Foundations Book One

by Dayton Ward

  “It’s not surprisin’ that they picked three Daedalus ships,” he said. “In their day, they were Starfleet’s workhorses. They were durable and reliable, and given the right bit o’ care, there’s no reason they couldna all still be in active service today.”

  “True, and with a shipload of engineers to tend to it,” J’lenn replied, “the Lovell should be quite the sight to behold.”

  “Attention, all personnel,” the starbase intercom system called out, interrupting Scott’s thoughts. “The U.S.S. Lovell will be docking momentarily. Lieutenant Commander Scott and Lieutenant J’lenn, report to Docking Port 7 immediately.”

  Movement beyond the viewports caught Scott’s attention, and he turned in time to see a ship, still several dozen kilometers away, slowly approaching the station. Though he had never seen such a vessel outside of textbooks or a museum, his practiced eye immediately recognized the large, spherical primary hull and squat, cylindrical engineering section as that of a Daedalus-class ship. It was moving fast, approaching the starbase at what Scott judged to be full impulse power. As it drew closer, he also noticed other things about the vessel.

  “What the…,” he began, but the words faded as he rose from his chair, studying the dull, pockmarked paint that only partially covered varying-size areas of otherwise bare metal. Visible dents in the hull plating along with a port warp nacelle that looked as though it might shear away at any moment added to Scott’s rapidly escalating sense of dread.

  “Well, look on the bright side,” J’lenn said, her own expression one of near shock as she too beheld the vessel. “We won’t have to worry about the Romulans coming to kill us. That ship will blow apart long before we get to the Neutral Zone.”

  Scott’s only reply was to drain the contents of his glass.

  Chapter

  3

  The unease Scott had felt upon first seeing the Lovell certainly wasn’t helped when he got a close look at the ship. In all his years in Starfleet, he had never seen a vessel in such deplorable condition, save for those that had been in combat.

  Aye, and along with a few that had crashed into planets.

  Eyeing the Lovell through the viewing ports near where it had docked with the starbase, Scott could see that the struts supporting the warp nacelles were not even of the type normally used on Daedalus-class ships. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that the struts could have come from an even older model of vessel, perhaps even one of the first deep-space exploration craft Starfleet had ever deployed.

  “It certainly isn’t much to look at, is it?” J’lenn asked.

  Scott shook his head in disbelief. He could see the weld lines where the sections of hull plating were joined, and Scott could scarcely believe that the ship was capable of withstanding the stresses of interstellar flight.

  “What in God’s name is holdin’ that ship together?”

  From behind them, a voice answered, “A little luck, a lot of tender loving care, and the best crew of engineers in the fleet.”

  Scott and J’lenn turned to see a human male, looking to Scott to be of Middle Eastern descent and sporting a wide, knowing smile. The man’s dark hair was an unruly mop, uncombed and definitely longer than regulation. He appeared to carry himself with a relaxed, almost lackadaisical air that seemed out of sorts with his Starfleet uniform.

  “I’ll admit she’s an eyesore,” the man continued, “but she gets us where we need to go. Cruising speed of warp seven, and she’ll even make warp nine when we really need it.”

  Unable to conceal an expression of doubt, Scott regarded the newcomer warily. “Warp seven, ye say? That’s quite a feat, lad. After all, Constitution-class ships are only rated for cruising speeds of warp six or so.”

  The smile on his face fading not one iota, the other man nodded. “The difference between ships of the line and us is that we have more time to tinker. Idle hands and all that.” Extending his hand in greeting, he offered, “Lieutenant Mahmud al-Khaled, Corps of Engineers.”

  Scott returned the man’s firm handshake, making the introductions for himself and J’lenn. With that accomplished, he indicated the Lovell with a nod of his head in the direction of the viewport.

  “I dinna mean to offend ye, lad. It’s just that, well, I hafta admit she’s quite a sight compared to what I’m used to.”

  Waving the apology away, al-Khaled chuckled. “It is forgotten. We’re used to the looks she gets, but you’ll change your mind when she goes to warp. I’ll bet you dinner on that.”

