Untitled Thomas Dahl – Chapter One

The old church had seen better days.  Her worn stone was parched as if it hadn’t been watered for years.  Dirt and mud couldn’t hide the brokenness of the building and the cracks were growing.  It stood proudly at the center of the budding metropolis where it had anchored the birth of the city and held it tenuously together over the last two centuries.  It was once a church of thousands.  Missionaries had joyously flung themselves far and wide from their home with the idea of reaching the world.  And for a time, they did.

The thousands no longer worshipped in her hallowed halls.  There was no pastoral staff. The secretary had passed away last year after a battle with cancer.  Now only one man remained to care for her.  One lone soldier of God left at an abandoned and decaying post.  The Padre smiled quietly to himself as his mind wandered with the thoughts of the last eighty five years of his life.  If he could ever find the time to put pen to paper, it would make a fantastic tale of a life that was never destined to live as long as it had.  Yet here he was, caring for a dying church and a fading Faith with nothing more than the pittance they sent him and the funds he’d put away for a rainy day.  He’d never imagined celebrating each year he was alive with quiet thanks to above but this was how life had worked out for him.

A life that had lived the entire spectrum.  The Padre carefully approached the simple altar and carefully observed the rites and prayers.  And then he stopped.  He turned slowly and met the bright blue eyes of a tall man in a smart suit who held his slick black sunglasses in his right.  The Padre inspected the man.  Broad shouldered.  In shape.  And he followed the Padre’s eyes as they moved.  He was most certainly a curiosity.  And a growing concern.  He continued about his work as he spoke to the mystery man. “Welcome to Church of Coldstone.  I’m Padre Robinson.  How can I be of service?”

The broad shouldered man took a seat in the front row pew and took a deep breath, “It’s been a long time.  I wasn’t sure it was you,” he spoke mostly to the floor as Robinson turned to take in the young man once more, “…and I wasn’t sure I’d make it this far without getting shot at or blown apart.”  Padre Robinson raised an eyebrow and slowly moved down off the altar to stand before the rambling creature, “Who are you, son?”  A chuckle as the bright blue eyes glanced up and met the Padre’s worn brown pupils and shook his head, “You’re the only one I figured I could trust.  There’s a storm coming.  And I’m leading the charge.”  Robinson took a step back for a moment.  He was considering throwing this rambling maniac out of the church and making some very important phone calls.  He’d been a fighter all his life but he wasn’t terribly confident in his ability to manhandle this man.

The Padre shook his head and raised his voice and insulated it with the intensity of his years spent handling the rough and ready, “Son, I’m not going to ask again.  Who the hell are you?”  The broad shouldered one actually burst out laughing, further confusing Robinson.  Standing the mysterious stranger looked around the building and smiled approvingly, “She looks great Doc.  You’ve done a helluva job.”  Padre Javier Robinson felt cold ice suddenly form around his spine.  “No one alive knows that name.”  A mischievous look from the smartly dressed man was his answer followed by, “Name’s Thomas Daniel Dahl.  I’m here to attend my father’s funeral.”

The man who had once been known as ‘The Doctor’ in the city let loose a string of obscenities that gave Dahl a newfound respect for the man he’d known as a boy.  He knew how to communicate nearly every emotion possible.  And then some.  Robinson shook his head, “They killed you.  You were dead.  I had to preside over the bloody funeral!  How in the hell did you live?”  Dahl shrugged, “Dumb luck.  They wanted me dead and they got what they wanted.  Ruby had different plans.”  Robinson’s eyes went wider and he cursed with the talent of a world class surgeon dancing around the nerve endings of the spine.  “Ruby.  I’m guessing she’s with you.” A half nod.  Robinson shook his head and sat down on the edge of the altar, “I’ve lived through the wars of this city, I’ve stayed to the sidelines and followed Him through it all.  I’m only here because it’s better than what fresh hell is being cooked up out on the streets.  Why are you here talking to me?”  He looked up to Dahl, his heart sinking.  Whatever fragile peace had held the city from crossing the lines of war would dissolve and explode.

Dahl sat down next to The Padre and gestured down the long pathway to the doors, “A whole lotta people used to stand in here and follow The Big Guy.  Out there it’s war, sin and blood as currency.  I grew up in a world of darkness.  I got free.  This city is better than this. And I’m going to help it get there, even if it kills me.”  Robinson gave him a strange look, “Mighty big talk for a one man army who everyone thinks is dead.”  Thomas Dahl allowed his wide smile to spread and bring bewilderment to the Man of God.  “Me and the Lord have an understanding.” Robinson rolled his eyes, “Blues Brothers?  Focus for a second.  How you gonna back up all this talk.”

