An Early Harvest

 Episode Name:  An Early Harvest

   Written By:  Daedalus

         Cast:  Daedalus, Donavon, Foster, Krylow, Leres, Matheson, Park and Turtledove.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Daedalus

     Aired On:  Sat Aug 13 01:43:08 2005

     Stardate:  55185.3

Time: Fri Aug 12 20:26:24 2005

Stardate: 55184.7

The camera pans over the crew on the bridge -- a few well-known faces are at various consoles, along with Park in the Big Chair, while unknowns in Ensign pips are at Ops, Mission Ops, and Sciences -- as a familiar overvoice kicks in: "Ship's Log, Supplemental. With all 500 AUs around the destruction point of USS Agammemnon searched, only three escape pods have been found between USS Merrimac and ourselves." There is the quiet, trilling sigh known to be one of Commander Akeen Ghorev's trademarks. "Even if all three, against all odds, were filled to capacity, that's no more than two dozen total survivors of Agammemnon's destruction. Two of the pods are now in Thomas Paine's main cargo bay, and I am beaming over to Merrimac for a quiet drink with Captain Davenport and Commander Oxal, and salute the departed. Having brought more medical personnel than we needed in our optimism that we might find more than two pods, I have let Aaron go hands-off, and take command of Thomas Paine in my absence, while our EVA teams begin work on the secondary objective -- finding a piece of bridge railing, engineering catwalk, or keel stable and intact enough to be salvaged for the laying of the structure of the next ship to bear the name Agammemnon." Again the sigh. "I know Gela Leres and Alek Krylow will take this as seriously as I do -- engineers understand the tradition of continuing the laying-of-keel tradition. I just hope the others understand, and don't force them to rush the job. This is how engineers mourn, this midnight harvest of duranium flesh and tritanium bone...."

Sitting at the helm is one Caleb Foster. Throughout this mission, he's been rather quieter than normal, in something of a dark funk. Self-recrimination is a real problem for him sometimes, and this is one of those times. He stares out at space beyond without seeming to really see what's out there. Oh, he does continue to maintain his duties at the Conn diligently, occasionally adjusting the Thomas Paine's position manually to keep himself from falling into a lull, but other than that, he remains completely silent.

. o O Foster thinks, "All of those people - dead because of my mission. If I'd turned down the mission completely, these people would be alive. So would the Iotians. Unhappy, yes. But alive. Damn that man! *Damn* him."

Park has taken to the Big Chair fairly well; he's reading over progress reports and drinking a cup of coffee. Of course, there really isn't anything else to do at this point, recovery operations being what they are.

. o O Park thinks, "I guess dropping a couple of quantum torpedos doesn't really qualify a mission as 'covert' these days."

It's a day for seriousness all around. Leres is generally a light hearted and even jovial sort, but not today. She's been serious, her focus entirely on the task at hand. Through out the mission, she's seemed a touch withdrawn, though that is likely due to her keeping her attention almost exclusively to her station and her duties, only piping up when required to do so.

The turbolift doors open, and Matheson steps out, his hands buried in the pockets of his lab coat, a PADD tucked under his arm. He looks very grave as he walks towards the command chair. He clears his throat and says, "Sir. We've recovered six crewmen. Four are still alive, but..." he pauses.

Resignation bitterly squeezes to a form a knot at her throat. Lieutenant Donavon has become more withdrawn the more hopeless it is in finding more survivors. The simple task of gluing eyes to the pulse of the Merrimac and the EVA teams anchors the want to scream and shout. Jaw clenched, accusations reflect in her eyes but stoically she carries on.

Park glances up at the doctor, setting aside, the PADD but keeping hold of the cup. "But what, Doctor?", he asks, motioning to a seat next to him.

. o O Donavon thinks, "Eye for an eye. That isn't enough of an excuse for this nor -- that."

Floating among the pieces of what was once home to almost 700 souls, Turtledove doesn't mourn --- however, her voice is ambient and mild over the comm. "EVA-1 is touching down on and preparing to board a large piece of the Agammemnon's hull, Thomas Paine."

