[Galaxy] 18 Sep, Forrest Mission Start, Thompson/Walker, "To Arms"

[Robert]

[ Klingon Battlecruiser Vor'cha ]

"We have reached the Galad system, Colonel," the navigator announced as 
the ship dropped out of warp.

"The rest of the fleet is beginning to check in," added the comms tech.

"Notify me if the outpost mobilizes their starship," the Colonel 
replied.  "I'm going to make my report to the High Command.  Kroll," he 
called and looked to his first officer, "begin assembling the formation. 
  Put the Or'kee to work as soon as she arrives."

The first officer nodded and stepped over to the comms station.  The 
Colonel stood and walked to his private quarters, glad he didn't have to 
make his report to those damn Romulans, though given how obsessively 
involved they needed to be, he knew he might as well skip the middle-man 
of the Klingon High Command and make his report directly to those 
dishonorable politicians.  If it weren't for the agreement to share 
their technology with Qo'Nos, he would have insisted his fleet was busy 
elsewhere instead of able to participate in this 'grand scheme'...


[ Forrest Outpost, Command Center ]

"I've got ships coming out of warp on the edge of the star system, Sir," 
called the sensor tech.  "They're not broadcasting their ID codes."

"Understood," Sean answered as he made a slow spin to scan the crew 
stations surrounding Command's central hub.  "Pipe the feed down to the 
pool table," he added, gesturing to the horizontal display surface 
before him, "and pass word to the CO."  The last words had barely 
cleared his lips when Walker heard a distinctive 'whoosh' behind him.

Thompson exited the turbolift and marched onto the deck.  "What have we 
got, Mister Walker?"

The Exec stood by one of the table's consoles and began manipulating the 
data the sensors were feeding in.  "We've got multiple warp translation 
signatures at the system's edge, Sir."  As he talked, the new icons 
flashed as crosshatched, red symbols.  "No IFF codes or comm signals," 
Sean added, grabbing a PADD from a passing rating.  "Negative response 
to Interlac hails and UT prompts, Boss," he said, after consulting the 
device.  "Whoever they are, they're not being subtle."

"Sirs," the sensor tech interrupted.  "Ships are still coming in. I've 
got seven thus far."

"Forget the ID codes," Thompson ordered.  "Start matching their sensor 
data.  I want to know who we're dealing with."

"Aye, Sir."

On the central monitor, the red blob started breaking into distinct 
divisions.  "Tying in Engineering database," he said, clinching his jaw 
when he did.  News of Trevor's MIA status was still a raw nerve.  "Let's 
see if we can get a match off their power curve."  Keystrokes entered, 
he shifted to lean over the display.  "Exiting that far out, what's the 
point?" Sean asked.  "They're too far away to hit anything directly, Sir."

Thompson studied the central situation table as he listened.  "That 
one's breaking off," he commented.

The comms tech noted the alteration.  "I still can't identify the ships 
yet, Sir."

"No need," Thompson said.  "Does that formation look familiar to you, 
Commander?"

Sean squinted, eyeing the display and the animations on it.  "Too 
blatant on the arrival so that rules out Romulans," he said.  "The icons 
are resolving into distinct formations...more of a disciplined force 
than a Naussie raider pack."  As he talked, the squadrons became sets of 
distinct, three point triangles.  "Three ship formations, that's got 
Klingon written all over it, Boss."

"They're holding at the edge of Galad V's orbit," Thompson narrated, 
"spreading out.  If they were here to attack the squadrons would be 
breaking off by now, and /that/ ship," he pointed to the screen at the 
lone Klingon cruiser that broke off from the main force earlier, "is 
leaving a trail.  It's a blockade."

The console bleeped and the sensor tech relayed it's new information. 
"It's a minelayer, Sir.  /Rasch'ka/ class."

"For the sake of you or anyone else butchering the pronunciation, let's 
just call it the Minelayer."  Thompson looked to Walker.  "Prep the 
Triton for immediate departure.  If we don't get her to safety /now/, 
the Klingons will make a run at us just to destroy her.  Skeleton crew 
only, junior officers.  Their orders are to get out of tactical range of 
the blockade, but be ready to lend strategic support to us when called. 
  If things go bad, they're to make best speed for Earth."

"Aye aye, Sir," came the reply.  Walker turned away to issue the orders 
as Thompson turned to the rest of the Center.

"Morley, send out sitrep to Command, and setup a broadcast to warn all 
incoming ships that Forrest is a no-fly zone.  They'll have to resupply 
somewhere else.  And recall all crew from the shipyards, it's a 
high-value target."

Returning, Walker opened a sub-window on the display table, a wire 
schematic of the Shipyard.  Dry dock frames and habitat/ storage pods. 
"They've been expanding lately, Skipper," Sean brought up.  "Think we'll 
have time to clear that many to the surface?"  Since the last series of 
attacks on the Station, various surface sites had been set up as rally 
points should any of the orbitals need to be cleared.  Sean just wished 
Monterez was still around to see the legacy of her brief time here 
finally put to use.

"I doubt they'll go for the shipyards yet," Thompson explained.  "Right 
now they're setting up for the long haul, and they need to think about 
conservation.  The Triton can make problems, so they'll want to take it 
out soon, but the shipyards aren't going anywhere and if I were them I'd 
wait until it had a ship /in/ it so I could double the returns on my 
torpedoes.  Still, lets use the Transporter to move them, just in case 
the Klingons get the idea to use our shuttle pods for cannon practice."

"Relaying now, Sir," Walker piped in.  "That'll still leave the fuel 
depots," he said, referring to the isolated matter/antimatter facilities 
a good, safe distance away at a LaGrange point off Njord's orbit, "wide 
open, Sir."

"Nothing we can do about that," Thompson replied as he studied the 
myriad of datum displayed on the table, "except blow it up ourselves if 
the /Klingons/ get the idea to use them."  He stood with his arms 
crossed, eyes taking in all the variables.  "Once the Triton is away, I 
want all senior officers and department heads in the briefing room.

"Aye aye, Sir," Sean said.  "Suggest we sound General Quarters, 
Captain."  He cast a glance back to the display.  The blip ID'd as the 
mine layer was still making its orbit along G5's path.  "There's no 
telling how long the Klingon's are just going to sit at the door before 
trying to kicking it in."

Thompson considered a moment.  General quarters would put the crew at 
battle stations, though there really was no battle to be at their 
station for.  And how would the civilian populace respond?  And Thompson 
was unconvinced that the Klingons would make a move any time soon, 
provided the Triton disembarked in a timely manner.  Still, there were 
enemy forces in-system, and they only had one alarm to sound.  Thompson 
looked at Walker and nodded, then turned his attention back to the 
situation table and the evolving variables therein.

Around him, the room took a reddish hue as the klaxon sounded three times.

"To Arms."


-----
Nathan Thompson
Captain (Starfleet)
Commanding Officer
Outpost Maxwell Forrest

Sean Walker
Cmdr, Starfleet
XO and CAO
Maxwell Forrest Outpost