The following story was written in 1996 by John Chubb to introduce his same-named character to the Maximillian.

 

Due to the abbreviated length of this story, it is presented here in it's entirety.

 

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Dark Range Platform

Written by John Chubb

Edited by Chris Stephenson

 

 

Originally Published in the July/August 1996 issue of the Mighty Max

 

 

 

 

 

 

No one knows who built Dark Range platform, and above all, no one cared.

- William Shatner

 

 

 

 

 

 

Captain’s Log:  Stardate 48975.6

 

 

     The Max has faced some tough battles in the past, but now, as I tour my ship, I feel they may have taken their toll on her.

 

 

     Captain Turock T’Kill had strolled through the halls of his ship usually with a sense of pride that his ship could take so much yet ask for so little.  But now with all that she had been through, the wear and tear of the Maximillian was beginning to show.

     The life support was repaired, but it was a fragile repair job that could go at any time.  Transporters were labeled as ‘travel at your own risk.’ since the diagnosis was that if you beamed anywhere it would take more power than it could take to hold the beam together.  The superstructure was fractured so that if the ship was taken even to Warp 4, it would fly apart in thirty minutes.  She was woefully understaffed in key areas, operating with no more than a skeleton crew (and half of them collapsed with disease or exhaustion).

     The Maximillian was limping back to Starbase 457, yet the Captain was not happy.  For his ship was down to number 17 on a thirty-five ship repair list.  And from the looks of things, that number was continuing to drop.

     “It’s all these new developments Starfleet is focusing on.”  Thought the Captain furiously.  “Blasted Admirals are so focused on building newer ships that they’re forgetting about mine.”

     Feeling as weary as the rest of the crew, yet doing what duty had demanded of him as always, he made his way to the bridge.  “I can grab some winks in the ready room”, he thought.

     The Captain exited the turbolift.  Crew members were still at the necessary posts: helm, ops, and tactical.  Repair crews, consisting of two crewmen, were around the other stations, little more than handymen than anything else.

     Captain T’Kill was saddened.  His ship was dying and he wasn’t sure what he could do to save her.  Then Acting Commander Dennis’ voice broke through his melancholy.

     “Captain, sensors are picking up an approaching vessel…running configuration through the computer.”  After five minutes, Acting Commander Dennis announced, “It is a DX-2600 cruiser, native to smugglers of Excelsior 9 Station.”

     “Do we have communications?”  Asked the Captain.

     “Aye, Sir.”  Said Chief Ayers.

     “On screen.”  Said the Captain.

     On the screen was a grungy looking human.  Mid 20’s, brown haired, blue eyes and, from the image on the view screen, his ship needed more work than the Max did.

      “This is Captain Turock T’Kill of the Federation Starship Maximillian.  Do you require assistance?”

     “Not as much as you do, sir.”  Said the grungy stranger.  The statement angered the Captain, but he held his fury back.

     “I apologize, sir.”  Said the stranger.  “When you travel the way I do, wisecracks are commonplace.”

     Captain T’Kill nodded at the stranger, excusing his remark.  But not by much, he thought.

     “Actually, I could use a rest on your ship.  I’ve been busy with repairs on mine, but I’m a long way from a place where I can stretch my legs.”

     “Let me cross-reference your file with the Federation database.”  Said the Captain.  “Do you have a name?” 

     “Chubb.”  Replied the stranger.  “John Chubb.”

     Two hours later the senior staff met in the conference lounge discussing Mr. Chubb.  “Apparently Mr. Chubb,” Replied Commander Dennis, “or Lieutenant Chubb, was a member of the High Plains Drifter clan of Cestus III.”

     “High Plains Drifter?”  Said Lt. Jackson.

     “I’ve heard of them.”  Said Engineer Brooks.  “They originated from Cestus III after the attack by the Gorn 100 years ago.  The survivors fled the colony to the High Plains mountain region.  But even though the colony was rebuilt, the survivors refused to return, deciding to travel from planet to planet doing different odd jobs…some of them illegal.”

