SIM:Wolf, Tristan/A Day in Deep Space
::With so much time spent on transport vessels, one would think the Admiral would have grown accustomed to the long periods of down-time. One would be wrong. Wolf was seated, a bit unhappily, in his quarters. Edgy, his eyes dart back and forth across the room; looking from the bathroom to the bedroom, each on opposite sides of him. His black duty-boots are resting on the glass top of his desk, his ankles crossed one over the other. The shiftiness stops for a moment, as the Admiral notices a speck of dust slowly making its way to the floor. His nose twitches::
WOLF: God-forsaken ship. Doesn't anyone clean these tin-cans anymore?
::Somewhere in the core of the computer, the logic center considers an answer to that question. It takes a fraction of a fraction of a second to decide against it. The Admiral's temperment is weighed heavily in deciding if there should be an answer::
::Wolf lets out a breath. He has read one too many PADDs already today. And going to the bridge to request something off the wall like... a faster pace to his destination (!) seems too mundane. The holodeck shows promise, but... it would also require motivation; a quality severly lacking in the Admiral at the moment. Adjusting his hands a little, he decides instead to run over the sequence of events upon arriving DS 72 again::
::That was as far as he had gotten so far. This trip really didn't have much of a purpose besides getting away from his office and helping to lower the standards of the hell Demma was living in at the moment. Of course, there was the sidebar of having to check in to ensure Demma wasn't trying anything underhanded to get off DS 72 and into another position. The Circle would have none of that::
WOLF: ::muttering:: At least there are diplomat quarters on this vessel...
::The last ship he had been on, the USS Janitoreal, for his trip to the Apilon Rift. The ship was an Intrepid class, and devoid of any real creature comforts. It had, of course, been Alexander VonGrippen's choice of ships. He had "sent his best" to retreive the Admiral. Son of a ... VonGrippen had certainly learned his lesson after that mistake. As much fun as it was for the two to toy with eachother, VonGrippen had just stepped over the line in that little game. There were just certain things you don't do; one of them was making Wolf sit on an Intrepid class ship for over a month en route to see someone he could barely tolerate::
::Wolf again glanced to the bathroom. Seemed like there was a small creaking noise coming from there every few moments... The noise! Again! This time in his bedroom. Just as he suspected. The Admiral remained completely motionless::
WOLF: oO Perhaps a misguided criminal has snuck his way in, thinking he could overpower me... maybe assassinate me... for the glory of it all... Oo
::Admiral Wolf let a toothy grin spread from one side of his mouth to the other. Wouldn't that just be fitting. An attempted assassination, ending in the assassin being strung by his innards from the ventilation shaft, Wolf laughing maniacly below him::
WOLF: ::chuckling:: Oh dear... if only... oO It would, of course, be the most exciting thing to happen so far on this trip. Oo
::Sighing contentedly, Wolf blinks slowly. The room smells of fresh carpet. The Freedom - A had a minor refit done before bringing her out of space-dock. After months (almost a year!) of testing, she had sat in the hangar, quietly, collecting... space dust. It was all, of course, because of her recently shrugged title of "unrecoverable" due to her run-in with a certain alien race::
::StarFleet wouldn't have let Wolf take her out, though, unless she had been declared fit for service, and had been given a minor upgrade in shielding, weaponry, and interior living quarters. If she was to return to normal service, a full refit would be done. Wolf had heard, just a few days prior to leaving, that someone had put in a request for the Freedom - A to be considered for return to service. Although the Admiral hadn't taken the time to look at exactly who that was, he could guess it was probably Demma, or Marlin, considering the two had been on the ship in the past. If Demma thought he was going to get it though...::
WOLF: oO ... he has another thing coming. Oo
