Rechristenings
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Location: Deck 3, Conference room, the Khera (Keldon class), somewhere in Cardassian space
Timeframe: Stardate 54112.5 (eight years ago)
Gul Rellim Ekoor circled the table in the dark room, pacing in consternation around a seated man, who calmly sat with his arms crossed. It was a human male in his 40s, fit but not too thin, and a pale complexion that sported pronounced cheekbones. His neatly coifed brown hair was finely groomed if not unremarkable, and although he wore a black, featureless suit reminiscent of a military uniform, there were no unusual markings aside from a standard-issue Starfleet combadge. His rank and station were not apparent, and despite being aboard a vessel of an inherently hostile species that was at war with the Federation no less than three years prior, he seemed to carry an air of comfort around him, as if his presence on board was a simple everyday occurrence.
As for Ekoor, he was controlling his agitation with every step he took around the room. He was focused on the human, glaring at him with an air of indignation. He was not used to extending diplomatic courtesy to species he held in contempt, but he was nonetheless compelled by incumbency to deal with this one particular human. However, that did not mean he was required to hold back any disdain.
“We're Cardassians,” the Gul informed the man. “We're not in the habit of just handing over our salvage rights of a major piece of military hardware, regardless of where it came from.”
“You would be wise to reconsider,” the forty-something human responded with cold eyes. “The New Obsidian Order wouldn't even exist without our help.”
“Mister Cole, you don't seem to recognize the level our desperation. Cardassia is still attempting to recover from Dominion occupation. The Republic… or Saratoga… or whatever you may call that vessel out there… contains valuable equipment that could prove vital to rebuilding our homeworld, even if it's of inferior Federation design.”
“One scrapped starship in the here and now won't make one iota of difference,” Cole explained while shifting his seat to rest his elbow on the table. “The Republic… and it IS the Republic, let me assure you… has no intrinsic value to you, except that of a bargaining chip. I'm authorized to compensate you for your trouble, shall we say… twelve CFI replicators?”
The offer gave Ekoor pause. It was generous to say the least, and while his salvage crew had already gleaned every valuable piece of hardware the old-style Galaxy-class ship could offer, it was paltry winnings. A wiped computer core… a burned-out sensor grid… even the warp core was of a model several levels below Starfleet's current technology level. There wasn't anything useful he could bring back to Central Command to demonstrate that the salvage operation was even worth the trouble. Still, the offer smelled vaguely of desperation on Cole's side, as if there was something in that heap-of-a-starship the human wanted badly. The question was: Did he want it bad enough to bargain?
“Fifteen,” Ekoor asserted, offering no reason for his upping of the ante.
Cole smiled, letting his arm fall gently to the table. Diverting his eyes momentarily, he re-acquired Ekoor's.
“You drive a hard bargain,” he admitted. The Gul held all the cards, and while Cole risked such an escalation with his opening offer, Vice Admiral Kostya didn't send him here to hold back resources. He had one single directive: Get the Sara back.
“Done,” Cole agreed, but not before raising a finger in clarification. “Under the condition that efforts will be made to ensure no record of this transaction makes it back to Central Command.”
The two individuals locked stares as if in a poker game, but it was Gul Ekoor who blinked first.
“Central Command has more pressing priorities to deal with than the recycling of Starfleet antiques,” Ekoor returned, his mild taunt cloaking his agreeableness. In truth, he was eager to bring the prizes he had just acquired back home to cement favor with Legate Ghemor. Whether they were gained through subterfuge or through salvage of a nondescript Federation vessel didn't matter.
With their business concluded, Cole stood up from his chair and gave a slight bow to the commander of the Khera.
“It's been a pleasure doing business with you,” he stated shrewdly. “Your replicators will be transferred to your cargo hold within the hour.”
Timeframe: One hour later
Their transaction concluded, the Khera left the vicinity with their bounty of replicator hardware, leaving Cole's small team to deal with the derelict vessel. The Starfleet Corps of Engineers was already advised of the ship's location through the Merchant Marine advisory channel, and had dispatched a towing fleet. They had to work quickly before their arrival.
With the veil of transporter energy fading, six humans in black uniforms materialized in the center of the ship's engineering deck. They looked around at the unpowered remnants of the Galaxy-class warp core, taking note of it's ramshackle condition; the result of Cardassian extrication.
“Let's get to work, boys,” Cole ordered.
The small group of technicians placed their engineering kits onto various horizontal work surfaces and panels, snapping them open them to retrieve tools and parts. While one engineer used a laser tool to remove a nearby wall placard containing the “SARATOGA” moniker, another unpacked a fresh deck of new placards with the “REPUBLIC” logo on them, prepping them for attachment.
Location: Ops, Space Station Deep Space Nine, Bajor Sector
Timeframe: Present Day
The twenty-six hour day of DS9's operating schedule seemed like it had drawn out to almost a week as Ops continued to monitor the arrival of ship after ship with no organic being at the helm. Scouts, tenders, research vessels, blockade runners, cutters, warp pods, even an eighty-year old Pearl-class Mobile Repair Facility that was effectively rotting into dust at the Qualor II Surplus Depot Z15, all managed to escape their owners and find their way to the Bajor sector on their own. Either due to the Gorn war, or possibly because they were considered the most obsolescent vessels in Known Space, Starfleet was not sending anyone to investigate at the moment, leaving Captain Kira Nerys and her crew to deal with the unfolding calamity.
