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Star Trek: Newcastle (A TOS-era FanFic)
ryan218
Member Posts: 36,106 Arc User
Chapter One: Prologue.
Starbase 19, Nine Years Ago.
“Hull breaches on Decks 5, 6, 10, and 12-15!” A voice called across the blackened bridge of the U.S.S. Shepard.
“Captain, forward shields have collapsed! Recommend we come to bearing 130!” Lieutenant Marcus Harling called over his shoulder from the navigation station, his mind falling off its track when he fails to hear a response. “Captain?”
Harling turned in his seat to be confronted by the sight of U.S.S. Shepard’s Captain and First Officer, Howard Bremmer and Lucille Tigris, both unconscious on the central well deck. The bridge shook violently as the Klingons continued their assault, acrid smoke filling the air. After a moment, the black-haired lieutenant turned back to his screen with resolve. “The Captain and X.O. are down. I am assuming command. Helm, make heading 138 mark 25! Engineering, Bridge, we need the forward shields back up!”
“I can give you shields, or engines, pick one!” Came the frantic call of the Chief Engineer over the comm.
“If we don’t survive the next two minutes, the warp drive isn’t going to matter! I need those shields!”
***
February 3, 2266: The Present Day. Rigel Colony.
Captain Marcus Armstrong Harling walks through the streets of the enclosed Rigel Trade Complex, wearing a thick grey Starfleet excursion overcoat adorned with a golden stylised triple-topped tower pierced by an elongated 5-pointed star, the rank insignia also sewn into the cuffs as three silver stripes, the two outer stripes thicker than the inner. ‘How I didn’t need to see this place again…’ he muses to himself.
Beta Rigel X, commonly known as Rigel X (despite being halfway between Earth and ‘true’ Rigel), despite being a Federation member via the United Rigel Colonies for decades, is still best described as ‘the Beta Quadrant’s cesspit’. The Federation-Klingon War a decade previous hadn’t helped matters, as at least three Starfleet vessels had been destroyed in orbit over the course of the war, and debris was still falling on the settlements. Combined with several thousand refugees still waiting for relocation and increasing Orion activity in the area taking advantage of Starfleet’s thin presence even this close to the Core Worlds, things were looking bleak for the Beta Rigel System, even if Rigel X itself seemed to be on the verge of rebound.
Still, the planet is not the best environment for a Starfleet Officer. It certainly is not the kind of place one would want to raise a family. And yet, that is exactly what the Lantz’ tried to do nearly thirty years ago. A young couple, rising through the United Earth Diplomatic Office, hoping to make a good career move to the bustling melting pot of the Rigel Colonies, just as their employers were folded into the Federation Diplomatic Corps and Rigel X slipped into a gang war. Derek Lantz was killed by loansharks, and his wife Ana struggled to raise their daughter alone. All things considered; she did a decent job. Mercedes Lantz was one of the brightest and most determined people Harling had met in his sixteen years of service, and that list included Captain Garrovick and James Kirk. If she’d been born anywhere else, she might have been one of Starfleet’s finest, serving on ships like Lexington and Enterprise.
But Mercedes Lantz was not born anywhere else. Trying to raise a child alone would be difficult enough without living in the middle of a gang war. It had been a chance encounter with a Starfleet recruitment agent which had allowed the young woman to enlist and get off this miserable hell hole. Her timing couldn’t have been worse if she’d tried. Lantz had signed on just as Starfleet suffered its worst military loss since the Earth-Romulan War of the previous century – the Battle of the Binary Stars. It was during the war that a younger Lieutenant Harling had the good fortune of meeting ‘Crewman’ Lantz, who helped a fire team repel Klingon boarding parties aboard the U.S.S. Shepard while Harling had to assume command after the ship’s Captain and X.O. were injured on the Bridge. It had been on his and Captain Bremmer’s recommendations that she be admitted to the Academy.
So, what the Hell had gone so wrong in her life that Harling finally finds her in a seedy backwater dive in a cropped tank top and trunks engaged in a cage fight with a similarly-built Orion, back on the planet she’d been desperate never to see again just ten years earlier?
A question that would need to wait for another time, as for now all there is for Harling to do is grab a drink and wait for Lentz to finish – whether that’s finish revelling or finish napping.
