Okagawa nodded in agreement, having already experienced one of the milder storms that had pushed through the area several days ago. “I’d be lying if I said I wanted to hang around long enough to see one of the nastier storms pop up.”
“And I’d be lying if I said I was happy to see you go,” Travers replied, pausing to offer morning greetings to a woman walking past them, whom Okagawa recognized as one of the civilian contractors assigned to help with establishing the colony. “We couldn’t have accomplished as much as we did in such a short time without your people, Daniel.”
Smiling with unreserved pride, as he often did whenever his crew’s efforts were praised, Okagawa offered a congenial nod. “That’s very kind of you to say, sir. They’re not the most by-the-book bunch you’ll ever meet, but they’re second to none if you want something built, rebuilt, torn apart, or augmented to within an inch of its life.”
It was true that the complement of technical specialists from Starfleet’s Corps of Engineers currently assigned to his ship, the U.S.S. Lovell,was as eclectic an assemblage of unorthodox officers Okagawa had ever encountered. Indeed, upon first being notified that he would be placed in command of the all-but-ancient Daedalus-class vessel and its crew of engineers, his first reaction had been to verify that he was not being punished for some as-yet-unexplained transgression. Okagawa had believed the entire Daedalusclass was retired from service decades earlier, after a long and proud operational record as the workhorse vessels of a still-burgeoning Starfleet in the mid-to late twenty-second century. He was surprised to find not one but three such ships on active duty, all of them assigned to the Corps of Engineers.
Travers laughed at Okagawa’s remark. “You’re not kidding. That talented band of tinkerers is something else. I know coming here is more than a bit off the beaten path with respect to your other assignments, but I hope you won’t mind if I ask for you and your crew by name the next time we need this kind of help.”
“It’ll be our pleasure, Commodore,” Okagawa replied. The Lovelland its crew had arrived at Cestus III sixteen days earlier, under orders from Starbase 47’s interim commanding officer, Jon Cooper, and in response to a request submitted by Travers for such assistance. The Cestus star system actually resided just beyond the boundaries of the Taurus Reach and, as such, would normally fall outside the area of responsibility overseen by Vanguard and the ships assigned to the space station. Still, the need for the type of specialized assistance the Lovell’s engineering contingent could provide had been legitimate.
Travers said, “Even colonies at the far end of nowhere need running water and functioning toilets. Sure, we could’ve gotten the kinks worked out and taken care of all of the ‘settling in’ adjustments on our own, but it would’ve taken months to iron everything out.”
Okagawa smiled at that. The Lovell’s crew had certainly done its share of diagnosing and correcting problems in much of the outpost’s essential infrastructure, including irrigation for the agricultural center and supplying water for the more than five hundred people living within the compound itself. They also had found several deficiencies in the colony’s central computer and communications systems, including more than a few issues with the systems that would oversee defense. “Well,” he added, “we both know that location is precisely why Starfleet made sure we were the ship sent out here.”
Cestus III’s location, with its proximity to Klingon space, made the planet an important asset with regard to Starfleet monitoring of Klingon ship movements. With the Klingons paying heightened attention to the Taurus Reach, it was all but certain that vessel traffic would come from this general direction. Positioning an observation outpost here strengthened the ability to provide early warnings in the event of increased activity that might prove dangerous to Federation interests in the region. The planet’s location and apparent value in the larger intelligence and defense hierarchy would make it a tempting target, and Starfleet had already factored that into the travel routes for starships assigned to patrol the sector. That was reassuring, Okagawa thought, particularly if the unthinkable occurred and the Klingons—or some other, yet-unknown enemy—decided to come calling.
Hearing approaching footsteps, Okagawa turned to see a member of his crew, Ensign Jeffrey Anderson, walking toward him. The captain knew from experience that the younger man was not a morning person, even without the ensign’s red-rimmed eyes accentuating that fact.
“Good morning, Commodore,” Anderson said to Travers before turning his attention to Okagawa. “Captain, Commander al-Khaled asked me to let you know that all of our equipment has been beamed back to the Lovell,and most of our landing parties have returned as well. He and Lieutenant T’Laen are still in the computer center, working out a few stubborn bugs, but otherwise, he says we should be able to depart on schedule.”
Okagawa nodded at the report. “Thank you, Ensign.” To Travers, he said, “If anyone can figure out what’s got your computer in a bad mood, it’s T’Laen.” The young Vulcan lieutenant was an accomplished computer-systems expert, holding high proficiency and classification ratings on nearly every type of Federation computer hardware and system currently in use. As for Mahmud al-Khaled, the Lovell’s second-in-command and leader of the ship’s Corps of Engineer contingent, he was an accomplished specialist in his own right, a master of many technical disciplines that had proven invaluable on more than one occasion.
“By the way, Anderson,” Okagawa said, frowning a bit, “why didn’t you just beep my communicator?”
He watched as the ensign’s face reddened in apparent embarrassment. “Well, sir, thereby hangs a tale.” He reached to the small of his back with his left hand, retrieved his communicator, and held it—or, rather, what remained of it—up for Okagawa to see. “I had a bit of a problem earlier this morning.”
“What the hell happened?” Travers asked, his eyes wide with confusion as he beheld the bent and twisted outer casing of what once had been a standard-issue Starfleet field communicator. Its gold flip-top antenna grid was creased down the middle, and the sides of the unit itself also were curved inward, as though the device had been held in a vise.
“I happened, Commodore,” Anderson replied, holding up his empty right hand. “I’m still getting the hang of reflexive responses with this thing. It’s great if you want me to punch a hole in a wall for a new power conduit, but don’t ask me to hold eggs or shake your hand. At least, not yet.”
Okagawa said, “Ensign Anderson sustained some rather serious injuries during our time on Gamma Tauri IV. His arm is a bionic prosthesis.” To the casual observer, the synthetic replacement limb passed for the real thing. It was only upon close inspection that the arm’s artificial nature was revealed.
“Wow,” Travers said, nodding in appreciation. “Gamma Tauri IV. I’d almost forgotten your ship was involved in that.”
“I’d like to forget about it myself,” Okagawa replied. The incident was still fresh in his mind, of course, where he suspected it would remain for the foreseeable future. Drawing a deep breath, he tried to shrug off the troubling reminder of that tragic mission.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” Anderson asked. “I’d like to see about replacing my communicator, along with…a few other things I oversqueezed last night.”