Monday, March 25, 2019

Star Trek: Legends, Fur-st Contact?


[Writer’s note: The idea for this story began LONG before ST:Enterprise was even thought of.  Its origins began EVEN before ST:DS9 when, inspired by the ‘NEW’ Star Trek series called the Next Generation, I began thinking outside the Star Trek Universe ‘box’.  After watching the first few episodes of ST:Enterprise, I decided to incorporate a few of its ideas into the story.  I think stories like this, show what the concept of ST:Enterprise promised.  Before being ruined by the ‘Berman Gang’ and other no talent hacks at Paramount that think, “If the ratings are down, don’t write better stories, start a war!”  I find it interesting such ‘Hollywood’ types protest the USA going to war to defend itself against the like of Sadem, Osama, or even Weird Haircut Kim but to get ‘easy’ ratings will resort to on screen death and destruction!  I wonder if they have ever heard, “LIFE IMITATES ART”?  Well, off the soap box, that’s for another BLOG!  Enjoy the story!]

Swapping ‘stories’ in space port hangouts is not an exclusively human ship captains and crew activity.  Some of the most interesting come from nonhumans.  I heard this one from a Starfleet officer a while back.

After the successful first voyage of the Enterprise, NX-01 and inspired by the logs of Captain Archer and crew,  Earth embarked on an accelerated campaign of ship building that the Vulcans could NOT stop.  Soon a ‘fleet’ of Earth vessels were Boldly Going Everywhere!  An expanding fleet needed resources, one of the main priorities of these voyages was to explore for items like Dilithium Crystals.  Sadly many of these vessels were never heard from again but, many came home.  Naturally a number of these voyages resulted in contact with new races, many of which, would eventually join with their visitors to form the United Federation of Planets.  While these beings were VERY alien, some were, at the same time VERY familiar.

It had been a LONG voyage for the Earth Crew and after almost five solar years they were on their way home!  Their computer banks filled with information that would keep Earth Analytical Experts busy for years.
Just off their course to the Galactic Center, lay a unremarkable, moderately sized yellow star named on the Vulcan Star Charts 15 Lyncis.  As the ship drew near, the scanners churned out data.  A Sol like sun, orbited by twelve planets and an asteroid belt.  As the scans continued, the readout reported the second planet was the only Class M world in the group.
Tuning into the frequency emissions coming from the system, the ship’s Communication’s Officer reports there appear to be signals coming from the direction of the Class M planet.  “Intelligent”, the Captain asks.  Using all the ship’s equipment and all her skills the Communication’s Officer attempts to find an answer.  Filtering out the back ground noise, signal harmonics, reflections and echos she finally arrives at a audible signal.  As she listens, a puzzled look crosses her face.  Seeing her change in expression the Captain ordered, “Let’s hear it!”  The Communication’s Officer punches a button and the sound, a vaguely familiar collection of growls and hisses are heard by all.  The ‘ALL’ include Morganna, who has been sleeping soundly in her favorite spot on top of the consoled that holds the usually unmanned Bridge Engineering Station’s Control Panel.  Suddenly awake, alert and ,hearing the sound crackling from the speaker, she arches her back, hisses and runs from the room, apparently frightened. 
Seeing her reaction to the sound and hearing little that would encourage him to contact this new race, the Captain is about to order his vessel to continue on with her journey home when the Science Officer reports, “The asteroid belt contains Dilithium!”  Dilithium, that wondrous crystal that makes faster than light travel possible!  Someone would have to try and contact this race!  However the Captain isn’t sure it should be him.
It has not only been a long voyage, it has been a dangerous one.  On more than one occasion contact with an alien race has ended badly.  The Captain’s mind thinks back to one race, one planet where he lost a crewman, a longtime friend.
Now if you haven’t already figured it out, Morganna is a cat.  More specifically, the pet of the Captain.  Like Archer’s dog Porthos, she has come along with her ‘human’ to ‘explore’ the universe.  Unlike Porthos who apparently urinated his way across the Alpha Quadrant, giving new meaning to ‘Boldly Going’, Morganna has always been more like crew than a pet.  In fact some of the alien dignitaries the vessel had hosted had inquired as to what post Morganna was assigned.  Sometimes the Captain would reply, half jokingly, “Councilor.”
One of the ‘duties’ she was involved in was helping to decide on a non-urgent plan of action.  The Captain only half believed she was really deciding anything but, it beat flipping a coin and its illogic bugged the hell out of the Vulcan ‘handler’ that had been originally assigned to the ship.  So the captain orders  the ‘equipment’ to be readied. Basically just two cards, one with the word ‘YES’ and one with the word ‘NO’ printed on them.  As they are placed on the deck in random spots, the Captain retrieves Morganna from where she is hiding and asking the question, “Should we contact the new race or continue on home”, puts her on the deck.  Later in the logs, all present would swear Morganna stood for an unusually long time, looked each one of the crew in the eyes and, then as if she had been pushed went strait to the ‘YES’ card and sat on it.  The captain, a bit surprised at his cat’s certainty, said, “It’s decided then!  Helm, plot a course for the system!”
Cautiously approaching the planet, looking for any sign that the natives knew of and/or objected to his approach, the Captain ponders the best way for first contact.  Unless his Communication’s Officer can crack the language, he might have to bypass this system and it’s wonders.  Even though instigation of the Prime Directive was years away, humans had progressed far enough to have out grown the “I need it, I take it” mind set.  So far there was no evidence that these creatures had ventured into space.  Do the inhabitants of this world know of other races on other worlds?  How best to announce to this race that they are NOT alone in the universe.  The Captain thinks of the turmoil the knowledge that “We Were Not Alone” caused on Earth not that long ago.
Nearing the planet, he is relieved and concerned to see that this race was NOT a stranger to space.  Orbiting the planet are numerous satellites and even a small space station.  Various suborbital craft shuttle between the surface and the station.  In addition, three tiny, interplanetary, non-warp ships orbit the planet not far from the station.  Now the Captain has a new problem, if these creatures are as sophisticated as this, they probably have the technology to detect his ship’s approach from some distance.  He order, “All engines stop”, hoping to give his Communications’s Officer time to get a handle on the language and him time to find a nonthreatening way of saying hello.
The Captain doesn’t have long to ponder his situation.  “We are being hailed!”, a startled Communication’s Officer reports.  “On screen”, the Captain orders.  None of the Bridge Crew is prepared for what they see.  The Captain would later record in his log, “The image of a black fur covered, triangular faced cat, complete with long whiskers and oval pupiled eyes appeared and began to speak.  The image was so catlike, I actually thought, for a second, that somehow Morganna had accessed a Com Unit and was what we were looking at.”
For a moment neither the Captain nor his Communication Officer does anything, obviously stunned.  The alien speaks again, with more urgency.  Jarring both out of their stunned silence.
Fortunately, the Communication’s Officer is almost as talented as the one on the Enterprise, actually one of her students and when the Captain asks, “Can you translate that.”  She is able to answer, “I . . .   I think so.”  (Note: when speaking feline languages, a human is ahead of the game if their “Mother Tongue” is one of the Romance Languages because, many “cat” words begin or end with what can only be described as a growl and, the closest a human can come to the sound is rolling the r’s like what is required on many words in French, Italian and especially Spanish.)
It turns out the aliens are friendly and want contact as much as does the ship’s crew.  Arraignments, of sorts, are made and the Captain picks the members of the Landing Party.
The vessel had left Earth before the transporter had been perfected and while the vessel is equipped with one, as of the last routine transmission from Earth Fleet Command, it is NOT recommenced for the transport of ‘living tissue’ or personnel.  To get to a planet’s surface, the Landing Party, forerunner of today’s Away Teams will use a Shuttle Craft.  Unknown to the Captain or any of the members of the Landing Party, on this occasion, the Shuttle has one extra, unauthorized passenger, Ship’s Councilor . . .   Morganna!
It is unknown why she decided to go on this mission, the Captain thought she, like most of her kind, really wasn’t very happy confined in a small moving vehicle.  A perception enforced by her reaction to the few rides she had been given.  It is also unknown how she managed to avoid discovery on the trip to the planet’s surface inside the cramped confines of those old shuttle craft but, she did.
As the vessel lands, a crowd gathers and, what are assumed to be Elders come to greet the visitors.  The shuttle craft’s door opens and, before the Captain knew or could stop her, Morganna, strolls out!  She is apparently not alarmed as she comes nose to nose with creatures many times her size yet with strangely familiar faces.  (A statue of this diminutive, midnight black, long furred, fearless, explorer, not the Captain now marks the spot of first contact) Taken by surprise and horrified his cat might be injured or even eaten, the Captain yells her name, sprints to where she stands and, roughly takes her up in his arms.  As he scolds her, the crowd begin to react . . .  badly.  Mothers, seeing this flat faced, round eared, almost hairless alien grab a creature that is the size of and looking something like their child or kit as they are called there, hiss, bare their fangs and, grab for their kits.  Their mates bare their fangs and, although unarmed, begin advancing on the armed group of humanoids that have emerged from the vessel. 
This glorious day might have ended in a massacre for one side or the other except for one thing, something that at the time the humans were just beginning to acknowledge, E.S.P.  Not their meager (at best) gift, but their cat’s.  As the first Elder nears the Captain and Morganna, in his mind he hears her say “STOP!  I am safe!”  Through her eyes, the human’s actions are somewhat explained although she admits the humans do many things she does not understand.  With her insight on human behavior, much more detailed than humans suspect, even today and guidance, the initial and following meetings go well.  It is she that insists that all human ambassadors to 15 Lyncis II called Cait by the Federation and Ferasa by the natives be accompanied by a ‘Councilor’ Cat.
When asked why she would do things she knew would make the human angry she answered, “I like to see the human change color!”.  She went on to say how there were even contests to see which pet could make its human change the most colors.

