"Moira--begin recording, passive mode." 

"Recording." 

"Lieutenant Gary Smith, Public Affairs Officer of the USS
Crazy Horse, has asked me to prepare a short sketch of my
background, and the circumstances of my arrival on this ship.  At
first it seemed a bit of an odd idea, but on reflection I guess
there is merit in the idea of having the senior officers prepare
short autobiographies.  It gives new crew members some background
on the members of the Command Team. 

"My first mission on the Crazy Horse was certainly an
out-of-the-ordinary one. 

"So . . . 

 
       My name is Michael Marek, Commander, Starfleet.  I was born in a
small town in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and lived the early years
of my life on property that has been in my family for almost 400 years. 
Living, as I did, adjacent to a large wilderness area, I spent countless
hours hiking, camping, mountain climbing and exploring--experience that
came in handy on more than one Away Team mission in my later years.  When running for one's life, it's often beneficial to know some wood lore.
       I did as many of my school assignments at the tops of rock cliffs as
I did at my study desk.  Since my grades didn't suffer, my parents didn't
worry much about when and where I did my homework. I was admitted to
Starfleet Academy in my first round of testing, at age 17, graduating in
2353. 
       I've found that Academy stories rarely impress people.  Those who
have not attended tend to be bored, and those who have attended always have better stories of their own, so I won't say much about those years.
       Suffice it to say that I formed few close friendships, being somewhat
of an introvert.  On the other hand, I worked closely with the others on
my flying team, Starburst Squadron, as well as those in the study group I
joined in my first year and stayed with all four of the following years.
       During my Academy years I met one other current senior officer of the USS Crazy Horse -- Moira, who is now Second Officer.  Most of the Academy regulations had to be revised for Moira, the second Artificial
Intelligence to be admitted to the Academy, and the first non-android.  I
was Class of '53, and she was '54, but we worked together in several
classes and activities.
       The Academy often sorts people by name, and the names Marek and Moira often brought us into the same groups.  It took a while to get used to working sometimes with her organic simulacrum, sometimes with her as a hologram and sometimes through a standard voice interface, but we
developed a friendship that is certainly unique in my experience.  (The
holodeck program she gave me for my birthday in 2352 is still
astonishingly realistic but, then, she's been creating holodeck-type
simulations for almost a century.) 

===__-+-       *--=/___

       My Academy years were turbulent times.  In my third year, the war
between the Federation and the Cardassian Empire began.  In my fourth year at the Academy, the Federation conflict with the Tholians broke out.
       My first posting after commissioning was as helmsman on the USS
Renegade, dispatched in the second wave of reinforcements into Cardassian space.  In many ways, it was an ideal assignment for my career.  The Renegade was a small, fast raider.  We performed frequent scout missions deep into enemy territory, and I found Renegade to be almost as responsive as my little Starburst Squadron flyer, the Diana.  Probe, attack, then skip out of danger--that was my job for the first several months after the Academy and, frankly, I was good at it.  The Captain always insisted that I be on Conn for the highest risk portions of the sorties.
       I soon had three decorations and an early trip back to the Academy
for Advanced Command Training.  The following six months were challenging, but left me with no doubt that the command track was what I wanted. (No--I will NOT tell you what I did when I was Captain for the Kobyashi Maru exercise.  Some people reviewing this may not yet have taken this test, and the Academy Superintendent has instructed me not to discuss my solution.) 
       Over the following years, my Starfleet resume became rather littered
with achievements--the Tholian Conflict, the Cardassians, the Surlex III
Away Team mission, the defense of Vella Prime, picking up the pieces after
the Garushta Disaster, the Aldebaran Treaty, the Borg ship at Kappa Cephi, the Kelvan negotiations, and, of course, what's been dubbed The Firestorm in popular accounts you've probably seen.
       I guess I didn't see these things as actions with potential for
decoration when I was involved.  You just do what has to be done, and if
someone else notices, that's good, too. 

===__-+-       *--=/___

       The Firestorm -- by far my most challenging mission to date --
happening during my initial tenure as First Officer, aboard the USS
Intrepid in 2368.
       I'm not sure if they ever figured out why the Firestorm extruded from
subspace into normal space-time, but the wall of flame, light years thick
and parsecs across, tore along the Persius Arm at warp nine-plus,
exploding star systems like popcorn as it went.  Luckily, the first
several contained no intelligent species. 
       Science teams on six starships collaborated to develop a plan -- to
force a stellar explosion in an uninhabited system in an attempt to blow
out the Firestorm.  Intrepid was the only ship with even a marginal chance
of being at the right place at the right time.  We made a desperate dash
across two dozen star systems, ending up preventing disaster by the skin
of our teeth and saving twelve billion lives.  I've dreamed about those
final minutes more than once, and even now I can see it with crystal
clarity. 
       Most of the crew was unconscious, and the ship was almost tearing
itself apart from the stress as the indicators crawled deeper and deeper
into the red.  No Excelsior Class ship had ever traveled that far beyond
design speed for that long, and we'd been skirting barely ahead of the
Firestorm for hours.
       Only three of us were still functioning on the bridge, Ensign
Hernandez, Lieutenant Exwys and myself, as we dove into that red dwarf
star system.  We had only one chance to fire the torpedo. It HAD to be
precisely on target to dissipate the storm, and then we had to be
positioned exactly right in order for the recoil to throw us free. Between
the bad air, the stress and the heat, only adrenalin was keeping us going. 
       I was on helm, using every ounce of my skill to maneuver the ship
around the incandescent fingers of subspace that came relentlessly in our
wake.  Exwys was almost in a trance as its tendril-like fingers flew
across the engineering console, making the minute adjustments needed to
forestall warp core breach, prevent automatic shutdown, and keep the rear shields active.  Hernandez had to load the torpedo manually, then crawl the access ladders back to the bridge to program it.  We required
millisecond accuracy in order for the torpedo to impact closely enough on
target to trigger the flameout. 
       We succeeded, of course, leaving the Intrepid tumbling away from the cinder of the star, dead in space.  We patched her together enough to
revive our people and limp to meet the other Starfleet ships.  Eventually
the crew was recalled to Earth where Hernandez, Exwys and I were decorated before the full Federation Council. 