Dahl handed Robinson a business card, “That’s how.  I’ll see you around Padre.  This city needs to know their favorite dead son is back from the edge.”  With that the slick black sunglasses slipped across his face and he was out the door.

Padre Javier Robinson looked to the closing door and to the card.  He turned it over.

And commenced cursing as the card fell from his hand and lay face up next to the altar.

Captain Thomas Dahl. United States Secret Service.  Special Operations Division.

Untitled NaNoWriMo prequel Chapter 001

The night was quiet as the light wind swept through the streets. The street lights flickered and sent unsteady shadows racing across the pavement and into the dark alleys. Most within the limits of the metropolis had fallen into the sweet slumber that welcomed them. Some were still up as the hands of the clock danced over into midnight. They paced across the cold tiles and shuffled to the couch where the bright colors of late night television breathed warmth over the insomnia and gently glided the last remaining souls into the wonderful world of rest.

The city’s denizens hadn’t fought the night but the city herself was waging a war beneath the haunting moon that hung above, casting a concerned glow over the few who dared to walk the streets of the unseemly city.

The city of Coldstone wasn’t a terribly bright spot on the plains of Colorado. She was the bastard child of her neighbor to the west. Where Denver was modern with all the wonders of the world Coldstone was its cantankerous twin that more often than not was the one who was called into the principals office. It was a modern Wild West Gotham.

Parts of the city were owned by particular families. There were few places the police could claim as safe. It was simply understood that the burgeoning growth of this plains town was to be managed by men who knew better and could manage to make a little off the top in the process. It was a town run by Made Men. And no one dared to push against the tide of Darkness.

At least in the last 50 years. The last good man in a badge had been assassinated by the Mafioso families in a rare show of unity in 1950. Any upstanding officers of the law suspiciously retired to Mexico or transferred out of the city.

And so as the restive few remained watching over the cancer ridden world the cycle continued.

To the north and just ten miles short of the The Great White North an aging sheriff shuffled to his phone as it range loudly. Cursing the late night interruption he answered gruffly with a few choice words. His breath left him for a moment as the gentle voice on the line explained just why she was ringing just past midnight.

It was time to come home. 

Today’s prompt is “Why do you blog?”

I wish there was a story here that revolved around a childhood memory about promising a dying grandparent that I’d never stop telling the world a story or that I’d once taken a tour of a newspaper building an resolved that I’d write the stories to tell the world.  So no story.  But there are reasons.

I’m creative.  I love to make, build, put together and see something beautiful come from those long hours of sweat, tears and moments of eureka.  Ever since I was in the 4th grade I’ve been writing.  I used to write Batman and Robin comics and Star Trek comics.  The plots and stories were fantastic but I couldn’t draw worth a sausage.  And so my artistic career never really took off.  My younger brother got the drawing talent so if you need the Mona Lisa redone he could take a stab at it.

I was blessed with writing.  I took to Newspaper class in high school and flourished in writing both news and opinion while delighting (I use that word because I did delight) in the order and design of the columns and trying out new ideas while keeping the older order in there somewhere among the text and pictures.  My goal was to tell a story. A good story.  A story that wouldn’t be thrown in a trash can a few minutes after being picked up.

I can’t say we exactly made that goal but we tried damned hard.  I threw myself into theatre as well and found my life thriving in creative worlds.  I took a creative writing class and even at my journeyman level I wrote something that caught the attention of the teacher.  Those comments of praise littered in a deep sea of red ink bearing ugly corrections gave me hope.

I could actually write!

I took to blogging towards the end of high school and into my short, abridged and not complete college career and I’ve been on the interwebs ever since.  I’ve done my share of political, religious and news blogging while mixing in the creative writing off and on.

I write because I love to tell a story.  Be it truth or fiction there’s something about relating the events to someone through the power of suggestion and imagination that sends my head into a cacophonous hurricane of ideas.  There’s something rewarding in seeing a comment or reply saying that those words sent a chill down a spine or brought a smile to a face.  That’s the power of words.  They can change a person.  Maybe for a moment or an hour.  Or even the rest of their life.

And it’s why I can’t stop putting hand to keyboard and putting down words to bytes.  I enjoy sharing, I enjoy talking and I enjoy what can start with just one sentence and turn into a amazing journey.

