U.S.S. Coronado, NCC-97901

/||\ ---------------------------------------------
/ || \ UCIP Starfleet Command, Fifth Fleet
/ || \ U.S.S. Coronado, NCC-97901
.-/ || \-. Fleet Captain Tebrun Lora Kor, Commanding
./ || \. ---------------------------------------------
.-_-. || .-_-. Simulation Teaser
.-_ \||/ _-. -[ SD 240108.27 ]-

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1st Lieutenant Natalia Petrovna entered the Pitstop system to find it
buzzing with activity. She already knew that at some point, the Camelynian
Worldship Crystal Palace had moved into the system from its previous
location near Gateway. Pearl and her escorts were also based in this sytem,
conducting repairs on Odyssey and building subspace communications relays.
However, she was surprised to see that U.S.S. Gryphon and U.S.S. Fearless,
the latter still showing her combat damage from the Enigma system, had
beaten her shuttlecraft to Gateway. Gryphon had a subspace relay bouy in
tow and as the Lieutenant watched, the two Starfleet warships got underway
at warp, heading "south."

The warp flash had barely faded before she was contacted. "Coronado shuttle
1, state thy business," a formal male Camelynian voice said. Petrovna
looked up from the controls and noted that both Camelynian destroyers were
now escorting their mother ship.

"Coronado shuttle 1, arriving to pick up and ferry Spectre replacement," she
said, carefully enunciating each word to avoid confusing the Camlynian man.
Petrovna banked the type 12 shuttle, informally known on Coro as Teresa
toward Pearl, already anticipating that she would pick up the replacement
fighter at the Mobile Repair Facility.

"Acknowledged, shuttle 1," the Camelynian voice said, "we hath been
expecting thee. Permission to dock at Crystal Palace Bay 4 is given."

Petrovna frowned, then looked at the communications board. "Are you sure?"
she asked. "I--" Suddenly, the young Marine realized that she'd never been
told where she'd be docking, only that she'd pick up the replacement Spectre
in the Pitstop system. She'd just assumed that meant Pearl. She shrugged
and interrupted the Camelynian as he began to confirm the order.
"Understood," she said, "shuttle 1 will comply." Two minutes later, she set
Teresa down inside the cavernous Camelynian docking bay. All around her,
Camelynian Lightning class assault fighters were parked in the bay, with
barely centimeters separating them. Technicians and groups of something
that looked a bit like six-legged mechanical spiders were crawling over a
number of the craft, the technicians somehow managing to slip their lean
frames in between the closely-bunched strike craft.

Popping the hatch of her shuttle, Petrovna took a deep breath. She'd been
flying fighters too long. The smell of impulse reactants and venting
hydrogen smelled like home. Stepping out of the shuttle, she noticed a
smallish man waving her over. She headed for him.

"Are you Petrovna?" the small man asked her. He definitely wasn't
Camelynian. Not only did the dialect give him away, but Natalia had never
seen a short Camelynian. He was perhaps 135 centimeters, with sandy blonde
hair that was tossed negligently to one side, deep-set eyes, a longish nose,
and an intense expression. He struck the fighter pilot as somewhat
hyperactive. He was also young -- maybe 25, maybe 30.

"Da," she replied, nodding.

The man smiled, "I'm Mosby. I've got your new fighter right over here."
The man led Petrovna deeper into the bay.

"You are not Camelynian," Natalia said.

Mosby chuckled, "No, not hardly. I don't exactly fit the Greek God
stereotype, do I?" When Petronva smiled, Mosby took this as confirmation
and went on. "I'm third-generation Reorsan," he said proudly, "born right
here in M64. I'm also, incidentally, one of our top fighter pilots." When
Petronva stopped and looked at him again, Mosby laughed. "Hard to believe,
isn't it? I'll bet you've got... what? A thousand hours? Tops?" he asked,
still moving quickly ahead.

"Seven hundred and ten," Petrovna said, somewhat defensively, jumping
forward to catch up.

Mosby grinned over his shoulder. "On Reorsa, we make a fighter and we make
a little heavier fighter that we call a ground-attack fighter," he said,
"and I've got twenty-five hundred hours in both of them and 14 combat kills.
Your pilots are good, don't get me wrong, but you don't get nearly the
flight time we do. Our pilots fly, every day, sometimes 6 or 7 hours a day.
That plus classroom time plus simulator training makes for a lot of long
weeks," Mosby finished with a smile.

As the man talked, Petrovna looked around. They'd left the fighter bay and
entered what appeared to be an old-style assembly line factory. A pair of
rails stretched almost to the horizon and mounted on either side of the
rails, robotic arms assembled what were visibly Spectre class fighters,
moving on platforms that slowly guided down the rails. Near the robotic
arms, things that looked a little like a primitive versions of an industrial
replicator spat out parts and hull plating that the arms swung around to
grab, position, and gamma-weld into place. It was incredibly hot, smelly,
and noisy.

"What is all this?" she asked.