  “Throw in a bottle of Scotch and Denevan whiskey,” J’lenn countered, much to Scott’s appreciation, “and it’s a wager.”

  Al-Khaled’s smile widened and he nodded enthusiastically. “Agreed. The whiskey might be hard to come by, but I have this feeling it’s really not going to matter.”

  “Three root beers, please, and be sure to put them on Commander Scott’s tab.”

  As the beverage dispenser in the Lovell’s mess hall processed his request, al-Khaled directed the latest in what Scott was sure would be an ongoing series of triumphant grins in their direction. Scott could only look at J’lenn as both engineers shook their heads in mock defeat before turning to look through the room’s viewport once more.

  Beyond the plexisteel barrier protecting the room’s occupants from the harsh vacuum of space, stars streaked past, dilating and stretching into multihued arcs of light as the Lovell traveled rather effortlessly at warp seven toward the Neutral Zone.

  Not that it had been uneventful reaching that speed, of course. The Lovell had departed Starbase 10 within moments of Scott and J’lenn’s boarding, while al-Khaled was giving them a guided tour of the ship’s engineering section. The order to engage the warp engines had come from the bridge, and Scott had felt everything from bulkheads to deck plating rattle and threaten to come apart.

  “I thought my bloody teeth were gonna shake themselves outta my head,” he declared as he and J’lenn seated themselves at one of the tables near the viewport. “But I must admit, she seems to be runnin’ just fine now that she has her second wind.”

  “She can be a bit grumpy at first,” al-Khaled said as he arrived at the table bearing a tray with three tall glasses of root beer, Scott and J’lenn’s penance for losing their friendly wager. “But once she gets up to speed, I’d bet against any ship in the fleet catching us.” As he took his own seat, he indicated the other occupants of the room with a wave of his hand. “Remember, just about everyone aboard is an engineer of some sort, and we spend a lot of time traveling between assignments.”

  “Naturally there are plenty of opportunities to refine or enhance your onboard systems,” J’lenn said.

  Al-Khaled nodded, his smile almost mischievous. “Practically everything from the engines on down to the toilets operate above normal efficiency levels.”

  Scott could see that al-Khaled was an intense young man who took extreme pride in his work, the hallmark of any Starfleet officer, to say nothing of an engineer. In fact, he had gotten that same feeling watching other members of the Lovell’s crew from the moment he and J’lenn had stepped aboard. While such positive attitude and work ethic could be found on any worthwhile ship or station in the fleet, Scott felt that there was another intangible quality permeating the atmosphere here. It was as if these people knew they weren’t the garden-variety type of Starfleet crew and relished that fact as they performed their duties in an exemplary, if somewhat unorthodox, manner.

  His attention was drawn to the doors leading from the mess hall into the corridor, which parted to admit a short, stocky human wearing the tunic and rank insignia of a Starfleet captain. To Scott’s surprise, the officer’s arrival was acknowledged by a series of informal greetings by various members of the crew, many of whom did not even bother to rise from their seat at their captain’s approach. The casual, almost familial way in which pleasantries were exchanged was in stark contrast to what Scott had grown accustomed during his own career.

  When he realized the man was making hi
s way deliberately toward their table, Scott rose quickly to his feet, with J’lenn closely following suit. The captain’s response was to smile broadly and wave them back to their seats.

  “Please, please, as you were,” he said as he stuck out a meaty hand to Scott. “Daniel Okagawa, captain of the Lovell.” Following introductions, Okagawa took the invitation to join the trio of engineers, dropping into an empty chair next to al-Khaled and asking a passing crewman to kindly bring him a cup of black coffee should he be on his way to the food dispensers.

  “So,” he began as he turned his attention back to Scott and J’lenn, “you’re the lucky ones accompanying Mahmud and his team down to the outpost to help us with our little problem.”