Mercedes Lentz, a slender 28-year old Caucasian woman with shoulder-length hazel hair and one vicious temper, as her green-skinned opponent is discovering. Blocking a right hook, Mercedes knocks her adversary back with a left palm strike followed by an axe handle pummel to the abdomen, before attempting to finish up by pulling the Orion into a knee strike. Proving she’s still in the match, the emerald-locked Orion catches the knee and rolls into a flip, kicking Lantz overhead before scrambling to her knees, smirking predatorially as she wipes some greenish-yellow blood from her mouth. “Not bad, for a Terran…” she pants tauntingly.
Meanwhile, Mercedes rolls onto her feet, returning the look as she recovers her breath. She grunts as she retorts, “Not bad yourself… Where’d you find time to practice with how much time you spend in bed?”
The Orion snarls at the racial comment, pouncing into a sprint as Mercedes clambers to her feet. The human woman ducks under a right hook but grunts as the Orion plants her palm into the base of her ribs, knocking Mercedes into the rope-link fence. After a moment, Mercedes sees her come barrelling her way, quickly reaching up and using the rope-links to pull herself up and fire a double-foot kick into the Orion’s face. Then, with the Orion fazed, Mercedes lunges back into the fray. The Orion comes back into focus just as Mercedes drills her with an uppercut, responding with a couple of desperate jabs into the human’s stomach. Then, Mercedes shoves her off and nails her with a right hook, followed by another axe handle, a right palm strike, and finished off with a chop to the back, sending the Orion down in a fog of disoriented pain.
***
Thirty Minutes Later.
Mercedes winces as she unwraps the sports tape around her knuckles in the dingy back room which is serving as a ‘locker room’. Every turn of her hand reveals more bruising and lacerations to her knuckles. Then, a grizzled male voice sounds from the door. “You’d get further with a dermal regenerator.”
Mercedes pauses, searching her mind to identify the recognised voice, before letting a small smile creep onto her face and turning to face Harling. “Assuming I could get hold of one.”
Harling grins back, reaching into his jacket pocket and tossing her a small limited-charge first aid regenerator, Mercedes catching it in her hand with ease. “Still haven’t beaten your reflexes out of you.”
“I’m more the one who does that to them.” She smirks, before sighing and standing up, straightening her body out. “What can I do for you, Lieuten—, Captain?”
“Well, for one thing…” Harling takes out a PADD from inside his jacket, holding it to his chest as he approaches. “You can explain what you’re doing here.”
The younger junior officer giggles nervously, making contact with everything but her superior officer. “Enjoying my leave?”
“’Enjoying your leave!’” Harling snorts derisively. “You’re wallowing!”
There’s a moment of silence between them. Lantz doesn’t have an answer, and Harling doesn’t need one. He sighs and sits down by her, motioning her to join him. “What happened on Starbase 12 with the Andorians… It wasn’t your fault.”
“Four civilians and two crewmen died.” Lantz glibly remarks.
“It happened too fast, Mercy. The Court Martial showed that.”
“I knew there was trouble with the Andorians and the Tellarites. I should have been expecting to need phasers.”
“You were the Shore Patrol. Your job was to worry about your own shipmates, not the other sides’.”
“Tell that to Commander Melosa.” She absently starts regenerating the lacerations on her hands.
“You know, before I came here, I asked the Eagle’s C.O. if he had any candidates for a good, promising young officer. Imagine my surprise when I found your name annotated with ‘if you can convince her’.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “I walked into this dump thinking ‘what happened to that young girl who was so eager to prove herself and get her commission?’ You were one of the best officer candidates I have ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of them over the past eight years. Especially once I’d smoothed over your rough edges.”
Mercedes’ cheeks turn a flushed pink as a soft grin forms on her lips. “There’s an Orion back there who might have something to say about that, sir.”
“Well, let her. Let everyone say what they want. Way I see it, I need a security and weapons officer, and you have two choices: you can come with me, or you can keep brawling until eventually your counsellor decides he can’t keep putting you on medical leave and you get cashiered.” He passes the PADD over to her, showing her reactivation forms. “When someone wants to believe they can’t be forgiven for their mistakes, it’s easy to make it true. I’ve seen it in dozens of good officers, paralysed by their own guilt or conscience for things they couldn’t control. Every day, they’d die a little inside – that spark behind the eyes would flicker, until one day it goes out – and they’re never the same person again.” Harling’s eyes rift into the distance, before he slaps his knees and gives Lentz a resolute gaze. “Expecting others to forgive you is no where near the challenge of learning to forgive yourself. You move forward. You get better. And if you can do that…then you’ll always deserve to wear this uniform.” He points to his coat. “Or you can keep Burnham’ing yourself, and give up on ever being anything more than…this.” After a moment, Harling stands up and walks towards the door. “I’ve got a command coming, and I want you on it.”