The communications channel comes to life as Krylow's voice comes over it, a moment after Turtledove's. "At first glance it looks like it may be a piece of the upper pod, but its hard to be sure." If he shares any of the anger or frustration with the bridge crew his voice doesn't give it away. His voice, the only connection he has to the bridge beyond sensor data from his EVA suit, is cool, crisp and professional. "Confirmed touch down. Boarding now."

. o O Foster thinks, "Four. Four people alive out of seven hundred. That's less than..." It takes him an decidedly too short of a time to calculate the number, not enough time to distract him at all, which is what he was trying to do. "... three-fifths of a percent. And then there's that 'but'... I didn't like the sound of that 'but'."

Matheson removes his PADD from under his arm and moves to sit down in the empty command chair. He lowers his voice, "Sir, three of the crewmen are weak, but will recover, minor cuts and bruises, a few broken ribs and minor burns, exhaustion, exposure. The fourth.... He's got plasma burns over sixty percent of his body." The doctor's voice trails off with a small side-to-side shake of his head, the meaning of which should be clear to his fellow doctor.

Foster lets out a long, expressive sigh, the only indication that he heard what the arriving Doctor said. He continues to watch, silent. Grieving.

The Ensign at Mission Ops taps his console. "Acknowledged, EVA-1. We'll try to scan from here. Any beacons you can place to increase passive subspace illumination would help."

Park shakes his head at something Matheson says, then leans in toward him, a rather intent expression on his face.

At his place, Park says "Let me see the scans."

Matheson sits down at Command.

. o O Foster thinks, "I sure hope that when I talk to Commander Goodwin, he can find out who gave the orders for those torpedoes. Then, it's off to see Commander Ghorev, no matter how scary he might be."

. o O Krylow thinks, "Is this what was left of the Bellerophron? Who salvaged the remains of your ship, dad?"

"Copy that, Ensign Jackson." Turtledove's voice emerges over the comm again, acknowledging the Ensign at Mission Ops.

. o O Krylow tries to drive the thoughts of other times and other places from his mind, but they linger there along with the pain of that loss and the loss on the Agammemnon

At his place, Matheson takes his PADD and hands it over, "Here, sir, this is the information I have."

Hands press to either end of the console. Donavon leans forward with the angry questioning expression shifting to an even solemn keel. EVA team updates roll in; she keeps a lookout.

Park takes a PADD that Matheson offers to him and begins to review that, leaning back in his chair slightly.

"Beacon placed," adds Krylow's voice a few moments later. "Lieutenant Leres, can you examine the data coming in and give Lieutenant Turtledove and I any information you can glean on the hull section we've currently boarded?"

At his place, Park says "Increase the frequency of the injections and the dermal regeneration treatments. There might be additional scarring that we'll have to deal with later, but it might increase his chances to survive."

GAME: Donavon contests her Shipboard Systems vs Challenging and Fails.

'Ensign Jackson' taps his console. "EVA-2, look alive over there. You're about to hit a section that somehow still has live power -- I'm guessing one of Aggie's six auxiliary reactor sites, and it's still got juice. Don't touch any conduits, even if they look dead."

GAME: Leres contests her Shipboard Systems vs Routine and Succeeds.

GAME: Leres contests her Computer vs Moderate and Fails.

Leres begins to tap various parts of her console at the request from Krylow. "I'm analyzing the data now, EVA-2." She focuses on her task at hand, she shakes her head, then resumes concentration. "I'm working up the search pattern now, it could take a bit. I'll come back with information as soon as I have it."

The corner of Donavon's mouth tics as the minutes pass. To slice the tension, she refocuses by squeezing her eyes shut for a fraction's time, pinches the bridge of her nose, and reassesses the skies on the tactical grid.

GAME: Turtledove contests her Personal Equipment/Tricorder vs Routine and Marginally Fails.

GAME: Krylow contests his Personal Equipment vs Routine and Succeeds.

Matheson continues to chat quietly with Park, sitting in a vacant command chair next to him. His voice involuntarily becomes loud enough to hear, "Aye, sir. That's what I ordered the corpsman to do. But there is no dermis to regenerate. It's gone through the fatty tissue..." He lowers his voice again.