::Wolf would never allow Demma to get his hands on the ship, merely for the fact that he wanted it. Why allow Demma the satisfaction? After all, the man WAS a criminal. Regardless of whether or not he thought he was "doing the right thing" during that whole Alpha-Base 45 fiasco, he was given orders and he had disobeyed. He could hide behind the pathetic excuse that he had been following the general orders if he wanted, but as the Admiral had so wisely explained, numerous times, the problem Demma was investigating (a distress call from the Daris Colony) had been resolved long before the Nemesis had even gotten to Daris II::
::The Admiral's eyes roll even as he thinks of it::
WOLF: oO And what the result, you fool-Klingon? Expend precious Federation efforts on seeking the moral end to things. If you had just followed orders! But you had to take the high road... the hard road. Just like every one of the rest of your race, you had to make things difficult for everyone. And now who looks like the fool? StarFleet. As the Romulans, the Cardassians, and every other scum race of the galaxy watched, you pointed every camera lens of the Federation News Network onto your face, screaming about your righteousness. And look where it got you: commanding a run-down base in the middle of no-where. Fight me, and lose. Oo
::A creaking noise again, from the bathroom...::
BRIDGE: =/\= Admiral Wolf, we are approaching sensor range of Deep Space 72. =/\=
WOLF: =/\= Acknowledged. =/\=
::Heaving himself out of the chair, the well muscled, tall man stretches his hands up, his head twitching just a hair as the creaking switches sides again to the bedroom. Thinking best to ignore it this time, the good Admiral grabs his duty-jacket and walks out of his quarters::
((Only a short while later...))
DEEP SPACE 72: =/\= We have no notice of your arrival Freedom. =/\=
::Wolf walks onto the bridge, the face of a Lieutenant on the station looking a bit peeved on the viewscreen::
CAPTAIN YAR: =/\= I don't care what notice you have Lieutenant. We have an Admiral onboard, and we'll be docking within a few hours. Notify Captain Demma that his to meet Admiral Wolf at the dock that you will designate. =/\=
DEEP SPACE 72: =/\= That is not possible Captain, Demma is a busy man and he has a full schedule... =/\=
WOLF: =/\= Let me explain something to you Lieutenant. I don't care if Demma is going to meet his long lost grandmother. Tell him that he has been instructed to meet me at the airlock when I arrive, and that's an order. Understood? =/\=
::The officer hesitates, glances down at his control panel, and then looks back up::
DEEP SPACE 72: =/\= Understood Admiral. =/\=
::Wolf just smiles::
::The double doors slide open to reveal a none-too-happy Klingon warrior in Captain's clothing. Admiral Wolf steps off the ship and into the station::
WOLF: Hello Captain Demma. Long time, no see. How have you been?
::And the ordeal begins.::
DEMMA: What brings you to this part of Space Admiral, and in the Freedom no less?
::Inward, Wolf gloats::
WOLF: oO So he noticed! Delicious, just delicious... Oo Oh, you know... making my rounds...
::The glimmer in the Admiral's eye proves otherwise to the few assembled. Wolf was obviously enjoying seeing the peeling paint on the walls::
DEMMA: How long are you planning on being with us?
::Wolf answers slowly, feeling his hand up and down the cornerpiece of a nearby wall, inspecting it::
WOLF: Oh you know... a week, maybe three...
DEMMA: That long?!
::The Admiral's head snaps back to Demma. The Klingon had slipped! A rumble eminates from Wolf's chest as he stares at Demma. The captain stares back, unwavering::
WOLF: Care to show me... ::tongue in cheek:: your station?
::Wolf holds back a burst of laughter. It was all just so precious. The proud Klingon, reduced to commanding an overused, broken-down station in the middle of nowhere. After all that trouble he had put Wolf, and the Federation through though...::
WOLF: ::With a smirk:: oO He bloody deserves this... Oo
Assigned Jade Xavier as a guide, the Admiral takes a walking tour of the base, and eventually meets up with an old acquaintance...
::Tristan stared at Jade for a few moments. He remembered seeing her before, but obviously had never noticed her grace... her presence. Just her appearance as she first walked up::
XAVIER: Good day, sir, I trust your journey was a comfortable one?