So there you have it.  Until tomorrow…

NaBloWriMo (website)(facebook)

2011 NABLOWRIMO BLOGGERS

Jake Harris sat in the command chair as the red digits on the chrono clock passed 13:30:43.  The bridge was silent aside from the sounds the computer and console emitted.  The design was a dramatic departure from previous designs and was one of the newest in the fleet.  The Enterprise was scheduled for such an overhaul and Harris took a small amount of pride that his command was one of the first to be tested.

The captain stood and looked around the bridge at the new officers and crew that were his responsibility.  “Mr. Flannery, open a ship wide channel please.”  She nodded and a moment later nodded to him.  Harris thought for a moment before he spoke.  This was going to be the first words to his new crew.  This mission would hold many firsts.  “This is the captain speaking.  Our mission has been a mystery to most of you.  I’m going to give you as much detail as possible to prepare you for what we’ll be doing so far from the reaches of home.” As he spoke he met each man and woman’s eyes on the bridge.  He wanted to see them.  Most of all, he wanted them to see him as a strong commanding officer.

“We’ve been ordered on a search and rescue mission for the USS Seattle.  She’s a Miranda Class vessel who’s been lost in the far quadrants for three days.  At last report they were doing science and research based work.  Starfleet is very concerned about them and the status of their work.  We’re to intercept the last known position and investigate.  We’ll be far from home and near hostile territory.  I’m ordering us to yellow alert as a precaution.  Security teams will assume stations.  Tactical will remain at the ready.  I’m also tasking our science department with the task of working overtime on the sensors as we travel.  Anything we see, hear or potentially run into will need quick understanding.  We are now,” he glanced at the chrono which clicked past 13:40:34, “almost eleven hours out of interception range.  Operations will continue to update you on the hour as we close into our objective.  Harris out.”  The yeoman clicked the channel closed and returned to monitoring the space around them.

Jake motioned to his second officer, Terry McCloud.  At 26, he was the youngest member of the upper command team.  He had served with Harris on previous assignments and had made an impression that demanded his presence on the Yorktown.  He was tall, built and Irish.  A look from McCloud had been known to silence even the most squirrely cadet or ensign.  As a Lieutenant Commander, McCloud carried clout in the eyes that served under him.  It was one of the many qualities that the captain was glad to have along with him on the first official mission.  The lanky Chief Tactical Officer moved to where his commander stood.  “Yessir?”  Harris nodded to the center chair.  “You have the CONN.  I’ll be in my ready room.  Mr. Flannery, please signal the Chief to meet me there.”

And with that, Jake was in the turbolift.  He didn’t enter a floor but moved to the opposite door and moved through to a small hallway that held a small mess hall and his equally as Spartan ready room.  It wasn’t terribly useful for many but just in case, it was there.  He entered and reminded himself why the room only had two chairs and a simple desk.  It was not meant for relaxation.

The door opened a moment later as the Chief entered, taking a seat for him.  Ambrose disliked rank and name more than anyone Jake knew.  He refused to be called by his rank.  He simply would be known as “Chief” wherever he went.  It was simple and effective.  It established him as the everyman down to earth officer.  No illusions of grandeur, no ideas of big commands or plush offices.  He was the Chief.  And that was good enough for him.

Ambrose spoke first, “Well, engineering is in good enough order.  I’ve had them running a few drills but they’re a serviceable crew.”  He leaned back in his chair and regarded the silence from his elder brother as a deeper question.  Shaking his head he spoke the question they both had, “What in the world are we getting into?  And what was the Seattle doing way out on her own.  With an Admiral?”  Jake shook his head, “Logic isn’t in the manual for the fleet.  There’s always something more.  You do a run through your contacts?”

Between the two of them the brother’s had friends in various levels of the fleet and thanks to a reputation of doing favors they had built a network of dominos that could carefully be played for information when the time was right.  This was one of those times.  Ambrose shifted in his chair, “The USS Seattle was on a mission to establish contact with a group on the far end of Federation space.  It’s why the heavy hitters went along.  An envoy and diplomacy officer with an admiral is usually the first path of making an impression.  I couldn’t figure out who specifically they were meeting with or when.  But someone out there was worth taking some risk.  Looks like it came back to bite ‘em.”

Jake grunted, “I got the same story on my end.  I did get something.  The Seattle is a real piece of work. Refit and reworked in more ways than one.  That ship is built to last and bring the heat every which way it can.  Her specs are locked and secured in systems I didn’t even know existed.  They’re very concerned about what has happened to one of the powerful ships in the fleet.”  He nodded to Ambrose, “I can only hope we find her in one piece and don’t have to take her in a fight.  Us against a rebuilt Miranda class is not a battle I want or need.”