===__-+-       *--=/___

       I was appointed First Officer of the USS Crazy Horse in 2369, as part
of the complete turnover of the Crazy Horse crew that was done after the
ship's refit that year.  Why take another First Officer's assignment when
I could have had my pick of captaining any available starship?
       Unfortunately the selection of starships was pretty sparse. 
Starfleet was still recovering from the loss of thirty-nine ships at Wolf
359, which left an unusually high number of command-eligible officers
overdue for assignment.  Available ships were the USS Carlton, maximum
speed warp 3, the USS Cochrane, which was assigned to routes that kept it exclusively in the Centauri systems, or the USS Newcastle that ran a seven month route servicing dilithium cracking stations.  I wasn't thrilled. 
       In fact, I positively moped around for a week, and procrastinated in
making my decision.  In an effort to lift my spirits, I beamed back to the
family home, grabbed my camping gear, and hiked to a favorite mountain-top camping spot.  It's a wonderful place to contemplate the big picture, with the dome of stars overhead and no ambient light to get in the way.  The sun was low in the west as I set up camp on the familiar site.  By the time the orange glow left the sky, I'd cut wood, eaten and was relaxing in
the flickering light of burning aspen and ponderosa pine. Were there any
options I hadn't considered?  What resources did I have to help me decide
my best course? 
       One potential advisor came to mind, and I reached for my Tricorder. 
(It's not a Starfleet issue item, but rather one I picked up on my own and
rebuilt to combine recorder, projector, communicator, and sensor
functions.)  I knew from experience that my campsite on the summit of
Silver Peak was in easy range of the Central Hills Server.  In a moment I
was linked back to my main personal console in the Visiting Officer's
Quarters at Starfleet, San Francisco.
       "Ready," it replied with its pleasant contralto.
       "Locate Moira," I instructed.  It knew I meant the Starfleet Officer
who was officially designated Commander NFN NMI Moira II. This time it
took almost five seconds before it replied. 
       "Commander Moira is at Utopia Planetia, Mars orbit." 
       "Connect us."
       The connect request packet flashed from San Francisco to Starbase One in Earth orbit, onto the subspace trunk to Marstation, and from there was quickly routed to whatever memory domain Moira was currently inhabiting.
       "Michael -- how nice of you to call," she said as her smiling
hologram appeared, projected from the tricorder.  "Be sure to zip up your
sleeping bag tonight.  It'll be below freezing on this mountain top."  The
connect packet had told her where I was, and she apparently accessed
weather data during the first half of the sentence.  In fact, the next
thing I knew her hologram was pulling on a pseudodown jacket. 
       "I'll stay warm, Moira.  How have you been?"       
       She chuckled at my ritually polite question, and gave an
exaggerated answer, containing what sounded like a hint of sarcasm, but I
knew wasn't really.  "I've been just FINE, Michael.  And how about YOU?" 
       She continued more seriously without waiting for an answer, as her
hologram sat down on a convenient log.  "That was quite a ride you had on Intrepid." 
       I told her about my dilemma, and asked her advice.  
       "I don't have to search any data files for a suggestion," she said,
brushing a strand of hologram hair back behind a hologram ear.  "My ship,
the Crazy Horse."  A view of the ship in orbit around Mars appeared,
floating in the night beside her. "You were on board us briefly at Wolf 359."
       "I remember, and you already have a Captain," I pointed out, tossing another hunk of aspen onto the fire, and stirring the coals.  "You'd better believe I checked the status of all the Galaxy Class ships."
       "Remember," she admonished, waving away the image of the ship with a flick of a finger.  "I've seen the Captain's orders.  They contain
additional duties which will keep the Captain off the ship most of the time,
and too busy for routine Captain's functions the rest of the time, I
think.  I can't really say more than that, for security reasons, but
whoever ends up being the First Officer will effectively BE the Captain
about 99% of the time--and I happen to know that the Director of
Operations hasn't figured out yet WHO she wants to assign." 
       "Sounds like a job YOU should be applying for," I suggested
reflectively.  "I certainly wouldn't try to compete with you."  
       "I don't really want to be First Officer, Michael," she replied,
making me think back to some of our Academy discussions about plans and
goals.  She pulled a sheet of paper from behind her back and held it
up, although nothing goes on hard-copy paper anymore.
       "If you'll give me your current signature code, I'll transmit
immediately, and the D.O. will have it first thing in the morning."   
       "A Galaxy Class Starship, huh?" I mused.  "If we'd had one of
those, outrunning the Firestorm would have been no big problem."
       "I'm supervising a refit now," Moira explained, and smiled.  "I know
you well enough to know that you'll love the ship, plus you'll get to work
with ME every day. And there's a nice redhead on board you should get to
know.  The entire crew will be new when we launch next month.  Some are already assigned, but I've been waiting on a First Officer before
finalizing most of the personnel actions.  I'm changing the color scheme
in the corridors, too.  It's horrid . . . "  She wrinkled her nose. 
       Even the name of the ship attracted me.  I'd visited the giant
mountain carving of the Lakota leader named Tashunka Witco, usually translated as Crazy Horse, not so many miles away from my campsite, with its sprawling cultural and educational centers.  It was an appealing tie to my home ground, and I gave Moira my signature code. 
       "I'm glad Michael.  The application's now in the D.O.'s in-directory. 
Fingers crossed, and all that, but I think you'll get the nod.  Now, I
think you should get some sleep." 
       I guess the bill IS stacking up, isn't it?" I asked as I stretched,
wondering what the cost per minute to Mars was.
       "I'm the computer, dear," she said, standing up.  "This call's free.
Sleep well . . . "  She disappeared as the circuit from Mars closed,
leaving me alone with the stars and the ruddy glow of the cracking fire.
       The next morning I cleaned up the campsite, hiked back down the
mountain, and closed the house for another extended absence.  When I
reached San Francisco, I found orders to the Crazy Horse waiting for me. 