The Starfleet Officer, who was a Caitian went on to say, “I have to admit, to see the furless skin of a human change from white/pink to blood red and finally purple is fascinating, even after all the years I have been working with them!  I never made the connection with that and the story of first contact, until the day I made a “well known” Starfleet Admiral change color.”  Concerning the contests, considering the Admiral’s colors, I probably would have won!

Star Trek: Legends, The Inheritors

Many of the ‘Tall Tails’ have a message and possibly a kernel of truth.  Like this one I heard from a fellow captain while relaxing in Quark’s Bar.

[“FOOLS!  Will I have to kill them ALL?!?”  The Klingon Kor to his assistant regarding the inhabitants of the planet Organia.  (Errand of Mercy, Star Trek: TOS)]

From all survey reports and personal accounts, the newly discovered planet was a new Eden.  Billed as so Earth like, you hardly knew you were billions of miles from home!  Eager colonists flocked to this pristine world filled with the promise of a new and better life.  They planed and built a capitol city, complete with an Assembly Hall, Governor’s Residence and all the places people need.  The world was productive and generous, providing the colonists all they needed and more.  As time progressed, the colony flourished and grew wealthy.  Then . . .  well . . .  something happened.  A dark cloud fell over the world.  His name Hitler, Stalin, Hussein, Bin Laden, Khan, Bele, Kodos, Gul Darhe’el, is not important, best thrown into history’s cesspool and forgotten. For in being remembered, they are so honored.  Suffice it to say that he, like the company he belonged to, thought his vision was the ONLY one that mattered and, if you didn’t agree you should die!  What followed was predictable, war, destruction, death, darkness.  This Eden, like so many others, became a Hell.  The Federation, following its policy of not interfering, did nothing but ban its ships from visiting the world.  So, for a long time nothing was known of the ending, until now!

The family huddles together for warmth in the below ground level area of the ruins.  They had spent the summer in the mountains, hiding from the raiding parties.  They had gathered and preserved food and prepared for the coming winter.  They had intended to spend the winter in a cave in the mountains but, so had a group of the planet’s bear-like omnivores.  Unarmed, the father decided hiding in or near the city would be better than fighting the bears.  Besides, he knew, he hoped that with the winter, came a slow down in the war.
They had found this place.  Once a comfortable, upscale residence for one of the planet’s well-to-do citizens now, just a bombed out, blackened shell like the many others around it.  With nothing of value in the area, the father hoped no one would be snooping around.  Now a sound tells him his hopes might have been in vain.  The sound, the crunch of snow under a boot, signals the approach of someone.  The father tries to judge the number of those approaching and their direction by the sound but, like most humans, finds it impossible.  A gentle man by nature, the father searches the area for a weapon to protect his family.  All he can find, a thin wooden plank.  Not much against a phaser he thinks as the footfalls continue to come closer.  The father hopes whoever it is goes on his way.  His hopes are dashed as he hears a creak of the stairs that lead down to his families hiding place.  The father raises the plank, takes a deep, silent breath and, swings in the direction of the approaching intruder.  Seeing who it is, he manages to stop the plank’s arc just inches from the head of a dirty, rag clad, shivering little girl!  The child steps back, her brown eyes, wide with fright, begin to fill with tears.  With a rush of maternal instincts and probably fearing her crying might bring others, the mother hurries to the child, picks her up, dries her tears and, comforts her.
They question the child and find out that her parents are dead.  Her mother, just a few days ago from a ‘cough’ brought on by the cold and probably, judging from the condition of the little girl, lack of food.  After cleaning her up, the family and its guest sit down for the evening meal.
With the meal over, the family and its guest prepare for a cold night’s sleep.
Just as all are just dozing off it begins!  Softly, faintly at first, a sound carried on and blending with the bitterly cold wind.  The sound grows louder, the sound of . . .  voices!  The sound of voices . . .  singing!  The father looks at the mother, silently asking, “do you hear what I hear?”  Their questions are answered by their youngest asking, sleepily, “mommy, who’s singing?”  Try as they might, the family can’t ignore the sound.  Finally, consumed with curiosity and a bit angry that someone could be singing in this place, NOW, the father announces, “I’m going to find out what’s happening!”  He attempts to convince his wife to remain in the shelter with the children but, using the female logic of, ‘it’s better if we all face what’s happening as a family’, she gets the children up and readies them for the journey.
The group cautiously emerge from the ruins and head in the direction the sound seems to be coming from.  Through the dark, dirty streets they pick their way, trying to stay in the shadows, the sound growing ever louder.  They follow the sound of the “singing” to its source, the Assembly Hall.  As his family hides in the shadows, the father cautiously approaches the closed doors, his trembling hand reaching for the handles.  With one last look toward his wife and the children, he flings wide the doors.  ANIMALS!  The ‘singing’ the sound of the colonist’s animal’s howls and yowls, distorted by and added to the icy wind.
The last of the colonists, finally giving up their differences had sought shelter from the cold in the Hall.  Like most humans, they couldn’t bear to leave their beloved pets to fend for themselves so they were brought along.  Unfortunately, their animals were better equipped to survive the cold than their owners.  The humans had all frozen to death.  Their pets, hungry, thirsty and imprisoned began to panic and call for help.    

Actually I have heard two differing versions of the story, Humans tend to tell this version.  More animal-looking humanoids and those that embrace a different view of life say that the colonist’s pets were NOT calling for help but, saying a requiem for their foolish companions.

Star Trek: Federation Installation Nine, Episode 3 Settling In


Station Log, Stardate: 49710.31.