Mercedes stares blankly at the PADD, processing everything. There’s a certain simplicity to her life: she knows what she’s worth (nothing); she knows who to hate (whoever’s in the opposite corner); and she knows who to blame for her problems (herself). On the other hand, she’s done exactly what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do ten years ago: she’s let Rigel win. She was so close to breaking free of this hell hole and she let herself fall back down in the muck. “Captain.”
Harling raises an eyebrow and turns to face her.
“What’s the name of that ship?”
Harling smiles. “The Newcastle. NCC-1903. She’s at Earth Spacedock.”
“You got creds for another shuttle seat?”
***
February 6, 2266. U.S.S. Newcastle, docked at Earth Spacedock Orbital Drydock 17.
“Coming through! Make a hole!”
Lieutenant Junior Grade Abigail Sindha barely throws herself against the light grey wall as a damage control team barrel through with a burnt-out phaser cell towards the starboard transporter bay. The young black-haired Indian woman watches in confusion, trying to calm herself down as a soft voice asks behind her, “Must be Tuesday, eh?”
Sindha spins on her heels, gulping as she sees the Lieutenant Commander’s braid on her converser’s red sleeves, meeting his gaze. Though to a large extent a young-looking man, the chisels of time have slowly started to carve at his cheekbones and brown, a fine stubble lining his jaw. His pale skin and clear, soft accent lead her immediately to conclude he is from the Luna Colonies. “S-sir?” She stammers.
“Ah, forget it. First day?” The Lunan Lieutenant Commander smiles reassuringly.
“How could you tell?”
“You looked like a deer caught in beacon-lamps.” He sighs as she looks at him puzzledly. “Nevermind. Chief Engineer David Gardner.” He holds out a hand to her.
Sindha lets her spine loosen like a thread as she exhales, tucking a disorderly bang of hair which shook loose in the commotion back into place before shaking Gardner’s hand. “Lieutenant Junior Grade Abigail Sindha, Communications.”
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. Sorry about that.” He gestures down the corridor in the direction of the Damage Control Team. “We keep having power surges all over the place because of the new reactor they fitted. Every time we stress-test a system, well… we have to replace that system, pretty much.”
“Aren’t we supposed to launch in two days?”
“I’m an engineer, not a miracle worker.” He grimaces, before regaining his smile and gesturing her to walk with him. “I’ll walk you to the turbo. You’ll be wanting to check in with the Commander, right?”
“Thank you, sir.”
Meanwhile, on the Bridge, a middle-aged human male officer in Command gold with two full commander stripes on his sleeve paces the aft bridge stations, hovering around the engineering position, glaring at a new red light which has now appeared, cursing under his breath, “Wer hat dieses Stück Scheiße zusammengestellt, Klingonen?” He hears a stifled chuckle from the turbolift, turning to see Lieutenant Commander Gardner and a young darker-skinned woman with Lieutenant Junior Grade stripes on her sleeves, holding her hand to her mouth before clearing her throat and standing to attention.
“Communications Officer, Lieutenant Junior Grade Abigail Sindha, reporting as ordered.”
The commander cracks a small smile before asking, “Du sprichst Deutsch?”
“Ein wenig.”
“Commander Erich Landaun. Welcome aboard, lieutenant.” He turns to Gardner. “The number four deflector self-test just overloaded.”
Gardner suppresses a sigh, slipping past Landaun to inspect the engineering station.
“San Francisco had one job: refit a single cruiser for a mid-range border patrol; and they deliver this. Utopia may have their delays but they deliver ships ready to fly.”
“Wasn’t it Utopia Planetia who designed this new reactor, sir?” Gardner responds with a smirk.
Landaun smiles back sarcastically, “well, evidently the haphazard Earth crews botched the installation, didn’t they Commander?”
“Of course, it certainly couldn’t be the Martian design team at Utopia designing yet another overly complicated propulsion system that shipborne engineers are going to spend the next five years troubleshooting.”
“You’re lucky you’re Lunan.” Landaun pats him on the shoulder. “How soon can you fix her?”
“Well, we can start by not running anymore self-tests until I work out why the warp core is overloading everything. I might have to take the reactor back offline. I can give you a clearer idea by the end of the day.”