===__-+-       *--=/___

       The orders gave me a full week to report for duty, but two days later
I was in a shuttle pod approaching the spacedock, which perched on top of the saucer section of the Crazy Horse like a giant spider.  The ship
almost sparkled following its recent baryon sweep, but the nacelles were
completely dark.  I knew that she was drawing power from the spacedock,
but it always makes me nervous to see a ship with its engines cold.
       We were coming in from high orbit, meaning the ship was framed
against the disk of Mars, the planet's ruddy soil punctuated by the
greenish evidence of the terraformer's skill.  The thought of gardens on
Mars made me think of Martin Boothby, the venerable Starfleet Academy
Chief Grounds-keeper, who was born on the Red Planet. 
       I'd told Moira that I didn't want much ceremony when I came aboard.  
       "That's good," she'd replied, dryly.  "We don't have many people on board yet, and they're all busy." 
       So I asked the shuttle-pod pilot to dock at the spacedock, rather
than the Crazy Horse herself, and I entered the ship through the portside
gangway to deck eleven, carrying my duffel case over one shoulder.  My
other possessions would follow in a day or so. 
       I found the airlock itself half closed and the way blocked by parts
strewn all across the corridor.  Sitting in the middle of it all, facing
away from me, was a woman--apparently a technician, although for some
reason wearing a blue jumpsuit.  She was so absorbed in her work that she
didn't hear me walk up.
       "Dammit!" she cursed, explosively, and threw down a test probe.  "I
don't know why _I'm_ supposed to know how this thing works. That's
Engineering's job.  But NOOOooo.  They're too busy cleaning cobwebs out of the warp core or something, and 'we've all got to pitch in.' Think,
Charlotte, THINK."  She picked up an oversized PADD and peered at the
schematic it displayed, tracing part of it with her little finger. I'd
stepped up close enough to look over her shoulder at the PADD and the
component she was fussing with.  "Permission to come aboard," I requested, hesitantly.
       Charlotte half turned her head--enough maybe to see a pant leg of my jumpsuit, but not my rank. I could see that she was a Lieutenant
Commander.  "Granted.  Just don't step on anything," she answered
absently.  I couldn't quite place her accent, but she pronounced the word
"on" almost as if she were saying "owen." 
       "What's the problem, Commander?" I asked.   
       "Oh, this thing--the airlock latch controller -- is sending a trouble
message and the Second Officer wants to make sure it doesn't pop open
accidentally when someone's walking by.  But it hasn't failed yet, and I'm
having problems finding what's wrong."
       "Hum," I mused, wondering if she was ever going to notice my rank.       
       "I'm a Stellar Cartographer," she continued, "not an Engineer.  The
probe doesn't show ANY problems." 
       "May I make a suggestion?" I offered.
       "Please do," she said, running a hand through her shoulder length red
hair.
       "Well, when I served in Engineering back on the USS Berlin, the Chief
Engineer always told us, 'if it's got isolinear chips in it, always test
it under power.' Try putting it back in the circuit and THEN test probe
it." 
       She did as I suggested, and one of the chip icons in the PADD display
immediately flashed red.
       "I'll be," she exclaimed.  "I don't remember THAT from 
Engineering 101. Thanks!"  She turned her head and finally looked at me
for the first time.  "Ohmygawd, Commander Marek . . . " she sputtered and
started to get to her feet.   
       "As you were," I interjected with a chuckle, and extended my arm to
shake hands.  "Pleased to meet you, Commander . . . "       
       "Jerscheid, Sir.  Charlotte Jerscheid."
       "Chief of Sciences?" I said, remembering having seen her personnel
file.  
       "Yes, Sir.  Repair work's not my specialty."
       "Understood.  I hate it myself," I smiled.  "Would you happen to know
where my quarters are?"   
       "First Officer's quarters are Deck 5, starboard.  There's a turbolift
just around the curve," she said, pointing down the corridor." 
       "I'll see you around, Commander," I said with a grin, and squeezed
through the airlock. 

===__-+-       *--=/___

       As soon as I actually stepped into the ship's corridor, the presence
of my communicator attracted Moira's attention.   
       "Michael, welcome aboard -- Sir."  Whenever she's in social mode,
Moira's voice always she sounds to me like she's telling a joke.  From
anyone else the way she stressed "sir" could have sounded like sarcasm. 
From her, I knew it just meant she was happy.
       "Good morning, Moira," I replied crisply as I stepped into the
turbolift.
       "Deck five please."  The doors whooshed shut and the turbolift car
moved smoothly upward. 
       "The refit work is precisely on schedule, except one pesky 
airlock ..." 
       "That's been taken care of," I advised.  "It should be coming back on
line at any moment."
       "Indeed?  You don't waste any time taking over, do you?"  The
turbolift doors opened.  "Fourth cabin on your left," Moira said. 
       "You picked these colors, huh?" I asked as I made my way to my
quarters.
       "Yes.  They're very stylish."
       "I've, uh, never seen corridors on a starship these colors before."
       "I'm SETTING the style."
       
       My quarters were large compared to what I was used to on 
Intrepid, but I liked them, with their spacious sitting room, bedroom and
bath on one side and personal office on the other. 
       I didn't take much time looking them over.  I dropped my duffel case
on the bed, plugged my data console into the room's system, and entered a lock code on the door. 
       The next stop, of course, was the Crazy Horse bridge.  I'd never made it to the Crazy Horse bridge when I was on board her, but I'd worked briefly on the bridge of the Galaxy Class Yamato at Beta Reticuli IX, so I was prepared for the sheer size of it, but it was impressive anyway.  I arrived on the bridge from the aft turbolift. 
       In spacedock, there's rarely a full complement of staff on the
bridge.  One science station was occupied by an ensign who acknowledged me with a crisp "Good morning, Sir," as the customs and courtesies required. Moira had selected a skeleton crew to man the ship in spacedock, and I knew that they were all tops in their fields. 
       The duty officer was seated in the Captain's seat, 
concentrating on a PADD that was chirping what sounded like Romulan.  
As she stood and turned to greet me, I automatically registered her rank
as Lieutenant.  She was wearing the rarely seen variation of the standard
jumpsuit that has baggy sleeves. 
       "Welcome aboard, Sir," she said with a smile, and introduced
herself.  "Neal, Samantha, J.L.  The, uh, Captain's not on board at the
moment.  I've only been here a couple of days myself . . . "
       "I've been advised that the Captain's elsewhere, Lieutenant," I
said in a voice that I hoped conveyed that I knew exactly where the
Captain was, which I didn't.  
       I walked slowly to the right, surveying the Tactical station
controls, then walked down the ramp on the far side of the bridge from
where I'd entered.  The ship's commissioning plaque was located on the
bulkhead beside the turbolift leading to the Battle Bridge.  I smiled at
the ship's motto, then paused briefly at the Con and Ops stations.  The
controls weren't exactly what I was used to, but the quick inspection
convinced me I'd be able to configure and use them if I needed to. 
       "The equipment all has the latest upgrades, Sir," offered Neal,
who stepped away from the center seat as I faced her.  I held my palm up
to her.       
       "No, no, Lieutenant.  The bridge is yours.  I'm just taking a
quick tour.  What's your duty assignment?" I asked.
       "Conditional Ops staff, pending your arrival, Sir."   
       "Are you requesting permanent assignment with us?"       
       "Uh, yes, Sir.  But I shouldn't really be talking with you about
personal requests on duty," she said. 
       "Don't worry, Lieutenant," I reassured her.  "I asked the question. 
I believe my office is back there?"  I pointed aft. 
       "Yes, Sir.  On the left."       
       "Carry on, Lieutenant," I said, as I walked back up the ramp.   
       