::The Admiral blinks, takes a moment to notice her hair shimmering hair, her glistening eyes::
WOLF: Hardly, Lieutenant...
::He pauses, smiling::
WOLF: It seems to already have been worth it though.
::The XO seems bemused, at best::
XAVIER: Is there any particular area of the station you would like to begin?
WOLF: Wherever you feel best to start...
XAVIER: If not then why not start from the bottom and work our way up? This way you can end in the command center.
::She strode forward, not looking back. The Admiral smiled. She didn't need his approval, it seemed. A challenge!::
WOLF: oO This damn place didn't SEEM this big from the outside! Oo
XAVIER: Well Admiral, as you can see we have come a long way since we arrived as Deep Space 72, most completely renovated and in top working order. Here is the command center. Take your time and look around. When you are ready, I will escort you to Reuban's restaurant.
::Wolf looked over the command center of the station. Indeed, it was looking better than it did on the holo-walk-through The Circle had on file, before they had sent Demma to the station. Sniffing, the Admiral glances around. Although the command center holds his interest for about two minutes, he is now on a mission to find Tekra... who can lead him to Hamlet. The Lieutenant is nearby, in the command seat, no less::
WOLF: Thank you Lt. Xavier, I have... thoroughly enjoyed your company on the tour. Now if you will excuse me for a few moments.
::The Admiral walks away, preoccupied with Tekra now. As he approaches, he lays a hand on Tekra's shoulder::
WOLF: Lieutenant! How have you been?
::Tekra looks back, and smiles::
TEKRA: Admiral Wolf! Long time no see. Don't suppose you came to give us a new assignment... lots of deep space needing to be explored, you know...
::The Admiral smiles cordially and cocks his head to the side a little. Putting on his best nice-guy mask, he responds::
WOLF: Leave a proud station like this? ::Laughing heartily:: I never thought I would hear those words come out of the mouth of one of Demma's crew!! ::Pausing:: Unfortunately not, though. Your are very needed here... I actually have a request. I need your help. Can we talk off the bridge for a moment?
TEKRA: Of course. ::He stands:: Xavier, you have the chair.
::Tekra leads the way into a small conference room to one side, taking a seat facing Wolf::
TEKRA: What's up?
WOLF: I need to find Dr. Hamlet, immediately if possible.
TEKRA: ::nodding:: Hamlet ... I don't recall if he's taking communications at the moment. Lambda-Eight is in sickbay, though... watching that box that Hamlet brought on board. ::He taps his COMM badge:: Lambda-Eight, we have a visitor for Doctor Hamlet. Is he available?
LAMBDA-EIGHT: ::responding quickly:: It is a possibility; whom shall I say is interested?
TEKRA: Admiral Wolf. He seems to think it's rather urgent.
::There was a brief pause, then a communications console at the back of the room flashed to life::
HAMLET: Wolf... I'm surprised to see you here.
TEKRA: ::standing:: And I'll be leaving.
::Wolf nods to Tekra, and then turns to the screen. Letting a small smile show, he leans back in the chair and rests his head on his index finger, leaning on the arm of the chair::
WOLF: Surprised? You don't fool me one bit... you saw the Freedom coming a week away.
HAMLET: Two weeks, if I had cared to look. I assume it's you I have to thank for my deck here.
::Hamlet always did have a way of trumping Wolf; ensuring that Wolf understood the Doctor had just a little more power than the Admiral thought::
WOLF: Indeed you do. ::Smiling, and clicking his head to the side just a little:: I was wondering if I would have the priviledge of getting to see your workspace?
HAMLET: There's nothing to see at present. I just got back, myself.
::It was a no, surprisingly polite for Hamlet::
HAMLET: What is it you want, Wolf?
WOLF: I was wondering if you would mind doing me a little favor... I have no interest in letting Demma get away with stuffing me in a closet in this rat hole. I need new quarters.
HAMLET: Demma surprised you with the quarantine? Now I am surprised... ::He glanced at some readings:: And what do you offer in return?
