Hawkeye Island
Winters
Member
A young Clay, his hair down to his shoulders, wearing a tight, black short sleeved shirt and denim pants, checked the volume knobs on his sunburst Les Paul, and toggled his crunch pedal. Spinning on his heel, he turned to face the drummer of the band. The drummer had a simple setup, with a couple transparent cymbals with an orange tint, including a hi-hat, a snare and kick drum, with just one tom. Clay gave him a nod, and the drummer began to count the band off. Clay's left hand took a C power-chord shape about halfway up the neck, his pinky prepped to add extended notes, Chuck Berry-style. After the drummer counted to four, Clay began strumming eighth notes, adding the extended sixth with his pinky on the 2 and 4 counts, with the drummer keeping a simple beat. In a rather bad and forced cockney accent, Clay stepped up to the mic and began singing.
"Well the times hittin' hard for you little girl." His hand dropped down to a G power chord, keeping the same shape and rhythm with the sixth notes.
"I'm a hummin' and a strummin'," his hands moved up to a D, "all over God's world." Then the section of chords started all over.
"You don't remember where you got your last meal
And you forgot just how a woman feels."
An Arrow-class runabout dropped out of warp, a few hundred thousand kilometers from Raeya 3. Several other runabouts and shuttles carrying the first wave of Starfleet followed suit moments later. Aboard that Arrow-class, Captain Clay Teller approached the helm and ops positions at the fore of the ship. A worn, brown leather strap crossed Clay's chest, from above his left shoulder down under his right arm. His Martin dreadnought pressed against his back, the neck pointing down at the ground by his right knee. Looking out the forward window, Clay saw the planet, a blue marble with green landmasses and white swirls scattered all around. Testing himself, the captain tried to name all the continents and archipelagos he could remember the names and recognize to himself. It wasn't many. The helmsman signaled down to the planet, the response came back, "This is Randa Island Control, we are sending you a vector for entry and toward your designated landing areas."
The helmsman, an ensign, his sight focused on his console replied, "Vector received. Proceeding with atmospheric entry." The runabout pointed toward the planet and began it's decent into atmosphere.
Modulating the verse section down to a B flat, Clay continued,
"You didn't know what rock n' roll was." Then up to an E flat.
"Until you met my drummer on a gray hound bus." Repeating that chord pattern, Clay sang,
"I got there in the nick of time
Before he got his hand across your state line."
Clay's hair was still long, just less so and much thinner and stringy to compliment his age. Thankfully, it was still naturally blonde. As the formation of small Starfleet ships descended below some scattered cloud cover, they banked toward a group of tropical islands known at the Randa Islands. The islands had plenty of mountains, and rivers snaking through, all covered in thick greenery, with plenty of unmolested jungle. The closest Earthly comparison Clay knew of was the islands of Hawaii. He'd never been there, but these islands on this far distant planet felt like a long-lost friend.
A couple of short piano licks sounded from the third and final member of their band, and Clay repeated the entire verse progression again on his instrument.
"Well in the middle of the night on the open road
And the heater down work and it's oh so cold
You're getting tired baby, looking kinda beat
The music of the street knock you off your feet."
Their altitude was rather low as they rounded one of the islands in the archipelago. Clay looked out the window, his hand on the back of the ops chair, the officer didn't seem to notice or mind. There were tall structures lining the coast: hotels, casinos, housing towers, and business complexes. Beaches with thousands of tourists. Small aircraft lifting off, landing, and just generally buzzing around above the tree tops. As low and close as they were, no one would miss the formation of Starfleet ships flying past their coast. Maybe that was the point, Clay wondered, to show everyone they were back. After all, they were following the flight vector given to them by a Raeyan flight control tower. It was certainly making a statement.
The piano now played with with the lyrics and riff.
"You didn't know how rock n' roll looked
Until you caught your sister with the guy from the group
Halfway home in the parking lot
By the look in her eye, she was givin' what she got."
Approaching their destination, it was a different sight. The glitz of the other island passed, no tourists on the beaches, and a calm sky without a flying craft or soul in sight. Some buildings could still be made out over the treetop, scattered around the island, but they laid dormant, no sign of power or activity. The formation of ships began to break apart, each ship heading to their scheduled landing pad to drop off officers and begin the initial survey of the Starfleet installations around this island. The ship Clay was aboard, headed further inland, to a complex of several buildings more centrally located within this island, at a slightly higher elevation. The literal Raeyan translation of this island's name was "The Eye of A Predator Bird" which Starfleet had coined "Hawkeye" some years ago. It was named after someone in particular, but Clay didn't know who, and didn't know the story beyond that. Their runabout banked toward a landing pad, slowing its forward momentum to basically zero as the helmsman lowered the craft the last few meters. Captain Teller moved toward the side door of the runabout, ensured that neck of his Martin wasn't sticking out to hit the doorway once the hatch opened, and waited for the dull metallic reverberation of the ship coming to rest on the ground.