       The First Officer's office is located behind the main bridge, off the
corridor leading to the observation lounge.  I found it to be more like a
real office than the Captain's Ready Room I'd seen on the Yamato, but it
does have floor space for side chairs, and a small meeting table in 
addition to the desk-console.
       The console itself had been programmed automatically by my personal data console in my quarters.  I took several minutes to enter my
recognition and security codes, which always has to be among the first
tasks on a new ship assignment.  In doing this, I was working with the
ship's computer, but "below" Moira's normal level of conscious
functioning.  She CAN control any level of computer/isolinear chip
functions on the ship, but most of the equipment runs without her
attention, most of the time.
       She must have been monitoring, however, because as I entered the last command code, the door chirped.  
       "Enter," I answered, and the door swushed open to reveal Moira's
simulacrum, in regulation uniform.  I indicated a chair.   
       "The ship looks wonderful, Moira," I complimented, with a smile.  
       "Thank you," she said, a touch smugly. "There are a few details to
finish, but we could launch today if we needed to.  The Captain's orders
are to handle the rest of the crew selections ourselves."
       We spent a couple of hours working, and finished with all of the
remaining department head positions filled--Moira, who can do many things
at once, notified each choice in person as we worked, and referred our
screening of other officer and crew applications to the new department
heads.  
       The people already on board had uniformly outstanding records, and we had no objections to permanent assignments for any of them.  Neal, by the way had requested a double shift assignment, in both Ops and Xenobiology. 
       "That kind of duty's pretty rare except for midshipmen on summer
cruise," I told Moira, feeling reservations about the idea.  
       "Apparently not for her, Michael," she said.  "Her file says she's
stood double shifts on every one of her starship assignments. Her most
recent commanding officer's recommendation says she doesn't need much
sleep, and if she doesn't work double shifts her efficiency ratings
actually go down.  She was the first cadet ever to receive a dual
commission in Command and Xenology."   
       We signed off on Bravo Shift Ops for Neal.  We also gave her full research status in Xenology, but did not actually assign her required duty hours in Xenology.  (I prefer the "alpha, bravo, charlie" designations, by the way, for the three shifts of the day, rather than the more archaic alpha, beta, gamma designations.) 
       After lunch, I unpacked my duffel case, then went door to door
meeting crew already on board the Crazy Horse. 

===__-+-       *--=/___

       Morning:  0500.   
       I wasn't exactly asleep, but I wasn't completely awake either when
the bedside communicator twittered for me. 
       "Marek," I replied, trying to sound totally alert for the Officer of
the Night, whoever that might be.       
       "Yeoman Cuffe, on bridge duty, Sir.  You have a Priority One message
from Starfleet, Earth."  An emergency message at oh-five hundred?  Now
what? 
       "I'll take it here, Yeoman," I said, rolling out of bed, grabbing a
robe and hurrying to my desk.  The Starfleet Comm logo was already
illuminating the darkened room, and when I keyed the control, the Director
of Operations herself appeared. 
       "Commander Marek.  I have emergency orders for you to launch the
Crazy Horse on a rescue mission.  I know you're short staffed, and your
Captain's not on board, but it can't be helped.  You're the only available
ship in the quadrant." (I've heard *that* one before.)  
       "Yes, Sir," I acknowledged.  "Standby, please."  The D.O. nodded
her assent.
       "Commander Moira," I said into the air.  The display screen neatly
divided and Moira appeared beside the Admiral. 
       "Yes, Sir," she said crisply, to impress the D.O. 
       "I need all personnel on duty in ten minutes.  We're taking the ship
out as soon as Engineering can get the engines powered up.  Ranking
officers in all departments in the briefing room in 20, ready to report. 
This is not a drill." 
       "Aye, Sir," she said, and winked out.
       "Alright, Admiral, what's up?"   
       "Your destination is Gamma Arietis.  Investigate the disappearance of
the diplomatic ship USS Henry Clay." 
       "The Henry Clay," I mused.  "Isn't that The Commissioner's ship?"  
"Exactly," she affirmed.  "The Commissioner's safety is critical to peace
in a half dozen systems."
       "What was he doing at Gamma Arietis?" I asked, somewhat bemused. 
Gamma Arietis, also known by the common name Mesarthim, is a massive star with a white dwarf companion.  Typical of many binary star systems, Gamma Arietis has no intelligent life, and has not been colonized by any
Federation worlds. 
       "A summit meeting," she answered.  "It's neutral ground." The Admiral
shifted her weight, nonverbally signaling that she didn't have time for
chit-chat.  "I'm transmitting details of the Commissioner's assignment,
and the ship's log entry file.  The Clay failed to check in two hours ago. 
Find the ship and insure the Commissioner's safety.  Starfleet out." 
       "Yes, Sir," I acknowledged, as the Starfleet logo reappeared on the
display.
       "Moira, audio only," I called as I splashed some water on my face at
the sink.
       "I'm here, Michael," she answered.
       "Status report." 
       "I've got everything done *I* can do, but one injector is still
unshipped, and both EPS power taps are disassembled.  Commander Brown is on his way to Engineering now.  He thinks we can move out on impulse in under an hour, and we should have warp drive by the time we clear the
system.
       "We've got a nine-person engineering crew on board," she continued,
"enough bridge crew for one full shift, and a few miscellaneous scientists
and security personnel." 
       "Huh," I grunted as I depilated.  "Have we received the Admiral's
briefing files?"  
       "Yes, addressed to you personally," she sniffed.  The personal
address prevents her from inspecting them--in theory at least. "Open the
files, Moira.  Synopsize." It took her less than a second to assimilate
and organize the information. 
       "The High Commissioner is arbitrating a dispute between Procyon
Colonies One and Two.  He has been no more than mildly successful in
shuttle diplomacy, and has called representatives of the two parties for
an in-person negotiating session at Gamma Arietis, scheduled for three
days from now.  Neither side is considered hostile.  All of the log
entries from the Clay are strictly routine, indicating that The
Commissioner arrived at Gamma Arietis early to allow time for planning and
relaxation.  At maximum warp, Gamma Arietis is 49.9 hours away."  (This
was before the pesky warp five speed limit, of course.) 
       I had my uniform on by then, and was making my way to the bridge.
The corridors were mostly deserted, except for the occasional ensign or
lieutenant hustling to get to a duty station.
       "Brown to Marek," chirped my communicator as I boarded the turbolift. 
      "I've got my people divided into three crews -- one each on the power taps, and the other's going through the prestart checklist on the impulse engines.  They'll have it up and tested in a half hour or so.  As soon as they're done they'll head for the injector and should have it back
together with about an hour of work.  I'm monitoring all of the crews from
here." 
       "Good," I commended. "Do you have enough people?"       
       "For now," he answered.  "More than three people on these teams
and they'd get in each other's way.  But we'll need help if you're going
to take us into action."  
       "Understood," I said.  "Hopefully it will be a milk run, but we'll
get you as many people as we can.  Meanwhile, stay on it down there.  We can survive the staff meeting without you."   
       "I like the way you think," he said. "Engineering out."  The
turbolift doors schwooshed open onto the bridge.  Neal was at Ops, intent
on the controls in front of her.  Ensigns I didn't recognize were at the
Helm and Tactical stations.  I just had time for a couple of swallows of
Orion Blend coffee in my office before meeting time. 
       The staff meeting got down to business quickly, with Moira
briefing what little we knew about the mission.  I passed on the Chief
Engineer's time estimates, then we went around the table for departmental
status reports.
       Lt. Holman, acting head of Security, announced that weapons were
ready.  Neither of the two ensigns under him had combat training, but both were familiar with the bridge tactical station.  Holman said he planned to be on duty himself when we entered the Gamma Arietis system. 
       Commander Jerscheid reported a skeleton crew in the Science
Department.  Before I had a chance to suggest it, she recommended
reassigning them to Engineering for the duration.  Several, she pointed
out, had specialties that would be compatible with the routine monitoring
functions of Engineering, to allow the regular engineering staff to be
free for trouble shooting and emergency work.  She said she'd staff
Science Station I on the bridge as needed. 
       Lt. Neal, reporting for Ops, announced that all systems other than
engines were ready for launch, and we briefly discussed several details
relating to working with a short staff. 
       "Good work, people," I complimented, ready to wrap things up,
since I like short staff meetings.  "We don't know whether we're looking
at hostile action or equipment malfunctions in the disappearance of the
Clay, but we've got to be prepared for the worst."  I looked at Moira. 
       "Program a full combat drill for 0900, and another for 1900
tonight.  We've got two days to be ready to work as a team under
pressure."  The others present nodded their heads in agreement. 
       "Anything else?" I asked, looking briefly at each of them. No one
spoke up. "Good," I said with a grin, as I stood up.  "Let's rock and
roll."  

