The
day had been what most Intelligence administrators would consider to be
‘usual’. A typical day meant plenty of. . .’questionable’ or unorthodox,
discrete monitoring of subspace comm channels, coordinating with Intelligence
information assets wherever they were in spacial territories where their
physical presence might not be appreciated, and securing inbound information
that had been determined to be credible and vital to the safety of the
Federation and its allies. If this was the case, it would be securely and
discretely passed along to military administrators who would report to
political leaders, including the president of the Federation and close official
company, who would be responsible for figuring out what to do about the
information that came in. . . Had, they agreed, as new sensor data was being
decrypted by Intelligence personnel. The discretely hidden deep space
long-range probe battery Seta controlled by Spacefleet Intelligence was now
pointed directly at the Orion Triangle, after monitoring a few regions of space
where the Intelligence had thought one of their own were carrying out their
‘discrete’ assignment. The analysts didn’t know the specifics. The trail led
them to a particular region of the Triangle where the new sensor data was
tactfully being fed to darkly-uniformed analysts who were rapidly studying the
data and preparing it to be securely uploaded to one of numerous particularly
configured PADDs so the information could be transported to Admiral Herring
safely. This region of the Triangle was where fifteen bridge officers and over
a thousand other crew members were going to be traveling to at high-translight along
with a small and ‘unofficial’ task force (a small fleet, actually), but the
analysts didn’t know that much. Their only orders were to gather data and then
report directly and specifically to particular military administrators—more
particularly Herring.
By
now, the Voyager crew were being told where they were going, ‘who’ or ‘what’
they were looking for, and what they were to do. They would soon be eagerly and
anxiously boarding their ships.
The
crew’s job position assignments had been decided, and the extensive mission
briefing had ended in what seemed like only a few minutes. Well, at least in
Aaen’s opinion. One detail that was different and that caught the crew’s
attention was the fact the job positions included a ‘COB’, or ‘Chief Of the
Boat’, in-addition-to the Ambassador. The COB was assigned to lead away
missions. Aaen had been appointed the Voyager’s chief of security based on his
rank, and some good things that were said about his tactics in some tight
situations from prior missions. His uniform had yellow shoulders over black,
and a dark grey sash that went over his right shoulder and around his right
side. It was a slightly snug fit, but it worked. The deputy didn’t get a sash.
Aaen was shocked and surprised at his assignment on-ship, but went with it
because of a gut feeling about his career prospects; besides, he thought
carrying a large black particle rifle on some possible scenarios where the ship
might face the possibility of being boarded was appealing. He guessed this was
probably because he hadn’t done that before, and subconsciously asked himself
if it might be a refreshing and fun change of pace? He already knew where he
was going to be sitting on the bridge from past experience as a bridge officer
on this ship and was already picturing the raised stand with two chairs and two
computers he and his self-assigned deputy would be using to ensure the general
security of the ship.
“Now,
crew. There is another matter of business before you will board your
starships.” Herring paused to let the crew prepare themselves for what he was
going to say next, “As you have probably already guessed, there is a likely
chance the nature of this operation may involve some ‘away missions’. Because
of the extremely sensitive and absolutely secretive nature of this operation,
Spacefleet has discretely authorized the formation of a highly-specialized team
of Commandos to carry out the more. .dangerous assignments that exceed the
usual parameters of a standard away mission. This team is hereby designated:
Delta Force.” Herring declared sharply. Every member of the crew got goosebumps
at this mention. “It will comprise of a five-person team led by Colonel
Maddox,” he gestured near the main door to the briefing room to a six-foot-tall
Caucasian male officer with short dark hair, a wider and bonier face than any
of the crew were used to seeing, and who wore a particularly decorated black
tactical uniform. He had a very direct look on his face which intermittently
looked around the room as though to check to see which of the crew members, in
his opinion, might have it in them to do what he did for a living while holding
his hands behind him at stiff attention and subtly nodding at everything
Herring said. Aaen saw some skepticism in Maddox’s face at what Maddox was
seeing, and then Aaen had another gut feeling.
