STO: Fanfiction – Some Background on Flint

[-PLASMA]

#496

Episode 1 : A Pirate’s Life.

Flint, captain of his vessel, stares at the viewscreen, the reflections of the images trapped their reflected in his deep, Saurian eyes. He speaks into a hand held comm unit, “I want more units to section 3, I think they may be onto us.” Commander Jenkinson raises an eyebrow, looking back from his control console with confusion darkening her glance.

“Captain? I don’t understand the extra precaution?” Flint continues to scroll through the numeric data showing the vessels and their paths. He deigns not to answer as he gives a few last minute burst instructions, guiding his force into an optimal pattern to grab the cargo freighters trapped in their complex web.

“Eyes on the prize, Jenkinson. They’ve made 7 trips while I have been watching them, and they’ve been by the book on all of their vectors, but on trip 8 their is a change in their flight paths and patterns. Change does not spontaneously occur. They were tipped off, they saw something suspicious, someone got paranod in their command staff. Personally, I don’t care what the impetus for the change was, change is bad for business for us, and I want all vectors and variables accounted for on this operation.” Flint types a few numbers on his pad, and throws it to his tactical station, “Run these permutations, if they make it to warp, I want men on site to put them down when they get out to revector.”

The gruff man at the tactical station catches the pad out of the air with a swift motion, and grunts, “Aye sir.”

Flint moves his hands over a keyboard he draws up from the side of his chair, and frowns, “No comm chatter….” He glowers back at his conn station, “This can’t be right, there is always comm chatter in this section, check your bands again.” The tech at the controls rolls his shoulders, and goes back to the beginning to check all channels and frequencies.

The Tactical officer has a sharp intake of breath, “SIR, LOOK!” Flint rises from his chair in stark disbelief as a Federation armada comes out of warp on all vectors, firing as they fly inward on the locations of his forces. Flint takes a step towards the view screen, his eyes widened in horror as he watches the cargo freighters errupt with perregrine fighters that swarm his carefully laid plans.

Flint stands before his tactical screen, blinking as Jenkinson begins to maneuver the ship, trying to get them to safety. Energy fire swarms all of the ships in the vicininty, and crippling blows shatter sub system after sub system on his vessel, paralyzing its ability to run. Flint shakes himself from his disbelief, and moves to the tactical console, looking at readings and shaking his head in disbelief.

“Our intel was wrong, dead wrong. The task force wasn’t out of system on maneuvers, we’ve been played!” Flint growls as he pounds on the console, trying to find functioning sub systems. Blaring fleet com sat traffic floods the bridge, desperate calls and cries for instruction, those fleeing, and the Star Fleet task force demanding an immediate and unconditional surrender.

Flint calls to his conn officer, “To all forces, immediate retreat to theta base, begin dissolution of pirate band pending my return. Open sealed instructions for Order 94GF3, decript code 7. I’ll catch all of you on the flip side, its been a pleasure boys and girls. Once again, Order 94GF3, decript code is 7.” Flint shakes his head as he heavily sits in his chair, “My ship is gone, I’ll try and break a hole for you all to get out at Vector 3, Mark 0 – 0 – 2.” Pieces of the bridge blow out, and various crew are thrown from one side to the other under the onslaught of Federation concentrated weapons fire.

All over the fleet, crew are running from secure safes where stacks of sealed orders are held, and opening them to decript accordingly. As one they move along the vector that his monstrous flagship opens for them, burning a smoldering tunnel through the Federation line. One by one they wink out, reading their instructions. By the time the smoke begins to clear, and sense can be made of the chaos, the vast majority of his band has escapted and eluded capture. His Flagship deploys emergency escape vessels as its various over-powered systems begin to overload, and its destruction becomes imminent.

&&&&

Admiral Quinn scowls deeply at the report on his desk, “Damned sloppy…” He shakes his head, “We lost 8 vessels to dry dock in this operation, and we only managed to grab 80 viable prisoners, and none of their ships were taken intact??” The Captain rigidly standing at attention on the other side of his desk nods, and clears her throat.

“Yes sir, I’m afraid that is the case. However, we did manage to capture the pirate bands leader.” She smiles hopefully, and her smile swiftly turns down on its corners to a frown.

Admiral Quinn frowns deeply, “Captain Franjulie, are you aware of a transmission he sent out prior to his capture?” Captain Franjulie nods slowly, not comprehending his apparant anger. Admiral Quinn continues, “His band has gone to ground, fragmenting into cells which carried off all viable equipment from 6 pirate bases, four of which were known. We have set back our intellegence networks years in their efforts to infiltrate his band and contacts. Forgive me, if I am unhappy with how this shook out on your watch.” He sets his hand to his forehead, trying to reign in his temper.

“My apologies, Captain, this has not been a pleasant experience for me, on my end, either. I have Federation oversight asking for an explanation as to the cost of this project in relation to its final yield for results. And the results are just not going to balance out this equation, not one bit.” Admiral Quinn looks at the stacks and stacks of data files, shaking his head.

“This Bilovash, Franz Frederich Bilovash, where was he trained?” Captain Franjulie blinks, confused.

“Sir? You mean the pirate band leader, Flint?” Admiral Quinn nods, looking up and waiting. “As you well know sir, I have taken a personal interest in this pirate. He was trained on Sauria, in their special tactical command schools. He resigned under unusual circumstances, he, uhm, killed pirates, sir.”