===__-+-       *--=/___

       Taking a ship out of spacedock is always a powerful moment for me. 
The feel of the ship as it switches to internal power, uncouples from
spacedock support, floats free and then moves under its own power creates a sense of gathering strength and pent up energy.  Crazy Horse moved to a safe distance on thrusters, then jumped to impulse speed--slow enough, maybe, but within seconds we were moving faster than any natural object could, other than subatomic particles. 
       The ship felt good as we made the transition to warp drive a short
time later, and worked our way up through the range of warp speeds.  Since the engines were newly refitted, Engineering required checkout and
calibration time.  We spent an hour at warp 4 and another hour at warp 7
before taking the ship above warp 9.  Even at that unimaginable pace,
however, the rumble of the engines remained muted as the ship took the
pace easily. 
       The 0900 drill was not quite as smooth, however, giving us a few
dicey moments.  Moira programmed a scenario of two Romulan warbirds, which decloaked unexpectedly early, at 0854, all firing full force.  Evasive
maneuvers gave us a few seconds of breathing room, but left us with two
warbirds in close pursuit.  Both ships fired continuously, and I was
pleased to see how the three weapons officers figured out how to back each other up.  
       Coordination between Ops and Con was shaky to begin with, but
improved steadily as the seconds ticked by.  The combined superior
firepower of the other ships, however, was draining our rear shields
faster than we could erode their forward shields.   
       "Estimate 90 seconds before rear shield collapse," reported
Holman, "if we can evade them that long. Diverting all power to shields
except warp drive, weapons and minimal life support." 
       The pressure was on me now, as commander of the bridge, to pull our fat out of the fire.  The command monitor on the arm of my chair showed no likely prospects--no convenient nebulas, planets or other objects to use as distractions.  The helmsman, a young woman whose name I hadn't caught, was doing a good job of dodging us this way and that, while not letting us be maneuvered into a corner.  It was, however, just stalling.  The two warbirds were chasing us in tight formation, and we were barely keeping ahead of them.  It was almost like the ancient aircraft fighter engagements we'd studied at the Academy.
       Hum.  That struck a chord. 
       "All hands," I barked.  "Stand by for radical maneuvering.  Inertial
compensators at emergency power.  Viewscreen, forward.  Tactical, *triple* lock phasers.  I don't want to lose Targeting Solution on those ships no matter what we do.  And preprogram to fire all weapons on my command." 
       "Yes, Sir," answered Holman, clearly mystified, as he keyed in the
commands on his console.  He didn't think there would be any doubt where
the Romulans would be for the foreseeable future.  The other crew members on the bridge who weren't preoccupied by the Romulans were staring at me quizzically.  
       "Helm," I continued, "stand by to execute a Yeager Loop."
       "Excuse me, Sir?" asked the dumbfounded Ensign. 
       "A *Yeager Loop*," I repeated forcefully, but not quite shouting.
"A 360 degree backflip.  I want us point blank on their tails."
       A Yeager Loop with a bare minimum diameter, done at warp 9+, takes
almost no time.  The inertial compensators screamed as we swung around,
and we all felt the momentary tug toward the deck, but a fraction of a
second later we were chasing the Romulans, rather than them chasing us. 
       "Fire," I ordered, and incandescence shot out from the phaser strip
on the saucer, dancing across the two enemy starships.  An instant later
both Romulan ships exploded.  They were very satisfactory explosions, too.  Several people in the bridge shouted things like "Yes," "Got'em," and
"Zowie."
       "Reduce speed," I said, with forced calm.  "Damage control report
from all decks.  Stand down from Red Alert." 
       "End Scenario.  Congratulations," said Moira's smiling hologram,
appearing from the turbolift, as if she'd just stepped onto the bridge.
       "Good work, everybody," I added.  "Let's have debriefing in one
hour."
       "Excuse me, Sir," spoke up an ensign in a blue jumpsuit.  "I saw what
just happened, but . . . I don't understand how we destroyed the
Romulans." 
       I smiled.  There's no such thing as a stupid question, when it comes
to battle tactics, at least.  "Someone care to explain?" I asked, looking
around the bridge. 
       "It's simple, Ensign," answered Commander Jerscheid, from her seat at the science station.  "The warbirds were concentrating all of their power on their FORWARD shields, to protect them from our phasers, just like we had all of OUR power in our rear shields, to protect us from THEM." 
       "So, when we got behind them," the ensign said, reasoning out loud,
"there weren't ANY shields between us." 
       "As far as they were concerned," explained Neal, "we virtually
disappeared from in front of them, and reappeared behind them.  It was a
gamble that they couldn't track us fast enough to react." 
       "I've never heard of doing that kind of maneuvering with a
starship," the blue suit said, with admiration in his voice.
I shrugged.  
       "Anything other than a Galaxy Class ship probably couldn't
take the strain.  I spent a large part of the last three days studying the
specs of the Crazy Horse.  Plus, I've done a lot of stunt flying in small
ships.  It all seemed to fit together just right."
       "Yes, Sir," he smiled, and turned back to his console. 