     “How does Lt. Chubb fit into this?” Asked Lt. Kinzer.

     “He was born into the clan but joined Starfleet at age 16 hoping to establish his own destiny.  But his grades at the academy were not considered good enough for some captains.  He became dissatisfied at the menial odd jobs Starfleet gave him so he resigned and resumed his wanderings.”

     “Any illegal activity in his record?”  asked the Captain.

     “He’s more of a scavenger and rebuilder of secondhand technology.  He may know of activity but he’s not involved with it.”

     After thinking for a moment, the Captain replied, “Bring him aboard.”

    

     Upon docking, the Captain watched as the ship set down on the docking platform.  When it settled, former Lt. Chubb walked down the platform. The Captain extended his hand in greeting.  “Welcome aboard.”

     “Thank you, sir.”  Said Mr. Chubb.  “I appreciate you giving me time to stretch my legs.  My ship does it’s job getting me where I need, but there’s not much room for a walk.”

     “I can understand that.”  Said Captain T’Kill.  “But I’d like to make a little proposition to you.  I’d like for you to reinstate your commission.”

     “Excuse me?”  Said Mr. Chubb.

     “I’ve read your record.  You have a knack for rebuilding secondhand equipment.  However, Starfleet had always assigned you to petty assignments.  I need someone like you on the Maximillian.”

     “Why?”

     “Starfleet has decided to leave us pretty much to our own devices.  We still get service, but it’s few and far between.  And as you can tell, we need all the help we can get.  You’ll be fairly compensated…and you can take all the walks you like.”

     “What’s the catch?”  Mr. Chubb said, skeptically.

     “In our current state, getting repairs for the Maximillian will take longer than I would like.  We could use some of your…expertise.”

    

 

 

      No one knows who built Dark Range platform, and above all, no one cared.

      These words echoed throughout all the minds of the Maximillian crew as they approached the mysterious and ancient platform.  No one knew who originally built it, and to this day no one claimed it either.  It was located at the border of the Federation/Klingon frontier and became a last chance stop for those who sought their destinies in the stars.

     But it was also a haven for smugglers, cutthroats, and thieves hoping to take the destinies of those pioneers for themselves.  Upon this thought Captain Turock T’Kill wondered why he was taking his ship to this God-forsaken place.  But as he saw his ship falling apart he then remembered his ready room meeting with the newly reinstated Lt. Chubb.

     “Based on Dark Range platform is Tobias Vaughn.  Best illegal ship builder in the quadrant yet he manages to be of use to all the right people so he’s not in too much trouble with the Federation.  He has helped drifter clans with their ships and he has the resources to bring the Maximillian to it’s full potential, maybe even more if you want, sir.”

     “I’ll just settle for getting my ship running again.”  Said Captain T’Kill.  “Can we trust him?” 

     “He takes the confidentiality of his clients seriously.  However, I don’t think we should bring the Maximillian into Dark Range space.  There are a lot of people who would panic if a Federation ship suddenly appeared.  Even one in the Maximillian’s shape.”

     The prospect of entering a hostile territory did not appeal very much to Captain T’Kill, even if it was for repairs.  But Starfleet wasn’t ready to give the much needed upgrade the Maximillian needed.  It would have been a few repairs, then goodbye.  Needless to say, Dark Range and Tobias Vaughn were the Max’s only chance to be mighty again.

     “I’ll ready your own ship, but if Dark Range is as dangerous as you say, I’m going to have someone accompany you.  I want my ship in one piece, but I want her crew in one piece too.”

     Lt. Chubb smiled and said, “Captain, that’s sound advice anywhere.”

 

 

 

 

     The DX-2600 flew away from the Maximillian and towards Dark Range platform.  Lt. Chubb’s ship was beat up and some of her systems were outdated and close to breaking down but she always got him where he wanted to go.

