched him leave, then as the doors swished shut, leaving him
alone with just his thoughts, he pounded his fist against the tabletop.
* * * *
First Officer’s Personal
Log, Stardate 53074.3:
I’m really starting to worry
about the Skipper. His behavior is
completely out of character for him. In all
the years I’ve known Pete, from when we met at the Academy until now, he’s
always been the type who put the needs of others ahead of his own. To tell the truth, I don’t recognize this
‘Commodore Koester.’
Here we are, only seven
hours until Pete is supposed to turn command of the Dauntless over to a new captain and we’re still engaged in a wild-goose chase
three days travel from the Lya system. I
suppose I can understand some of what he’s feeling right now, having spent his
entire career in Starfleet working up to a day he would command a starship, and
now having those days pass. I hate to
see him eat himself away with anger like this.
However, as long as there is
a Starfleet-declared emergency in effect in the sector we’re now desperately
searching, the only thing the crew and I can do is obey his orders and hope he
comes to his senses soon.
Kane, out.
Peter J.
Koester emerged from the Ready Room almost at a run.
“What have
you got, Jeff?” he asked as he relieved Lt Commander Kevin Fry of the
“Sensors
registered a faint periodic particle emission at bearing 220 mark 33, range
thirty-thousand kilometers. However…,”
Bloom hesitated, exchanging glances with Fry who stood next to the Command
Chair.
“Report,
Science Officer,” Koester said after a moment, his annoyance showing. Bloom sighed imperceptibly before continuing.
“However,
Commodore, in my opinion I believe we are registering a sensor ghost.”
“And on
what do you base this opinion?” Koester asked with displeasure, standing up again
and walking toward Bloom’s console. The
human-raised emotional Vulcan man returned Koester’s stare.
“The area
is teeming with innumerable asteroids and stellar debris from a star system
that formerly existed here,” the Science Officer explained. “That coupled with the radiation ‘echo’ from
the nova that destroyed this system two billion years ago has fouled our
sensors and produced countless false readings.”
Koester
looked at Fry for a second before turning back to Bloom.
“I don’t
know about you, but it sounds to me like the perfect place to hide a hijacked
ship.” Koester turned toward the
viewscreen and said to the Helmsman, “Mister Harcue, change course to 220 mark
33.”
As Lt
Larry Harcue acknowledged the order, one of the turbolifts at the back of the
Bridge opened and Commander Kane emerged.
Having heard the course change, the human-turned-Bajoran walked over to
Commander Bloom and whispered, “Why this new course, Jeff?”
Bloom looked
up at Kane in a way that would make most people forget he was not a normal,
unemotional Vulcan, and said, “The Commodore has decided to investigate a
series of sensor ghosts we have been tracking for the last fifteen minutes.”
Kane shook
his head sadly, then stepped quietly over to Koester’s side.
“Skipper,
you do realize that Starfleet’s probably searched this asteroid field half a
dozen times, right?”
Koester
looked over at Kane, shaking his head and saying, “And maybe they missed
something every one of those times.” His
gaze returned to the viewscreen. “Maybe
we’ll find something they didn’t.”
Kane
raised his eyebrows in resignation, then walked over to his seat to the right
of the Captain’s Chair.
The Dauntless slowed as the starship neared
the asteroid field. Sensors all over the
ship carefully probed the darkness and shadows.
On the Bridge, everyone maintained their watch in tense silence. Only Commodore Koester watched the screen
with any semblance of excitement.
“Skipper,”
Kane finally said, his voice taking on a pleading tone. “The
Before he could
respond, Koester sensed a movement on the viewscreen out of the corner of his
eye. He turned back to look when on the
upper Bridge deck Bloom almost shouted, “My God!”
“What is
it, Jeff?” Kane asked, urgently jumping up from his seat and running over to
Bloom’s station.
“Commodore,”
Bloom said. “Sensors are registering an
impulse engine signature! It just
appeared from around the opposite side of that large asteroid at bearing 219
mark 20!”
Koester
looked over at his Science Officer with a look of self satisfaction as he said,
“Which is almost exactly…”
“…Where I
registered the intermittent particle emissions, yes, sir. I can only assume it was from thrusters
attempting to maintain station keeping behind the asteroid.”