Repairs and upgrades are coming along nicely. Barring any unforseen problems, the station should be fully operational on schedule. Jacobs has almost finished the mating of the Federation computers to the Kzinti ones.  She has discovered, to her surprise, that I have a sense of humor so, occasionally as she is working in the Control Center she will catch a whiff of my ‘duty’, crinkle up her nose and say to me, “Bad Kitty! If I catch you marking anything else I will get the Water Bottle!” Then she will giggle and go about her work. She had to explain to me that a Water Bottle was a device humans used to ‘remind’ their feline companions that certain things were NOT allowed in certain places. It was known that a corporal reprimand, such as striking the creature with an object was extremely demeaning to it. They also thought that Earth felines did not like to get their fur wet so a quick squirt of water would be a ‘humane’ way of punishment. I did not tell Jacobs that I LIKE to get wet on occasion. Her surprise that I have a sense of humor surprises me. Just because felinoids do not understand their Knock Knock Jokes, humans think we have no sense of humor! If the truth was known, I know of no other life form that thinks Knock Knock Jokes are funny.
There is an interesting and somewhat disturbing note to my marking of the station. As I told Security-Chief, Caitians do not mark things however I speculate that a few million years of evolution are more of an influence than a few thousand years of civilization. It was strange but, during Security-Chief’s rant, I could, to paraphrase one of the lines a character, Kirk Rodenberrykicker or something like that said to his Deadeye Master in one of the many Star Trek-Wars Generation X something something, Earth Vids I enjoy watching, “I could ALMOST smell their fear!” As I went about doing my duty, I found myself experiencing a unfamiliar, wild, almost primal feeling. It was as if the station disappeared and I was transported back to the primordial jungle my prehistoric ancestors prowled. I could almost feel the weight of hundreds of pairs of fearful eyes watching as THE CAITIAN begins the patrol of HIS territory! What was even stranger was that I enjoyed, even reveled in the feeling! I would like to explore this newly discovered aspect of my psyche further if possible. 
In her spare time Jacobs has converted one of the station’s larger rooms and two of the smaller ones into a Holodeck and two Holosuites. I felt that because of our remoteness, these rooms would be vital to the well being of the crew as well as a tool that could be used to the benefit of the station. To begin exploring my ‘Wild Side" I am going to introduce my Kzinti Security-Chief to them this evening.  As I stop by the station’s Security Office, Security-Chief is giving last minute instructions to 4 of 5. I decided that 4 of 5's skills and talents could best be used assisting Security-Chief and making sure he follows ALL Federation rules regarding prisoners. In other words assuring that he does not EAT any! Seeing me, Security- Chief says, ”I will be ready shortly D’Sefet-Commander.” Finishing the instructions, he joins me. “I am sorry to keep you waiting D’Sefet-Commander.”, he says. “That ok Sssecurrrity-Chiefff, I ammm ppprobably bit earrrly. Arrre yooou rrready fffor dinnerrr?”, I question. “I am famished D’Sefet-Commander!”, he answers.  Before we leave, I ask 4 of 5, “How arrre thingsss gggoing 4?” “Very well sir!”, he answers. “Gggood 4.”, I say, “Keeppp uppp gggood worrrk.”
The station has yet to attract any commercial eating establishments so the only public place to eat is a small Mess/Meeting Hall in the Bazar area. As we reach its door, Security-Chief begins to enter. I stop him by saying, “That not where we eating tonight.” “But . . . Where?”, he inquires, looking around for another place.  I answer by taking a short walk over to the door to the Holodeck, “Herrre!” “THERE?!?”, he says joining me.  “Yesss, rrrun Sssef’sss Ppplain.”, I order. “Program Complete, you may enter when ready.”, the computer says.  Kzinti have a GREAT distrust of machines that talk and, Security-Chief is no exception. However as I take a step forward and, the doors open, what he sees tweaks his curiosity. I enter and he cautiously follows. We step through the door and onto Earth’s, Africa’s, Serengeti Plain.  It is late after noon, just after the start of the dry season, a slight breeze blows from the south stirring up miniature tornadoes I think are called ‘Dust Devils’ in the tall, dry grass. We are standing on a hill overlooking a terrain feature called a ‘Watering Hole’. “How is all this possible D’Sefet-Commander?!? We ARE still on the station, are we not?”, Security-Chief questions, as he surveys the scene. “Yooou have nnneverrr ssseen Hhholodeck?”, I ask. “Holodeck? No, but I have heard stories of the Human’s Room of Mirages that they play in.”, he replies with disdain as he bends down to pluck a blade of grass, “But this is REAL!” “Therrre mmmorrre to it than jussst imagesss.”, I reply, adding, “And it cannn be usssed fffor morrre than ‘ppplay’.” “This is truly marvelous D’Sefet-Commander but, forgive me, I am becoming hungrier!”, Security-Chief says adding with urgency, “Where IS dinner.” “It on it’sss way.”, I answer motioning to an approaching herd of animals. “ORrr ifff yooou pppreferrr ‘fffassst fffood’.”, I indicate a group of Gazelles drinking at the Watering Hole. “Are you suggesting we make a kill?!?”, Security-Chief asks somewhat hesitantly. “I thought Kzinnnti liked tooo hunt.”, I reply. “We DO but, those are not real animals . . . ARE THEY?”, he says. Holo technology has improved over the years so I can truly answer, “Theirrr mmmeat asss rrreal and asss fffilling asss any yooou would get fffrom Rrreplicatorsss in Messs Hall.”  He considers what I have said for a moment and then asks as he eyes me, “How are your hunting skills D’Sefet- Commander?” Caitians, like most more advanced creatures, gave up hunting for survival a long time ago but, we, like all creatures still retain an instinct for it. As kits, we instinctively played at games once designed to develop and sharpen those skills. So I answer, “It beennn long timmme sssince I chasssed sssqueek acrrrossss fffield but, ifff that ssskill isss, asss humansss sssay, ‘Like fffalling offf bicycle’ orrr isss it ‘Rrriding log’, oh well . . . neverrr lossst, thennn I think I ammm rrready! What creaturrre dooo yooou want tooo go afterrr?”  “I think I would like to have one of the stout creatures with the shorter horns. It’s head would make a wonderful display for my office.”, he answers. I was hoping he would pick one of the smaller creatures but, “Capppe Bufffalo it isss thennn!”, I say.
The first order of business is a plan. Felines usually hunt in one of three styles. If there is a group, like the females in a lion pride, they will stalk in relays with each hunter following the chosen prey until she is tired and another one starting where she left off. In that way the group can tire out an animal so it can easily be caught.  Unfortunately there are only two of us. The second method is to simply chase the animal and pounce on it as it stumbles. This method works well for cheetah but, I know I do not have the speed or stamina for such a hunt and, I doubt the Kzinti has it either. The third method is to hide near where the prey is and, wait for one to become careless. Much like an Earth house cat hunts a mouse. However this method is VERY time consuming and requires massive amounts of patience. Because of the Kzinti philosophy of ‘Scream and Leap’ I KNOW the Kzinti does NOT have the resolve for this method!  Being intelligent creatures, we decide on a plan that suits our limited abilities. I will try and selectively panic a few of the Buffalo into running toward where Security-Chief will be laying in wait in the tall grass, instead of the entire herd charging, in mass, at me as is their nature when threatened. If luck is with us, he will be able to pounce on one of the passing animals and hold it until I can join him in bringing it down. I hope this plan suits both the Kzinti’s ‘Scream and Leap’ mentality and my physical limitations.  After warning Security-Chief that I have lowered the Holodeck’s Protection Protocol to give the prey every chance to escape, in other words, horns will gore, just not deeply and, hooves will break any bone except the skull, and, that the mature Cape Buffalo males can weigh close to a ton, to which he hungrily replied, “GREAT!”, we begin. We spend almost an hour crawling through the tall, dry grass getting into position. We have to take care to keep up wind of the herd so our sent does not panic them prematurely. I have to tell you, for a creature that has evolved to walk on two legs, moving about on paws and knees is a little tough. Especially if the creature is a bit ‘over the hill’ as humans say. Eventually both Security-Chief and I reach our positions on either side of the herd. After taking a moment to make sure Security-Chief is ready, I rise up and do my best to roar like a lion. Although my ‘roar’ is a bit weak, fortunately my appearance does panic a few in the herd. As three of the younger animals break from the rest and head for Security-Chief’s position, I follow, doing my best to keep up with them and keep them on course. The lead animal passes Security-Chief’s position unmolested.  Just as I am wondering if the Kzinti has frozen in the heat of the hunt, I hear a sound that has never been heard on the plains of the Serengeti. A roar that could not be equaled by a whole pride of lions roaring in unison. The Kzinti suddenly makes a leap at the second buffalo . . . and misses. For an instant he lays face down in the dust but, quickly gathers himself and rises. The expression on his face is a wild mixture of excitement for the hunt, anger and disgust at missing the prey and, intense concentration. Fortunately his sudden appearance slows the third animal’s pace just enough for Security-Chief to set himself for another leap, and this time he is successful.  As he locks himself around the neck of the buffalo, and tries to position himself so he can use his fangs to kill it, I catch up. I make my own leap, landing on the animal’s back. My added weight slows the animal and enables Security-Chief to wrestle it to the ground and sink his teeth into a jugular. Death comes quickly but, the buffalo does not die meekly, kicking, bucking and, thrashing about as it lies on its side beneath us. As I try and hold on to the animal, I consider what I have learned about humans and the period in their history where they were hunters. As far as they can determine, no human ever hunted bare pawed, even the earliest hunters were armed with a heavy stone or tree branch. I wonder if humans would have survived to prowl the stars if they had to feed themselves like the early Caitian/Kzinti did. Even the humans that called themselves ‘native’, before they had invented the weapon they called the bow and arrow killed their prey safely. They would find a convenient cliff and run an entire herd over it, killing all. What a waste from a group that claimed they revered the land and animals!