“Make it so.” Landaun turns back to Sindha and motions her towards the communications station. “Your office, Lieutenant.” The station is a mess, with the main desk panel removed and wires from the console adorning the adjacent science desk while a technician reaches into the depths to pull out a small cylindrical device. “There’s probably a metaphor for this ship in there somewhere…”
***
Starfleet Personnel Transport 00128, entering Sol System.
“I should warn you, Captain, she’s not pretty. They’ve been having trouble with the new core.” A yeoman stands in front of Harling with a PADD showing the current status reports for the Newcastle.
“What kind of trouble?” Harling leans forward attentively.
“Well, sir…they’ve been experiencing overloads on the main power system.”
Lanz, sitting in the next seat over, perks up and raises her hand to get the yeoman’s attention. “Have they tried disconnecting the phaser mains?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. But what difference would that make?”
“The warp core redesign. Starfleet’s been experimenting with increasing phaser power by routing the main phaser power through the warp drive. If there’s a drain on the phasers…that might be causing the trouble. We had the same issue on the Eagle when we tried using the impulse reactors with the phasers – we almost wrecked the entire propulsion plant.”
“I’ll pass that along. Captain?”
Harling nods. “Dismissed, yeoman.” As the yeoman leaves, Harling looks over at Lanz, raising an eyebrow curiously. “You’re already acquainted with the ship’s schematics?”
“Just the tactical systems, sir.” Lanz smiles nervously. “Sorry if I overstepped.”
“Lieutenant, if you keep having insights like that, you carry on overstepping.”
Just then, the ship’s PA lets out a shrill bosun chime, followed by a male voice, “All passengers, this is the Captain. We will be arriving at Earth Spacedock in twenty minutes. Officers and crew for Starship Newcastle, NCC-1903, report to Transporter Bay Two.”
“That’s us.” Harling stands, Lanz quickly following. “Let’s go see what all the fuss is about.”
***
Forty minutes later, U.S.S. Newcastle.
Harling wishes he hadn’t opened his mouth as Gardner leads him through the Newcastle’s Engineering section, coming out with a new defect seemingly with every open access panel they pass. As they come to the Engine Room, Harling stops in his tracks in frustration. “Is there anything on this ship that is working, Commander?”
Gardner clears his throat awkwardly.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”
“There is some good news, Captain. The power draw has dropped significantly since we disconnected the phaser power. I have my people focusing their investigation on the phaser mains now.”
“How long until you can get the ship ready for departure?”
“We still need to stress test most of the ship’s systems. I might just be able to put everything back together in time for the set time, sir.”
Harling nods, patting the young engineer on the arm. “Don’t rush it. Let’s see this new engine then.”
“Aye.”
The pair enter the engine room proper. A large facility spread over two decks; Main Engineering is the Newcastle’s beating heart. On every wall is some kind of systems diagnostic panel or interface console, with a stepladder leading to an upper level. In the centre of the room, where the top of the warp core’s dilithium chamber would normally be, a large transparent aluminium tube ascends through an open access dilithium chamber, reached from the upper level. Within the tube, bright blue swirls of energy fill the room with a cool glow.
Harling stands in awe of the structure, tilting his head slightly to address the Chief Engineer beside him. “That’s the new warp core?”
Gardner smiles with an engineer’s pride. “Yes sir. Once we’ve ironed out the kinks, she’ll be able to maintain warp seven for two days.”
“Two days? Jim’s going to hate me.”
“Eh, Enterprise’ll still hold the speed record sir. But we are designed for long-term high-speed running. Enterprise may win a sprint, but we’ll win a marathon. Either way, if the Klingons cause any trouble…”
“They won’t know what hit them.” Harling finishes, sighing. “Seems that’s all we worry about these days: the Klingons. Sometimes I think Starfleet only maintains the Five-Year missions because it keeps the Constitutions out of harm’s way.”
“I wouldn’t know sir. I just missed it.”
Harling strangles a chuckle before it can leave his mouth, turning to Gardner fully. “I envy you, Commander. Carry on.”
“Aye, sir.”
***
Author's Note:
So, this is what I've come up with from my dive into TOS. Not sure how much I'll carry forward, but I'm pretty happy with this as a start point - I feel it gives a good sense of the characters so far and the overall tone. Feedback, suggestions, and constructive criticism are very welcome.
I know this waffles a little - I suppose that's the curse of wanting a broad prologue to set the stage. Future chapters will be more focused. Even if I have to hook myself to a battery to shock me everytime I try to go off on a tangent.