Koester
grinned as he turned to the main Tactical post.
“Mister
Ga’gh, yellow alert. Activate defense
screens and charge energy weapons.”
As the
Tactical Chief acknowledged, the Commodore turned to face the Auxiliary
Tactical post on the other side of the Bridge where Lt Commander K’danz sat.
“Commander,
open hailing frequencies to that ship.”
As the Dauntless drew nearer to the slowly
drifting rock in space it became clear to all on the Bridge they had found
their quarry. On the screen an
Excelsior-class starship with another strangely configured vessel fastened over
a majority of it’s saucer hull appeared from behind the kilometers-wide
asteroid and sped directly toward the Dauntless.
“This is
Commodore Peter J. Koester of the Federation starship Daunt…. What the hell are
they doing?!? Red alert!”
Koester
fought the urge to duck as the
“That’s
the
Koester
glanced over toward K’danz once again.
The Security Chief nodded in understanding and opened a frequency.
“Dauntless to
“Welcome,
Pete! Come to join us in the hunt?”
Captain William Dietz asked, a twinkle in his eyes. “You almost missed out. We’ve pretty much got them!”
Koester
paused long enough to stand up from his seat, take a few steps toward the
screen, and then look at his Helmsman and order, “Lieutenant, pursuit
course.” He then glanced back at the
screen. “Bill, you’re firing on the
Presidential transport!”
Captain
Dietz looked at Koester with an expression of disbelief.
“You don’t
possibly believe the President or the crew of the
Koester’s
expression turned grim.
“We don’t
know that, Bill. If they attacked the
ship in an attempt to capture hostages, they’ll figure the hostages would be
worth more alive then dead. We have to
try and contact them first.”
Dietz
sighed, then said, “We can’t afford to let a Federation starship fall into
enemy hands!”
“Bill, at
least give me a chance to try and talk to them,” Koester plead.
“What’s
with you, Pete? It’s useless…,” Dietz
started to say when Koester interrupted him.
“Captain,
if you proceed to fire on the
Outrage
covered William Dietz’s face.
“You
wouldn’t dare fire on another Federation starship!” he blustered.
“Why not?”
Koester asked with quiet calm. “You
did.”
Anger covered
Captain Dietz’s expression. He stared
across space at Koester, apparently weighing the potential outcome of
disobeying a superior officer and the chances his medium-sized starship stood
against the well-armed Sovereign-class vessel.
Finally he turned toward his own Tactical Officer and ordered, “Stand
down on phasers.”
The
lieutenant complied, responding, “Phasers on standby, sir.” Dietz returned his now angry gaze to the
viewscreen.
“But
maintain phaser lock,” he ordered, glaring.
“And shut off communications.”
Immediately
the viewscreen blinked back to the image of the Okinawa and
“Open
hailing frequencies,” he ordered. A
moment later he said, “USS Okinawa,
this is the Federation starship Dauntless. You are ordered to heave-to and prepare to be
boarded.” Koester waited a moment more,
then added, “
Koester
looked over at Lt Commander K’danz. She
shook her head, explaining, “They’re hearing us, they’re just not responding,
sir.”
“Commodore,
the Appalachia has opening fire on
the
“Damn
fool!” Koester swore, then took the three steps back to his Command Chair where
he dropped into the seat. “Mister Ga’gh,
target phasers on the
Grimly, the
Chief Tactical Officer set his controls, then said, “Ready, sir.” Virgil Kane simply stared at his
not-yet-relieved Commanding Officer.
“Skipper,
you can’t…”
“He was
warned, Exec. Mister Ga’gh, fire at
will.”
Phaser
fire burst forth from the strips along the Dauntless’
saucer, striking the smaller Steamrunner-class ship across various phaser
arrays and the connecting dorsal to the main weapons and sensor pod
underneath.
“Commodore,
the captain of the
“Ignore
him,” Koester ordered. “Mister Ga’gh,
arm forward photon torpedoes. Fire a
shot across the
“Torpedoes
armed and ready,” Ga’gh announced, now slightly grinning. “Firing.”