The younger Harris winced in agreement.  The crew wouldn’t last against a quick and fast fight.  Ambrose leaned forward, “So Jake, what are we going to do?  I mean, if things do very much go south very quickly like we both expect.”  The older brother leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table with a serious look on his face, “We run.  Hard and fast.  I’ve already spoken to Mr.  McCloud about a plan of escape with multiple routes.  He’s quietly sitting at tactical working through it.”  Jake glanced at his chrono unit on his hand.  It read 14:02:21.  “I’ve got work to do on the bridge with McCloud.  He’s taking the Beta shift.  We’re going to need to figure out who’ll run Gamma shift.”

Ambrose shrugged, “The trials of not traveling with a third officer.”  Jake grumbled, “It was hard enough getting a chief doctor and engineering officer.  What do you know of Jefferies?”  The shorter of the two chuckled, “Enough to know he’s one helluva doctor.  He’s been in the thick of it with the best of them and I hear he even served for a time under Leonard McCoy on the Enterprise.  For Gamma shift lead you could call up Adlai into the role.”  A nod from Jake.  Adlai Stevenson was nearly forty five and had spent his time in engineering with nary the hope for promotion.  He had accepted assistant chief on the Yorktown simply to avoid having a higher promotion forced on him.  He was also an old family friend who had trained both Harris boys.  The elder smiled, “Then we got it.  Adlai will function as the commander of Gamma shift.  See you in the morning.”  Ambrose left out the door and Jake sat in silence once more.  The mission was looming in the darkness of space.  The unknowns threatened like a storm of trouble and tribulation.  Any other time the new captain would have welcomed it, cherished it and relished it.  With a fresh crew and a loosely tested command team it would be unpredictable.

Such was the life in the Final Frontier.

The chrono at the front of the bridge read 12:58:03 and Jake Harris was watching it carefully.  They had received their Chief Medical Officer just moments ago and he was securing sickbay at the moment.  The rest of the crew was at stations making final preparations for launch.  Jake eyed each officer from the center chair as the seconds on the chrono unit clicked slowly forward.   Each of them talented in their area of focus.  Each of them trained.  There could be no more training wheels from this moment forward.  In moments they would be underway as a fully functional ship of the fleet.

The chrono clicked over to 12:59:00.  The yeoman spoke from the communications station, “One minute to launch.”  The elder Harris had given her the chance to take on the complicated and complex station in the hopes it would help build her confidence.  For the moment she was holding her own.  He turned his attention to his Chief of Operations.  He was twenty years old and still fresh faced.  His darker skin and Spanish accent gathered interest from at least a few of the women officers onboard.  Jason Guerrero had a mind that looked at the big picture and took it apart piece by troubling piece.  It had impressed Jake early on in his training.  As the chief of operations he was responsible for handling every department and ensuring they worked well and good together.  Harris spoke, “Mr. Guerrero, status report?”  Jason looked up a bit started but recovered.  He spoke as he continued his work, hands flying across the console, “Time is 12:59:45 and all departments report ready for launch.  Engineering confirms impulse power ready and warp speed is at your command sir.”  The captain allowed a small smile as the chrono clicked over to 13:00:00.  Flannery spoke from communications, “Launch time reached sir.  Command is advising we are clear to depart.”

Without missing a beat Jake looked forward to the helm station.  The man that sat in the chair had given an honest and terrifying first interview when Harris had first met him.  The words, ““…antics in the academy that made my dad and grandpa’s ears burn like hot sauce on spicy tamales,” had nearly ended his chances of serving on the Yorktown.  Instead Jake had taken a chance with the troubled 23 year old helm officer.

“Mr. Casanova, clear all moorings.”  A slight nod from Patrick as he tapped the commands into his console.  A moment later there as the sound of the moorings disconnecting from the exterior of the starship.  “Moorings clear sir.  Dock pilings are retracting.”  The helm officer watched his station as he waited for the equipment to move away from the lumbering ship.  A moment later he announced, “All stations are clear from Yorktown.  We are clear to navigate.”

The feeling on the bridge shifted from cautious optimism to guarded enthusiasm.  They were about to leave home for the first time.  They were about to go into the Final Frontier.  Space.  The Black.  The most dangerous place in the galaxy.  It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.  Jake took a deep breath and looked ahead to the main screen.  The chrono read 13:05:00.  They were ready to go.