     Accompanying him was Korjac of the Rapid Response Team, and Lt. Doug Kinzer of Starfleet Marines.  Regulations said that a security officer should always be on hand in a hostile area, but Captain T’Kill also believed having a marine would help with ‘added protection’.  The journey was silent until Korjac broke the silence.

     “What can we expect from this…Vaughn?”

     “A good man who’s hard to find and difficult to reach.  He’s so much in demand that pirates from the Ferengi to the Breen have been hunting him for ‘free services’.  But there is a code used among some drifters that he’ll recognize.”

     “All we need to do is find his feelers.”

     “Exactly.”

     The three officers docked their ship, dressed in civilian garb, and entered the hostile world at Dark Range platform.  The reception wasn’t a pleasant one.  Three gangs tried to take their wallets.  Ten pickpockets tried for their phasers which held the gangs at bay, and they lost count of how many salesmen tried to sell them items that ranged from black market drugs to ocean view condominiums on the Klingon homeworld.

     They entered a bar called The Alien Fantasy where upon first sight Korjac knew he would not be taking his kids here.  When they bellied up to the bar, an Andorian barmaid asked for their order.

     “Aldeboron Whiskey.”  Said Korjac.

     “Romulan Ale.”  Said Lt. Kinzer.

     “Tuleberry Daiquiri.”  Said Lt. Chubb.  Then he gave the coded hand signal as he did in the last two bars they had been in.  (An inverted version of the Vulcan salute and his flat hand in the air.)

      “What is that thing you do?”  Asked Lt. Kinzer.

     “Three gestures.  One is the Vulcan salute: ‘Live long and Prosper’.  The second is a joke salute saying ‘Die soon in poverty.’  And the third just said ‘Promise.’”

     The two other officers just looked at each other and said “Funny.”

     After the officers finished their drinks, the barmaid returned.  “Your host sends his regards and would like to convey his respects.  Right this way.”  She guided them to a remote corner of the bar where a corridor stretched down and made a right turn.  They finally made it to Tobias Vaughn’s office.

     “When you said he was hard to find you weren’t kidding.”  Said Korjac.  They opened the door and sitting at a desk surrounded by ship parts, models and diagrams was a middle-aged man of about 50, average build.  This was Tobias Vaughn.

     “John, it’s so good to see you again.”  Said Tobias.  “But who are these gentlemen?”

     Before Lt. Chubb could answer a transport shimmer appeared revealing a mixture of aliens and humans.  “Tobias Vaughn, the Maquis need your services and won’t take no for an answer.”  The three officers drew out their phasers and started to fire.  Those that didn’t fall rushed the three officers and fought hand to hand.  Unfortunately, they were overwhelmed and grabbed Vaughn.  The Maquis were ready to transport out when no signal came.  The Maquis leader got nervous when a second shimmer appeared.  It was Captain T’Kill and a squad of both security guards and Marines.

     “You are all under arrest.”  Said the Captain.

     Lt. Chubb went over to Vaughn.  “I believe we have business to discuss.”

  

 

 

     When the officers returned to the Maximillian, Captain T’Kill explained everything.  “While we took cover in a nearby asteroid, we saw the Maquis ship pass by.  We followed discreetly with a shuttle and boarded her with a team.  Later, we made use of the transporter they had and beamed over to arrest the rest of the bunch.”

     “Who was the leader?”  Asked Lt. Kinzer.

     Korjac spoke next.  “Their leader was Captain David Grey of the Bucepholoeus until he resigned and joined the Maquis.  Apparently he felt peace wasn’t as important as Cardassian genocide.”

     The Captain then made a positive note.  “But repairs to the Maximillian are proceeding well on schedule.  Lt. Chubb, send my personal thanks to Mr. Vaughn.”

     “Yes, sir.”  Said Lt. Chubb.

     After the meeting, Captain T’Kill walked among the corridors of his ship.  This time with a sense of pride in his ship and his crew.

     The Max was mighty again.