  “Aye, sir, that’s the plan,” Scott replied, not sure how to handle Okagawa’s apparently easygoing demeanor. The Lovell’s captain possessed an almost boyish twinkle in his otherwise dark brown eyes that belied the lines in his weathered face. Unlike many of the crewmembers Scott had encountered since coming aboard, Okagawa looked to be every bit a Starfleet officer, judging by his polished boots, impeccably tailored uniform, and exacting regulation haircut. The liberal peppering of gray in his black hair only contributed to the man’s distinguished appearance.

  “I’ve read both of your files,” Okagawa continued. “Your expertise will come in handy, Commander Scott.” Looking over to J’lenn he added, “And your knowledge of subspace communications systems may well be our ace in the hole if the outpost’s relay equipment has damage, Lieutenant.”

  Nodding appreciatively, J’lenn replied, “Thank you, sir. Let’s hope the damage is not as severe as Starfleet thinks it is.”

  Clapping al-Khaled on the shoulder, Okagawa said, “Well, with the two of you and Mahmud and his team, I imagine that old outpost won’t deal out anything you can’t handle. Our little team may not be inspection-ready if an admiral drops by, but we’ll certainly get the job done.”

  Looking around the interior of the mess hall, with its variety of mismatched bulkheads, some of which hadn’t even been painted, and its unpolished deck plates, Scott couldn’t suppress an involuntary chuckle. It had been the same in other areas of the ship, including engineering, of all places. The insides of the Lovell most definitely fit in with the ship’s disarming, dilapidated exterior.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Okagawa said, a smile on his face as he read Scott’s own expression. “We’re not exactly a ship of the line, are we?”

  Working to school his features in reaction to the captain’s blunt question, Scott stalled for an additional few seconds by clearing his throat, an action that only made Okagawa’s smile grow wider.

  “Far be it from me to question any ship captain’s methods, sir,” Scott began, but Okagawa only laughed, dismissing the reply with a playful wave of his hand.

  “Don’t worry, Commander. Believe me, when I first came aboard this old tub, I was just as stunned as you two probably were. I thought I was going to blow a power coupling when I saw just what Starfleet had handed me.”

  Making a show of covering his mouth and coughing, al-Khaled cast a sidelong glance at his captain. “That’s putting it mildly, sir.”

  Okagawa ignored the remark. “But it didn’t take me long to realize that when it came to the Corps of Engineers, I simply couldn’t run this ship like I had my previous commands.” He spread his arms, indicating the other patrons of the mess hall. “These people aren’t regular Starfleet. Hell, some of them aren’t any kind of Starfleet. Half of my crew is comprised of civilian specialists, Commander. They humor us by wearing uniforms, but they’re about as regulation as my goldfish. You can’t treat them like regular starship personnel. I’ve learned, through no small number of mistakes and a few occasions where I’ve made a complete ass of myself, that these people do what’s needed, when it’s needed, every time they’re asked.” Shrugging, he added, “The difference between this group and the crew on the science vessel I once commanded is that the scientists didn’t blow off steam by rigging the transporter to beam someone up without their clothes.”

  J’lenn had the misfortune to be taking a long drink from her root beer as Okagawa spoke. The engineer couldn’t stifle her own laugh, and instead inhaled a good portion of the beverage, coughing and snorting violently as she blew carbonated liquid through her nose and onto her uniform, the table, and even Scott’s sleeve.

  “Ah,” the captain said, “someone else who appreciates that kind of jocularity. Wonderful.” Looking to al-Khaled, he added, “More converts for your flock, Mahmud.” Everyone at the table waited until J’lenn got her breathing under control, after which an embarrassed smile crept onto her face.

  Seeing that she was all right, Okagawa continued. “So you see, commanding a crew like the Lovell’s carries with it an obligation to be flexible, and to see beyond the strict parameters of the so-called rule-book.”

  The more he thought about it, the more Scott could appreciate the advantages of what Captain Okagawa had provided on the Lovell. “’Tis a fine idea, Captain, and my hat’s off to ye. Still, I must admit that I don’t see myself thrivin’ in such an environment. For better or worse, I suppose I’m regular Starfleet through and through.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Commander,” al-Khaled replied. “You’d be surprised at the types of problems we have to deal with from time to time. No two days are alike, I can tell you that. Sure, some of the jobs we get would be boring to a lot of people, but each new assignment brings its own unique set of challenges.”