“Helm, impulse engines.  Get us clear of the station.  Yeoman, inform command we are departing and thank them for their time and assistance.”  He waited until Flannery confirmed command had signed them off.  The USS Yorktown rumbled as she drifted carefully away from the station and into open space.  Casanova reported, “Clear from station.”  Harris smiled a little wider, “Helm, plot course for interception of USS Seattle last known position.  Engage at maximum warp on my mark.”  A few taps of the keyboard and the course had been laid into the system.    Patrick turned to the captain. “Course is locked in.”  Harris nodded and leaned forward.  “Let’s see what this girl can do.  Mark and engage.”

A moment later the USS Yorktown was screaming through space.  On the bridge the stars passed by the main screen.  Helm reported they had reached warp speed and were now cruising at level 7.  They would reach the last known position of the USS Seattle within twelve hours.

The walk to his quarters was short and involved little interruptions.  This was a blessing for Jake Harris.  He had a mere forty five minutes before they were supposed to be departing into the blackness in search of a fellow fleet ship that had gone missing on a research mission.  Harris was aware what the term “research mission” meant in some circles within the fleet and he wasn’t surprised they were being sent to find an errant ship.  As the pressure from all sides was increasing the commanders were bristling with nervousness.  The risks that they were taking were dubious at best but still held some promise.

For a fleet once steeped in exploration they had found themselves having to adapt to the threat of war from those newly explored sectors.  Harris took a deep breath as the doors closed behind him.  The great adventure he had grown up learning about in school and throughout the academy had been spoiled the moment he had stepped aboard his first starship.  The reality of the galaxy beyond the Moon and Saturn was a startling realization.

It was not so simple anymore.  They were cowboys in the stars.  Half diplomat half hoping to be the fastest gun in the sector was a constant in his role as Captain.

He glanced at the chrono unit on the wall.  It was 1230.  Half an hour to their alleged launch.  He tapped his communication badge, “Captain to the bridge.”  A scatter of noise before his frenzied yeoman answered, “…yes, bridge here.  Go ahead sir.”  She was going to need training.  Serious training.  He asked her for an update on their engineering chief and doctor to which she confirmed they were in transit. The Engineering chief was already on board and had requested to meet with him.  “Good.  Tell him to meet at my quarters.”  He closed the channel and slowly unpacked his travel pack.  He had been assigned to the USS Yorktown just six months ago. The crew was fresh out of the academy for the most part and the training cruise had been nothing short of a shaky shakedown mission.  They were still training when the call had come from Command.  They were being called into active duty.

Harris suspected they wouldn’t be back to Earth for quite some time. Once a mission began more followed with fair certainty.  Such was the life of a Starfleet officer.  Life in space was black and dark.

Jake showered, shaved and put on a fresh uniform.  The dark red felt comfortable to be in after working planet side and shipside in training uniforms.  Glancing in the mirror he smiled.  Captain Jake Harris of the USS Yorktown.  That was certainly something to be proud of.

His door chime rang.  “Enter.”  The door whished open and a man in a equally as impressive red uniform stepped into the room and the light.  Jake Harris took one look and groaned.  “Oh bloody hell…you’re my chief engineer?”  The younger and shorter officer smiled slyly with an impish look, “Well, that and first officer.  Commander and Chief Engineer Ambrose Harris at your service.”

Jake threw his hands up, “Bloody hell.  How’d you get this assignment?”  Ambrose put his hands out in a “don’t blame me” look and shrugged.  “It just happened they needed a Chief.  I was available.  Hence, here we are.”  His smile hadn’t stopped and Jake felt nearly compelled to wipe it off with a good right hook.  Nearly.   Extending his hand to his thirty year old brother he allowed a broad smile, “Welcome aboard the USS Yorktown Chief Harris.  You’re assignment is accepted.  God help us all.”  Ambrose grasped his brother’s hand and they embraced tightly.  They hadn’t seen each other in a few months and it was a welcome reunion.  A moment later they were both catching up in the small sitting room that had been afforded to Jake.  Ambrose gave him the news that Jordan Reid was doing well and would be onboard shortly.  Their engagement was now six months old.  “She’s still pursuing a medical assignment?”  Jake was curious if Starfleet had completely lost their rational assigning his brother as his first officer.  The next step in insanity would have involved Jordan Reid as Chief Medical Officer.  Ambrose smiled quietly, “Yep.  She’s not rated as a Chief of Medical Operations yet.  She’s been assigned as Assistant Chief Medical Officer.”