"Isn't it impressive?" he asked. It wasn't the word Petronva would have
used, but she had to admit that it looked efficient enough. "The
Camelynians have three of these assembly lines aboard, and each can be
tooled and programmed in just a few hours to turn out just about any small
strike craft you could want," he said. "This one has been refit to build
Spectres, obviously... slightly improved Spectres, that is."

"Improved?" Petrovna asked.

Mosby nodded. "We've been flying fighters in space for more than a
century -- we haven't had the resources to field anything bigger," he said.
"As a result, we've learned a few things about fighter operations that you
Starfleet guys haven't picked up yet, mostly in fighter self-repair,
communications, sensors, and tactics."

"For instance?" Petrovna asked, crossing her arms.

Mosby chuckled, headed for one of the Spectres on the assembly line, and
rapped on a port with his fist. It opened, and a small mechanical spider
popped out. "Spider repair bot," he said, pointing. "We've been using
something similar for years. The funny thing is that you guys had the same
thing in your research and development archives, but haven't applied it to
fighters. This little guy can close hull breaches, seal broken fuel lines,
repair a ruptured phaser coil, or a dozen other tasks... while you're in
flight." Mosby turned, leaning against one of the frames surrounding the
robotic arms. "Our fighter sensor suite is actually smaller and lighter
than yours, and just as capable... ditto our communications package."

"And all of this is going into these fighters?" Petrovna asked.

Mosby nodded. "We've incorporated the best of your fighter tech with the
best of ours for this series of birds. We're going to start using them
around Reorsa in a couple of weeks as a matter of fact. I can't wait to
build up a couple of thousand hours in it," he said, grinning at Petrovna.

Natalia nodded, finally matching the youung man's smile. "So, where is the
one I am to take?" she asked.

"Ah! Over here," Mosby said, leading her to the end of the assembly line.
"She's built, complete with phaser coils, but the cockpit is unfinished and
we don't have any microtorp loads here. I was told that Coronado can handle
that?" he asked. Petrovna nodded. "OK, good. As I said, you'll need to
finish out the cockpit... the robots are no damned good with anything softer
than duranium or polycarbon. We keep trying to teach them, but I think it's
a Camelynian thing. Their fighters," Mosby said, with just the slightest
hint of sarcasm, "don't have any padding for their pilots at all. You'll
also have to do the painting at home," he said, indicating a plain dark grey
Spectre sitting on...

Petrovna blinked. It was sitting on tires! She reached out to touch the
fighter, and was surprised to find the metal warm to the touch.

Mosby nodded. "It only came off the line two hours ago. Theoretically, you
could fly and fight these things right off the assembly line if it was an
emergency. You wouldn't have microtorp loads, but the phaser cannons would
work," he said. "And you're probably not used to the tires, but you can
take off from a planetary surface with a much larger weapons load if you
have a short take-off roll. Other than that, they don't alter the craft's
vertical launch or landing capability at all. They're poly-carbon, and just
as tough as the struts they're replacing. They'll take a harder landing,
too, thanks to the springs. We were going to restrict the tires to the
Reor-based fighters, but your Colonel Ironside authorized it for all of
'em."

As Mosby explained this, Petrovna climbed the ladder up to the cockpit.
Peeking into the cockpit, Natalia noted that Mosby was right about the
interior. There wasn't a scrap of carpeting or fabric of any type... not
even belts. Just a metal seat, braces where the belts could be attached,
and the consoles and controls. She hopped down.

"I can take it now?" she asked.

Mosby nodded. "She's all yours. I'll have her beamed outside for you. I
assume you'll be towing it back with your shuttle?" he asked.

"Da," Petrovna said.

The young man smiled and offered his hand. "Have a good flight back," he
said.

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Crew Roster:
Commanding Officer: FCapt. Tebrun Lora Kor (Jester)
Executive Officer: Cmdr. William Daren (Daren)
Marine Commandant: Col. Jeremy Ironside (Fraser)
Command Liaison Interface: Cmdr. Savant (Savant)
Chief of the Boat: MCPO Olme Tlaloco (Tlaloco)
Chief Tactical Officer: LCdr. Sieven Drexler (Garstini)
Assistant Tactical: Ens. Kyle Marcy (Marcy)
Intelligence Officer: Lt. Kariasa Ma'Aru (Kari)
Company Commander: 1Lt. Eric Moore (Alffred)
Squadron Leader: Maj. Thomas Wayne (Masters)
Squadron Leader: 1Lt. Natalia Petrovna (Phishie)
Chief Flight Operations: Lt. (JG) Nikkos (Heiwa)
Chief Engineer: LCdr. Zunite Oswald (Sonya)
Assistant Engineer: Lt. Jack C. Farley (CCC)
Assistant Engineer: Lt. Aramis Skylooker (Skylooker)
Chief Science Officer: LCdr. Kathryn Janeway (Kath)
Assistant Medical: Lt. Ungtae Brie (Aggie)

On Extended Leave of Absense:
Assistant Tactical: Ens. J'aren Mayo (Spork)

Positions Available:
None!

----------
Ross Glenn aka Jester
Fleet Captain Tebrun Lora Kor, U.S.S. Coronado, NCC-97901
http://www.jestertrek.com/coro2400/