Singing the chorus of this Ian Hunter song, Clay looked around at the people walking up and down the street of his Martian hometown. No one was stopping and listening to their performance, and pretty much every passerby pretending to not even hear the trio.
"Hey now, ah ah ah
Once bitten twice shy, babe
Ya know, ah ah ah
Once bitten twice shy, babe
Ya know, ah ah ah
Once bitten twice shy, babe."
"Well the times hittin' hard for you little girl." His hand dropped down to a G power chord, keeping the same shape and rhythm with the sixth notes.
"I'm a hummin' and a strummin'," his hands moved up to a D, "all over God's world." Then the section of chords started all over.
"You don't remember where you got your last meal
And you forgot just how a woman feels."
An Arrow-class runabout dropped out of warp, a few hundred thousand kilometers from Raeya 3. Several other runabouts and shuttles carrying the first wave of Starfleet followed suit moments later. Aboard that Arrow-class, Captain Clay Teller approached the helm and ops positions at the fore of the ship. A worn, brown leather strap crossed Clay's chest, from above his left shoulder down under his right arm. His Martin dreadnought pressed against his back, the neck pointing down at the ground by his right knee. Looking out the forward window, Clay saw the planet, a blue marble with green landmasses and white swirls scattered all around. Testing himself, the captain tried to name all the continents and archipelagos he could remember the names and recognize to himself. It wasn't many. The helmsman signaled down to the planet, the response came back, "This is Randa Island Control, we are sending you a vector for entry and toward your designated landing areas."
The helmsman, an ensign, his sight focused on his console replied, "Vector received. Proceeding with atmospheric entry." The runabout pointed toward the planet and began it's decent into atmosphere.
Modulating the verse section down to a B flat, Clay continued,
"You didn't know what rock n' roll was." Then up to an E flat.
"Until you met my drummer on a gray hound bus." Repeating that chord pattern, Clay sang,
"I got there in the nick of time
Before he got his hand across your state line."
Clay's hair was still long, just less so and much thinner and stringy to compliment his age. Thankfully, it was still naturally blonde. As the formation of small Starfleet ships descended below some scattered cloud cover, they banked toward a group of tropical islands known at the Randa Islands. The islands had plenty of mountains, and rivers snaking through, all covered in thick greenery, with plenty of unmolested jungle. The closest Earthly comparison Clay knew of was the islands of Hawaii. He'd never been there, but these islands on this far distant planet felt like a long-lost friend.
A couple of short piano licks sounded from the third and final member of their band, and Clay repeated the entire verse progression again on his instrument.
"Well in the middle of the night on the open road
And the heater down work and it's oh so cold
You're getting tired baby, looking kinda beat
The music of the street knock you off your feet."
Their altitude was rather low as they rounded one of the islands in the archipelago. Clay looked out the window, his hand on the back of the ops chair, the officer didn't seem to notice or mind. There were tall structures lining the coast: hotels, casinos, housing towers, and business complexes. Beaches with thousands of tourists. Small aircraft lifting off, landing, and just generally buzzing around above the tree tops. As low and close as they were, no one would miss the formation of Starfleet ships flying past their coast. Maybe that was the point, Clay wondered, to show everyone they were back. After all, they were following the flight vector given to them by a Raeyan flight control tower. It was certainly making a statement.
The piano now played with with the lyrics and riff.
"You didn't know how rock n' roll looked
Until you caught your sister with the guy from the group
Halfway home in the parking lot
By the look in her eye, she was givin' what she got."
Approaching their destination, it was a different sight. The glitz of the other island passed, no tourists on the beaches, and a calm sky without a flying craft or soul in sight. Some buildings could still be made out over the treetop, scattered around the island, but they laid dormant, no sign of power or activity. The formation of ships began to break apart, each ship heading to their scheduled landing pad to drop off officers and begin the initial survey of the Starfleet installations around this island. The ship Clay was aboard, headed further inland, to a complex of several buildings more centrally located within this island, at a slightly higher elevation. The literal Raeyan translation of this island's name was "The Eye of A Predator Bird" which Starfleet had coined "Hawkeye" some years ago. It was named after someone in particular, but Clay didn't know who, and didn't know the story beyond that. Their runabout banked toward a landing pad, slowing its forward momentum to basically zero as the helmsman lowered the craft the last few meters. Captain Teller moved toward the side door of the runabout, ensured that neck of his Martin wasn't sticking out to hit the doorway once the hatch opened, and waited for the dull metallic reverberation of the ship coming to rest on the ground.
Singing the chorus of this Ian Hunter song, Clay looked around at the people walking up and down the street of his Martian hometown. No one was stopping and listening to their performance, and pretty much every passerby pretending to not even hear the trio.
"Hey now, ah ah ah
Once bitten twice shy, babe
Ya know, ah ah ah
Once bitten twice shy, babe
Ya know, ah ah ah
Once bitten twice shy, babe."