The bright
orange fire of the photon torpedo shot gracefully from the tube directly under
the Dauntless’ main navigational
deflector and arced a course just past the bow of the fleeing
“Commodore,
the
“We’re
receiving a hail from the
“Bridge to
Captain McIntyre.”
“Barracks. Mac here,” responded Starfleet Marine Corps
Captain Sean Elliott McIntyre from the lower decks of the starship.
“Captain,
form a boarding party, heavily armed and stand-by in the Troop Transporter for
my signal,” Koester ordered.
“Acknowledged,”
McIntyre replied and the intercom closed.
Koester looked once again at K’danz.
“Patch me
through to the
A moment passed
while K’danz completed the necessary commands, then looked up at the Commodore
and said, “You’re on, sir.”
The
viewscreen changed to the image of the Excelsior-class starship’s battered
Bridge. Consoles both burned and broken
apart could be seen in the background.
At the Helm, Ops, and in the Center Seat sat beings who were obviously
not Starfleet officers. Their clothing
was tattered, as if not only ruined in battle but worn far longer than
originally designed for. The being in
the Center Seat stood and took a few steps closer to the screen.
“This is
Commodore Peter J. Koester of the Federation starship Dauntless,” Koester said with a determined tone.
“We know
who you are, Commodore,” the being answered with a sarcastic tone.
“Then you
also know we are here to recover the vessel you have hijacked. Lower your shields and prepare to be
boarded.”
“I think not,
Commodore. Not if you wish to ever see
your President or the Starfleet crew of this ship alive again.” The being smiled rather nastily. “We are the Nationals of Zylar. Here is a list of our demands. First, you will discontinue your pursuit of
us. That includes the other starship you
disabled and any other ships you may have in the area.”
Koester
looked over his right shoulder at Lt Ga’gh.
“Mister
Ga’gh, lock phasers and torpedoes on the
The
Zylarian leader’s expression changed from shock to horror to contempt. He sneered at Koester across the screen.
“You will not
fire on us. Your President’s life is
still in our hands.”
Koester continued
to ignore the terrorist leader as he tapped on the intercom on the arm of his
chair.
“Bridge to
Transporter Room M-1. Are your troops
ready, Captain?”
“Platoon
is geared up and standing by, sir,” responded the voice of Captain McIntyre.
“Very
well. Bridge out.” Koester closed the intercom circuit, and then
looked once again at the Zylarian on the screen. “We can do this the hard way or the easy
way. It all depends on you. Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded
or face the consequences.”
“You
wouldn’t dare!” the terrorist responded.
“You Starfleet types don’t have the stomach for it.
The
Commodore sighed in frustration, then looked at Ga’gh.
“Fire.”
Kane’s
face looked stunned and he seemed about to protest when the first energy beams
from the Dauntless’ phasers struck
the shields above the
“Their
shields are weakening and starting to buckle,” reported Chief Kyman from the
Mission Ops station.
The Bridge
crew watched as phaser beams continued to attack the
“Dorsal
shields have collapsed!” Kyman exclaimed, his voice a mixture of excitement and
remorse. On the screen, the phaser beam
first cut through one of the clamping arms holding the alien Zylarian vessel to
the hull of the
“You’ll
what? But Pete…!”
Kane
scrambled out of his seat to confront Koester and his order, but the Commodore
was already through the doors of the turbolift and gone from sight. Kane looked back over at Kyman.
“Status of
the
“Shields
are down. Propulsion is off line. Nominal life support on all decks except Deck
1,” the El’Aurian man responded.
Kane
grimaced as he looked back at the now drifting
* * * *
Koester
emerged from the turbolift on Deck 17 and quickly made his way down the
corridor to the 22-Man Troop-Drop Transporter.
As he entered through the large double doors, Captain McIntyre and
Gunnery Sergeant Christopher ‘Olly’ O’Laughlin, who were both checking out
their weapons for the third time, looked up.
“We’re
beaming over,” Koester said without preamble and stepped onto one of the
transporter pads, taking the place of the young Marine private that had been
standing there.
“You’re
beaming over with us, Commodore?” McIntyre asked.