Jake nodded and handed over the PADD with the mission information, “Since you’re my first officer, you should know what we’re getting into with this mission.  Computer, lights to fifty.  Activate screen.  Engage file Mission Search for Seattle.”  A few beeps and clicks as the lights dimmed and the view screen on the wall flickered to life.  Jake sat back and told his brother what he knew.  “The USS Seattle went missing three days ago.  They were on a research mission in the quadrant to discover some radial scans or something.  They didn’t report in at the regular interval as scheduled and the fleet has been unable to raise them.  She’s a Miranda class vessel.  Captain is Admiral Peter Cambridge.”

Ambrose looked up, shock registering on his face, “Admiral?  And we’re the rescue squad?  This wasn’t research.”  A nod from his elder brother who continued, “The ship was on a mission that even I’m not allowed to know.  There are two other high value officers onboard.  A high ranking envoy of the fleet and a United Federations of Planet diplomat.  If that doesn’t ring warning bells, I’m not sure what does.  Our objective is to locate the ship, find out the status of the crew and tow her back home.  If we can’t tow, we scuttle the Seattle and bring home what we can.” The screen flickered out and Jake asked the computer to return the lights to normal levels.  Both men sat in silence as the mission objectives sank in and the realization that this was not a typical mission for recruits.  “Why are we being tasked? No offense Jake but our crew is so green it’s like St. Patrick’s Day in Chicago.  Just less drunk.”  A nod from Jake, “I asked and was told to stuff it.  So I stuffed it and here we are.  We leave in fifteen minutes,”  as he spoke he motioned to the chrono unit on the wall that read 1245, “…and we’ve got work to do.  You ready for all this little brother?”  A shrug from Ambrose, “Long as it gives me something to do, I’m game.”

Jake grinned.  This might actually turn out being a good thing.

I also love to write.  And because I’m such a fan I have to express that into writing.  Yes, I write Star Trek fanfiction.  Well, it’s not fan fiction in the sense that I’m using tried and true characters.  I’m creating whole new crews, plots, etc within the universe.

Methinks I doth protest too much.  Perhaps.

Anyway – I’ve dug out one of my more excellent starter stories that’s been sitting on my computer untouched for the better part of the year.  I’m going to edit, upload and play around with it to see where it can go.

So there.  Read on it you like.

************

Chapter One – Star Trek : Beyond the Frontier

“…and that’s the best we have.”  The divisional commander handed the file over, his eyebrows furrowed.  An elderly bearded man of the Fleet, he’d been around the galaxy several times over.  The man that stood in the office with him was the opposite.   Jack Harris was tall and imposing with a built physique and at the age of thirty five one of the youngest commanding officer in the fleet.  His piercing eyes and steeled chin had helped him to obtain the rank and position.  Harris ran his hands through his thick mussed hair as he read over the Personal Access Display Device that contained the mission data. A gruff cough from Harris as he read the file, “I’m not sure I understand the reason for the assignment and dispatch.  The crew hasn’t completed their tests or the drills.  With respect sir, they’re still cadets.  Hell, our command staff is still in tatters.”

The commander removed his glasses and sat back in his chair, “I understand captain.  I really do.  We’re simply not equipped to assign anyone else to this mission.  With the Klingon troubles mounting and Jim Kirk not making things any easier for us, we’ve got nearly every ship and crew out in space holding the lines.  There’s talk of war.”

Harris waved his hands dismissively, “War is always talked about and we’re never any closer to destroying them.  I’m concerned for my crew.”  Fleet Divisional Commander Maxwell Cambridge raised his eyebrows, “Why?  They’re cadets.  These are the missions that test them.  Need I remind you the refining I went through in my first command?  Risk is part of the job Mr. Harris.  We’re never promised anything aside from flying through space like the cowboys of old.”  He followed this with a shrug, “Besides, this is your chance to shine.”

As long as Harris had known Cambridge he had found the man’s never ending optimism to be both helpful and downright grating.  It was simply his nature and nothing could bring it down.  He wasn’t going to win whatever argument was developing between them.  Jack smiled thinly as if trying to accept this new mission with grace, “Well, I can only hope I don’t disappoint.  When is our departure time?”  Cambridge stood from his desk and tapped the console, “Looks like 1300 hours. Good luck…and Godspeed.”  They saluted each other and Jack was off down the hallway and out into the main space station facility at the far end of the Earth system.

It was 1100 hours on a Monday.  A month ago James T. Kirk had saved the galaxy.  Things hadn’t improved lately as the diplomats and governments attempted to mend what was left of the fences across the board.  Now Captain Jake Harris was to begin a search and rescue mission for an errant starship that had vanished under suspicious circumstances.