Maddox
stepped forward to make himself more visible under the available minimal
lighting and took another look around. Herring gave Maddox a silent cue that he
had the crews’ attention. Maddox nodded stiffly and then looked at the crews.
“Spacefleet Command has authorized me to recruit four of you to be a member of Delta
Force.” he boldly declared darkly. Aaen felt eager to be the first to volunteer
but wanted to hear more, “Before you raise your hand to volunteer to be a part
of this team, you should know that decision will include a significantly higher
level of danger than standard ‘away missions’ will involve. Make no mistake.”
he turned his head slowly, but there were a few in the crew who weren’t daunted
by this warning, and Maddox noticed. There was some optimism in his face, but
the cold stare didn’t stop. “If you volunteer, your principle assigned job on
this ship will stand, but you will be temporarily pulled from that job for the
duration of any ‘away missions’ the COB determines necessary at any time during
this operation. If you volunteer, you will be given a special-issue particle compression rifle for any special away missions, and authorities that are not
otherwise legal or therefore found in the rest of the fleet.” This appealed to
more members of the crew, but the underlying question was still reverberating
in their subconsciousness. . . “And keep in mind: there’s no going back if you
volunteer.”
“Any
questions, crew?” Herring asked directly. There was only the faint hum of the
station’s power grid. Herring nodded at Maddox.
“Who wants to volunteer?” Maddox asked loudly
and directly. A few seconds passed, and then Aaen watched two other crew
members raise their hands in the center of the room, another at the far end of
the table towards the far corner of the room, and then Aaen made a decision and
raised his right hand just enough to be seen over the head of the male officer
sitting across from him.
Maddox
nodded, immediately acknowledging the gestures. “Okay, then.” Maddox gestured
for Aaen and the other volunteers to step forward. They were given a special
uniform decoration. Aaen’s went on the front of his sash, and then he took his
seat.
“Good
luck. Dismissed.” Herring said, and then a male yeoman wearing a bright blue
uniform shirt with a collar stepped forward and ordered the crews to their
feet. The crews were organized into groups, lined up and then they were led to
the bridge of their respective ships by yeoman wearing a similar uniform.
The
boarding process was familiar to Aaen, and a handful of other crew members.
Aaen quickly recognized where he was to sit and eagerly took his seat. The
ambassador loaded, and then the XO. He faced the front of the bridge and then
yelled, “CAPTAIN TO THE BRIDGE!”
The
crew immediately stood up as the captain walked up the spiral staircase,
stepped up to the command platform and then stood in front of the tallest chair
at the top of the bridge. He faced the bridge, and said, “Crew, at ease. You
may be seated.”
Training
followed. Aaen and the deputy’s job training went by the fastest: ensure the
general safety and well-being of the ship’s crew by any means necessary,
especially the bridge and the command crew. And here’s a tour of the bridge. A
tour of the bridge followed, and then the yeoman brought Aaen and the deputy
their side arms. Aaen was the senior security officer to the deputy.
Aaen’s
computer terminal, this time, and the deputy’s had correlating functions, and
they differed quite notably. Aaen’s enabled him to scan of the interior of the
ship, down the very fastening devices and mechanisms and welds that held the
hull’s bulkheads together, depending on the depth of the scan. The deeper the
scan, the slower—but the more effective. The passive sensors would detect an
authorized inbound transporter beam, whereas the active scanners could find a
fleck of dust as it was being caught in one of the ship’s numerous air
filtration conduits. The CMO’s tricorder is the only detection instrument on
board ship that could get a deeper reading. Aaen decided the internal security
sensors would work just fine if the ship were to be boarded, having already
detected a hamster loose from the zoology lab, and some burnt toast in the mess
hall. Might want to tell main engineering about that later on, he grinned and
subtly laughed at the readout and looked at the deputy to find a similar
expression. Aaen couldn’t help but wonder, at least subconsciously, ‘who’ or
‘why’ a crew member on a lower deck was making toast at a time like this,
considering the entire ship was completing pre-flight diagnostic checks to make
sure everything was working perfectly, considering the crew’s highly-sensitive
mission, he thought sharply. Why wasn’t everyone getting ready? They were about
to depart for a particular area of the Orion Triangle that would put the crew
dangerously close to the Romulan border, and next to some other intergalactic
neighbors that probably wouldn’t appreciate their being where they were going
to be—much less with two other ships in a particular formation that favored
long-range sensor awareness, and that would give the formation an immediate
tactical edge in case there was someone else at the rendezvous point that
wasn’t supposed to be there. One could only hope.