FINALLY it is over, the buffalo is still. I release my hold on the creature and roll off it into the grass and, rest there a minute trying to catch my breath. As I do, Security-Chief releases his hold, kneels on the ground near the creature and, begins working on it. As I recover from the kill I see that Security-Chief has already torn the beast’s belly open with his sharp claws and is in the process of picking out the choice internal organs. He has already swallowed the heart, whole and, is in the process of devouring the liver before remembering me.  “Forgive me D’Sefet-Commander!”, he says, his mouth dripping with blood, “In the excitement I forgot, as superior officer, I should have let you have the honor of first meat.” “That quite all rrright Sssecurrrity- Chiefff.”, I begin, thankful that I do not have to display my lack of knowledge in dressing a kill to him, “Yooou did mmmossst of the worrrk and took mmmossst offf the rrrisksss.” “THIS IS GLORIOUS!”, he exclaims as he hands me a slab of raw abdominal muscle the size of my head, “You have truly captured the Kzinti’s idea of paradise here!” Although I prefer my meat blood rare, I do like it cooked. As I hold the bloody piece of meat in my paw, wondering what it will taste like, Security-Chief notices my hesitation and says, “I am sorry, I should have allowed you to choose your own meat instead of giving you a piece like I would a kit.” “Nnno, thisss piece fffine.”, I say as I bring it to my mouth. The first thing I notice is that fresh, raw meat has a strong, distinctive odor that is not related to what animal it comes from. A strangely salty smell that reminds one of an ocean.  Although the smell is usually still present when the meat is cooked, even rare, the heat and seasonings make it far less noticeable. I also notice the comparatively cool temperature. I find the difference between oven and body temperature, having more that once burnt my mouth with my first piece of cooked meat, comforting. As I sink my teeth into it, I find it is considerably chewier than when it is cooked which, is not a bad thing. As I begin chewing and the juices begin to run down my throat, I begin to get that primal feeling again. This time even stronger!
Security-Chief and I both eat our fill of meat but, all too soon, it comes time to return to our duties. As he stands, he staggers slightly and, I notice that not all the blood on his uniform is from the buffalo. An alarming amount of it has come from and is still coming from a wound on his right side under his ribs. As I rip a piece of cloth from his uniform and use it to apply pressure to the wound, he says, “I guess the beast got in a lucky swipe!” “We nnneed get yooou tooo Sssick Bay!”, I say, moving to steady him. “I will be all right D’Sefet - Commander, if you will help me to my rooms I can treat it.”, he argues. “That ISss ssseriouss wound Sssecurrrity-Chiefff! I want Ssselarrr tooo trrreat it!”, I order. “BUT Selar IS A FEMALE! As well as a grass eater!”, Security-Chief protests. “That trrrue but, Ssstarfffleet rrregulationsss RrrEQUIRrrE that injurrred pppersssonal MUSssT, ifff posssible, be exammmined and trrreated by doctorrr. Like it orrr nnnot, asss Chiefff offf Sssecurrrity on thisss ssstation, Kzinti orrr not, yooou arrre coverrred by thossse rrregulationsss! Now ifff yooou arrre up tooo it, let usss go!”, I explain. With a dip of his tail, a sign of resignation, we leave the Holodeck.  “What happened to you two?”, Dr. Selar questions in her ‘mater-of-fact’ way as the door to Sick Bay slides open and, I realize I look as disheveled as Security-Chief. “We werrre having dinnnerrr.”, I answer, prompting a raised eyebrow from Selar, “He hurrrt.” Selar joins me in helping the large Kzinti male over to an examination bed. “You were ONLY having dinner?”, she questions as she examines Security-Chief’s wound, “With whom . . . KLINGONS?!?” Not understanding what humanoids call sarcasm and forgetting Selar is a female as she begins to treat his injury, Security-Chief answers, “No, alone.” As an uncharacteristic smirk forms on her face, she comments, “This is a serious injury Commander, he has lost a considerable amount of blood.” “Yooou arrre confffident enough tooo trrreat Kzinti arrre yooou nnnot?”, I question, wondering what, if any medical information the Federation Database has on the Kzinti. “I have not had any experience with the Kzinti but, it has been my experience so far that mammalian physiology is similar throughout the galaxy.”, she assures me as she treats the injury, “With a few days rest, he will be as healthy as before.” “A FEW DAYS! I have duties to tend to!”, Security-Chief roars in protests. “Thossse rrregulationsss we werrre talking about alssso ssstate that SssHE can rrremove YOooU fffrom duty on Fffederrration fffacility fffor asss long asss SssHE ssseesss fffit.  SssO corrrporrrate with HERrr!”, I advise the unhappy Kzinti. “May I at least be permitted to serve my sentence in private, in my quarters instead of on display in this place!”, Security-Chief humbly asks. “As long as you follow my instructions, I see no logical reason why that won’t be acceptable.”, Selar answers with unVulcan-like understanding.
I have been sore ALL day! As a Starfleet officer, I am in fairly good shape but, bare pawed hunting is seldom ever needed in space. Jacobs found it amusing and amazing that I was aching. I find it strange that humanoids are surprised that creatures other than their beasts of burden and themselves get aches and pains in their muscles and joints. Just because we came from creatures that could NOT afford to show any sign of weakness lest they become victims of other hunters, we can hurt just like the ones that once lived safe in the trees. As my watch ends I make my way to Security-Chief’s quarters, I have a gift for him. Arriving at his door, I find he does not respond. Growing concerned I ask the computer, “What isss prrresssent location offf Sssecurrrity-Chiefff?”  “Security-Chief is in his office.”, the computer answers in a voice and manner unusual for Federation Computers. As I head to the Security Office I reflect on my experience with ‘thinking’ machines. Like most advanced creatures, Caitians have been dealing with computers in one form or another for many centuries and talking ones for as long as any in the Federation has. I had yet to sign a board the old Enterprise the time the computer, after having been given a female ‘personality’, developed a love for Admiral Kirk. However I was training as a cadet on her when the computer was affected by an interstellar creature and began playing what humans call ‘practical jokes’ on the crew. The Bozeman’s computer was mostly a non-personality, with a somewhat monotone male voice that was standard equipment for vessels of her era. I must admit that I never got use to the more expressive, female voiced units of newer Federation ships. Even though I have heard that at least in the case of Earth’s ‘house cat’, that the reason it responds to better to females than males is the pitch of the female voice. Our unique pairing of Federation and Kzinti technology has endowed the station’s computer with a voice that sounds somewhat feminine and yet very feline. It is even prone to hiss, growl and purr on occasion.  All very natural sounding to me but, it has unnerved a few of the station’s personnel. Reaching the office, I see Security-Chief sitting behind his desk. “I thought Doctorrr Ssselarrr orrrderrred yooou tooo rrrest in yourrr quarrrtersss.”, I comment as I enter. “I got board in my rooms!”, Security-Chief answers defensively. “I cleared it with Doctor Selar.”, 4 answers, adding, “As long as Security-Chief rests behind his desk, she is satisfied.” “Fffine, but yooou rrresponsssible in ssseeing that he doesss.”, I say. 4 of 5 nods in acceptance and goes back to his work. “I have prrresssent forrr yooou Sssecurrrity-Chiefff!’, I announce as I momentarily step out the office’s door and return with a rather large, odd shaped package. As Security-Chief’s eyes blaze with anticipation, as I set the package before him on his desk. He eagerly tears at the wrappings and then stops as the item is revealed, saying, “D’Sefet-Commander, you are to kind! You remembered my trophy!”, Turning to 4 of 5, he continues, as he proudly holds the head in his paws, “This is the head of the beast that wounded me. It will make a fine display for that wall.” “Yesss but, yooou NnnOT tooo ppput it uppp yourrrselfff . . . underrrssstand?”, I inquire. “I will take care of it.”, 4 of 5 answers before Security-Chief can.  “Excccellent! Nnnow ifff yooou excussse me, it hasss beennn long day.”, I say. “Yes D’Sefet-Commander and, thank you for my gift!”, Security-Chief answers. I leave him admiring his trophy.
Cat am I sore! I wonder if the liniment humans call Tiger Balm will work on Caitians?