  “It’s similar aboard a starship,” J’lenn countered, “especially with the push for more exploration into uncharted areas. In fact, I’m surprised they didn’t send a starship or two to deal with this problem at the Neutral Zone.”

  Al-Khaled nodded politely. “Fair enough, but just as there are purely medical and science vessels in the fleet, so too are there dedicated crews specially trained to deal with unusual engineering problems. There are some situations where it’s impractical to divert a ship of the line, but for which the Lovell is ideally suited.”

  Wiggling his eyebrows impishly at the pair of engineers, Okagawa added, “Wait until you see them in action, Mr. Scott. You just might change your mind.”

  Chapter

  4

  As he felt the tingling and even chilling effect of the transporter’s reintegration process release him, Montgomery Scott had to wait a few extra seconds as his eyes adjusted to his new surroundings. The lighting here was noticeably dimmer than the standard levels aboard Federation starships and starbases. His ears quickly tuned to what was an uncharacteristic silence for a small, self-contained facility as Outpost 5, nestled as it was within a rocky crevasse of an otherwise barren asteroid.

  Then he drew a breath.

  Reports from outpost personnel had already notified the Lovell crew that the station’s life-support systems had been compromised by the ion storm, but he recognized the poor quality of the atmosphere he was breathing. The air felt almost textured in his mouth as his lungs worked to fill themselves with oxygen, and a sticky tang that was the most unpleasant aspect of poorly recycled air swept across his taste buds. Instinct and experience told him that the damage to the outpost’s environmental systems was probably more severe than originally reported, and had to be operating at the lowermost limit of humanoid tolerance. The engineers would have to work quickly to get the systems restored.

  The chamber they had beamed into was the closest thing to a reception area that Outpost 5 possessed. It was in actuality just a cargo hold that had been converted into an exterior-activity dressing area, dominated by lockers containing environmental suits and other accessories for use by outpost personnel when working out on the surface. At one end of the room was an open hatchway revealing a sparsely lit corridor that lead to the rest of the outpost. Scott could see where plastisteel wall panels had been installed at points along the passageway, covering up the bare rock of the asteroid from which the tunnel had been carved. Even in the muted illumina
tion of the room Scott could make out the stout, heavy hatch of the chamber’s main airlock at the room’s far end, which led to the airless exterior of the asteroid itself.

  “Not very homey, is it?” he asked.

  Standing next to him, al-Khaled shook his head. “These border outposts are strictly no-frills affairs. This close to the Neutral Zone, you can imagine the day-to-day tension level, even if no one’s heard from the Romulans in years. Combine that with a lack of real recreational facilities or the ability to travel to very many places for R&R, and you can see what a hardship posting this is. That’s why they rotate personnel out of these stations every six months.” Taking another look around the stark chamber, al-Khaled exhaled audibly. “It’s not at the top of my dream duty list, that’s for sure.”

  The sound of labored breathing attracted Scott’s attention and he turned to see Lieutenant J’lenn bent over at the waist, her hands on her knees as she gasped for breath.

  “Are ye all right, lassie?” Along with al-Khaled and the other members of the landing party sent down from the Lovell, he moved quickly to the young lieutenant’s side.

  “Air’s…thinner than I thought…hard to…breathe,” J’lenn managed to force out between ragged breaths. It didn’t take Scott long to realize what was causing the woman’s difficulty. On her home planet in the Alpha Centauri system, J’lenn had grown up breathing an atmosphere richer in oxygen than that found on Earth. She and others from her native world could breathe in the somewhat thinner atmosphere found aboard primarily human-dominated ships and starbases. The differences in her physiology, however, also left her more susceptible to the compromised environmental conditions in which the landing party now found themselves.

  With that in mind, Scott realized that the last thing J’lenn needed was a crowd of worried comrades competing for the already depleted oxygen around her as they all moved to offer her assistance.