Ensign Tanzhin, the Tellarite at Ops, starts to speak at that point. "Commander," he says, turning to Park, "Merrimac advises an incoming bogey at 100-mark-2. They are moving to intercept and will retur---"

"Sir," pipes up Ensign Jackson, "we've got trouble with EVA-2! Their subspace beacon ... I'm signalling the transporter bay for a beam-out now!" With the current level of edginess, the inexperienced Ensign's voice stands out as cracking, rough, raw.

Park taps a finger to his lips in thought, then leans in to speak to Matheson again.

At his place, Matheson lowers his voice as he continues, "It's gone completely through the fatty tissue and partly into the muscle layer. Down to the bone on parts of the face. We're trying, sir, but... unfortuantely, I don't think there's much chance he'll last the night." He stops as the Ensign shouts.

Park snaps around at the panic stricken tones from the Ensign up front and stands, striding forward. "Relax, Ensign.", he says calmly, laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "What's going on?"

Foster doesn't really change at all, other than tilting his head slightly towards the excitable Ensign. His hands move to the controls, ready to act should it be required. What he may need to do is anyone's guess.

Jackson's hands tap-tap-tap over his console. "It's my fault. I should have warned them." Sure enough, something is flashing a particularly upsetting red light on his console. "They ... placed a beacon on hull section with some live ... " A breath. "It blew up. Sir, we have them but ... " He looks at Park, then Matheson, without words. Oh. That kind of beam out.

Leres continues her work on that search pattern, but she can't help but look up as the Ensign sounds a touch panicked. She looks between the the poor Ensign and Command. She's all alert, brows furrowed.

GAME: Donavon contests her Shipboard Systems vs Moderate and Succeeds.

Park gives the man a pat on the shoulder. "It's not your fault.", he says quietly, turning around toward Matheson. "Get down to the transporter room with a medical team, please. Make sure everyone checks out." Stepping back to the command chair, he sinks back down. "Ensign Tanzhin, you had some information regarding an incoming bogey to share?"

Matheson stands and leaves Command.

Jackson looks crestfallen. "I should have ... warned them about the beacon. I *told* them there was live power, Sir. I mean, I just ... didn't think they'd ...." He takes a deep breath. "EVA-1, EVA-3, check in."

Tanzhin waits for the other Ensign to regain composure, then looks back to Park. "Sir, Merrimac is gone to check out the bogey and will return once it's dealt with. We're to keep a close eye on the teams and fall back to a defensive position at the first sign the bogey is a feint."

Matheson stands as he receives the order, "Aye, sir." He slaps his comm badge, "Medical team to the transporter room. Stand by to recieve casualties." He then walks quickly towards the turbolift to go meet the two beaming in.

GAME: Leres contests her Computer vs Moderate and Marginally Fails.

Turtledove's voice affirms positively over the comm. "EVA-1 is still with you, Ensign."

"Krylow from EVA-1 checking in," comes Krylow's voice. "From the scans I'm getting it does indeed look like we're in the pod section, a tactical resource pod. If I had to guess about one quarter of the pod sheared off and we're inside that. I think we're closing on the auxiliary shuttlebay."

GAME: Donavon spends a courage point.

GAME: Donavon contests her Computer/Research+A vs Challenging and Succeeds.

'Bogey' snatches the Tactical Officer's attention. Eyes glazing across the console, she picks up where Ops left off. "Bogey has no transponder, sir, and I'm not familiar with this ship's design at first glance." Donavon gnaws on her bottom lip when concentrating, brows knitting together. "Referencing database..." Haste employed, analysis is swift -- a match. "Rak-class Escort, sir. Ferengi. It's unlike what we'd take a Ferengi ship to be. She could match the Defiant. She's small, dense, and heavily armed."

Park glances back over to OPS. "I thought an Emergancy Beam out was completed, Ensign?", Park asks of the man again, though there is no heat in his voice. "I need confirmation on the team, since it sounds like they're still EVA. Contact them and tell them to stay put until we get this sorted out."

GAME: Foster spends a courage point.

GAME: Foster contests his Starship Tactics/Naval+A vs Challenging and Marginally Fails.

GAME: Krylow contests his Personal Equipment vs Moderate and Succeeds.