Star Trek:Federation Installation Nine, Episode 2 To Boldly Go???


On our way to FI9 I have decided it is as good a time as any to begin getting to know my crew. Jacobs, in addition to being a skilled engineer, has an excellent command of not only the Kzinti language but several other common and lesser known languages of the Alpha Quadrant. She is also very interested in learning all she can about Caitian/Kzinti culture. An interest I have let her know we share. I am surprised at the level of her knowledge on the Caitian culture, considering she IS a human. Gerve is what a human would describe as a typical Tellarite, gruff, blunt and all business. Excellent character traits for a First Officer, however, as I have already found out, he is a bit sensitive about the human stereotype of a Tellarite. It will require a bit of effort and, time to skin him, no that’s not correct, confusing human sayings, to get under his skin . . . so to speak.
A few days into our trip, I receive a priority message from Starfleet Command. Due to the nature of the message I feel I need to call a Senior Staff meeting. I am the last to enter the Briefing Room, as I do, the quiet discussions that have been going on abruptly cease. With all eyes on me, I begin, “We nnneed to mmmake ssstop at Wrrrigley’sss Pppleasssure Ppplanet beffforrre connntinuing voyage.” Gerve asks in words what the others are asking by clearing their throats, “Shore Leave already sir?”. “Nooo, we hhhave to pick up annnotherrr crrrew mmmemberrr.”, I answer, handing him the Pad with the information on it and, waiting for his reaction. As his eyes widen, he manages to choke out, “This is a joke, right!” Overcome with curiosity, Jacobs grabs the Pad from Gerve’s hand, “NO WAY!”, she exclaims. “What your comment Doctor?”, I ask Doctor Selar. Jacobs hands the Pad to my Vulcan Chief Medical Officer and after studying the information for a minute she says, predictably, with a raised eyebrow, “Most Illogical!” Seeing the rising curiosity in the rest of the staff’s eyes, I explain, “It wooould apppearrr that halfff-Terrran, halfff-Mrrrowan x-Borrrg drrrone hasss beennn asssigned to Bassstet.” As all jaws drop, I continue, more to myself than to the others present, “I dddo nnnot rrrememmmberrr rrrequesssting sssuch crrreaturrre, I dddo rrrememmmberrr commmenting to sssommmeone that I wasss connncerrrned about having Kzzzinti on Ssstation. They cannn be pppronnne to violennnt outbursssts and at averrrage offf nine fffeet tall, they arrre diffficult to connntrrrol.” “I figure a Borg can, eh.”, Jacobs comments, reminding me that there are others present. “I expppect he will nnneed ssspecial accommmodationsss.”, I say, remembering the briefings I have seen on other Borg on other Federation vessels.  Addressing Jacobs I continue, “I asssummme you and Doctorrr can hannndle whateverrr nnneeded?” “I will contact the Chief Medical Officer aboard the Tina and have all his data sent here.”, Doctor Selar promises.  “Irrrony isss pppretty irrronic.”, I comment with a line from one of my favorite 20th century Earth DVDs, a line that illustrates how confusing Federation Standard also called English can be, ”I hhhold Ssstarfffleet Borrrg Killerrr Mmmedal!” “If therrre nnnothing elssse . . . ”, I conclude, “Thank you.” “More LIVESTOCK!”, I hear Gerve grunt as he exits.
I sit in the deserted Briefing Room for a long time after the meeting is over, pondering what I have gotten myself into. Before getting on with my duties I decide it is time to visit my Chief Medical Officer. As I make my way to Sick Bay, I try to recall the data in her Starfleet Service Record. Name; Selar, sex; female, race; Vulcan, skill; Doctor. She was aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise when it encountered the U.S.S. Bozeman near the Typhon Expanse but, she was not among the Enterprise’s medical staff that I saw helping the Bozeman’s crew understand and adjust to the fact that they had been considered missing for ninety years. She later accepted the position of Chief Medical Officer on the U.S.S. Excalibur NCC-26517, under the command of Captain Mackenzie Calhoun. Mate: Voltak, Vulcan, deceased. Kits: one, Xyon, half-Vulcan half-Hermat . . . I thought her mate was Vulcan? Well . . . It does not matter. I finish my mental review of the doctor and what I know of Vulcans in general as I reach the door to Sick Bay. Remembering that Vulcans CAN read minds, I use my own ESP skills bury the fact I have been reviewing her Starfleet Record deep in the far recesses of my mind. The doors whoosh open, I step in and am almost run over by what at first glance seems to be a large, fur-less, canine-like creature dressed in some sort of costume. For a second I am stunned, I was aware Humans would sometimes dress their animal companions in dresses or suits but, I was not aware that Vulcans would indulge in such illogical behavior. I then realize I am NOT looking at a companion but a Vulcanoid kit with oversize canine teeth, the pointed ears fooled me. I cannot get use to them on furless human-looking creatures!  “XYON!”, a voice calls from across the room prompting the kit to retreat, on all fours, as humans say, to a safe position behind the legs of the owner of the voice, Dr. Selar. “I hope my child has not injured you Captain.”, she begins, adding, “Xyon can get a bit carried away during play time.” Play time? One tends to forget, dealing with adult Vulcans that they only don their unemotional mask as an adult. Vulcan kits are much the same as any other race in the galaxy. “Xyon, apologize to Commander D’Sefet.”, Selar instructs the wide-eyed kit. Instead, Xyon exclaims in a loud voice, “You are correct mommy! He DOES look like a Selay!” I see a decidedly un-Vulacn look wash over my Chief Medical Officer’s face, a look I have seen on many a parent’s face, a look that conveys a hope that the floor would open up and they would fall in. Trying to hide my amusement I answer, “Nnno harrrm donnne Doctorrr.” Then to Xyon, “It logical that I wooould loook like Ssselay, afffter all, boooth ourrr ancessstorsss werrre fffeline in orrrigin.” Presently Selar realizes the fact of my unusual visit and asks, “What can I do for you Commander? Are you ill?” “No.”, I answer, continuing, “I am taking timmme, while available to ggget to knnnow mmmy crrrew bit betterrr. Ffforrr exammmple, I wasss unawarrre you brrrought yourrr kit along.” “Kit?”, Selar questions. “Oh yesss, hummmanoidsss sssay child.”, I answer. “I didn’t think Xyon would be a problem from what I understood was to be the assignment.”, she defends. “I dooo nnnot think therrre will be ppproblem eitherrr but, I ssshould have beennn innnffformed. That exactly why I am mmmeeting with all crrrew individually.”, I explain, “Alssso, I am connncerrrned about ourrr newessst crrrew mmmemberrr.  Have you had any experience with Borrrg Technnnology?” “We’re getting a BORG crew member!”, Xyon says with the excitement of a child. “He nnnot Borrrg any lonnngerrr.”, I inform a somewhat disappointed Xyon.  “No but, he still has Borg Implants.”, Selar comments, adding,” I had a little experience on the Enterprise assisting Dr. Crusher. I don’t think his implants will pose a problem.” “Goood! That what I like to hearrr, my crrrew fffilled with connnfidence.”, I say, adding, “ Ifff therrre arrre no otherrr connncerrrns I will leave you to rrresssume Ppplay Timmme.” “At the present time I can’t think of any.”, Selar answers. “Well ifff any commme up, do nnnot hesssitate to brrring themmm to mmmy attennntion.”, I say as I begin to exit. Then remembering Xyon I add, “That apppliesss to you asss well Xyonnn.” He smiles, slightly baring his oversize canine teeth in a manner that if he had not been a humanoid could have been misconstrued as a gesture of aggression. I make a mental note to speak to all humanoid crew members about unconscious actions the Kzinti might interpret the wrong way.