Starbase 19, Nine Years Ago.
“Hull breaches on Decks 5, 6, 10, and 12-15!” A voice called across the blackened bridge of the U.S.S. Shepard.
“Captain, forward shields have collapsed! Recommend we come to bearing 130!” Lieutenant Marcus Harling called over his shoulder from the navigation station, his mind falling off its track when he fails to hear a response. “Captain?”
Harling turned in his seat to be confronted by the sight of U.S.S. Shepard’s Captain and First Officer, Howard Bremmer and Lucille Tigris, both unconscious on the central well deck. The bridge shook violently as the Klingons continued their assault, acrid smoke filling the air. After a moment, the black-haired lieutenant turned back to his screen with resolve. “The Captain and X.O. are down. I am assuming command. Helm, make heading 138 mark 25! Engineering, Bridge, we need the forward shields back up!”
“I can give you shields, or engines, pick one!” Came the frantic call of the Chief Engineer over the comm.
“If we don’t survive the next two minutes, the warp drive isn’t going to matter! I need those shields!”
***
February 3, 2266: The Present Day. Rigel Colony.
Captain Marcus Armstrong Harling walks through the streets of the enclosed Rigel Trade Complex, wearing a thick grey Starfleet excursion overcoat adorned with a golden stylised triple-topped tower pierced by an elongated 5-pointed star, the rank insignia also sewn into the cuffs as three silver stripes, the two outer stripes thicker than the inner. ‘How I didn’t need to see this place again…’ he muses to himself.
Beta Rigel X, commonly known as Rigel X (despite being halfway between Earth and ‘true’ Rigel), despite being a Federation member via the United Rigel Colonies for decades, is still best described as ‘the Beta Quadrant’s cesspit’. The Federation-Klingon War a decade previous hadn’t helped matters, as at least three Starfleet vessels had been destroyed in orbit over the course of the war, and debris was still falling on the settlements. Combined with several thousand refugees still waiting for relocation and increasing Orion activity in the area taking advantage of Starfleet’s thin presence even this close to the Core Worlds, things were looking bleak for the Beta Rigel System, even if Rigel X itself seemed to be on the verge of rebound.
Still, the planet is not the best environment for a Starfleet Officer. It certainly is not the kind of place one would want to raise a family. And yet, that is exactly what the Lantz’ tried to do nearly thirty years ago. A young couple, rising through the United Earth Diplomatic Office, hoping to make a good career move to the bustling melting pot of the Rigel Colonies, just as their employers were folded into the Federation Diplomatic Corps and Rigel X slipped into a gang war. Derek Lantz was killed by loansharks, and his wife Ana struggled to raise their daughter alone. All things considered; she did a decent job. Mercedes Lantz was one of the brightest and most determined people Harling had met in his sixteen years of service, and that list included Captain Garrovick and James Kirk. If she’d been born anywhere else, she might have been one of Starfleet’s finest, serving on ships like Lexington and Enterprise.
But Mercedes Lantz was not born anywhere else. Trying to raise a child alone would be difficult enough without living in the middle of a gang war. It had been a chance encounter with a Starfleet recruitment agent which had allowed the young woman to enlist and get off this miserable hell hole. Her timing couldn’t have been worse if she’d tried. Lantz had signed on just as Starfleet suffered its worst military loss since the Earth-Romulan War of the previous century – the Battle of the Binary Stars. It was during the war that a younger Lieutenant Harling had the good fortune of meeting ‘Crewman’ Lantz, who helped a fire team repel Klingon boarding parties aboard the U.S.S. Shepard while Harling had to assume command after the ship’s Captain and X.O. were injured on the Bridge. It had been on his and Captain Bremmer’s recommendations that she be admitted to the Academy.
So, what the Hell had gone so wrong in her life that Harling finally finds her in a seedy backwater dive in a cropped tank top and trunks engaged in a cage fight with a similarly-built Orion, back on the planet she’d been desperate never to see again just ten years earlier?
A question that would need to wait for another time, as for now all there is for Harling to do is grab a drink and wait for Lentz to finish – whether that’s finish revelling or finish napping.