Koester
simply stared at the Marine officer, who then merely shrugged as he too stepped
onto the transporter and glanced at the operator behind the console.
“Energize,
Corporal,” he ordered. A moment later,
the twenty-two men faded in the sparkle of dematerialization.
* * * *
The
corridor of the
“Computer,
this is Commodore Peter J. Koester, security code
Koester-alpha-theta-nine-nine-five, requesting security override,” the
Commodore ordered.
“Security
code accepted,” the computer’s familiar female voice responded. “Override initiated.”
Koester
tapped a command into the computer interface and a schematic of the
“It
appears that the Zylarian terrorists have herded the majority of the crew into
the main recreation room on Deck 7,” McIntyre said to the Commodore. “With a few other scattered around the ship,
probably trying to restore propulsion and shields. I suggest a frontal assault on the Rec
Deck. It seems our best chance for
surprise and to gain some help from the
“Very
well,” Koester said. “Let’s go.”
The
proposed plan was quickly explained to the platoon, and a private manually
opened the nearest Jefferies Tube access.
It took the better part of fifteen minutes but eventually the Platoon
and Koester stood outside the doors of the main Rec Room.
McIntyre
performed a silent three-count and on his mark two members of the platoon fired
their compression phasers at the doors.
The resulting explosion was deafening, and as the Marine platoon
scrambled into the huge room, aiming their rifles at those wearing the familiar
tattered clothing, they could see members of the
“I’m
Commodore Koester of the Dauntless,” Koester
announced. “Who’s senior man here?”
One of the
“I am,
sir. Lt Commander Hawthorn, Second
Officer.”
“What’s
the situation?” Koester asked.
“The
Zylarian ship managed to penetrate our shields, gas our crew, and board through
a hull cut before we could mount a defense,” Hawthorn explained. “Once they had control of the ship they
brought most of the crew here at gunpoint.
However, it seems they took our Chief Engineer down to Main Engineering,
probably to help them maintain warp drive and shields. And they took the Captain and President
Jaresh-Inyo elsewhere. I don’t know
where, sir.”
“Thank
you,” Koester grumbled as he turned his attention on the half-dozen Zylarians,
now disarmed and captive.
“P..p..p..please,
don’t hurt us,” one of the closest terrorists stammered. “We didn’t hurt anyone.”
Koester
looked upon the terrorist with contempt.
“Why did you
attack and hijack a Federation starship?
The Presidential transport no less!”
“Please,
sir,” the terrified terrorist begged.
“I’m just a low level technician.
I help maintain our vessel. But
when we received word the Federation Council President was passing through the
sector on his way to the Arkana Conference, our leader decided he would make a
very valuable hostage in negotiations to have the Federation rebuild and
replace our planet’s industry and infrastructure, so badly ravaged in your war
with the Dominion.”
Confusion
appeared on the faces of most of the Dauntless
Boarding Party’s faces, including Commodore Koester.
“What do
you mean? Your planet was not involved
in the war,” Captain McIntyre asked.
Another
Zylarian took a step closer to the Starfleet Marine Officer but rethought his
move when more than one of his soldiers raised their compression phasers toward
him. Instead he simply spoke.
“Perhaps I
can answer that? During the final months
of the war, the Dominion began to suspect our planet served as a staging base
for your fleet. They attacked in force,
nearly decimating our planet. Almost
half our population was killed.”
Looks of
shock and compassion now covered the faces of both the Dauntless and
“We… We had no idea,” Koester said sadly. “If we had only known… Why didn’t you tell the Federation about your
situation? Go through diplomatic
channels instead of resorting to violence and hijacking?”
“Sir, the
Dominion destroyed all methods we had for subspace communications. Destroyed all our space ships except those we
had hidden in deep bunkers. Disease and
starvation are running rampant. The
elderly and very young are still dying in droves. We could not afford to wait the length of
time a diplomatic request would take.”
“So you
decided to take matters into your own hands?” McIntyre added.
“Our
leaders felt we could exert more pressure on your Council by holding your
President hostage. I don’t believe they
took your Starfleet’s excessive response into account however.”
Koester
nodded, then said, “You realize we’re here to free the President. Help us and it will go much easier on you in
the long run.”