Foster glances up when Meg mentions the power of the Ferengi ship, raising an eyebrow. Surely a Ferengi vessel isn't coming into Federation territory to try to claim salvage rights with two Federation vessels right there, are they?

GAME: Leres contests her Computer vs Routine and Succeeds.

GAME: Turtledove contests her Personal Equipment/Communicator vs Moderate and Marginally Fails.

"Give me some scans of the local area, please, Mister Foster.", Park orders with a glance to the man.

GAME: Foster contests his Shipboard Systems vs Moderate and Succeeds.

"EVA-1 if you can get into the auxiliary shuttle bay? There should be an upper catwalk of railing that would work." Leres sounds excited by this. She checks something else. "It's going to be a bit thin. You might want to get a double length of it just to be sure." She re-checks her data. "But yes, it could definitely work."

And with that bit of good news from Leres, and Foster's intense scan of the area, the scene cuts to the double-wide transporter bay of USS Thomas Paine-C, where the door whooshes open. Two medical corpsmen are supporting an EVA-suited Ensign as he steps down, and past the console, while a Chief Petty Officer similarly suited up lies still on a transporter pad. Even with the EVA suit, he seems tiny compared to the 12-pad dais, like a single canape on a plate, and the single nurse that kneels over him is moving with a rushed competence as she unseals his helmet and takes some tricorder scans.

Matheson runs in through the double doors, medical tricorder in hand before he even enters, lifted from the pocket of his lab coat in a practiced gesture, "Status report?" he calls as he looks between the two, approaching first the as-yet-untreated ensign, medical tricorder activating.

GAME: Matheson contests his Personal Equipment/Medical Tricorder vs Routine and Succeeds.

"Doctor," says one of the corpsmen, "Ensign Shima is conscious, but he's walking a bit unstably. Chief Tovar is non-responsive. Burn marks on the suit, Sir. An explosion?"

"Yes, a broken femur and a few cracked ribs. Get the ensign to sick bay and have one of the nurses take a look at him. I'll be right down." He shuts the tricorder and runs towards the Chief, flipping the tricorder open again, "Chief, can you hear me?" he says, somewhat unnecessarily, looking to the nurse for any report.

Nurse Vogel shakes her head. "I'm getting no vitals, Doctor. But only minor fractures. One of them is the skull, though. Do Vulcans get concussions?"

"The have a brain, don't they." is Matheson's curt answer as he runs the scanner from his tricorder over the Chief's scull, trying to determine if he does, indeed, have a concussion, "It looks like there was an explosion or something that bounced them around. It might be a concussion."

GAME: Matheson contests his Medical Sciences/General Medicine+D vs Moderate and Succeeds.

And with the young cadet-nurse working the various seals on the unconscious Vulcan's EVA suit as Matheson continues his diagnostic efforts, the scene cuts to the darkened corridor of a floating section of space debris. Two EVA-suited figures can be made out by the dim light of their own gear's illumination, their mag-boots clamping them to a tilted section of floor, right in front of a set of huge doors.

Turtledove walks. To. The access panel. By the huge doors. And she accesses it.

"I haven't heard a thing from EVA-2 in a couple of minutes," comments Krylow quietly, shining his light towards the doors ahead of him. "Copy, Lieutenent Leres. I'll see how much railing I can get." Then his helmet turns to watch Turtledove.

GAME: Turtledove spends a courage point.

GAME: Turtledove contests her Systems Engineering/Security+A vs Moderate and Succeeds.

Turtledove pulls an extender cable from her suit and hooks it up to the panel. After brief interlude with the control panel on the arm of her EVA suit, the panel twitches to life. The ensuing power surge is may be mildly alarming, but at least the doors open. "Well, it looks like my power supply was moderately depleted. Shouldn't be a problem." This is said over the comm, to Krylow.

Krylow's helmet bobs slightly in a nodding like movement, before his light is aimed into the shuttlebay. After a moment to pan the light around, he begins to clunk forward into the newly revealed space. "Keep an eye open in here. Everything not bolted down is floating, especially the shuttles."

GAME: Krylow has the merit of Zero-g Training at 2.