===__-+-       *--=/___

       We made progress in our succeeding drills, and I was happy at the
kind of teamwork the crew displayed with only two days of working
together.  In a way, however, we arrived at the Gamma Arietis system all
too soon.  We were all still adapting to the new ship, with its different
control panels and capabilities, and to the new people we were associating
with.  Two days is not a satisfactory shake-down period.
       Moira took the entire watch the night before we arrived, so the full
crew would be rested and ready for peak efficiency.  Most of the rest of
the crew gathered in Roddenberry's--the ship's 10-forward lounge--during
the early evening.  Ensign Pat Szalapski, Maitre d' in Training, was kept
quite busy supplying the tables with synthehol.
       At 0700 I was in my office, for one last review of the specs of the
USS Henry Clay, and The Commissioner's brilliant, if somewhat notorious
career.  At 0917 we detected the outermost fringes of the Gamma Arietis
system's Oort cloud, and I called Yellow Alert.
       "Scanning for the Clay," reported Neal, as she triggered
non-conscious levels of the computer to probe the system.  "We have the
Clay'stransponder--at the L1 Lagrange point of the dwarf star."  
       "Helm, vector to the Lagrange point," instructed Moira, from her seat
beside mine.  "Status of the Clay?" 
       Charlotte, as per regulations, had taken over the scanning duties at
the science station, leaving Ops free for other routine functions,
including coordinating with Con to determine when we needed to drop out of warp. 
       "The main engines of the Clay are completely powered down,"  reported Charlotte. "Auxiliaries are functioning.  I read no life signs, but that isn't conclusive at this distance.  Hum. There is evidence of high energy discharges in the area--likely the result of phaser fire." 
       "Keep us posted if you find anything else significant," Moira said,
and Charlotte nodded understanding. 
       "Sir," spoke up Holman.  "There are lots of eddy currents in the
area.  An unknown number of ships have been doing extensive maneuvering, but I'm having trouble sorting it all out." 
       "Allow me," offered Moira, standing and walking up the ramp to
Tactical.  Of course, she didn't need to be at the weapons station to
access the tactical data, but she makes it a point for her simulacrum to
be as realistic as possible. 
       "Oh, bother . . . " she mused, as she processed billions of details
of entropy, such as ion densities, resonant frequencies and time/distance
scattering.  "Two ships, besides the Clay. They entered the system in
formation on a course of . . . 113 Mark 48.  *Not* the direction from
which ships from Procyon would arrive.  The ships rendezvoused with the
Clay and kept station with it for some time--probably a couple of hours. 
Then all three ships did extensive maneuvering, concurrent with the phaser discharges.  Both of the unknown ships departed the system on a reciprocal course to the one on which they arrived.  I can't determine anything else about the design or origins of the ships," she concluded with a grimace. 
       The Clay was on the view screen now, as we made our final approach. We could see black stains from phaser fire that had broken through her shields. 
       "Any life signs yet?" I asked. 
       "No, Sir," replied Charlotte, shaking her head.  "The crew is
definitely not on board.  No evidence of bodies.  No internal ionization
from hand phaser discharges, either, so I doubt they've been
disintegrated.  Standard crew complement for the Clay is only 24, plus The
Commissioner, of course." 
       "Moira," I said.  "Use the prefix code.  Download the Clay's logs and
records.  Use internal scanners to survey all decks and if they confirm no
crew on board, program her computer to take the ship back to Earth." Moira nodded, and gazed at the Clay on the viewscreen as she opened the high speed data link.
       I would have liked to order a detailed forensic study of the Clay,
but the evidence was pointing to The Commissioner's being kidnapped.  That suggested immediate pursuit, and I didn't have crew to spare to leave behind in the Clay. 
       "Helm," I continued.  "Lay in a course, 247 Mark 314, and standby to
engage." 
       "Ready, Sir," said the Ensign at the Con, after touching a
few contacts on her control panel. 
       "What's on that heading?" I asked, as I waited for Moira to finish
her work.
       "Not much, Sir," the Ensign answered. "Thirty-six light years to the
first star system on this heading.  System H-17.  It's uninhabited. 
Beyond that, another fourteen light years," she shrugged, "Mira, also
uninhabited . . . " 
       "However," said Moira from the upper level of the bridge, "the Mira
system HAS been extensively developed.  Large portions of the eight
planets in the system were once mined by automatic refineries. H-17 is a
brown dwarf with no planets.  It does have a large asteroid belt."
       "Good hiding places for mercenaries?" I asked nobody in particular,
scratching the back of my neck.  "Ops, find out if there are any Starfleet
ships between here and Mira.  If so, request their help in watching for
unidentified ships on this heading." 
       "Download complete," reported Moira.  "Confirm no humanoid life on
board the Clay." 
       "Any reason not to give chase?" I asked, and she shook her head no. 
       "Advise Starfleet that we will be following the suspect ships. 
Engage -- best speed," I ordered, and we leaped into warp. 