Comments
"To be expected," Teller replied. Clay had a bit of a higher pitched voice than you'd expect, but one that projected well. As the dust literally settled, Clay could see the command buildings. A pair of curved towers, circling a round courtyard, the tower to Clay's right was several stories taller than the other, sat a few hundred meters away. Several other building sat around those two towers, but it was those towers there were after. Clay turned to make sure the all dozen or so officers were outside with him, and noted that several of them were carrying toolboxes. "This way, folks," the captain nodded toward the command buildings and started walking that way, the other officers in tow.
It was hot, and quite humid on this Reayan day, in early summer on Hawkeye. Along the way, Clay noted how overgrown all the landscaping was, encroaching significantly on the paths. Dust, debris, and animal droppings littered the paving as well. A few of the officers began conversing, one of them holding an active tricorder. "The reactors are cold," said the tricorder officer.
"Standard procedure," replied another, a Bolian female. "Empty the antimatter and deuterium when leaving, so primary power is down."
"I get that," the one with the tricorder said, a human male. "But even the geothermal and solar secondaries are out. It shouldn't be."
The group continued to walk together. As they approached the base of the command buildings, Clay could start to make out details. The walls were dirty, and some of the architectural trim had some corrosion from the salty ocean air. But the buildings themselves seemed fine. However, Clay noticed something amiss.
"Door is open here," said the Bolian.
The tricorder officer scanned for a moment. "All clear inside." A few officers headed inside, with Clay right behind. The lobby area was dark, illuminated only by the palm beacons of those inside, with some ambient light provided by dirty windows. Most of the others followed suit, only the pilot posted outside. The tricorder officer shined his light at the wall, a panel was open, obviously forced. "This EPS conduit is gone. Looks like a lot of others, too. Taken out really sloppy. We can guess what happened to the geothermal plant then."
"Damn scavengers," The Bolain commented, visibly disgusted at the stripped contents. "And you know it was the Raeyans, too. Should make them cough up everything they stole."
The tricorder human replied, "You're damn right. After everything we did for these people--"
"That's enough," Teller interrupted. "There was a deactivated Starfleet base, and they probably never thought we were coming back. We'll figure this out."
"Yes sir, sorry sir," the human replied, seemingly begrudgingly.
Clay brushed it off, and took steps toward the back wall. Another officer, a Bajoran ensign, shined his light at the doors the Captain was walking toward. "Lift's out, sir," the Bajoran's voice was deep. "We'll have to take the emergency stairs."
Clay motioned with his hands and the Bajoran walked to the set of doors next to the lift. He removed a small tool from his kit and attached it to the doors. Pressing a few buttons, and Teller heard the door locks pop. The Bajoran ensign in yellow pushed the doors apart with his strength. "After you," Clay said. Several others followed them into the stairwell, splitting up at various levels, it was only Clay and the Bajoran that made it all the way to the top. Clay was in decent enough shape, but his heart was pounding from having to climb some 20 stories of stairs. Taking conscious breaths, he was able to not look completely out of shape in front of the ensign, the leather strap starting to dig into his shoulder.
After the Bajoran unlocked the door to the upper most level, aside from the roof, Clay followed him into the pitch black corridor. The hallway gently curved to the right, following the curve of the building, illuminated by the ensign's palm beacon. The air up there was stuffy, having not been recirculated in over a decade. As they reached the apex of the curve, Clay could see some natural light. An open archway led to a waiting room. There were some sofas, chairs, coffee tables near the back window. The windows were filthy, covered with 14 years of dirt and grime. Clay couldn't even see clearly out the windows, but they let in some of the mid-morning Raeyan sun. To the right inside the waiting room was another set of doors, that Clay knew led to a conference room. To the left, sat a reception desk with another set of doors. The desk was empty, with a chair tucked neatly behind it. Clay pointed toward those doors. The Bajoran placed his lockpick on the doors, unlocked them, and pushed them apart in the middle. Giving a quick glance around, he motioned an all clear to the captain.
Clay followed the ensign in, and a sense of familiarity washed over him. To the left was a small lounge area; a sofa, coffee table and such. To the right was a large awkward bean-shaped desk in front of a window just as dirty as the waiting room, letting in a similar amount of light. A dark red faux-leather chair sat behind that desk, fashioned like a captain's chair on a bridge, but on wheels of an office chair. Clay took a couple of steps toward the desk and looked at the floor next to the desk, along the same wall of the door into the office. There it was: a black steel stand, with three legs. A main upright was angled back a noticeable amount had 2 sets of forks mounted to it. The bottom fork, with two padded prongs, was wide and long near the base of the stand. The top one was similar to the bottom, just much narrower and shorter. It had remained undisturbed in the same spot for over 14 years. Clay put his left thumb through his strap on his chest, while his right hand grabbed the neck of his Martin. Spinning everything around, to the other side of his body, Clay then gently lifted everything over his head, careful not to catch anything on his hair or uniform.
Captain Teller tenderly placed his acoustic guitar into it's stand. Allowing himself a grunt of satisfaction, Clay turned toward the ensign, who was inspecting something on the other side of the office. "Welp," Clay said enthusiastically, "I'm all moved in, how about you?"