The
Zylarian nodded, his face sad. He knew
there was no reason to resist further.
“Your
President is being held in a cabin on Deck 3.
He has three guards watching over him.”
Koester
looked at McIntyre’s Platoon Corporal, who was already scrutinizing the ship’s
schematics on his tricorder.
“We
recorded life form readings on Deck 3, Section 12 that match this description
of the President and his guards,” the corporal said. Koester nodded and then looked at Lt
Commander Hawthorn.
“You have
control here, Commander. We’ll contact
you when we know what’s going on.”
“Aye,
Commodore,” the
* * * *
A private
silently made his way back to Commodore Koester and the platoon at the end of
the corridor on Deck 3.
“I make out
one guard, armed with a standard Type 3 phaser rifle, patrolling within five
meters of the VIP cabin door,” he reported to McIntyre, Platoon Sergeant
O’Laughlin, and Commodore Koester. “It
appears the other two guards must be in the cabin with the President. The corridor guard apparently checks in with
them at least every five or six minutes.”
McIntyre
looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Private, take position at the
corridor corner. Observe the guard. As soon as he makes his next check in, signal
us.”
“Aye,
sir,” the Marine said, the quietly made his way back down the corridor
again. The platoon watched him
intently. A few minutes passed before
the Marine signaled silently back to his platoon. Then, one by one, as silently as the first,
nineteen Marines and two officers converged on his position. McIntyre looked at his Sergeant, quickly
pointing his finger at him. Without a
word, Gunnery Sergeant Christopher O’Laughlin twisted his ancient cammo hat to
face bill forward, slid a four hundred year old Kabar knife from a sheath on
his belt, and glanced around the corner.
As hoped, the guard was walking in the other direction. O’Laughlin smiled grimly, then slid around
the corner, sneaking up on the unwary guard.
The Zylarian did not suspect a thing until he felt the sharp edge of
cold steel under his throat.
“Considering
this ship has been disabled and undoubtedly boarded by Starfleet, I would think
you would be a bit more on your guard,” O’Laughlin whispered with a grin into
his captive’s ear as he relieved him of the phaser rifle. However, before he could subdue the prisoner
any further, he was distracted by a shout from McIntyre.
“Commodore,
no!”
O’Laughlin
groaned as he quickly knocked the Zylarian unconscious, then looked up to see
Commodore Koester, compression phaser in hand, a look of determination
O’Laughlin had never seen before in either the 20th or 24th
Century on his face, sprinting down the corridor.
“Out of
the way, Sergeant!” Koester almost shouted.
O’Laughlin looked at Captain McIntyre, who was himself now rushing after
Koester, in confusion, only to be pushed aside as Koester stood squarely in
front of the VIP Cabin’s door. He lifted
the compression phaser to his shoulder and pressed the trigger.
“Fire in
the hole!” O’Laughlin shouted as he dived to the deck.
The phaser
blasted through the cabin doors as if they were paper. Koester rushed in through the shattered
doors, adjusting the rifle settings as he did, then quickly took aim at the
first Zylarian he saw. The unconscious
terrorist fell to the floor.
Koester
swung the rifle barrel back and forth across the cabin. No other targets presented themselves. As McIntyre, O’Laughlin, and the rest of the
Marines shuffled into the VIP Quarters, the Commodore turned towards the
cabin’s bedroom and moved to the closed door.
“Commodore,
please! Let us…,” Captain McIntyre
started to say until Koester turned to glare at him. With the Marines silenced, Koester shouldered
the rifle once again and pressed the door access control. The bedroom door swished aside. Koester quickly slipped inside to find
Jaresh-Inyo, the Grazerite President of the Federation Council, sitting quietly
on the bed, sweat dripping from his brow as a hand phaser was held against his
temple by the final terrorist.
“Make one
false move, Fed, and your precious President dies. These are my demands…!” the Zylarian said.
“Screw
that!” Koester said with a frown, shooting the compression phaser. The beam struck the surprised Zylarian square
in the chest, flinging him back against the bulkhead. The hand phaser dropped to the deck as the
terrorist slid down the wall.
