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!
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