“That's number twenty-three,” the Bajoran Ensign remarked, watching as another ship came out of warp on his monitoring station.
“Which Republic is THIS one?” Kira asked tersely.
“An ore barge from a Federation mining colony on Dytallix B,” he replied. “The colony is uninhabited, except for the holographic miners.”
“That figures…”
“They're hailing us,” the ensign informed her.
“Sure,” Kira retorted, shrugging her shoulders and tilting her head in annoyance. “Why wouldn't they be?”
“Do I reply, Ma'am?”
Kira looked fed up by the barge's arrival, but realised she was inadvertently spurning her crew in the process.
“Sorry, Brepus… It's just that I've had my fill of this for today.” She threw her arms up and paced out a small circle in the center of Ops. “Any bets on which hologram we get with THIS one?”
“It's an ore freighter… probably another mark one medical hologram,” surmised Brepus.
“Let's find out. Put them on the screen.”
Brepus complied, nodding to his commander that she was live and transmitting over an open channel.
“This is Deep Space Nine to arriving vessel, how can we help you?” Kira asked with as much professionalism as she could muster, just in case it was a real person on the other end of the call.
As expected, the oval viewscreen switched from the image of an external starscape to that of a balding, grumpy-faced man who was the spitting image of a younger Doctor Lewis Zimmerman.
“Good evening, this is the Commercial Towing Vehicle Republic requesting communication with Starfleet Lieutenant Victor Virtus. We understand that he is aboard your station.”
“Acknowledged, Republic,” Kira replied formally, but with an edge of exhaustion to her voice. “Please adjust your course and take up station-keeping at coordinates one-two-one-mark-four, alongside your other sister ships. Doctor Virtus will contact you with further orders shortly.”
“Acknowledged. Republic out.”
As the channel closed, Kira rested her face in her hand, letting out a sigh of exasperation.
“Call the good doctor to Ops,” she ordered. “…AGAIN…”
Before the ensign could acknowledge, the familiar hum of the arriving turbolift platform caused Kira to wince with annoyance. Though other officers around the bridge turned their heads to acknowledge the newcomer to Ops, the captain didn't turn around herself, knowing full well who it was.
“Greetings, Captain Kira,” came the calm, upbeat voice of the troublesome Malthusian political refugee. As Victor Virtus debarked from the lift, he joined her on the observation platform.
'How does he keep doing that?' she thought before acknowledging his presence.
“Doctor,” she regarded him with faux politeness. “How nice of you to join us. We now have twenty-three Republics orbiting Deep Space Nine,” she explained. “I'll ask again: Do you have ANY idea why they're here?”
“As I've mentioned, I seem to have triggered a long-dormant command function from Task Force One. Why it exists at all is still a mystery, but it seems to have replicated itself, and found its way into a number of different starship computers over the past several decades.”
“Old starships at that,” agreed Kira with vexation. “It's starting to look like a salvage yard out there.”
“The only common connection we can find between the ships are that they were all once Starfleet vessels at some point in their history. That, and they were all given the designation 'Republic' during their lifetimes. Nothing else links them.”
“But why are they HERE?” hissed Kira.
“Because I inadvertently summoned them with my database query,” Vic replied. “As far as Mister Nog and I can surmise, the so-called 'fleet-formation' program is an optical-based subspace-networked function that was planted in the original Constitution-class starship Republic over forty years ago. The programming language suggests it was a beta-test version of some kind, but it was never deactivated after Task Force One was disbanded.”
“…again, doctor. WHY are they here?” She accentuated her repeated request with raised eyebrows and a hint of 'get-to-the-point' in her voice.
“The program's recall function was tripped when I activated the emergency override. As for why it exists in the first place remains a mystery. It's a very inefficient means to link the computers of a number of starships that's filled with potential glitches and pitfalls.”
“Not to mention lends itself to certain abuses,” the balding Bajoran ensign piped in.
“Agreed.”
A warbling sound chimed from Ensign Brepus's operations console that drew his attention. “Incoming transmission from Bajor,” he interrupted the discussion. “It's precedence is marked as…”
There was a pause in his notification that drew a quizzical glance from Captain Kira.
“…yes?”
“…gold priority.”
“What the hell kind of precedence is 'gold priority'?” she quipped with a confused grimace after another momentary pause.
“I don't know, but it's a private communication for Doctor Virtus.”
“Of course it is,” Kira remarked sourly, turning to the Malthusian engineer. “Would you like to use my office?” The invitation sounded more like sarcasm, but Vic ignored the sentiment.
“Thank you, captain, I would,” he replied with anticipation, making his way to the upper platform suite without further invitation. It was clear that the precedence signifier was of extreme interest to him as he eagerly made his way into her office.
As the doors slid shut after him, Kira turned to the rest of the Ops crew.
“When he comes out, someone remind him that I'M still the one in charge here…”
<tag = Carter or Virtus>
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