Mercedes Lentz, a slender 28-year old Caucasian woman with shoulder-length hazel hair and one vicious temper, as her green-skinned opponent is discovering. Blocking a right hook, Mercedes knocks her adversary back with a left palm strike followed by an axe handle pummel to the abdomen, before attempting to finish up by pulling the Orion into a knee strike. Proving she’s still in the match, the emerald-locked Orion catches the knee and rolls into a flip, kicking Lantz overhead before scrambling to her knees, smirking predatorially as she wipes some greenish-yellow blood from her mouth. “Not bad, for a Terran…” she pants tauntingly.
Meanwhile, Mercedes rolls onto her feet, returning the look as she recovers her breath. She grunts as she retorts, “Not bad yourself… Where’d you find time to practice with how much time you spend in bed?”
The Orion snarls at the racial comment, pouncing into a sprint as Mercedes clambers to her feet. The human woman ducks under a right hook but grunts as the Orion plants her palm into the base of her ribs, knocking Mercedes into the rope-link fence. After a moment, Mercedes sees her come barrelling her way, quickly reaching up and using the rope-links to pull herself up and fire a double-foot kick into the Orion’s face. Then, with the Orion fazed, Mercedes lunges back into the fray. The Orion comes back into focus just as Mercedes drills her with an uppercut, responding with a couple of desperate jabs into the human’s stomach. Then, Mercedes shoves her off and nails her with a right hook, followed by another axe handle, a right palm strike, and finished off with a chop to the back, sending the Orion down in a fog of disoriented pain.
***
Thirty Minutes Later.
Mercedes winces as she unwraps the sports tape around her knuckles in the dingy back room which is serving as a ‘locker room’. Every turn of her hand reveals more bruising and lacerations to her knuckles. Then, a grizzled male voice sounds from the door. “You’d get further with a dermal regenerator.”
Mercedes pauses, searching her mind to identify the recognised voice, before letting a small smile creep onto her face and turning to face Harling. “Assuming I could get hold of one.”
Harling grins back, reaching into his jacket pocket and tossing her a small limited-charge first aid regenerator, Mercedes catching it in her hand with ease. “Still haven’t beaten your reflexes out of you.”
“I’m more the one who does that to them.” She smirks, before sighing and standing up, straightening her body out. “What can I do for you, Lieuten—, Captain?”
“Well, for one thing…” Harling takes out a PADD from inside his jacket, holding it to his chest as he approaches. “You can explain what you’re doing here.”
The younger junior officer giggles nervously, making contact with everything but her superior officer. “Enjoying my leave?”
“’Enjoying your leave!’” Harling snorts derisively. “You’re wallowing!”
There’s a moment of silence between them. Lantz doesn’t have an answer, and Harling doesn’t need one. He sighs and sits down by her, motioning her to join him. “What happened on Starbase 12 with the Andorians… It wasn’t your fault.”
“Four civilians and two crewmen died.” Lantz glibly remarks.
“It happened too fast, Mercy. The Court Martial showed that.”
“I knew there was trouble with the Andorians and the Tellarites. I should have been expecting to need phasers.”
“You were the Shore Patrol. Your job was to worry about your own shipmates, not the other sides’.”
“Tell that to Commander Melosa.” She absently starts regenerating the lacerations on her hands.
“You know, before I came here, I asked the Eagle’s C.O. if he had any candidates for a good, promising young officer. Imagine my surprise when I found your name annotated with ‘if you can convince her’.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “I walked into this dump thinking ‘what happened to that young girl who was so eager to prove herself and get her commission?’ You were one of the best officer candidates I have ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of them over the past eight years. Especially once I’d smoothed over your rough edges.”
Mercedes’ cheeks turn a flushed pink as a soft grin forms on her lips. “There’s an Orion back there who might have something to say about that, sir.”
“Well, let her. Let everyone say what they want. Way I see it, I need a security and weapons officer, and you have two choices: you can come with me, or you can keep brawling until eventually your counsellor decides he can’t keep putting you on medical leave and you get cashiered.” He passes the PADD over to her, showing her reactivation forms. “When someone wants to believe they can’t be forgiven for their mistakes, it’s easy to make it true. I’ve seen it in dozens of good officers, paralysed by their own guilt or conscience for things they couldn’t control. Every day, they’d die a little inside – that spark behind the eyes would flicker, until one day it goes out – and they’re never the same person again.” Harling’s eyes rift into the distance, before he slaps his knees and gives Lentz a resolute gaze. “Expecting others to forgive you is no where near the challenge of learning to forgive yourself. You move forward. You get better. And if you can do that…then you’ll always deserve to wear this uniform.” He points to his coat. “Or you can keep Burnham’ing yourself, and give up on ever being anything more than…this.” After a moment, Harling stands up and walks towards the door. “I’ve got a command coming, and I want you on it.”
