May 15th, 2155
Commissary For Earth Operations Personnel

Oatha pulled the bug off of the millet order with a curled lip. Tellarites had little patience for Human cuisine, they preferred simple, directly cooked items, then usually doused it in dry seasonings. The stocks for the commissary were in pitiful shape. It hurt her sensibilities to have to use infested or blighted materials, but the journey from Earth to Deneva was long, and there were no farms on Deneva, yet. This would all change soon, her son was expected back with an Earth/Starfleet join expedition for the conference coming up. They were bringing in tons of new supplies, as were the Tellarites who were bringing raw materials to build a new cities worth of shops and structures for hte growing alliance.

"Alain, can you take this down to bio-bay two, they can use the mealworms for their chicken feed. Have the millet re-sequenced too please." Her kitchen boy promptly grabbed the fifty pound sack and darted off, his recent experiences with Oatha told him she would tolerate no less than his best effort. She continued to sort the stocks, it had only been a month ago she took this job, and no re-stick had come in that time. The bottom of the drawer greeted her as she searched for fresh produces, greens, anything with nutritional value. Protein powder with nutritional supplements abounded, but the Humans of the base here deserved better than that.

She pulled up the manifest of the incoming ships and inventories, one entry in particular called her attention.

>Estes Trade Co. #443987-BV: Tapa Root Extract (50.0 L)

Such an amount was unheard of, nobody in any Kitchen would have a possible need for fifty liters of the most bitter root extract known. Vulcan Rishaya Nettle could make a human break out in hives, but Tapa made it a mild and enjoyable soup. This amount was more than a wholesale bundle package, and it was expensive... she couldn't understand why it was being sent to the outpost, Deneva wouldn't use that much in a year, especially considering it spoiled quickly and easily, after mere weeks unless hyper compressed and sealed tight. Even then its shelf life was barely more than six months, the supply would already be turning by the time it arrived here...

***

Tybald tried to pitch to port, the yaw was not responding and the lazy swing of the tail section threatened to send their supplies flying across space. Piloting the J and L class had been hard, the tugantine engines attached as mules would respond atypically, requiring a pilot to gain a feel and experience for a console and ships particular reaction. Tybald managed to get the ship on axis and aligned to the Z coordinate plane for final approach. Warp 2 was still way too fast for piloting errors, Tybald was glad the ship finally responded, it needed an overhaul but outside of Starfleet there were no standards other than Earth Cargo Authority to regulate shipping. This ship though massive cargo-wise, was an ancient and decrepit hauler.

He hit the comm, rousing the four man crew on board. "Approach to Deneva, thirty minutes and counting." After the month of solemn flying, barely one other person to share a partial shift and interact, Tybald was ready to see the sights of Deneva again. Those Tellarites built massive complexes, some of them he could fly a shuttlepod into with room to spare in the hallways. His ship was loaded with food and medical supplies, refrigerated and suspended in cryo animation, speed and uneventful travel were the rule of law. They would deliver the supplies to Starfleet and the Tellarties and await further orders, and Tybald resigned himself to piloting freight for the time being, his service to Starfleet still young.

"Stop the ship. Now."

A voice came from behind Tybald, and it was unfamiliar. Daring to look, Tybald saw another human, he looked tense, his life was on the line and he knew it. The man was tall, well dressed, had the air of a rich aristocrat, and he held a Compression pistol, full slugged. Jet black hair slicked into a snakes eyes and forehead, while his lithe form bulged under the suit he was wearing showing off clear athleticism.

"I am afraid I can't-"

One slug fired, embedding into the hull inches from Tybald's foot.

"Now!." The Gritted teeth sold the urgency, the pistol underlined the order.

Tag O

May 15th, 2155
[ Commissary For Earth Operations Personnel ]

Oatha pulled the bug off of the millet order with a curled lip. Tellarites had little patience for Human cuisine, they preferred simple, directly cooked items, then usually doused it in dry seasonings. The stocks for the commissary were in pitiful shape. It hurt her sensibilities to have to use infested or blighted materials, but the journey from Earth to Deneva was long, and there were no farms on Deneva, yet. This would all change soon, her son was expected back with an Earth/Starfleet join expedition for the conference coming up. They were bringing in tons of new supplies, as were the Tellarites who were bringing raw materials to build a new cities worth of shops and structures for hte growing alliance.