::Wolf had to laugh. Hamlet is too much like the good Admiral, never doing anything as a favor. Always an exchange::
WOLF: You have my attention Doctor. What is it that you need?
HAMLET: At the moment... an unusual request. I want you to send a ship to patrol this sector. ::A diagram appeared in one corner of the screen:: I want all sensor readings forwarded to me. I assume you can do that.
WOLF: Well, I could... if the communications on the station were active. No doubt by this time, Demma has ensured that they will not be operable for a few weeks, at least. If you can find another mode of communication I will send a ship out there.
::Hamlet snorts again::
HAMLET: As soon as this channel is closed, send your message... but do not send one of the ships under Demma's command. In the meantime, I'll see what I can do about quarters.
::Wolf frowns at Hamlet::
WOLF: Of course not... if I sent one of Demma's ships, it probably wouldn't even make it there. ... Thank you for your help. If you have the chance I would like to schedule a lunch with you while I'm here. We have some interesting things to talk about.
::The Admiral's voice carries a tone of warning, letting Hamlet know that there is something he will want to know::
HAMLET: I'll consider it.
::... was what Hamlet said in response, and the screen went blank for a second; then changed to a standard Federation communications screen. Wolf immediately typed quickly onto the table-top panel, dispatching the nearest ship to that sector to begin doing a full sensor sweep of the area and begin a patrol of the area, citing a tip about a potential threat in that area. No one would probably even bat an eyelash, since it came from Wolf::
::Standing, Tristan walked back onto the bridge to find Xavier conversing with one of the bridge crew about some business. Giving her a genuine smile, he walks up::
WOLF: Ready for lunch when you are.
Forced into a "safe room", Wolf spends hours waiting until he is let out. Surprisingly complacent about the whole thing, he is finally rescued by a team of crewmembers.
::Wolf reaches up and violently rubs his nose back and forth with the back of his right hand. Moving back into awakeness he yawns and looks around. The room is quiet, and dark... obviously interior on the base. Maybe a junior officer's quarters or something to the like. The bed he is sitting on is hard, and the blankets don't seem to be StarFleet issue. They seem more like... Maquis issue; scratchy old. The Admiral wonders how long it'll be before it is decided that he is "safe". Licking his lips he thinks perhaps he should just go back to sleep. Knowing how this base runs, he'd probably be better off considering that he most likely won't leave this room for a week. Sighing, he gets up and grabs his one suitcase. Opening it, he finds a PADD with some work he was finishing as he left the StarBase.::
::Just as he began to read the PADD...::
::The Admiral blinks. Then he is hit on the shoulder by one of the figures in front of him::
OFFICER1: Scrambler activated.
OFFICER2: Good; we got him.
::One of the men moves around, closing a nearby panel and picking up his toolkit. As much as it can be picked up inside of a cramped tube::
BARUCH: Admiral Wolf, I'm Lieutenant Baruch, this is Glark. Sorry for the lack of prior warning, but we decided you might feel safer somewhere else, for the time being... We're heading to Hamlet's new quarters... before killing himself, he keyed the quarters to allow you in. If you've got a better idea, we're open to suggestions.
WOLF: Er... no... that sounds fine.
::Tristan seems a bit confused, but doesn't ask too many questions. Baruch and Glark lead the Admiral to the next juncture before squeezing their way out, and into the hallway. A security detail is waiting::
WOLF: Ah, finally...
::The group strides purposefully through the halls. Wolf yawns every now and then, ignoring the stares from the base's pitiful looking inhabitants::
SECURITY OFFICER: Please stay close Admiral...
::They move towards a turbolift just as a shady-looking wannabe-assassin approaches::
ABIGAIL: Either you all are coming to rescue me from a boring day or you are one darn important man to need all these grunts.
::Wolf sneers as one of the security officers pushes her to the side::
ABIGAIL: Now, is that anyway to treat a lady? Your mama would not be proud.