"Relax, Lieutenant." Turtledove replies with a very slight, mischievous tone, as she, too, clunks forward. "If you run into trouble, I'll save you."

GAME: Turtledove spends a courage point.

. o O Krylow thinks, "Memo to self. Don't run into trouble."

GAME: Krylow contests his Personal Equipment/Environmental Suit+A vs Challenging and Succeeds.

GAME: Turtledove contests her Personal Equipment/Environmental Suit+A vs Challenging and Succeeds.

Krylow is quiet for a moment after Turtledove's quip. When his answer comes its nothing more than a non-committal and vague grunt. Nope, not a word in return. A moment after than he's engaged thrusters and released maglocks as he begins to maneuver through the shuttlebay and around a pair of floating shuttles. As he approaches the catwalk he slows down and reactivates his maglocks, clamping down to the catwalk to begin examining it.

Turtledove pushes a floating tricorder out of the way as she thrusters into position on the other side of the catwalk. She clamps to the catwalk, helmet lowered to, likewise, inspect the railing. Her helmet turns to look down the length of the railing.

Krylow seems satisfied by what he sees for out comes his phaser. After a moment to adjust he begins to carefully use the beam to cut free the catwalk. After a few moments of work he says, to Turtledove, "This half of the catwalk is free, Lieutenant."

Turtledove has likewise phasered her half, as being productive is the Starfleet way. "We're good to go, Lieutenant. "

"Acknowledged," responds Krylow, tucking his weapon away. "EVA-1 to the Thomas Paine. We've cut the catwalk in the shuttlebay free. Its more than we need, but we can cut the railing we need off on the Paine. We're ready for beamout."

Meanwhile, back on the bridge...

"Checking, sir," Foster says, tilting his head slightly to focus more on his flight control sensors. With those two words, he gets to -- maybe -- twenty words that he's said during the entire shift, half of which have been the latter word. His report doesn't come immediately. Instead, it's almost a full minute later, or perhaps more, before he reports. "Just debris, sir."

Jackson, by now more or less recovered, through perhaps still somewhat subdued, announces, "EVA-1 is in the aux shuttlebay, Lieutenant," to Leres. "They should have something shortly."

At the announcement from Jackson, Leres smiles for the first time that day. It would seem that in her estimation, at least something good has come out of the day. "Thank you, Ensign." It may not be much to a lot of people, but to her? Getting something out of the Aggie's remains is obviously important. It shows in her demeanor.

. o O Leres thinks, "At least we salvaged something out of this mess. If those two crewman from EVA-2 make it out okay, it won't have been a bad day after all."

Jackson nods. "You're welcome, Sir. EVA-3 reports no joy, but if all goes well with the Lieutenants, they won't have time to acquire a new target. I'm going to recall." Clearly, his earlier mistake leads him to announce this, as if to make it clear that he's thinking everything through calmly, simply, logically, rationally.

Despite what Foster says, at tactical, Donavon's eagle eye tracks the ships signals -- just the observer with an ear to the coms traffic to Eva teams.

GAME: Park contests his Starship Tactics/Naval vs Challenging and Succeeds.

At Operations, Ensign Tanzhin says "Merrimac is about two minutes from intercept with the bogey. I'm going to try to hear the long range chatter, but it won't be easy against the background noise of our teams." Just like a Tellarite, to let a little pessimism in on the parade. "Mission Ops, once all teams are recalled, I'd like to take primary on comm, if you don't mind."

Park pulls up the information on the command console. "Conn, set course 225 Mark 077. Distance one thousand kilometers, please.", he orders. "Mister Foster, continue scanning the area. Mister Donavon, yellow alert please."

A comm chimes, "Matheson to Bridge. Commander, we have Ensign Shima and Chief Tovar in Sick Bay."

"Acknowledged, Ensign," says Jackson. "EVA-3 is recalled. We're just waiting on the Lieut----ah-ha, that's them now." He looks to Park. "They've cut away a pretty big section, Commander. Permission to haul in the fish first, then the anglers themselves? I may have to prep the aux cargo bay for this."

Without further ado, Donavon raises the alert status. Yellow light floods the Bridge to casting darkness to an already dark time. She preps her station, poised ready.