“Thank
you! Thank you!” Jaresh-Inyo exclaimed
emotionally as he jumped up and almost collapsed in the Commodore’s arms. Koester turned and looked back at the
Marines.
“McIntyre,
get the President some water. Sergeant
O’Laughlin, take care of that man.”
As Olly
moved in to check the last terrorist’s vital signs and subdue him further with
cuffs, Koester assisted the President over to the cabin’s couch where McIntyre
handed him a cool glass of water.
Jaresh-Inyo swallowed it gratefully.
“You don’t know how grateful I am for your
rescue, Commodore,” the President said after he finished the drink. “Your timing could not have been better. That terrorist would have killed me in
another moment. Their whole plan was
falling apart.” He looked up at Koester,
who handed his compression phaser back to one of the young Marine
privates. The Commodore looked over to
the Platoon’s Medic.
“Medic,
escort the President back over to the Dauntless. Make sure he’s well taken care of.”
With a nod, the
Medic answered, “Yes, sir. If you would
please follow me, Mr President.” He then
gestured toward the corridor beyond the blown-in doors. Jaresh-Inyo nodded, stood up and handed the
glass back to Captain McIntyre. At first
he started to follow the Marine Medic, but stopped and looked at Commodore
Koester, pulling the officer close.
“Anything
you want, Commodore, anything you need, simply ask. It’s yours.”
And with a nod, he followed the medic out into the corridor.
* * * *
Koester
sat at his desk in the Ready Room, staring at the computer monitor. He had been reviewing the logs of this rescue
mission. The remaining terrorists in the
The
Commodore sighed, but he didn’t feel any less frustrated.
Spinning
his chair around, he faced out the window at the stars as they streaked by in
warp. He spent a few more minutes in
thought until he finally stood and walked out the doors onto the Bridge.
“I’ll be down
visiting with our distinguished guest if anyone should need me, Mister K’danz,”
Koester announced as he passed the Security Chief, who sat in the Center Seat
this shift for the first time.
“Yes,
sir,” she answered as she adjusted her position in the chair, crossing her legs
and finally getting comfortable.
Meanwhile, Koester swiftly entered one of the turbolifts and disappeared
from sight.
* * * *
Commodore Koester,
Commander Kane, Commander Bloom, Lt Commander K’danz, and Master Chief Petty
Officer Kyman stood at attention in dress uniform in Transporter Room 1 as
President Jaresh-Inyo and his aide stepped onto the transporter platform and
faced toward the control console.
“Commodore,”
the President said. “Thank you once
again. Your bravery and valor will not
be forgotten.”
“Just
doing my duty, Mr President,” Koester responded modestly. Virgil Kane raised an eyebrow subtly but
fought the urge to look at his Commanding Officer. The President added one last comment.
“You can
consider everything approved, Commodore.”
“Understood,
Mr President. Thank you.” Then with a nod toward the transporter
operator, he ordered, “Energize.” A
Bo’sun near the door blew the familiar two-note ceremonial tone on his whistle
as the transporter operator energized the equipment and Jaresh-Inyo and his
aides faded from view.
As Koester
and his staff finally relaxed, Kane turned to the Commodore and asked
suspiciously, “What was approved, Skipper?”
Koester
sighed slightly, then said, “The rest of you are dismissed. Thank you.
Virg, come with me to the Ready Room.”
As
everyone else went their own way, Koester and Kane entered the closest
turbolift. “Bridge,” Koester ordered
while Kane looked at him funny.
Something was up, and the First Officer suspected he knew at least part
of what it was. As the turbolift doors
opened onto the Bridge, the two officers stepped out and down to the doors of
the Ready Room. Once inside, Koester
opened the collar of his brilliant white dress uniform.
“You’re
not giving up this ship, are you?” Kane said without preamble as the Commodore
started rummaging around in one of the drawers of his desk. “You talked the President into letting you
retain command!”
Koester
looked up from his rummaging and said, “It was among the things we
discussed. As were certain other
topics. One of which I found I couldn’t
live with.” He continued looking through
the drawer as Kane sat in one of the chairs on his side of the desk. Then just as Kane was about to ask what he
had meant by his comment, Koester exclaimed, “Ahh! Found it!