"Alain, can you take this down to bio-bay two, they can use the mealworms for their chicken feed. Have the millet re-sequenced too please." Her kitchen boy promptly grabbed the fifty pound sack and darted off, his recent experiences with Oatha told him she would tolerate no less than his best effort. She continued to sort the stocks, it had only been a month ago she took this job, and no re-stick had come in that time. The bottom of the drawer greeted her as she searched for fresh produces, greens, anything with nutritional value. Protein powder with nutritional supplements abounded, but the Humans of the base here deserved better than that.

She pulled up the manifest of the incoming ships and inventories, Meats for the feast, a variety of produce, animal renderings and spices from all corners of earth and her colonies. The quantities were way too low, she found her self searching to fill even a single order she had made. upcoming one entry in particular called her attention.

>Estes Trade Co. #443987-BV: Tapa Root Extract (50.0 L)

Such an amount was unheard of, nobody in any Kitchen would have a possible need for fifty liters of the most bitter root extract known. Vulcan Rishaya Nettle could make a human break out in hives, but Tapa made it a mild and enjoyable soup. This amount was more than a wholesale bundle package, and it was expensive... she couldn't understand why it was being sent to the outpost, Deneva wouldn't use that much in a year, especially considering it spoiled quickly and easily, after mere weeks unless hyper compressed and sealed tight in massive units. Even then its shelf life was barely more than six months, the supply would already be turning by the time it arrived here...

It was when she saw the rest of the manifest in comparison that her anger was truly piqued. The requisition of meats was cut by a third, Produce was only filled on two vendors, meaning the diversity needed to make a variety of her courses were also left behind. This was all to make room for the canisters, they were expensive barrels, temperamental expensive, and generally disliked product. It had taken twice as much for the space, and now the Commissary was out many of its vital supplies. Her budget was almost half of the cost of the haul. the commissary was poised for a massive loss, something her EO superiors would blame on her.

She walked out of the Kitchen in a huff, in times like this she usually cut to the quick and addressed her problems directly.

"O... O!! Oatha!!!!" Someone calling her name finally broke through at her full saying. Stopping to turn at the aggressor she realized she was covered in blood, juices, and holding a cleaver. The galley waitress looked at her sheepishly, no words needed to be said.

"I think zis would convey a stronger message, D'accord?

[Earth Operations Headquarters- Deneva]

"The shipment is arriving Ms. La Jeune, a little late, but-"

"Ahh, pas de tout, non probleme but the shipment being a few days late. As if it werent my own son at the helm of the that freighter... Oh vous tromper , vous fraction d'un homme"

"i will not be insulted in my office like this-" He blustered under her rebuke, oblivious to her ire and genuine anger.

"You 'ave co-opted my shipment, changed ze order, HOW can I meet the demands of the EO and this conference if you are having changes made without telling me. you have spent three months of my budget-" Her anger dissipated into a seamless liquid fury as he interrupted her.

"You have no budget Ms. La Jeune, you are not an Earth Operations administrator, you are a cook, albeit an experienced and senior member of the team. Cargo requisitions fall under the purview of the EO commisar-"

"Are you not acting commissar in the absence of the Ambassadors staff, were you not the acting commisar when zis order was placed!" -" She knew the ambassador had been off-world for three months and during that time her order had been placed. He had been the one to make the changes, and tried to make it look like he hadn't. His cover-up and present displeasure was further proof something was wrong with all of this. A sixth sense for danger told her to stop this confrontation in its tracks before he realized she was into him. Best to make this a case of simple surly Oatha pushing her boss's buttons.

"They had communications access with Deneva for several weeks after departing. The sub-space buoy was deployed Oatha, times are changing. We can talk to Earth directly if we want."

It was nonsense, and she knew it. Tybald had walked her through Starfleet paranoia and security for computer systems. Anything transmitted over subspace was open to question, able to be corrupted, changed, local administrators still had jobs due to this.

"Very well Mr. Pykman. I will only be able to make some of the tea and root stew, the rest will spoil days after it is opened." She watched him carefully, if he were genuinely just doing this to be difficult he would care for the lost money.

"You'll manage O, now I have things to attend to, see you tonight. What's for dinner?"