::The woman reaches into her coat, causing Wolf to set his jaw and prepare for the worst. Numerous security guards pull phasers::
ABIGAIL: Relax, its just a pouch. Sheesh.
::She holds the pouch out to the Admiral. He reaches forward and takes it, pocketing it then preparing to move onto the nearby lift::
ABIGAIL: You look like someone who could use one of these.
::Ignoring her last remark, the group boards the lift and heads to Hamlet's quarters::
The Admiral decides to take matters into his own hands...
::Wolf yawned and turned over, the silk pajamas whispering quietly against the sheets. Blinking, he yawned again before realizing where he was. Mumbling to himself, he considers closing his eyes and falling asleep again, but decides it's about time to face the beast::
::Getting slowly out of bed, he walks to the bathroom and cleans up, then dons his standard uniform. The quarters Hamlet had designated for him work well, and are certainly a huge improvement over what he was in before. Looking at himself in the mirror, the Admiral runs his fingers up the grain of his goatee::
WOLF: Time certainly has treated me well...
::Giggling to himself, he runs a finger over the corner of each eye, how few lines there are. When all you have to do is torment the poor souls who inhabit the StarBase, there is a certain lack of stress on one's mind...::
::Walking to the door of his quarters, he peeks his head out to find his security detail, two officers, standing quietly on each side of the door. Nodding to himself, he moves back into his quarters and types up a quick test message on the desk, then attempts to send it. No luck, again. Shrugging, Tristan slides out the door to his quarters and moves down the hallway, the security detail falling quickly into step behind him. Inside his quarters, the pouch thrown from the mysterious woman's hands sits, forgotten, near Wolf's bed...::
((A few minutes later...))
::The Admiral rounds the corner, towards the airlock, the events of just a few hours ago running through his mind. It's a damn good thing Demma didn't accuse him of kidnapping that little rat of his... the smelly little thing came into HIS quarters of his own free will. Isn't Wolf's fault the kid wanted a crash course in REAL power::
::After turning another corner, the Admiral whirls around to his security detail, who barely avoid falling over themselves, and Wolf::
WOLF: Give me your phaser rifle.
WOLF: If you want to keep this job, then you'll have me your phaser rifle and shut up.
::The two guards exchange glances::
WOLF: You have about three seconds.
::Reluctantly, after more than a little mental deliberation, the guard hands Wolf his phaser rifle. Undoubtably, the guards have no idea whatsoever to do in a situation like this::
::Turning back towards the direction of the airlock Wolf closes in to find another security detail, this one of "the other team" waiting quietly. One puts his hand up::
GUARD: I'm sorry sir, this area is quarantined until further notice.
::The Admiral lowers his sights on the guard. Flinching just the slightest, he fires the rifle an inch or two from the guard's head. The entire detail falls to their knees, phasers drawn::
GUARD: DROP YOUR WEAPON ADMIRAL!
WOLF: Listen closely young man. I am a master marksman, and I will take off at least two limbs before you even have me down. And don't forget that I as well have two officers standing behind me who have orders to ensure that I live through this ordeal. The ship you are guarding is my ship. Demma has no jurisdiction in this matter, and I will gain access to it if I have to shoot through this door, the five of you dead at my feet. Is that perfectly clear? ::He doesn't wait for an answer:: Now, on the count of three I am going to lower this weapon. You will all drop yours, and one of you is going to open that door. If that door is not open in ten seconds I can guarantee that one of you will be leaving, lighter two arms. One. Two. Three.