"Course Two Two Five Mark Zero Seven Seven," Foster says, almost absently, fingers brushing quickly over controls. "One thousand kilometers." As the positioning of the debris around moves, Foster says nothing more. Of course, that only lasts a few seconds. "Maneuver complete." Then he goes back to watching his scanners.

"What's their status, Doctor?", Park asks of the disembodied voice of Matheson before turning back to Jackson. "Get a transporter lock on that team, Ensign, then bring in the fish."

GAME: Foster contests his Shipboard Systems vs Moderate and Succeeds.

"Aye, Sir," says Jackson. "Chief Sabado reports cargo in place, but requests a few minutes to clamp it down before we do any fancy flying. Secondary objective complete, and we're signalling EVA-2 and reeling the Lieutenants in."

At that, Tanzhin asks, "Commander, shall I hail Merrimac and advise that we're done here?"

Over the Comm, Matheson answers, "Chief Tovar is in a healing trance, with a minor skull fracture. Ensign Shima is recovering from a few broken ribs and a fractured femur. Both will make full recovery, I believe."

Foster frowns slightly, "Er, sir?" Foster brushes over a set of controls, this time for the viewscreen. "Reading another ship attached to a large aft piece of the Agammemnon's saucer section. There." He squints at it as it shows up on the viewscreen. "That's interesting. It's a Zaugin-class Ferengi cargo cutter. We've had a few come through 419's docking ports." And, indeed, there is a ship on the viewscreen now, apparently powered down. The ship is roughly the size of the Thomas Paine, but of obvious Ferengi design. "They're usually used for cargo runs, and, being bigger than transport pods, can haul more for longer."

"Thank you, Doctor. If you're done there, feel free to report back to the Bridge.", Park says, then taps the com to cut the channel. "Mister Jackson, advise the Chief that he has exactly two minutes to lock down that cargo. Mister Tanzhin, advise the Merrimac that we're finished here and are locking down cargo. Mister Donavon, standby weapons and shields. Mister Foster, I want you to put us in close enough proximity that we can count the latinum in that Ferengi's pockets. As soon as we're in position, Mister Donavon, raise the shields and scan the holds of that ship." The orders are issued quickly, Park's voice rising enough in volume to carry across the bridge, but the tone never changes; it's just another day in the park.

There's a chorus of 'Aye, Sir' utterances from the Ensigns at Ops and Mission Ops.

GAME: Foster contests his Shipboard Systems/Flight Control vs Moderate and Succeeds.

"Aye, aye, sir," Foster says. "I'll put us in close enough to ... well..." His fingers begin the dance required to make that kind of maneuvering. Soon enough, a chime sounds announcing a proximity alert. The tiny Ferengi ship the size of the Thomas Paine grows huge in the viewscreen. Twenty-five meters. Twenty. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Finally, Foster holds position at ten meters. Hey, Park asked!

GAME: Donavon contests her Shipboard Systems vs Routine and Succeeds.

The lift hisses open and out steps Krylow. He hasn't bothered to pull off his EVA suit, and instead clomps onto the bridge still in it. He did pull off the helmet and gloves so at least his head and hands are free. As he reaches the bridge he nods to Park and addresses him with a simple, "Commander."

Donavon waits for the Paine to come into position. As ordered, shields are raised and she begins to scan the Zaughin-class. "Empty sir save for crew compliment and basic supplies." Lights trigger. "She's powering up but shields and weapons on cold standby. Need deeper scans to find out more."

"Sir," says Tanzhin, "we're being hailed by that ship."

. o O Foster thinks, "This ought to be good. Damned scavengers, feeding on misery."

Matheson arrives on the bridge a few moments after his conversation with Park, his hands again shoved into his labcoat pockets. He stalks out of the turbolift, eyes widening as he sees the ship looming in the viewscreen, "What is /that/?" he says, then quickly adds, apologetically, "Never mind." The medical officer falls silent.

Leres pulls up from what she's doing when she sees Krylow on the bridge and gives him a bit of a salute and wink that's done silently so as not to interrupt the work going on. But when she hears that the ship is hailing them, she turns her attention that way to hear what's said and of course await orders.