Admiral Quinn nods, “This I know Captain, but you have been intimately invovled with this project for some time now, and I was hoping to get your personal input on this being.”

Captain Franjulie slowly nods, “Alright, uhm, if I have the right of this, from a combination of the files and questions posed to his known associates and rumors. I would say he is seriously wasted talent. His parents were killed in a drug cartel war when he was very young, and he found himself passed through the system after they found him some 2 years after his parents were slain and he had survived on the street.” The Captain pauses to collect her thoughts, “He grew up, consuming every book and training he could, and then joined the armed forces. He had a meteoric rise to command, and at every opprotunity has tried to bring his forces into conflict with those who traffic in slaves and or drugs. His violent approaches left several members of the Saurian Commandoes division … squeamish and uneasy.”

Admiral Quinn nods slowly, “I heard of some of that, something about scarification on those he releases?”

Captain Fruanjulie nods, “Yes sir, what he referred to as, and I quote, ‘an active, consistant, and constant reminder to offenders and offendees of the punishment for repeat offences.’ His M.O. was to give them an opprotunity to give up their ‘game’ and if he caught them at the same act again, he would scar them in a way that med tech cannot heal. He decorated his face with the same technology.”

Captain Franjulie thinks hard, pursing her lips, and then continues, “He, ah, left the armed services when he was brought up on charges for unnecesarily rough handling of prisoners. Slavers from the Orion Syndicate attempted to surrender to a local colony’s authorities rather than even face Flint’s battle group. Flint took it upon himself to insist that the local constabulry hand him over immediately for processing. High Saurian command was displeased with his side-stepping the chain of custody, especially since he executed 13 of them, and scarred another 8 out of that group. His methods are draconian, but under his watch there was a considerable drop in crime in that area.”

Admiral Quinn nods, and sighs, “I am in a rough position, this Flint character has made very few friends in that sector of space. His arms dealing efforts were mostly arming local populaces against Klingon aggression. Very infrequent were his strikes against the Federation. The Klingons are clamoring for his blood, they want us to extradite him.” The Admiral leands back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and then sitting up a bit straighter. He reaches across the table and grasps his glass of water, and drinks slowly, thinking. “I have half a mind to hand him over, but his initiative, and his training would be a terrible asset to waste.”

“Sir?”

Admiral Quinn, “I have been toying with a new initiative to give criminals a second chance, Captain. A program to replace desperately needed Command Staff. The war is pulling our resources thin, Captain, and I feel that Flint would be a good candidate to put through Star Fleet Acadamy, and see what he is capable of, what are your thoughts on the matter?”

“….” Captain Franjulie stands at ease, shakes her head, and then sits down. “Sir?” She blinks, clears her throat, looks around the room for a moment, and then leans forward to rest her head in her hand for a moment. “May I speak candidly, sir?”

Admiral Quinn, both eyebrows raised, nods, “You most certainly may, I need input on this case.”

“No, absolutely not, under no circumstances can you let this man loose on the Galaxy again. Sir. Do you realize what it took to put him down? Do you realize what resources it took to just slow down his operation? How many thousands of man hours went into just getting a little misinformation into his organization? His still active, fiercely loyal, CRIMINAL organization?” She runs a hand through her hair and takes a shaky breath. “He’s a monster, sir, and I don’t think we are capable of controling him.”

Admiral Quinn nods, and looks several decades older as he intones, “The war is not going well, Captain. We need more answers than we have, we need more assets than we can get. We are losing Captains faster than we can train them. We are losing valuable, irreplaceable personel out there every day. With the Klingons, the Borg, the Breen, the Udine, and all other takers that are circling the bloodied waters of the Alpha Quadrant, I am in need of answers, Captain.”

The Admiral continues, raising a hand to silence the immediate reaction from Captain Franjulie as she stands up angrily, “Listen, Captain. These are hard times we are in, and I need more trained personel than I have. I’ve looked over his career statistics, and I ask you, was he anything other than an exemplary officer who followed his orders to the letter, sometimes too much so?”

Captain Franjulie blinks, shakes her head, “He scars people in a way that can not be repaired with modern medicine. He routinely executes criminals in defiance of standard processing methods for the criminal code. Stepping beyond his mandate doesn’t begin to cover what he does.”

Admiral Quinn nods, “I appreciate your concerns, Captain, and I have entered them in my log. I am preparing a board of inquiry into this subject, I will be a primary member of it. We are weighing and measuring the gain we may get from handing him and his forces over to Klingon Justice. Or giving those who are willing a second chance by enrolling them in our experimental program in Star Fleet. I’ll be interviewing him personally after you leave.”

Captain Franjulie sighs heavily, and nods, “Alright. Thank you for your time, sir.” The Captain turns on her heel, and strides out of the office, shaking her head in wonderment. The Admiral’s words ringing in her head that the War is not going well. As she steps out of the office, she sees several security officers escorting Flint between them. His arms and waste and legs shackled by the crackling field of a maximum security harness. “Dark times we are in… Dark times…”

[-PLASMA]

#1346

Wooo, creative and well written back story, you’re some writer Flint 🙂

-Plas.

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