Mercedes stares blankly at the PADD, processing everything. There’s a certain simplicity to her life: she knows what she’s worth (nothing); she knows who to hate (whoever’s in the opposite corner); and she knows who to blame for her problems (herself). On the other hand, she’s done exactly what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do ten years ago: she’s let Rigel win. She was so close to breaking free of this hell hole and she let herself fall back down in the muck. “Captain.”
Harling raises an eyebrow and turns to face her.
“What’s the name of that ship?”
Harling smiles. “The Newcastle. NCC-1903. She’s at Earth Spacedock.”
“You got creds for another shuttle seat?”
***
February 6, 2266. U.S.S. Newcastle, docked at Earth Spacedock Orbital Drydock 17.
“Coming through! Make a hole!”
Lieutenant Junior Grade Abigail Sindha barely throws herself against the light grey wall as a damage control team barrel through with a burnt-out phaser cell towards the starboard transporter bay. The young black-haired Indian woman watches in confusion, trying to calm herself down as a soft voice asks behind her, “Must be Tuesday, eh?”
Sindha spins on her heels, gulping as she sees the Lieutenant Commander’s braid on her converser’s red sleeves, meeting his gaze. Though to a large extent a young-looking man, the chisels of time have slowly started to carve at his cheekbones and brown, a fine stubble lining his jaw. His pale skin and clear, soft accent lead her immediately to conclude he is from the Luna Colonies. “S-sir?” She stammers.
“Ah, forget it. First day?” The Lunan Lieutenant Commander smiles reassuringly.
“How could you tell?”
“You looked like a deer caught in beacon-lamps.” He sighs as she looks at him puzzledly. “Nevermind. Chief Engineer David Gardner.” He holds out a hand to her.
Sindha lets her spine loosen like a thread as she exhales, tucking a disorderly bang of hair which shook loose in the commotion back into place before shaking Gardner’s hand. “Lieutenant Junior Grade Abigail Sindha, Communications.”
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. Sorry about that.” He gestures down the corridor in the direction of the Damage Control Team. “We keep having power surges all over the place because of the new reactor they fitted. Every time we stress-test a system, well… we have to replace that system, pretty much.”
“Aren’t we supposed to launch in two days?”
“I’m an engineer, not a miracle worker.” He grimaces, before regaining his smile and gesturing her to walk with him. “I’ll walk you to the turbo. You’ll be wanting to check in with the Commander, right?”
“Thank you, sir.”
Meanwhile, on the Bridge, a middle-aged human male officer in Command gold with two full commander stripes on his sleeve paces the aft bridge stations, hovering around the engineering position, glaring at a new red light which has now appeared, cursing under his breath, “Wer hat dieses Stück Scheiße zusammengestellt, Klingonen?” He hears a stifled chuckle from the turbolift, turning to see Lieutenant Commander Gardner and a young darker-skinned woman with Lieutenant Junior Grade stripes on her sleeves, holding her hand to her mouth before clearing her throat and standing to attention.
“Communications Officer, Lieutenant Junior Grade Abigail Sindha, reporting as ordered.”
The commander cracks a small smile before asking, “Du sprichst Deutsch?”
“Ein wenig.”
“Commander Erich Landaun. Welcome aboard, lieutenant.” He turns to Gardner. “The number four deflector self-test just overloaded.”
Gardner suppresses a sigh, slipping past Landaun to inspect the engineering station.
“San Francisco had one job: refit a single cruiser for a mid-range border patrol; and they deliver this. Utopia may have their delays but they deliver ships ready to fly.”
“Wasn’t it Utopia Planetia who designed this new reactor, sir?” Gardner responds with a smirk.
Landaun smiles back sarcastically, “well, evidently the haphazard Earth crews botched the installation, didn’t they Commander?”
“Of course, it certainly couldn’t be the Martian design team at Utopia designing yet another overly complicated propulsion system that shipborne engineers are going to spend the next five years troubleshooting.”
“You’re lucky you’re Lunan.” Landaun pats him on the shoulder. “How soon can you fix her?”
“Well, we can start by not running anymore self-tests until I work out why the warp core is overloading everything. I might have to take the reactor back offline. I can give you a clearer idea by the end of the day.”