===__-+-       *--=/___

       That left most of the day as an anti-climax.  Commander Brown pushed the engines as much as he thought safe, and much of the time we were hovering between warp 9.5 and 9.7, with occasional slower periods. 
       I commanded the first watch, until 1500, but spent a fair amount of
it in my office.  Being so short staffed made the crew nervous to begin
with, and I didn't want them to think I was looking over their shoulders. 
Besides, there's not really much to do in the center seat when nothing's
happening.  My office wall screen was configured to monitor key ship's
functions, including an alarm if any ship appeared to sensors. 
       I had lunch by myself, catching up on some correspondence.  Liz was
making final plans before her transfer to her new shipyard management
assignment, and looking forward to being stationed at the same base as her husband.  Meanwhile her brother Jay was settling into his command
position.  Luke and Malcolm, at Starbase Montgomery, were embroiled in
administrative politics and coming up winners as usual.  Pamela was very
pleased by the art work for her latest book, "The Dubious Hills." 
       We held a short staff meeting at shift change.  Moira reviewed what
we knew about the situation. 
       "The Clay's logs indicate that they were hailed by two unknown ships
of radically differing designs," Moira said, "which took up station
keeping with them, and requested to send a delegation to meet with The
Commissioner.  The delegation beamed aboard and was introduced to The
Commissioner. The next thing the Captain knew, the delegation had beamed back to their own ship directly from The Commissioner's office, taking The Commissioner with them.  There are no further voice logs, however it is clear from various records that the Clay engaged the two ships.  Ultimately the Clay's shields failed, and the crew did no further
manipulation of any equipment.  I did a scan of all visual pickups
throughout the Clay, and it was derelict.
       "This delegation was a mixed bag--one male Klingon, one male Andorian and one female Deltan," she concluded.  
       Neal reported that our course continued to follow a locus of abnormal
gaseous density that indicated passage of a starship.  Charlotte said that
she and Moira had been trying to calculate how long since the ships we
were following had passed.
       "Any ship is going to give off at least some molecules of gas and
matter," she explained.  "As soon as the warp envelope leaves them behind, the molecules drop into normal space.  Interstellar space is so empty that a ship will leave a matter trail behind for several hours, at least. 
       "Making an educated guess of how much matter a typical ship will
leave behind, and computing that against the densities we're seeing, I
think we should pick the ships up around midnight.  That's *if* their
course and speed are unchanged.  It could take several hours after that to overtake them, since we may only have a slight speed advantage over them." 
       "Then we'll go on yellow alert again at the beginning of Charlie
shift," I said, and Moira sighed.  "Do you see a problem with that,
Commander?" I asked.
       "Not at all," she replied quickly.  "It's just--do we have to call
it 'Charlie' shift?  'Charlie?'"
       "It *is* the phonetic for the third letter of the alphabet," I
offered in justification, and she sighed again.  "I'll tell you what," I
said.  "When we have enough people on the crew for a third shift, we'll
talk about it.  For now we can just go back and forth between Alpha and
Bravo shifts. Ok?"
       "I guess it will have to do for now," she said, with half a smile,
and I KNEW she wouldn't forget. 

===__-+-       *--=/___

       "Scanning maximum range," Charlotte reported from the science
station.  Tension on the bridge was inching upward as the seconds ticked
by.  It was 2316 hours.  It was almost a replay of that morning; we were
all on duty in the same places for entry into the Gamma Arietis system.  I
was pacing.  I do that when I get impatient.  With my adrenalin where it
needed to be for an encounter, I couldn't quite sit and twiddle my thumbs. I carried a PADD that showed me key data, echoed from the command chair displays. 
       "Hit!" called out Charlotte abruptly. "Metal alloys, composites,
moving at warp speed . . . " 
       "On visual," I instructed, walking quickly up the ramp to the science
station.  Neal tapped the contact that brought the image to the screen.  At maximum enhancement the ships were still only a couple of smudges on the screen--no detail at all. 
       "Configuration is . . . indeterminate," added Charlotte. "Their
profiles are consistent with the ships that fought with the Clay. I can't
say more until we reduce range and get better resolution on our scans."
       "Commander, we're being hailed," spoke up Holman.  "It's tight
beam--I have visual."
       "On screen," I ordered, and stepped forward to stand between Con and Ops.  An Andorian appeared on the screen, and spoke in the placid manner of that species. 
       "I am W'rtell, representing the merchant ships Musamee and Kybriss. 
Why is a Starfleet ship scanning us with such high power at such extreme
range?" he asked, through the universal translator. 
       "I am Commander Michael Marek, of the Federation starship Crazy
Horse," I said, putting on my very best diplomatic expression, (and
remembering the Diplomacy 201 course at the Academy: "Avoid smiling at an alien species--most can't tell the difference between a smile and a
snarl"). 
       "We are investigating a battle that took place in the Gamma Arietis
system involving a Starfleet ship.  Our sensors suggest that your vessels
were in the Gamma Arietis system at approximately the time of the battle. 
Under article thirty seven of Federation commercial shipping regulations,
I request that your ships reduce speed, and provide us relevant sensor
logs." 
       W'rtell gave me a pained expression, and said, "A moment, Commander." Screen and audio went blank for almost a minute before the Andorian returned and agreed to comply with my request. 