Get up, Virg, and follow me.”
Koester
quickly walked back out onto the Bridge.
Kane, confused, scrambled to follow him before the doors slid shut. Once out on the Bridge, they both stood in
front of the main viewscreen.
“Excuse me
everyone. Can I have your attention
please,” Koester announced to the crew.
As they all looked up toward the viewscreen, the Commodore looked at
Lt(JG) Jason O’Brien Blackfoot T’vet Korsal, or O’B as the crew referred to the
multi-species hybrid, and said, “Put this on shipwide.”
After O’B
nodded, Koester started by saying, “Attention all hands, this is Commodore
Koester. As all of you know, our
original purpose for coming here to Starbase
Lya III was for me to turn command of this vessel over to a new Commanding
Officer. As many of you knew, I wasn’t
too happy with that decision. One of the
things I’m here announcing to you is that circumstances have provided me a way
of retaining command.”
There was
some reaction from the crew all around the ship. A mixture of surprise and applause that they
would not be losing their beloved Commanding Officer.
“However,”
Koester continued, “during my conversation with President Jaresh-Inyo last
evening I found out who it was in line to take command of the Dauntless, and I can not in good
conscience hold back his career for my own personal desires.” At this, Kane made a surprised look,
especially when the Commodore turned toward him.
“Commander Virgil
Dylan Kane, with the authority vested in me by the Federation Council, I hereby
promote you to the rank of Captain, with all the responsibilities and
privileges there-of.” Koester reached up
and placed the object he had been searching his desk drawer so intently for on
Kane’s collar, a new gold pip, raising the human-turned-Bajoran man’s total to
four. “Congratulations, Captain Kane.”
Kane
smiled widely, completely surprised by what had happened. He was, for the moment, speechless. Koester, however, continued to speak.
“I’ve been
told to pass on to you that you can check in over at Starbase Lya III and they’ll cut your orders for command of another
starship.” The Commodore’s face then
turned serious. “However, I would like
you to consider staying on as First Officer of the Dauntless. You’ve been my
Exec for the last four and a half years, and my friend for much longer than
that. Things just wouldn’t be the same
around here without you.”
Kane’s
smile faded.
“I… uh…,”
he stammered. “I think I’m going to need
some time to think about this, Skipper.”
Koester nodded in understanding, then offered the Captain his hand in
congratulations and conciliation. Kane
smiled slightly as he returned the shake, then quickly headed off the Bridge.
“What do
you think he’ll decide, Skipper?” Lt Commander Kevin Fry asked from the Center
Seat.
“I don’t
know, Commander. I wish I did, but I
don’t know.”
* * *
*
Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 53077.2:
The cards are on the
table. I know I pushed a little too far
this time. I know I pushed my First
Officer a little too far as well. Now I need
to sit and wait to find out what his… What
the?!?
Commodore
Peter J. Koester stepped out of the turbolift onto the Bridge. The first sight that caught his attention
were the warp streaks on the main viewer.
He looked at the Officer of the Deck occupying the Command Chair.
“Commander
K’danz, what are we doing in warp? Who
gave the order to depart the station?”
“That was
me, Skipper,” said Virgil Kane as he stepped away from the Engineering console
at the port side of the Bridge. “We’re late
for our rendezvous at Ligon and figured we should get underway as soon as
possible.”
Koester
raised one doubtful eyebrow as he started to smile.
“So you’ll
be staying with us a little while longer, huh, Captain?”
A smile
broke across Kane’s lips as he answered, “I almost had command of the Dauntless, Skipper. The finest ship in the fleet. I figured, if I wait it out a little longer,
it’ll come my way again.”
“Oh,
really?” Koester said with skepticism.
“After everything we just went through, what makes you think I’ll ever
step down?”
Kane
laughed softly, then answered, “Skipper, if you keep showing off heroics like
that again, they’re going to promote you to a point you’ll never get out
of a desk job.”
Koester
could not help but join in the laughter, then turned to Lt Commander K’danz,
who looked up at them from the Captain’s Chair with a smile. “Carrie, all ahead toward Ligon!”
“Aye,
aye, Skipper!” she said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Helm, ahead Warp 7!”
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