With a grimace, O tried to look sad, she would send a special meal up to the Admin suite. That millet would make a wonderful bread dessert for the Bureau Chief.

"Oh honey, I got some Millet and Stir fry for you. Bon appetit."

*** Earlier that week***
May 12th, 2155
[Commercial Freighter NC-45-11 "Pasqaule"]

Tybald tried to pitch to port, the yaw was not responding and the lazy swing of the tail section threatened to send their supplies flying across space. Piloting the J and L class had been hard, the tugantine engines attached as mules would respond atypically, requiring a pilot to gain a feel and experience for a console and ships particular reaction. Tybald managed to get the ship on axis and aligned to the Z coordinate plane for final approach. Warp 2 was still way too fast for piloting errors, Tybald was glad the ship finally responded, it needed an overhaul but outside of Starfleet there were no standards other than Earth Cargo Authority to regulate shipping. This ship though massive cargo-wise, was an ancient and decrepit hauler.

He hit the comm, rousing the four man crew on board. "Approach to Deneva, thirty minutes and counting." After the month of solemn flying, barely one other person to share a partial shift and interact, Tybald was ready to see the sights of Deneva again. Those Tellarites built massive complexes, some of them he could fly a shuttlepod into with room to spare in the hallways. His ship was loaded with food and medical supplies, refrigerated and suspended in cryo animation, speed and uneventful travel were the rule of law. They would deliver the supplies to Starfleet and the Tellarties and await further orders, and Tybald resigned himself to piloting freight for the time being, his service to Starfleet still young.

"Stop the ship. Now."

A voice came from behind Tybald, and it was unfamiliar. Daring to look, Tybald saw another human, he looked tense, his life was on the line and he knew it. The man was tall, well dressed, had the air of a rich aristocrat, and he held a Compression pistol, full slugged. Jet black hair slicked into a snakes eyes and forehead, while his lithe form bulged under the suit he was wearing showing off clear athleticism.

"I am afraid I can't-"

One slug fired, embedding into the hull inches from Tybald's foot.

"Now!." The Gritted teeth sold the urgency, the pistol underlined the order.

Tybald was the only Starfleet officer on board, the relief pilot was an able crewman but no ace pilot, they had only needed Tybald as their piloting company withdrew their contracted employees without explanation. The ship needed eight, but was running on four, this was all a setup from the beginning, except they doubted Starfleet was part of the plan. It made sense if someone was to hi jack the shipment they would start by dispatching him. He had a second to act, so he swirled in the seat and did the only thing he could think of.

>Maglock Stricture release, Emergency Override.

In an instant the Warp ship detached, unencumbered by its ever-shifting burden as fifty crates detached at low warp to tumble into normal space. The IDF on old tugs like this was always slow, the sudden jump inspeed cause the man holding the gun to be thrown backwards nearly a dozen meters to land unconscious. It was then that he became aware of two other crew at the bridge door, both armed. thankfully these bridges were a panic room of sorts, even transporters could be diced to bits by the Keldonite infused materials. The door slammed and he activated the defence protocols, he heard pounding on the door, but it held firm. With a fast pace he ran through systems, engines were available, but main computer was off-line, as was communications. The men at the door would get through in minutes, he would need to leave and hide soon, but he desperately searched for an escape plan while there was time.

Long range sensors weren't disabled either, Deneva was three days away, but there was another vessel en route he could intercept sooner. Though there was no ID tag, he recognized a Starfleet NX warp profile when he saw it. It took the rest of his time to lock the systems into self-destruct should the course change, and he set to intercept the vessel. Comms were down but now he had four hours to fix that before they intercepted the Starfleet ship. The door parted an inch, iron bars for leverage prying against the hydraulics, Tybald took his leave. A ship this size, eight decks, most of which were four cargo bays, not to mention the extension apparatus for holding up to fifty cargo pods at a time... they wouldnt stand a chance of midnight him, these ships were labyrinths.

Four hours... he couldn't imagine not seeing his mother aver again, and didn't want the same fate as his father. Starfleet was his family, and they would save him.

-End-

This post looks done and ready does one of you want to copy it into the main mission thread?

For sure, I will take care of it when I get home!

Nudge

Don't think this one actually got posted up