The doors to the turbolift closed.  “Hello, and welcome aboard.  How are you?  Where can I take you today?”  Jack groaned as he said aloud, “I’m thrilled.  Computer, docking level please.”  The assignment of the USS Yorktown to him had been luck from the start. Nearly an exact copy of the constitution refit model USS Enterprise, she was still undergoing final adjustments.  This again thrilled Captain Harris to no end.

The walk across the connecting bridge allowed him to take in the lines of his new command.  He had a deep love of the new model they had designed.  Smooth yet her corners were sharp as a naval battleship on patrol.  He wondered what the fleet engineers would come up with next.  A voice startled him, “Captain, welcome to the USS Yorktown.”  A young woman stood before him, her bright eyes betraying her terror.  This was obviously her first assignment.  She was probably not a day over nineteen years.  Her voice had trembled as she’d tried to keep her eyes on his.  She failed.  She handed him a portable pad unit.  Harris decided not to unsettle her lest she start crying and run as far as she could from her new assignment. Jack read through the reports quickly as they walked and neared the portal entrance and stopped as his eyes crossed over some troubling text, “Wait…we still don’t have a chief medical officer?  Or a chief engineer?  What the hell is taking so long?”  The young yeoman blushed at the outburst and weakly smiled, “I’m not…”  A wave and she was silent.  Harris spoke through gritted teeth, “Find out.  We don’t have time to haggle. Go!”  The young woman took off in a rush as Jack wondered just what lessons the fleet was intending to teach him and the crew.  He was pretty sure the yeoman was crying in the turbolift.  He’d have to apologize later and make amends to not shout at the yeoman.  His first lesson as a commanding officer and he hadn’t even made it to the bridge.

Taking a deep breath Jack Harris made his way to the bridge.  He took his time walking the newly renovated corridors revealing in the smells of freshly installed construction.  He must have been a sight to see marveling at all the things most would consider inconsequential.  Jake was reminded of his brother as he ran his hands along the smooth walls.  While Jake had become a rising star in the command world Ambrose had long known he would follow his father into the engineering field.  Now a Chief Engineering Officer the younger Harris was nearly a legend in some quadrants of the fleet.

He was walking on to the bridge moments later.  Everyone turned and stood within a second as the yeoman struggled to say, “Captain on the bridge!” while she balanced the communication station and several PADD devices at once.  It was hilarious and sad to watch.  Jack looked across the bridge and saw no first officer or anyone of command ranking.  This was going to be a fascinating study in getting things done.  “At ease everyone.  We’re departing in a few hours.  Introductions can wait.  Back to your duties.”  Captain Harris looked to his yeoman who was holding court on the communication channels.  “No, I understand…no you don’t understand.  We’re supposed to have a chief…no, two.  Engineering and Medical.  What?  How do I find out if they were requisitioned?  I’m …can you hold on for a moment?”

Harris leaned up against the station where she sat flustered, bothered and tired of the run around from command.  He spoke first, “What’s your name yeoman?”  She looked up to him in surprise and stuttered, “Ensign Jennifer Flannery…sir.”  Harris nodded while looking across the bridge, not meeting her gaze.  “Irish roots?”  She nodded faintly.  Harris grinned widely and her answer was to raise her eyebrows.  Jack continued, “Use that Mr. Flannery.  You’ll find it somewhere in the depths of your gut.  Red headed Irishwomen were never known for taking quarter from neither man nor woman.”  Her mouth was open and she looked from the captain to the rest of the crew who was pretending to not hear the exchange.

She bit her lip and thought for a moment longer. Harris leaned down to her ear and spoke more advice, “Pretend he’s the guy from the worst breakup ever.  And it was all his fault.  That usually does the trick.”  A nervous smile crossed her lips as she took a deep breath as the channel was opened once more, “Command you still with me?  Good.  Let me tell you what you’re doing to do,” her voice started out shaky but gained strength as she went on, “…because if you don’t my captain will unleash hell on everyone on that side of the base.  I need a chief medical officer within the hour and a chief engineering officer yesterday.  We’re launching and I’m pretty sure that if we don’t have what we need we’ll get called back and you know what happens when we get called back?  I’ve heard.  It’s not pretty.  So, you get me what I want and I won’t fry you in the fires of hell.  Got it?”  A momentary pause and she smiled widely.  “Thank you command.  We’ll look forward to our assignments.”  She closed the channel and let out a whoop that startled everyone.  Harris simply gave her a high five.  He gave her a smile, “Nicely done Mr. Flannery.  You’ll do.”  Her smile could have lit up a thousand lighthouses.

The chronometer above the main view screen read 1200.

One hour to go.

It’s going to a long year.