::Wolf slowly bring his weapon down. The guards as well lower theirs. The Admiral nods to the one guard who almost had his ear taken off. The man stands reluctantly and thinks for a moment, before finally touching the door panel. More than likely he assumes he'll get in less trouble from Demma if he opens the door than if he were to refuse the Admiral and have to face his wrath. The lot of them knew that Wolf was probably insane enough to shoot off a few limbs and then head back to Demma's office to blame the security detail for the whole incident::
::Thanking the guard with a slight bob of his head and a smile, Wolf and his two officers stride through the airlock and into the Freedom-A. Not missing a beat, he heads directly to the bridge to ready the ship to leave dock when the Admiral is ready::
A Waiting Game
::Wolf giggled as he ran through the corridor of trees. Carrying in his hands the biggest hand held phaser rifle he had ever seen, he loafed along, seemingly oblivious to the weight in his arms. Demma crawled along somewhere in the distance, moaning pitifully. Glancing upward as he leaped over a stream, the Admiral watched the Phoenix-B, his first command, sweep in over his head. The trees, large toothpicks in the now red sand of the forest floor did not shudder; though the Admiral's hair did rustle about his head from the breeze. Hugging to his chest the huge bat'leth (the rifle now forgotten), Wolf slowed to a quiet walk as he peered underneath the nearest table::
WOLF: You scoundrel!
::The Klingon captain sat underneath the table, holding his head in one hand, and a flower vase in the other. Wolf leapt back, dodging the vase as it went flying by::
WOLF: Not again you bastard!
::Throwing the tiny nest of bees from his arms under the table, he watched as Demma squirmed in discomfort. The snakes that slithered from the tiny holes in the nest slinked up over the captain's dress uniform. Doing a dance of victory, Wolf laughed to himself again. Turning to the bulkhead, he reached into wall and pulled half of it off. Throwing the pieces of blue cake into the air, he smiled and attempted to dodge the pieces as they fell to the ground, splattering into puddles of Klingon blood. It began to rain... soft petals of playing cards; ace, spade, heart, and diamond alike. The Admiral caught one on his tongue and slurpted it down::
::The short frame of a faceless man appeared on the edge of the dune::
WOLF: It's been a long time, dad...
::As his room at home descended over the two of them, Wolf heard his name in the distance. He turned away from his foster-father and walked to the window, hearing it again::
::Breathing in so quickly a snort escaped, the Admiral blinked and turned to look at whoever was shaking him::
FIRST OFFICER: Admiral, DS72 is without power, should we assist?
::Wolf was confused. He closed his eyes and breathed for a moment, trying to get his bearings::
WOLF: Give me a minute...
FIRST OFFICER: You were sleeping, Admiral...
WOLF: Hey no kidding! You schmuck! Go away and let me wake up.
::Standing wobbily, the Admiral stretched. The ample ready room of the Freedom was mercifully quiet. Wolf walked into the small bathroom and washed his face. The dream long forgotten, he moved out onto the bridge. It too was quiet, with only three other officers present. The XO stood in front of his command chair, waiting for the Admiral's order::
FIRST OFFICER: The station's power went down a few minutes ago. Ours went down as well, as they were our feed; but we now have all primary ship systems online.
WOLF: I have half a mind to escape now while they're still vulnerable...
TACTICAL: I am going to venture a guess and assume they will instate a no-in no-out policy within the next ten minutes or so.
::Wolf muttered to himself, knowing the officer was right. A lockdown would probably go into effect very, very soon. Demma's quarantine of the Freedom was both silly and easily broken. But the Admiral could not in good conscience leave the station now. If someone was responsible for the loss of power, the Freedom was probably their intended escape route. No, the Admiral had to wait, again, to find out what was going on in the station::
WOLF: We'll probably be here for another month at this pace.
FIRST OFFICER: Heaven help us; I just want to go home!
::Growling, the Admiral ordered the operations officer, the only one still quiet in his seat, to request information from the station on what kind of assistance they might need::
TACTICAL: Admiral, something's being launched from the station... it's coming from Hamlet's deck. And it's moving towards us; fast.
::Trying valiantly to control a grin threatening to sweep its way across his face, Wolf turns towards the viewscreen::
WOLF: Destroy it.
::In a matter of moments a pretty little fireworks show was recorded by the Freedom's numerous cameras.::
::He lets the word age for a moment in the air::
WOLF: Anything from the base yet?