It was still very early as Captain Scott Bowman left his room, with Dathasa cursing his alarm as the door closed behind him. He stopped and grabbed a cup of coffee, double-double, and a piece of buttered raisin toast for breakfast, munching happily as the turbolift sped him towards the bridge.

Scott sighed deeply as he settled back into his seat. The time away had been restful, but he was happy to be back where he felt he belonged, with his mug of coffee in one hand and the endless expanse of space on the viewscreen. He missed the familiar path from his quarters to the mess hall, the smell of the bridge, and even the bitter, acidic nature of the replicated coffee.

Captain Thorne, the Task Force XO, had been clear about his mission upon his return. There had been a large increase in the amount of black market arms traffic in the Triangle. He and his crew had been tasked with searching and intercepting any shady-looking freighters they encountered, but they had been out of space dock for a few days now, and they had not come across any freighters that did not pass initial scans.

From his position in the center seat, he studied the viewscreen as the streaks of warped light shortened back into pinpoints once again. Patrol duty was never routine, and he was aware of it. Somewhere out there, smugglers were moving contraband or fugitives, testing just how much Starfleet cared about the law this far out.

“Three freighters on long-range sensors, Captain,” reported Commander Bema Saberwyn, who was standing behind the ops console, “Two with legitimate manifests.”

“And the third?”

“Well, the file says it’s hauling agricultural equipment to Rynar III, but the transponder was swapped three weeks ago,” Bema replied.
Bowman leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest in thought.

“Sounds like someone is betting on us not checking the cargo.”
Lieutenant Junior Grade Ezra Bennett piped up from the helm. “They’re probably hoping farm equipment is too boring to warrant a closer look.”

Bema’s eyes flicked to the Captain. “Orders, sir?”

Scott took a brief moment. Then leaned forward in his chair. “Yellow Alert. Helm, adjust course to intercept. If they’ve got nothing to hide, this won’t take long.”
“Aye, Captain,” Ezra replied, “Bringing us about.”

The freighter loomed ahead as they dropped out of warp, its ungainly silhouette patched together with mismatched hull plating. It was honest-looking enough for a civilian hauler in this part of space.

“Captain, we’re within hailing distance,” Ezra said over his shoulder.

Bowman stood, straightening his uniform. “Open a channel.”

A burst of static gave way to the face of a tired-looking Tellarite male, his tusks yellowed and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “This is Captain Drovek of the Freighter Star Opal,” he grunted, “We’re on a tight schedule, Starfleet. What’s the delay?”

“Captain Scott Bowman, USS Leif Erikson,” Scott replied evenly. “We’ve noted some… irregularities in your transponder data. We’ll be sending aboard an inspection team to verify your manifest.”

Drovek barked out a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “An inspection. Out here? Must be a slow day for you, Captain. This is a legal shipment – ag equipment for Rynar III. No need to waste your people’s time.”

“I’ll decide what is a waste of time,” Bowman replied, letting just enough steel into his tone. “Lower your shields and prepare to receive my team.”

The Tellarite leaned forward, the harsh lighting of his bridge catching his tusks, “You have no jurisdiction out here, Starfleet. Not in the Triangle.”

Scott took a step closer to the viewscreen. “Jurisdiction follows my ship, Captain. Now, please, lower your shields.”

There was a long pause, then Drovek grunted something under his breath, and the channel went dead.

“Shields dropping, Captain,” Bema confirmed.

Scott nodded. “Dathasa, you’re with me. Bema, you have the bridge.”

The transporter pad hummed as they materialized in the dimly lit cargo hold of the Star Opal. The air was heavy with the smell of recycled air and old lubricant. Crates were stacked high against the bulkheads, each was stenciled with the words ‘AGRICULTURAL EQUIPMENT’ in flaking paint.

“Well, this is convincing,” Dathasa murmured sarcastically, scanning the nearest crate. Her tricorder gave a sharp chirp. “There we go.”

Scott pried open the container lid. Inside, neatly racked and foam-packed, were dozens of Starfleet Type-III Phaser Rifles. The next crate over was full of Romulan disruptor pistols. “Huh. I mean, I guess you could plow a field with these…”

Before Scott could call it in, there was a sound of motors winding up. An alarm klaxon sounded in the cargo hold.

“They’re opening the doors!” Scott shouted. He slapped his combadge. “Transporter room, emergency beam-out, now!”

The door opened a crack, and the force of the air being pulled from the cargo bay knocked Scott and Dathasa off their feet. He snatched her hand in both of his and pulled her towards him. She tried to grab onto a securement strap and missed. Crates fell from their stacks and slid across the floor, tumbling out the open door into space.

The bright shimmer of the transporter surrounded them as they reached the door, and in the next instant, they had fallen to the carpeted floor of the bridge, safe.

“What happened?” Bema asked, rising from the center seat to help them to their feet.

“I guess he had somewhere better to be,” Scott said, straightening up and glancing out the viewscreen at the crates spinning and reeling away from where the freighter was. “Beam those crates on board. They’re full of weapons. Starfleet and Romulan.”

“Aye, sir,” an Ensign said, and flashes of blue began to dot the black sky as the crates were brought aboard.

Captain’s Log:
Stardate 24028.11
We’ve tracked the Tellarite Freighter called the Star Opal, but the ship appears to be abandoned. It seems the crew has jettisoned all the escape pods, making it impossible to determine which one they would have used to escape. We have recovered the stolen weapons in this shipment and are planning to return them to the appropriate authorities at our earliest opportunity. We continue to monitor the situation, looking for more clues that might help us uncover who is selling these weapons and where they’re getting them.