“Make it so.” Landaun turns back to Sindha and motions her towards the communications station. “Your office, Lieutenant.” The station is a mess, with the main desk panel removed and wires from the console adorning the adjacent science desk while a technician reaches into the depths to pull out a small cylindrical device. “There’s probably a metaphor for this ship in there somewhere…”
***
Starfleet Personnel Transport 00128, entering Sol System.
“I should warn you, Captain, she’s not pretty. They’ve been having trouble with the new core.” A yeoman stands in front of Harling with a PADD showing the current status reports for the Newcastle.
“What kind of trouble?” Harling leans forward attentively.
“Well, sir…they’ve been experiencing overloads on the main power system.”
Lanz, sitting in the next seat over, perks up and raises her hand to get the yeoman’s attention. “Have they tried disconnecting the phaser mains?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. But what difference would that make?”
“The warp core redesign. Starfleet’s been experimenting with increasing phaser power by routing the main phaser power through the warp drive. If there’s a drain on the phasers…that might be causing the trouble. We had the same issue on the Eagle when we tried using the impulse reactors with the phasers – we almost wrecked the entire propulsion plant.”
“I’ll pass that along. Captain?”
Harling nods. “Dismissed, yeoman.” As the yeoman leaves, Harling looks over at Lanz, raising an eyebrow curiously. “You’re already acquainted with the ship’s schematics?”
“Just the tactical systems, sir.” Lanz smiles nervously. “Sorry if I overstepped.”
“Lieutenant, if you keep having insights like that, you carry on overstepping.”
Just then, the ship’s PA lets out a shrill bosun chime, followed by a male voice, “All passengers, this is the Captain. We will be arriving at Earth Spacedock in twenty minutes. Officers and crew for Starship Newcastle, NCC-1903, report to Transporter Bay Two.”
“That’s us.” Harling stands, Lanz quickly following. “Let’s go see what all the fuss is about.”
***
Forty minutes later, U.S.S. Newcastle.
Harling wishes he hadn’t opened his mouth as Gardner leads him through the Newcastle’s Engineering section, coming out with a new defect seemingly with every open access panel they pass. As they come to the Engine Room, Harling stops in his tracks in frustration. “Is there anything on this ship that is working, Commander?”
Gardner clears his throat awkwardly.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”
“There is some good news, Captain. The power draw has dropped significantly since we disconnected the phaser power. I have my people focusing their investigation on the phaser mains now.”
“How long until you can get the ship ready for departure?”
“We still need to stress test most of the ship’s systems. I might just be able to put everything back together in time for the set time, sir.”
Harling nods, patting the young engineer on the arm. “Don’t rush it. Let’s see this new engine then.”
“Aye.”
The pair enter the engine room proper. A large facility spread over two decks; Main Engineering is the Newcastle’s beating heart. On every wall is some kind of systems diagnostic panel or interface console, with a stepladder leading to an upper level. In the centre of the room, where the top of the warp core’s dilithium chamber would normally be, a large transparent aluminium tube ascends through an open access dilithium chamber, reached from the upper level. Within the tube, bright blue swirls of energy fill the room with a cool glow.
Harling stands in awe of the structure, tilting his head slightly to address the Chief Engineer beside him. “That’s the new warp core?”
Gardner smiles with an engineer’s pride. “Yes sir. Once we’ve ironed out the kinks, she’ll be able to maintain warp seven for two days.”
“Two days? Jim’s going to hate me.”
“Eh, Enterprise’ll still hold the speed record sir. But we are designed for long-term high-speed running. Enterprise may win a sprint, but we’ll win a marathon. Either way, if the Klingons cause any trouble…”
“They won’t know what hit them.” Harling finishes, sighing. “Seems that’s all we worry about these days: the Klingons. Sometimes I think Starfleet only maintains the Five-Year missions because it keeps the Constitutions out of harm’s way.”
“I wouldn’t know sir. I just missed it.”
Harling strangles a chuckle before it can leave his mouth, turning to Gardner fully. “I envy you, Commander. Carry on.”
“Aye, sir.”
***
Author's Note:
So, this is what I've come up with from my dive into TOS. Not sure how much I'll carry forward, but I'm pretty happy with this as a start point - I feel it gives a good sense of the characters so far and the overall tone. Feedback, suggestions, and constructive criticism are very welcome.
I know this waffles a little - I suppose that's the curse of wanting a broad prologue to set the stage. Future chapters will be more focused. Even if I have to hook myself to a battery to shock me everytime I try to go off on a tangent.
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