A few days later as we near our new destination . . . “Incoming message Captain!”, my Communications Officer reports, “It’s a Mr. Disney, he says he is the administrator of Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet.” “Ppput himmm onnn Ssscreennn”, I say motioning to the Main Bridge Viewing Screen. “How soon are you going to get here?!?”, the nervous little old man with a pencil thin mustache on the screen demands. “We abooout twennnty mmminutesss ooout.”, I answer, adding, owing to his appearance, “Isss therrre ppproblemmm?”  “Problem! Problem!”, he shouts, adding in almost a whisper, “There is a BORG on this planet!”  “Consssiderrring absssence offf any rrreporrrt to connntrarrry, I am asssummming you rrreffferrring to 4 offf 5?”, I ask. “OF COURSE I AM! How soon can you get that THING out of here?!? If it ever got out there were BORG here it would ruin business!”, the human replies. I am slow to anger, I think any creature that possess claws, fangs or other natural, built-in weapons capable of killing must be in control of himself at all times but . . . “HhhEARrr!”, I begin, loud enough for all on the Bridge to as well, “That THING isss sssentient being, Fffederrration citizen, offficerrr offf Ssstarfffleet AND, mmmember offf mmmy crrrew. I expppect . . . NO DEMmmAND that he be affforrrded ALL rrrightsss and ppprivilegesss thossse thingsss ennntitle himmm to.  ANYONE that not do that will hhhave to anssswerrr to ME! Isss that clearrr?!?” I finish by curling my upper lip just enough to display my long, pointy Canine Teeth. A little taken a back, Mr Disney calms himself and tries to assure me that he meant no disrespect and had not been aware of the situation. I finish our conversation by saying, “You quite dissstance fffrommm Fffederrration Fffacility out herrre. It mmmost posssible that ifff you have prrroblemmm, thisss vesssel wooould be one offf fffirssst to anssswerrr yourrr call. It alssso posssible 4 offf 5 wooould be aboarrrd. Keep that in mmmind. Bassstet out!” As I look around the Bridge, I see I have given others something to think on as well. 
After we establish a standard orbit around the planetoid I invite Jacobs and Dr. Selar to join me in the Transporter Room. As the Bastet’s newest crew member finishes transporting I greet him, “Welcommme aboarrrd 4 of 5 orrr do you preffferrr Lu Rrrod? I am Lieu . . . Commmanderrr D’Sssefffet.” “I prefer 4, sir.”, 4 of 5 answers as he steps down from the Transporter Pad. “Thisss mmmy Chiefff Enginnneerrr.”, I inform, motioning to Jacobs. Motioning to Dr. Selar, “And thisss Bassstet’sss Chiefff Mmmedical Offficerrr.” 4 of 5 acknowledges each as I introduce them with a nod. “Pppleassse accommmpany Doctorrr Ssselarrr to Sssick Bay”, I instruct. “I’m not ill. . . . Sir.”, 4 of 5 protests. “I underrrstannnd but, becaussse offf yourrr unique physssiology, I want herrr to exammmine you, ifff you rrrequirrre any ssspecial accommmodationsss, pleassse informmm herrr.”, I explain, adding, “We talk laterrr.” With another nod, 4 of 5 follows Dr. Selar out of the Transporter Room. “Scarey eh?”, Jacobs comments as she also exits. I look at the Transporter Chief as I exit, expecting a comment but, he maintains his business like demeanor.
WELL . . . We are FINALLY here! I do have to confess, the sight of the Kzinti Space Station, a gigantic ‘Paw Print’ floating in space is very imposing. As we approach, “Captain, sensors indicate a small vessel approaching from the direction of the Kzinti Patriarchy.”, Tactical reports. “ We are being hailed.”, he adds.  “Onnn ssscrrreen.”, I order. A large tiger-like feline image appears on the screen and begins to speak, “I am Security - Chief. Do I have the honor of speaking to Sef - Commander?” “I am Commmanderrr D’Sssefffet.”, I answer. “Forgive me D’Sefet - Commander, I meant no dishonor to you.”, the Kzinti says. “That alrrright Sssecurrrity - Chiefff. Isss therrre ppproblemmm?”, I inquire. “There might be, I suggest no one beam over to Chugra 10 without me.”, Security - Chief answers ominously. “Wooould you exppplain pppleassse?”, I ask.  “Yes, of course, D’Sefet - Commander, forgive me. It has been told to me that there might be some Protection Devices still functioning on the station.”, he answers. “I underrrstannnd Sssecurrrity - Chiefff. We will trrransssport to ssstationnn sssammme timmme as you, thannnk you. Bassstet out.”, I say. After we establish orbit, the Kzinti signals he is ready to transport over. Due to the possible danger, I am limiting the personnel that will beam over to an Away Team made up of Jacobs, 4 of 5, Dr. Selar and myself. Gerve, in typical First Officer style wanted to lead the Away Team into possible danger in the place of his captain but, I fear the gruff natural demeanor of a Tellarite and the volatile temper of a Kzinti will need a VERY slow introduction. We materlize in the station’s Control Center a few seconds after Security - Chief has. “NO ONE MOVE!”, the Kzinti commands, swiping the air with formidable looking claws that make me glad 4 of 5 is here. As we all stand as statues, Security - Chief rushes to an active consol, presses a few buttons and announces, “All is safe now!” As the Away Team feels it is safe to move or even breath, the first words out of Jacobs’ mouth is, “WHAT IS THAT SMELL?!?” “Most disagreeable!”, Dr. Selar adds raising an eye brow. I try to cover up what I know it is by saying, “The Ssstationnn abannndon lonnng timmme, mmmaybe sssommme Kzzzinti ppprey wasss leffft on boarrrd and died.” Unfortunately Security - Chief corrects me by saying, “No D’Sefet - Commander, forgive me, it is the marking of the previous station Commander. “Previous Commander’s marking. . . YUCK . . . eh! Where?”, Jacobs comments, looking around. Being a typical Kzinti, Security - Chief does not answer or even pay attention to Jacobs, because she is a female. However when I reask her question he answers, “Traditionally, the place of command is marked in the direction of the four breath’s of the Great Fanged One. Hot, Cold, Fair and Foul.” “Oh, north, south, east and west on the compass.”, Jacobs interprets. Much to the surprise of Security - Chief, if I read his ears and eyes correctly. “You will have to mark over the previous Commander’s marks before the station’s computers will recognize you.”, Security - Chief informs. “Fffortunnnately that not be nnnecesssary. I mmmean, Jacobsss ppplannning on rrrefffitting ssstationnn with Fffederrration commmputerrrs . . . Corrrect?”, I say. “Uh . . . Commander . . . We planned to use the Kzinti computer as the system’s base.”, Jacobs announces. “Ifff nnneeded you pppreparrred to rrreppplace entirrre sssystemmm . . . Corrrect?”, I ask hopefully. “I’m sorry but, we only brought enough equipment for Interfacing. To replace the entire system we would need a shipload of parts and six months work!”, She informs, adding with a smirk growing on her furless face, “If the computer needs you to mark the station, I’m afraid you will have to do it.” “Doctorrr, you be able to helppp with prrroblemmm . . . Will you not?”, I question, growing a bit panicky. “In what way do you have in mind?”, the good Doctor calmly inquires, a smirk, I swear, briefly crossing her face too. “Ifff we cleannn ssstationnn thrrroughly I guesss I cannn rrrub pppawsss oooverrr ssstationnn.”, say. “I am sorry but, that will not be enough D’Sefet - Commander.”, Security - Chief informs. Thinking of how I ‘Marked’ my special project, I question, “But it wwworrrked ffforrr my Kzzzinti pppatrrrol ssship!” “That will work for the pilot of a small craft but, you , D’Sefet - Commander are in charge of an entire Kzinti Space Station!”, Security - Chief exclaims with pride. “But I am Caitian, we dooo nnnot . . . ”, I begin. “YOU ARE FELINE!”, Security - Chief exclaims, “We are the chosen rulers of the universe! Where ever those like us live among those like them (he motions to Dr. Selar and Jacobs). We are the hunters they are the prey! Look at them! Sniff the air! Smell their fear! It is our right to . . . Forgive me D’Sefet - Commander. I was over come by the moment.” Who ever decided to assign 4 of 5 to this mission, I owe them BIG! As Security - Chief was at the height of his rant, I saw that 4 of 5 was readying himself for whatever might come next. His claws were out but NOT displayed as not to add to the volatile situation and, every muscle was tensed, ready to spring into action. “That alrrright Sssecurrrity - Chiefff.”, I say calmly, trying to sooth everyone, “Dooo I have to ‘Mmmarrrk’ entirrre ssstationnn?” “No D’Sefet - Commander, although most Kzinti would, all that is required is for you to mark the Control Center.” “Fffinnne, then let us get to wwworrrk. Asss sssoonnn asss Connntrrrol Cennnterrr rrready I will dooo my “duty”.”, I order. As Jacobs begins her work and 4 of 5, Dr. Selar and Security - Chief head off to find their stations, I call Gerve and have him begin sending the rest of the Station’s crew over.