===__-+-       *--=/___

       We were soon at station-keeping with the two ships, one drifting a
bit closer than the other.  Moira stared into space as the logs
downloaded, and then immediately shook her head.
       "The logs from both ships have been edited," she said to me. 
"Crudely.  The time codes have major gaps." 
       I pursed my lips.  "Is The Commissioner on board?" 
       "Possibly," she replied.  "There are several species on board the two
ships, including both humans and Barnumites.  One set of life signs
matches the approximate age, sex and mass of The Commissioner, on the
further of the two ships.  He and several other individuals are in what
appears to be the brig, unconscious.  Both ship's shields *are* still up." 
       "I don't have to be Betazoid to sense deception here, Sir," 
interjected Charlotte.  "W'rtell acts just like my son Erich did when I
caught him pouring cherry kool-aid down the . . ." 
       "Point taken, Commander," I interrupted, allowing myself a brief
smile before turning to face the screen again.  I walked to the command
chair and sat.  The evidence was still too shaky to make an accusation,
much less board and search the two ships.
       "Lieutenant Holman, assemble two away teams.  Brief them that, *if*
we transport them, they may have to occupy and hold engineering on each ship." He nodded affirmative. 
       "Engineering," I continued. 
       "Aye, Sir," replied Brown's filtered voice. 
       "Stand by to divert full power to tractor beams, and I may need to
use them through the shields." 
       "You don't ask for much, do you?" Brown grunted.  "Aye, Sir, we'll
make it work." 
       "Charlotte, how good are their shields?  Can we wedge a transporter
beam through them?"
       "Doubtful, Sir," she said after a glance at her displays.  "If they
were 20% weaker, maybe." 
       The players were all ready.  Time to draw the curtains.  "Open a
channel," I said.  Holman was still busy, so Neal opened it from her Ops
panel. 
       "Yes, Commander?  May we leave now?" asked W'rtell, when he appeared a moment later. 
       "You may not," I said.  "Your sensor logs have serious gaps in them,
indicating that your equipment is malfunctioning, or that the logs have
been deliberately falsified.  Due to the seriousness of the personnel
missing from the Gamma Arietis system, and your own risk from the possible malfunctions, I will need to send technicians to examine your equipment. Consider it," this time I smiled, "a safety inspection." 
       "I would like to play chess with you sometime, Commander," said
W'rtell after a pause, and the screen went blank.
       "They're powering up phasers," called Holman. 
       "Shields up!" I shouted.  "Lock tractors on BOTH ships."  The Crazy
Horse rocked from twin phaser blasts from the two ships. 
       "Shields holding, 100%" reported Holman.  "Their phasers aren't that
powerful.  Neither ship is answering our hails." 
       "Disable the near ship," I ordered, and Holman fired.  The phasers,
combined with our powerful tractor beam, rapidly drained the ship's
shields, and on the third phaser try Holman reported, "Direct hit on their
engineering deck . . . they're on battery power only.  Two boarding
parties ready.  Permission to join them, Sir?" 
       "Me, too, Sir," chimed in Neal.  "I have combat and xenology
experience . . . " 
       "Redirect all tractors to the other ship," I interrupted.
       "Jerscheid, take Ops.  Moira--Tactical.  Both of you," I pointed at
Holman and Neal, "keep your com channels open and provide continuous
reports."  They acknowledged and trotted to the turbolift, staggering
slightly as the Crazy Horse shuddered. 
       Have you ever walked a targ on a leash?  The targ seems to pull you
all different directions at once.  That's what was happening to the Crazy
Horse.  We were locked to the enemy by the tractor, but their engines were straining to swing us left and right, and try to shake us off long enough to jump into warp.  They were actually pulling us quite a distance from their disabled sister ship, but I knew that with her damage, she wouldn't be going anywhere.
       Some people have trouble understanding how a tractor beam can drain shield power.  The physics is pretty complicated, but our tractor beams had grabbed the other ships shields.  The grip was softer than if we'd been able to lock onto the structure of the ship directly, but with the
full power of our Galaxy Class engines behind the tractor, we still held
them securely.  Their shields struggled to throw off our tractor beams,
and expended vast amounts of energy, quickly draining their power. 
       "Their shield power is dropping," reported Moira, ticking off the
numbers every several seconds. "80% . . . 75% . . . 70% . . ." 
       "Stand by to transport both boarding parties to that ship's
engineering deck," I ordered.  "Phasers on stun." 
       ". . . 40% . . . 30% . . . shields failing."  
       "Energize!" 

===__-+-       *--=/___

       "Transport complete," reported Neal through the communicator.  We
could hear shouting, and phaser fire chittering in the background. 
"Encountering heavy resistance . . . "
       I hate staying on the bridge when an away team is in action.  It's an
occupational hazard when a First Officer ends up in command.  I paced the bridge, listening to the traffic between the boarding party members, and the sparse reports back to the Crazy Horse. 
       "The boarding party *is* making progress," reported Moira based on
her sensor scans.  "The ship's crew is falling back." 
       "The engineering deck is secure, Sir," reported Holman a few moments later.  "Taking engines off line now.  No serious injuries to our people." 
       "Good work, Lieutenant," I congratulated.  "Close and seal all
pressure doors--I don't want that ship's crew moving around without our
knowing about it."  I turned to Moira, who was gazing into the tactical
station sensor display.  "Status of The Commissioner?" 
       "The internees in the brig are regaining consciousness.  Pressure
doors have closed," she said.  "Other than that . . ."  She shrugged. 
       "Neal," I said on the still-open com circuit.  "Stand by for
intraship transport.  We're moving you to The Commissioner's location. 
Secure the scene." 
       "Ready, Sir," reported Neal.       
       "Transporter room . . . ?" 
       "Ready, Sir."       
       "Energize . . . and then beam *me* to the Commissioner's location," I
said.
       "Sir," spoke up Charlotte. "It is inappropriate for you to..." 
       "I'm a First Officer, not a Captain," I said.  "I can go on away
teams if I want.  Moira, you have the bridge.  Energize." 
       The transporter activated before I had to answer further protest.  I
drew my phaser (always worn during Red Alert) while in transit, but found
the darkened, smokey room in which I materialized well under control.  Two Crazy Horse officers were crouched, guarding the doorway, and two more backed them up.  Other away team members were using hand lights to do first aid checks of the crew of the Henry Clay. 
       "Area secure," reported Neal crisply, as she stepped up to me.  She
pointed to one cell.  "I believe that's our man, Sir."  I entered the cell
and knelt beside the groggy occupant.
       "Commissioner?" I asked, gently. 
       "Uh . . . Perhaps?" he answered guardedly. 
       "Commander Michael Marek, of the Federation starship Crazy Horse. 
I'd like to evacuate you back to my ship." 
       "That sounds like a good idea," he said, rolling to a sitting
position.  "Do you have any chocolate on board?" 

===__-+-       *--=/___

       So, that was my first mission on the Crazy Horse.  It turns out that
W'rtell's ship, the Musamee and the other ship, the Kybriss, were rival
traders who had jointly kidnapped The Commissioner to force him to
arbitrate a dispute between them.  You recall that their delegation, which
beamed onto the Clay to meet with The Commissioner, included a Deltan
woman.  The Commissioner was, uh, overcome, and presented no resistance to his kidnapping.  Later, when the entire crew of the Clay had been "taken into custody," to use W'rtell's term, they were kept electronically anesthetized.  I really don't think that any harm was intended against them, and The Commissioner declined to press charges. 
       We towed the Kybriss back to the disabled Musamee's position, and
found a Ferengi ship attempting to claim salvage rights, despite the
vigorous protests of the occupants.  The Commissioner was able to
negotiate a complicated three-way deal among the three ships which left
everyone happy, and we then hustled The Commissioner back to Gamma Arietis for his important previous engagement with the delegations from Procyon Colonies One and Two.
       The Crazy Horse made its way back to Mars, to be met by many
additional crew members, who have become close friends and companions.  But those are stories for another time.


Commander Michael Marek
First Officer 
USS Crazy Horse