The
rest of training for the bridge crew finished minutes later as Aaen started a
series of training security scans of the entire ship, and then Herring gave the
COB a binder, left a few words of encouragement with the crew, and cautioned
about what might be waiting for the crew ahead in the area of the Triangle
where they were headed, and then Herring walked off the bridge, immediately and
swiftly followed by his staff. The aides’ body language said things in the
Triangle were far more politically and militarily unstable than what this crew
had been led to believe, but verbally conveyed the point adequately enough, in
his opinion, although he wondered how many of the rest of the crew came to the
same realization, much less to the same extent. He figured the entire crew
would find out soon enough just how serious but stopped this thought process
before he crossed the intellectual bound into idle speculation. Spacefleet security officers were not known for their capacity to speculate. They were
sharp shots when they needed to be, physically tough, quick on their feet,
strategic and tactful, and then made quick work of giving the security detail
assigned as the brig supervisor something to do for a few days.
Now
it was time to find out who is chiefly responsible for keeping this flying
city's translight core from putting on the sector's biggest and most expensive
firework show, Aaen mused. There was an uneasy ambient silence on the bridge as
the rest of the bridge officers contemplated what might be to come. There were
some variably obvious uneasy stomachs on duty, and they were all worried about
the same thing.
There
was a subtle, soft click, and then an upbeat southern male voice filled the
bridge, “Engineer-to-bridge, engineer to bridge! Hello? This is Chief Engineer
Watson, callin' the bridge! Is Cap'n on board?—You tellin' me we don't have a
cap'n?” he sounded like turned his head at someone else and then asked, “Where
is he? I coulda swore one was supposed to be on-board by nah—”
“I'm
here! This is the captain!”
“Well,
it's good to hear from ya, sir! Luck I was sayin', my name's Chief Engineer
Watson. Spacefleet decided to make me the chief fix-it-guy down here on deck
fifteen, in the main engine room. If it's broke, I work with my engineering
team down 'ere and the bridge damage control officers up there to make sure
this very fine ship of ours doesn't blow up in our faces.”
“But
they're reallly delicious!” another male voice quipped on the bridge. Judging
by the distance, Aaen figured it was probably one of the communications officers.
The
bridge was abuzz with laughter.
“—UHH.
. .say that agin?” Watson asked, directly. “Cap'n, I think we got someone who
needs to visit the CMO. . .like, on-the-double.”
“It's
a drink!” the other male voice said loudly. “It's really good for you!”
Please
tell me you're talking about orange juice! Aaen asked in silence over his
shoulder. He didn't expect a response.
“Uh,
ok. Whatever you say, officer.” Watson said skeptically, then the comm line
became fainter, and then Watson emphatically gave an order to someone else in
engineering, “Make sure whoever said that up there does-not get any-where-near
the translight core.” Watson said something else, but it sounded muffled.
“Alright,
Cap'n, I'm pretty sure we gotta get underway sooner than later. I'm sendin' up
the ship primary systems power-up checklist. As soon as we get all that done,
we can go on and get this thing movin'!”
“Understood,
engineer!” the first officer replied.