Anyway, here’s chapter one of the new/sorta not/but still new adventures.  This story will be entitled, “A Dahl in The Cold”.

*************

Chapter One

“…you’ve been lucky so far Jimmy.  I’m not sure you’ll be this lucky again.  We keep picking you up and you keep doing the same thing.   It’s getting annoying.  As in I’m tired of seeing you around the station.  So get the hell out of my precinct house.”  Jimmy held his hands up to protest before the lieutenant bellowed, “OUT!” and the portly drug runner was happy to oblige.  The man watched as Jimmy stumbled down the stairs and then through the door and into the bracing cold that waited for him in the streets.  Taking a deep breath Thomas Dahl grumbled, “Why the hell do I even try?”  Jimmy was either dead by afternoon or back in his booking line by nightfall.  Such was the cycle of Organized Crime in Coldstone, Colorado.

“Hey Lou.”  The red headed woman handed him a file with a steaming cup of sweetened cider and nodded to his office, “They got the file on Cincetti down from The Plaza.  Pretty routine stuff except for some government stuff.  Spook level.  We got lucky with Frankie.  That’s the copy of his confession.”  She indicated the manila folder in his hands, “He’s got some stories.  Mostly solid.”  Lieutenant Thomas Dahl raised an eyebrow as his eyes read through the file, “Mostly solid?”  Seargent Marie Flannery chucked, “There’s some stuff about the families getting into occult stuff.  Supernatural things.  We’ve got a call out to Denver to see if they have any experts to take a run at it.  Frankie’s hot boss and he’s going to take as many down with him as he can.  They really did a number on him.”  Dahl finished reading before glancing at the clock on the wall, “The boys have a habit of burning ‘em until there’s nothing left to feed the flames.  They’re a rough bunch for sure.  I’ve got a dinner thing with Pops later tonight.  You wanna tag along?”  Flannery took a long sip of her black coffee and winced at the harshness of the House coffee.  These guys had no class when it came to a cup of Joe.  She put up with it.  Dahl had a secret java oasis in his office.  They had a special relationship.

She grunted as she pulled her long ruby locks into a manageable ponytail, keeping her eyes on his as she did so.  Their relationship was a collision everything.  As she worked her hair she knew it was probably driving him mildly crazy.  This was the point.  “I think I’m free.  Our normal place?”  A nod from Dahl as he caught the eye of his captain across the room. He had look of a high school principal burning behind his usually calm blue eyes.  “Looks like I’ve upset the balance again.  Pray for my soul Flannery.  I may not make it out alive.”  She rolled her eyes and walked off with a groan which drew a chuckle from Dahl.  She was something.  What that something was up to interpretation.

“LOUUUUUTEENNNANT DAHL! MY OFFICE!  NOW!”  The booming voice of his boss brought him back to Earth and solid ground.  Reality could be a damned nuisance.

December 2 Writing.
What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?

I’ll admit.  I like me some video games.  And the internets.  You have to admit that twitter can literally occupy someone for hours on end.  Reading blogs in the late hours of the night and ReTweeting other peoples intellectual inspirations is just about as much fun as a nearly 29 year old single guy can have.  Can I get a witness?  An amen?  Apparently not.

I used to be able to say that “reading” would often get in the way of my writing but I can’t proudly proclaim that lie anymore.  I am more apt to be couch bound catching up on Netflix or SmackDown VS. Raw 2011 (WWE wrastlin’ awwyeah) in my free time that actually putting hands to keyboard.  My most prolific writing this year was over six months ago when my new years resolution project foundered and after that lovely statistic is NaNoWriMo where I spent November trying to write a novel.  Two instances of my writing catching fire and taking off in the sky to explode like a literary and literal firework.  In the past year.  Sweet baby Moses.

As for the sharply twisting sword of, “Can you eliminate it?” the answer should be a resolute “YESSIR!” followed by a crisp and perfect salute.  Perfidiousness aside, the truth is that I need to lower my quotient of TV, Video Game and Netflix time.  It’s keeping me from the one thing I enjoy more than anything.  Writing.  Be it fiction or non-fiction I do love me a seriously delicious word count filled with adventure, action, hilarity, humor and a hard hitting plot point to drive the idea home.

Writing is cathartic to the soul.  Be it deep and powerful words that stretch over a generation of learning or a biting commentary on the worlds troubles, trials and tribulations it helps to get the letters out of the head and into the murky ether that’s out there floating about.

So there we go.  Writing and me.  We need some counseling sessions so we can be BFF’s again on a regular basis.

And sweet baby Moses I said BFF’s.  I need to go lie down.