Star Trek: Federation Installation Nine, Episode 1 To Boldly Go


Well . . . it has FINALLY arrived! Starfleet records will show that the U.S.S. Bastet NCC-61456 entered Earth Orbit at twenty-three hundred hours, fifty-nine minutes Pacific Standard Time on Stardate 49707.26. She was immediately routed to Earth orbiting Repair Dock number five.
Since six hundred hours an engineering team made up of the people that will become her crew has been aboard checking her over and awaiting my arrival. The Bastet has been in mothballs ever since the end of the war. I have never been able to comprehend that term. As I understand it, the insects Humans call moths or more properly their larvae eat fabric made from the hair of a ruminant called a sheep. I do not believe the Federation uses this item in the construction of their vessels.
I have been in the office of the Starfleet Admiral since eight hundred hours, reading reports and getting briefed on the situation my crew and I are heading into. Another thing I have been doing is PAPER WORK! To civilians, it seems that we just beam aboard and whoosh, we are off. Not true, the powers that be in Starfleet are as addicted to forms as much as ANY bureaucrat. While, because the Bastet was in storage, there will be no formal transfer of command between myself and the captain that brought her here, there were papers that basically said he got her here in one piece and that is the way I accept her, to be signed. Also, there is a peculiar tradition that dates back centuries that says the captain of a vessel is financially responsible for it. Although I have never heard of anyone having to pay for a ship he or she lost, there was a form stating I had been advised of that custom.
I finally got out of the office at twelve hundred hours and after capturing a bite to eat at the complex’s restaurant, I headed for the Transporters so I can personally inspect my new ship.
Arriving in the Bastet’s Transporter Room, I exchange pleasantries with the crew member on duty and then depart for the bridge. As I explore the corridors to the bridge, I mentally review the information I have received on the Bastet. She is a Sabre Class Scout vessel, one hundred seventy-two meters in length, a crew complement of forty, cruising speed of warp six with a maximum speed of nine point seven for twelve hours. During the war she was assigned a section of the Cardassian front to patrol. After the war, the Federation was in a hurry to get things back to normal. Normal included getting the larger vessels back to the business of exploration. Due to the horrific loss of trained personnel, many smaller ships were put into Short Term Storage until needed or until the level of Federation personnel had been restored to pre-war levels.
I am so lost in the information that as the door slides open and I step on to the bridge, I hear, “Captain on the Bridge!” I catch myself starting to turn around and come to attention before I realize, I am the CAPTAIN!  “Annnything to rrreporrrt?”, I ask as I settle into the Command Chair and cringe as it cramps my tail. “It looks like she saw precious little action in the war”, Chief Engineer Jacobs begins, “I’ll have her purring like a kitten in no time.” Then realizing who or more properly what she is talking to, adds, “No offence eh.” “Your belongings, including your pet chicken, have been beamed aboard and, stowed your quarters.”, Gerve my Tellarite First Officer informs me, “Pet chicken?!? Are you expecting any other livestock Captain?” “Arrre you rrreferrring to cooowsss, horsssesss orrr. . . . PIGSss?”, I ask jokingly, quickly adding, “I think Ssstarfffleet alrrready thinksss therrre arrre MmmORrrE thannn ennnough animmmalsss onnn thisss mmmisssion!” “Ffforrr rrrecorrrd . . . ”, I begin, addressing all, “Mmma, mmmy ROMmmULAN “chickennn” wasss gggiffft fffrommm a hummmble fffarrrming couppple to thisss Fffederrration offficer asss ssshow offf grrratitude fffor a Fffederrration ssship sssaving the Warrrbirrrd theirrr ssson wasss crrrew memberrr onnn. I consssider Mmma giffft to all rrracesss offf the Fffederrration fffrommm the people offf Rrrommmulusss.” I left out the fact that I tried to have Ma serve as the main course for the wedding I was on Romulus to attend. Changing the subject, I order, “Getting Ssshuttle Bay rsseady isss toppp pppriority, I will be brrringing Kzzzinti Pppatrol Crrraft I am tesssting overrr fffrommm mmmy ffforrrmer pppossst laterrr toooday.” “I can do that for you sir.”, Jacobs offers, possibly trying to make up for the kitten remark. “Thank yooou ffforrr offferrr but, yooou would nnnot be able to pilot vesssel.”, I say. “I’m a pretty good pilot”, she replies sounding a little defensive. “I knnnow, I sssaw that in yourrr pppersssonnnel rrreppporrrt but, yooou lack twooo esssential itemsss ffforrr job.”, I explain. “What two items?”, she inquires. “Expppresssive earrrs and a tail.”, I answer, “The vesssel mmmakesss ussse ooof emmmotionsss connnveyed by earrrs and tail to adjussst sssensssitivity offf contrrrolsss.” “I have those.”, Gerve begins, “I’ll be glad to get the ship.” “Again, thank yooou but, yooou alssso could nnnot pppilot crrraffft.”, I inform “Why not!”, he asks gruffly. “Yourrr sssmmmell. . .”, I begin. “Tellarites DON’T SMELL”, he says growing angry. “I ammm sssorrry Gerrrve, I mmmeant yourrr ssscent. Asss sssecurrrity featurrre crrraffft sssmellsss anyooone trrrying tooo ussse it and ifff ssscent doesss nnnot mmmatch what isss ssstorrred in mmmemmmorrry it will nnnot mmmove.” I instruct, trying to sooth my offended First Officer.  “How does the vessel obtain the initial sample of it’s pilot’s sent?”, Jacobs asks. I take a deep breath and say, “I had tooo mmmarrrk it.” “Mark it?”, she questions, adding, “Earth cats mark their territory with. . . OH MY!”  Wanting to end this line of conversation before I have to explain that I marked the vessel by rubbing my body ALL over it I say, “I will be in mmmy quarrrterrrs. Pppleassse inffformmm mmme whennn Ssshuttle Bay isss rrready.” As the expression humans call a smirk forms on my Chief Engineer’s face and on the faces of the others that understood what she was thinking I start for the door. Gerve has not understood our conversation, seeing the puzzlement on his face, Jacobs says, “I’ll explain it to you later eh.”
I spend most of the next hour arranging my quarters to my liking before Jacobs calls to inform that the Shuttle Bay is ready to receive the Kzinti vessel. “Pppleassse innnffformmm Ssshadooow Hawk that I will be transssppporting oooverrr ssshorrrtly tooo pickup Kzzzinti Pppatrrrol Crrraffft and inffformmm Yarrrd Mmmasterrr asss well.”, I instruct my Communications Officer as I leave for the Transporter Room.
After materializing on the Shadow Hawk’s Transporter Pad, the Transporter Chief announces, “The Captain would like to see you in her Ready Room before you go.” I thank him for the message and head to the Ready Room, on Deck One, just off the Bridge.
On my way, I begin to think about the command styles of the various captains I have served under. As a cadet aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701 I observed Captain Kirk to be devoted to his ship, daring in his actions, and friendly but, aloof to most of his crew. With the exception of the Bridge Crew and of course any comely human or humanoid single female. . . oh, face it he chased ANY creature wearing a skirt! On the U.S.S. Bozeman NCC-1941, Captain Bateson was just as devoted to his ship, a little more reserved in his actions and a little more out going with all members of his crew. Of course both Captains were responsible for large vessels and crews that numbered in the hundreds so, they did not have the time to get to know everyone personally.  Being a small Defiant Class vessel, the Federation part of the U.S.S. Shadow Hawk NCC-74207, had a small crew. This should have given the captain a chance to become closer to the crew. However, as I reflect on my
relationship with Fleet Admiral Sarine, I find I know her least of all. Of course the factors of her Vulcan/Romulan heritage coupled with the fact that when the Federation and Romulan parts of the Shadow Hawk were joined, her ship was bigger that either the Enterprise or the Bozeman tended to make socializing difficult, at best. And the war as well as her problems with Section 13 that occurred during my time on board did not help. My appearance probably did not help either. It has been my experience that races that have feline-like pets tend to project their impressions of their felines onto me, which is understandable, most see a Caitian as a large cat walking on its hind legs. Although no one has ever made me use a Litter Box. Both the Earth’s House Cat and the Romulan’s Selay are thought of as aloof, self-centered creatures that spend most of their time sleeping. Yet, stories abound of these creatures displaying contradictory behavior. From the mother cat that over came her natural fear of fire to enter a burning building, not once but four times to carry her four new born kittens to safety to Lions providing food to an adult one of their pride that can not hunt because of injury or age. They tend to forget that when a feline rubs against their legs to mark them, not only is it leaving it’s scent on them but, it is taking their scent with it, in a sense declaring, “you are mine and I am yours, we are equals”. As I reach the Ready Room door and the buzzer sounds, I make a mental note to try and form a close personal as well as working relationship with my crew.
“Enter”, I hear from inside. Sarine is sitting at her desk, studying a number of Padds filled with reports. “Have a seat,” she says, without looking up, “I’ll be finished in a minute.” As I sit, I picture me looking similar in a few days. Finishing the last report, she looks up, “Sef, thank you for coming, I know you must have a million things to do before you leave for your new command. How are things going?” “Quite well. . .”, I answer “It apppearrrs we will be able tooo leave ahead offf ssschedule.” “Good, how did you find your crew?”, she asks.  Federation Standard is replete with confusing inconsistencies for creatures who’s native form of communication has evolved either because of custom or necessity into a precise, straight forward form. For example, in my case, I have never been able to remember to use the shortened forms of certain words such as “I am” or “do not”. I know there are two possible answers, I know I picked the wrong one as a uncharacteristic smile forms on her face as I answer, “It wasss nnnot diffficult, mmmossst werrre mmmannning theirrr ssstationsss.” Regaining her composure, she continues, “The main reason I wanted to see you was to congratulate you on your promotion and to tell you how proud I am to have had you as my first officer. I think we made a good team.” “I hopppe tooogetherrr we have ssserrrved Fffederrration well.”, I reply. “I want you to remember, I’m always here if you need me, both as a fellow officer and ship’s captain as well as a friend.”, she confides. “Thank yooou, I will rrremmmemberrr and trrry tooo be worrrthy offf yourrr commmrrradessship.”, I promise. Possibly sensing the moment has become too sentimental, she finishes by saying, “Well! I know you’re a busy man, ur. . . I won’t keep you Sef.” She stands as do I and I try to think of a way to gracefully exit. Then remembering Sarine’s heritage I raise my right paw, extend it pad out, spread my fingers and begin, “Lllive lllonnng and ppprosssperrr Sssarrrine.” Stunned for a moment, I did not think the words sounded to strange coming from a feline, she replies, “Peace and long life D’Sefet.” With that, I turn smartly and exit.
I find ‘him’, my special assignment, where I left him, sitting isolated from the other fighters in the Battle Bay.  After inspecting his delta winged, stylized cat head shaped form and cleaning the enormous oval eye blister windows, I board the craft. After a moment the on board computer announces, ”Scent Profile matches stored sample, welcome Sef-Pilot.” “Grrreetingsss. . .”, I begin before I remember I have yet to name him, “Tooo upgrrrade yourrr data, I am nnnow fffull Commmanderrr.” “I will make a note of that Sef-Pilot”, he replies. I fire up the Impulse Drive and after getting clearence from the Battle Bay’s Flight Controller, we head for the Battle Bay’s Space Doors. In a few moments we are engulfed in the vast darkness. As I set course for the Bastet, I tell them to open the Shuttle Bay Doors and prepare for our landing.  Jacobs is waiting for me and watches my landing technique closely. “Not a bad landing for a felinoid.”, she comments. “I dooo nnnot knnnow why that sssurprrrisesss yooou, isss it nnnot mmmyth ammmong hummmanoidsss that catsss ALWAYSss lannnd onnn theirrr fffeet?”, I respond, rough tongue in cheek. “True. . .”, she says and, not sure if I was serious or joking, quickly changing the subject, “SO, this is a Kzinti ship eh!?” “That corrrect.”, I reply, “ssshorrrt rrrange pppatrrrol/essscorrrt fffighterrr, Ffflesssh Rrripperrr Classs.”  Looking the vessel over closely she asks, “Do you mind if I have a look at her specs?” “Nnnot at all.”, I answer knowing of one little problem, “Dooo yooou rrread Kzzzinti’sss Herrro Tonnngue?” “Yes I do.”, she surprising answers. Not believing what I just heard, I ask, “Yooou rrread Kzzzinti!?” “Read and speak, well. . . speak as well as any humanoid can.”, she says. “I will ggget data onnn HIM tooo yooou asss sssoon asss I can”, I promise as I make a mental note on her undocumented skill, one that could come in handy so close to the Patriarchy. As she continues her close almost feline like inspection of the craft, I start to leave. Seeing this she informs, “Gerve told me to tell you that all the crew have reported aboard.” “Excccellent!”, I say, adding to myself but out loud, “Asss sssoon asss all offf Bassstet’sss sssyssstems arrre checked ooout we can deppparrrt!”
“Their done! I finished a half hour ago!”, Jacobs says with a pride that reminds me of another Chief Engineer I once served with, one named Scotty. “Well! Ifff yooou can pppossstpppone yourrr inssspection offf mmmy fffighterrr, let usss sssee ifff we cannn get underrrway.”, I say, motioning for her to join me in leaving.
“WELL. . .”, I begin as Jacobs and I step on to the bridge. Confident I have the attention of all present, I continue, “I ammm inffformmmed that everrrything rrready ffforrr ourrr deppparturrre SssO, ifff therrre arrre nooo objectionsss. . . Helmmm ppplot courrrse forrr Fffederrration Inssstallation 9, ssspeed Warrrp 6.  Commmunicationsss in ffforrrm Ssstarfffleet we arrre leaving Rrrepairrr Dock.” “We are a bit early on our departure time.”, Gerve comments. “Trrrue”, I answer, “but, I dooo nnnot think anyonnne will object.  Consssiderrring job ahead offf usss.” “Starfleet acknowledges our departure request and adds Good Prowling Sef.”, my Communication Officer reports. “Course plotted and laid in.”, the helmsman reports. With one quick look around the Bridge I order, “Goood, Dooo It!” We slowly clear the dock and pick up speed. As our speed approaches Warp 1, and the ship prepares to jump to Subspace, I glance at the Bastet’s Dedication Plaque with it’s unique hieroglyphic motto, “No One is Born Wise” from The Instruction of Ptahhotep, 6th Dynasty (2300 to 2150 B.C.E.) and, I wish that he was not SO correct!