“I
gotta to do some work with my engineering team down here in engineering so I've
gotta disconnect the comm line. We'll monitor your progress from down here and
let you know if anything happens. Don't forget to bring the main computer
online.”
“Acknowledged.
Bridge, out.” the captain replied. The comm line disconnected with three low
beeps.
The
usual starship power-up procedures were followed, instructions faintly and
briefly echoed through right and left wings, and then the bridge engineer
switched the ship from external power to internal power, and the translight core was
brought online.
The
main computer was to be brought online next.
“Main
Computer, online.” the captain stated their authorization code, then the bridge
lights dimmed as the computer stations started flashing white rapidly for
nearly ten seconds, and the floor started vibrating. The sensation built for
several seconds, and then gradually faded. The main viewscreen displayed the
ship's crest, then the main computer and other ship-wide diagnostics were
automatically carried out, each deck was highlighted in sequence, from the
bridge to the bottom-most deck, all of which were quickly completed. Then the
image changed to show the dim, blue cold of the starbase's third docking bay.
The twin doors were closed, and the six lights pulsing intermittently were
flashing to remind starship helmsmen and women about the 'thrusters only'
regulation.
The
captain leaned forward and looked slightly right. “Right-wing, disengage
mooring rings. Helm: thrusters. . . Take us out.” Multiple alerts sounded, one
became louder with each repetition as metallic clangs and bangs and other
external mechanical activity could be heard through the hull.
The
thrusters fired. The hull accelerated. The docking bay doors parted gradually
as the doors grew closer in the viewscreen. Seconds later, the only thing
visible in the viewscreen were stars and the black of space.
Ten
seconds later, the right-wing sensor officer’s screen flashed thrice. They
quickly announced the new readings, “Ship is clear of the starbase and free to
navigate,”
“You’re
on thrusters.”
“Thrusters,
aye,”
“Put
one-hundred-thousand-meters between us and starbase, then set course for the
entry coordinates for the rendezvous point. Standby translight engines.” the captain
sounded more direct and knowledgeable than the last captain Aaen remembered he
worked with the last time he was on this bridge.
The
order was carried out expertly. The right-wing navigation officer turned and
said, “Distance: one-thousand-meters from the starbase. . . Course set.
Heading: laid-in, sir,”
The
sensor station screen flashed thrice.
“Report,”
the first officer commanded.
“The
rest of the task force is joining formation. USSC Hammer of Light is at our seven
o’clock; USSC Freedom is at our five o’clock, captain. Both ships are joining
formation,”
The
short-range communication station at the front of the bridge on the lowest of
three levels was quickly abuzz with chatter between the three ships, and the
three officers on that level were preparing reports for the rest of the bridge,
undoubtedly including the command crew, Aaen guessed.
“Do
you think that guy’s gonna come quietly?” the deputy asked Aaen, referring to
the task force’s objective.
“Understood.”
the captain looked at the viewscreen. “Translight Nine.”
Aaen
was preparing internal ship scan queries and going over the mission briefing in
his head, and formulating possibilities of what might happen in the next few
hours. He turned his head with some skepticism, staying focused on his screen
which was the left of the security terminals as he determinedly replied, “I
think we’re gonna find out real soon.”
He
briefly put his hand on his sidearm as though to make sure it was still close
by. He got another funny gut feeling—this one made him very anxious, a feeling
he buried in the back of his mind and focused on finding their objective. We’re about to go looking for one of our
spies who was on assignment in the Orion Triangle, who supposedly has new data
on the tactical capabilities of the Orion Pirates, including plans for some
kind of action that—if successful—could potentially change the balance of power
in the Quadrant. Spacefleet Intelligence lost contact with the spy a few days
ago, and only recently got a tip to meet to get the data in the fleet’s hands. Spacefleet got another message from the spy—this time the message was garbled,
so there are concerns that the spy might have been discovered by the Orions. .
. Aaen hoped that was as far as it went.
*****
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