:offers a nod to Krylow and then over his shoulder to Donavon, says, "That won't be necessary, Mister Donavon, so long as you're sure they haven't boarded any of the wreckage." With that he turns around to face the viewer. "On screen, please." Aaron settles back into his chair, demeanor going utterly cold. The first thing the Ferengi captain should see is an officer who's been poking around the remains of a ship that just lost nearly her entire crew. It's been a bad day.

. o O Donavon thinks, "Rules of Aquisition? Finders, Keepers? That's what, doctor. Ferengi out to save a latinum bar."

Park offers a nod to Krylow and then over his shoulder to Donavon, says, "That won't be necessary, Mister Donavon, so long as you're sure they haven't boarded any of the wreckage." With that he turns around to face the viewer. "On screen, please." Aaron settles back into his chair, demeanor going utterly cold. The first thing the Ferengi captain should see is an officer who's been poking around the remains of a ship that just lost nearly her entire crew. It's been a bad day.

And in a moment, there is a Ferengi onscreen. Several of them, in fact, but one in the foreground. Their small bridge looks almost as busy as Thomas Paine's. "Starfleet vessel, our proximity alarms just lit up our control consoles. We really must insist you not fly so close."

"I've very sorry, Captain.", Park replies, voice cold as death. "We were just moving to rendevous with another vessel and didn't realize that you were there, given that you were in a debris field from a Starfleet vessel and powered down. But I'm sure that you have a reasonable explaination as to why that was."

. o O Donavon thinks, "Not out on a pleasure cruise. That's for certain."

"Why, it should be obvious!" The Ferengi looks bewildered. "We were trying to stay out of your way until you were finished, of course. Would you rather we be dodging and weaving in and out of all this floating space-junk?"

Turtledove walks out of the lift like Krylow, in EVA suit, gloves in helmet, and helmet in hand. She looks to the viewscreen as she settles next to Krylow. Apropos of nothing, she notes, "Scavengers. Lovely."

Foster draws a PADD from his belt and keys something into it.

GAME: Donavon contests her Shipboard Systems vs Moderate and Succeeds.

"Captain, there appears to be a misunderstanding, that I will clear up forthwith.", Park says icily, pushing up from his chair. "This site is still being held under Starfleet jurisdiction until the completion of recovery operations." He leaves it at that.

"Recovery operations?" Again the bewildered look. "Wasn't that what you just did? I mean, I won't deny that we've been listening. You can hardly blame us, since you were practically on top of us the whole time."

Krylow catches the wink and salute from Leres and offers her a tired, yet genuine smile. Smile given he turns his attention back to the viewscreen, which he watches silently.

Donavon receives a message onto her console while sorting through various scans. Message sent back to original sender by a keystroke; she faintly looks at Foster for a second.

"Those are two different types of operations, Captain.", Park replies, not having shifted from his very stiff stance before the screen. "As I'm sure you're already aware, nearly the entire ship's compliment was killed in action. The operation to recover the remains of the crew will take quite some time, I can assure you."

"Recover ... the remains ... of the ----" He looks agog, for a moment. "You mean you don't just have some screaming mourning ritual over them and let the flesh rot like the Klingons do?" Now the agog look is replaced with anger as he looks offscreen, to one side. "Vulgo, why didn't you know this? You're studying for the Trade Attache exam. You're supposed to know these things?" From offscreen, a stammering reply of "S-Sorry, Subnagus!" or somesuch can be heard.

Park glances down to Foster. "Conn, back us away slowly.", he orders quietly, but still in that same cold tone. "I'm pleased that we were able to clear that up, Captain, so that you can be on your way."

"You know," says the Ferengi, after a moment, "our ship has about twice the cargo capacity of yours ... it's how we prioritize things, after all. We could always help you -- for a small fee -- recover those bodies nice and proper, with all the rituals and blessings you want. I mean, we'd need a little time to research them, of course." -- a dirty glance offscreen, to 'Vulgo', most likely -- "but it would be the neighborly thing to do."

"We already have a vessel on scene with the appropriate cargo capacity, Captain.", Park replies to the Ferengi. "The offer is noted, but will have to be declined."