Star Trek: Federation Installation Nine, Pilot Episode

I started writing for D’Sefet along with other writers that were members of the Star Trek Club U.S.S. Shadow Hawk. When that club folded, I was NOT ready t stop writing SO, I ‘invented’ a new assignment for Sef. D’Sefet’s Cat House sets the scene for the new adventures, the ‘Pilot‘ so to speak.

Personal Log, Stardate: 49706.28
Commander D’Sefet recording.

Due to an adjustment in Federation/Kzinti boundaries, it had been decided a more visible presence is needed along the border. To this end, it has been decided to activate an abandoned Kzinti space station and man it with Federation personal. In typical government fashion, it was thought the commander of the station should be a felinoid and, since there were no Kzinti in Starfleet, they went looking for a Caitian officer. Because of my service on the U.S.S./R.S.E. Shadow Hawk, I was offered the post. Although I enjoyed my time aboard the Shadow Hawk, this posting intrigued me. So, I excepted.
To protect the station and for transportation, we have been allocated a Saber Class scout vessel to be based at the station. At first I thought it had been renamed for this assignment by a human admiral with a questionable sense of humor but, upon further research, I found that the U.S.S. Bastet NCC-61456 has had a distinguished Starfleet career. I found her Dedication Plaque intriguing, in the place reserved for the ship’s motto there were drawings. A picture of a human head, a male human figure, an assortment of different kinds of birds, what looked like snakes, some wavy lines and, other symbols I had never seen adorned the Plaque. When I consulted the computer I found these symbols were used as letters by the same group the ancient Earth men called Egyptians that worshiped the feline headed goddess the vessel was named for. The translation of the symbols revealed a worthy motto for a scout type vessel, “No One is Born Wise” from The Instruction of Ptahhotep, 6th Dynasty (2300 to 2150 B.C.E.).
My crew is made up of a diverse cross section of Federation races, as well as a few ‘independents’. My Chief Medical Officer is Dr.Selar, a Vulcan that has served aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise and Excalibur. I have an Jotoki (a slave race the Kzinti use to build and maintain their technology) with it’s Kzinti handler as a Chief Engineer. Which is only logical seeing as how they built the station in the first place. The Kzinti also insisted on the station having a senior Kzinti official as part of the Command Crew SO, I will have to deal with the fact that my Security Chief is a Kzinti as well. I have been assured by the Kzinti Patriarchy that he has promised NOT eat any prisoners without my permission.
The station was called Chugra ‘spear’ 10 by the Kzinti but, the Federation is calling it Federation Installation Nine or Station FI-9. Using the initials as a word and running them together with the number nine, I have already heard it called ‘Station Feline’. The reason the Federation used the designation is 9 instead of 10 is because the Kzinti numbering system is octal, there is no number 9 in the Kzinti numbering system. However, comparing the Human and Kzinti systems, 9 to the humans would be 10 to the Kzinti. The station is designed to look like a giant paw print floating in the blackness of space. I understand it is thought the Kzinti did this to make a tangible statement that THIS IS Kzinti space. Ops, Main Engineering, Sick Bay and a common area the Federation intends turning into a bazaar are located in the ‘heel’ of the paw print. Each one of the self-contained ‘toes’ contain a weapon’s array and, were originally intended as quarters for the station’s ranking officer’s harem of females. We will use some of that space as quarters and the rest for labs and storage. Our first major project is to repair, upgrade and replace with Federation technology, all the station’s systems and sub-systems, starting with the power generating and distribution equipment.
Oh yes, I am still evaluating the prototype Kzinti patrol vessel that I had aboard the Shadow Hawk. It will be housed on the station and I will continue the assignment as time permits.