"Aye, sir," Foster says. A few more presses - and then another to silence the annoying proximity alarm - and the Thomas Paine begins to back away from the Ferengi ship. It isn't obvious at first, but soon enough, one can actually see ship for the debris.

"Well, then, we will of course withdraw to the near distance and wait for your operations to be complete. Thank you for the courtesy of the explanation." The tone is hardly so gracious, of course. "Profit Hunter out." And with that, his image disappears from the screen.

Park finally loosens up as he heads back to the seat. "Mister Tanzhin, please advise the Merrimac via coded signal of what just occurred and include a recommendation that they remain on station.", he says as he settles back into his chair. "Mister Donavon, stand down from Yellow Alert and lower shields. Mister Foster, take up station keeping."

"Aye, Sir," says Tanzhin. "Advising Merrimac."

Onscreen, the Ferengi begin maneuvering, with maneuvering thrusters, natch, and move away like a skittering beetle from the section of hull. It seems almost to *sulk* away, to the edge of the debris field.

Foster pulls the Thomas Paine-C to the requested position, silently. Seems he's gone back to being quiet after the 'excitement'.

After a few moments more, "Sir, Merrimac reports that they are on their way back. Apparently, the other Ferengi ship was going to rendezvous with this one and stand guard while they .... salvaged."

Park just shakes his head. "Looks like the vultures are already circling.", he comments, the tone making it fairly clear of his opinion on vultures.

"Sir," asks Jackson, "are we just going to let them sit there and pounce once the bodies are barely .... I mean ... that just doesn't seem right, Commander."

. o O Park thinks, "I should have just had Meg open up on them, the bastards."

Foster remarks, "You know, finding all of the bodies and setting them to proper rest might take weeks, even months." He goes on. "And then there's all of the debris, which we should definitely be cleaning up. Perhaps we might drop some buoys warning vessels off of this area until we can complete our work."

"There is very little we can do about it, Mister Jackson.", Park comments, glancing down at the man, tone fully disgusted. "Unfortunately."

. o O Matheson shivers mentally as he thinks, "Count on the Ferengi to profit from the misery of others. I wonder how many strips of latinum they thought they could get from the bodies. Grizzly."

Matheson lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, removing his hands from his lab coat pockets to cross them over his chest. He remains mostly silent, only to say, "Typical of the Ferengi." from where he stands, near the turbolift. One hand clenches, white knuckled, grabbing the sleeve of his coat.

"Sadly, I did warning buoys are going to keep anyone out who is determined to salvage things." Leres says quietly. "Which is a shame. But unfortunately there is no way to enforce decency." She continues about her work in quiet then.

Shortly thereafter, Merrimac drops out of warp at the edge of the debris field. "Sir, Captain Davenport sends her regards, and would like to return Commander Ghorev to us with her thanks for the loan as soon as we can coast into transporter range." Tanzhin seems to find this amusing.

As the ship stands down from yellow alert, Krylow scowls slightly at the viewscreen and the departing Ferengi ship. Then he turns and moves back to the lift, no doubt going to divest himself of the bulky EVA suit.

Park nods at Tanzhin's report. "Mister Foster, move us to within transporter range and bring Commander Ghorev aboard.", he orders, then lowers his voice just slightly. "I think Doctor Matheson and I are going to have a long night making sure that the total of survivors stays at four."

Foster nods, "Aye, aye, sir. Plotting intercept course with the Merrimac." His hands brush the controls, and the debris blurs as the Thomas Paine-C arches away to meet the other ship.

After a few minutes of such maneuvering, the mood still a bitter one on the bridge, Jackson reports, "Sir, the Chief says Commander Ghorev is aboard." And a moment later, in fact, the Blue Fella's voice is heard, "Aaron, I'm told by Chief Sabado that I have surgery to perform on a stretch of maintenance catwalk. But there's also a rumor that you have more important surgery to perform. I'll be up there shortly."

"Sounds like it will be a busy ride back for us both, Commander. See you shortly.", Park says, the barest hint of a smile coming to his face. He stands from the command chair and walks up toward Matheson, the smile fading from his face. He claps the man on the shoulder. "Time to go to work.", he says grevely.