“Captain's log, stardate 57301.5.  I have accepted command of the USS Republic, a Galaxy-class starship.  I can remember about six years ago hearing that the USS Intrepid found this ship adrift in space at the hands of Cardassians.  The ship has since been brought back to Utopia Planetia and undergone a five-year refit to bring it up to current Starfleet specs.

“The ship feels empty right now.  The crew has begun to arrive and hopefully we can depart soon.  We have a fairly young crew.  Some may see this as a weakness.  I however see it as an asset. End Log"

Marshall surveyed his ready room.  His gear had already been brought aboard.  He felt ready for his own command but he was nervous.

"Computer, transmit the following orders to the appropriate personnel upon their arrival:  Commander Lana Madison Taylor, Executive Officer: I need to speak with you in my ready room ASAP.  Lieutenant Commander Ashley Sawyer, Chief Engineer: Prepare the Republic to be launched.  Check all critical systems. Lieutenant Commander John Carter Chief of Security: Good to have you aboard.  I'm sure you'll be missed on the Freedom Star.  Check out all tactical systems and see that they are battle ready.  Lieutenant Victor Virtus, Chief Science Officer: Get acquainted with your station, and check out all sensor systems.  Ensign Zelk, Chief Conn Officer: Familiarize yourself with the helm console.  Be prepared to take us out at a moments notice.  Doctor Leon Cromwell, Chief Medical Officer: Report to sickbay and meet your staff.  Be prepared to start physicals when we depart. "

"Acknowledged and sent," replied the computer.

A short time later, the door chimes.

"Enter," replied Marshall.

"Commander Lana Madison Taylor reporting for duty Captain."

"Commander it is good to see you," Marshall offered his hand and she took it.  "I am glad to see you aboard.  However, later I am going to need to go over what requirements I will have for a First Officer.  What do you say to dinner in my quarters tomorrow evening?"

"I'd be delighted," replied Commander Taylor.

Just then, the comm system came to life.

=/\= "U.S.S. Republic, this is Lieutenant Victor Virtus.  Request permission to come aboard." =/\=

“Permission granted, Lieutenant,” the captain replied by tapping the communications console on his desk.  “Report to the bridge as soon as you get here.  I need a word with you.  Marshall out.”

Jim turned his attention back to Commander Taylor, "Care to come with me to Main Engineering?"  They exited the ready room as a man in a blue Science uniform with a Lieutenant's pips got off of the turbolift.  Jim assumed this was Lieutenant Virtus.

"Lieutenant Virtus, welcome aboard.  This is Commander Taylor, the Executive Officer.  Familiarize yourself with the Science station.  We'll be in Engineering."

"Aye Captain," replied Virtus.

"Captain,” started Ensign Portman at the con station.  “Message coming in from the Runabout Benning.  They are transporting Doctor Cromwell from Jupiter Station, and due to the mix-ups they will be arriving here an hour after we launch.  They request a rendezvous in-system . . ."

"No, tell them to proceed on to Utopia Planetia.  I'll find someway to hold us up, but don't tell them that. Say we're double checking the intermix formula and it will take an hour longer than anticipated." Replied Marshall as Taylor got in the turbolift.

 

<location: deck 34, main engineering, USS Republic>

Ashley Christine Sawyer stood in the observation room of the Utopia Planitian warp core testing room. She had been over-seeing the refit for the past 4 months, and they were less then a day away from the big day now. She ran her fingers through her hair, a nervous tick for her, and shouted:

“Okay guys, those figures are perfect, let's get this thing installed!” said Ashley

Forty-five minutes later, she was standing in main engineering of the Galaxy Class vessel watching as the structural latches locked the mighty warp core casing into place.

She ran her fingers through her hair, and announced,

“Good work people. Let's get this ship ready to rock!”

Captain Marshall and Commander Taylor, walking into main engineering, had just located Lieutenant Commander Sawyer.  After making the appropriate introductions the Captain asked, "How's our warp intermix formula?"

"Right on the line Captain," replied Sawyer.

"You sure you don't need to double check that?" asked the Captain.

"I'm sure sir," said Sawyer.

"Because." The Captain then leaned over and whispered something to her.

"I'll get right on it," then Sawyer took off to proceed with it.

Captain Marshall then tapped his combadge.  “Bridge this is the Captain.  Notify the Runabout Benning that we'll be here waiting on the good doctor Marshall out.”

 

<location:  sol system, between orbits of Jupiter and Mars>

Starlines streaked past the viewport as the Runabout Benning completed its casual maneuvers through Sol's asteroid belt.  In a compartment outfitted for twelve passengers, a lone traveler sat in the portside seat furthest to the rear of the craft.  Engrossed in a quaint hardcover book, the sandy blond gentleman occasionally brushed his feathery moustache with an idle hand that rested on his chin. Amber eyes flickered back and forth, scanning the pages with detached interest.  After adjusting the collar on his ivory turtleneck, the man’s chest heaved slowly and released an audible sigh.

Suddenly, the hissing of pneumatics registered within the cabin as the compartment door slid open.  A young Andorian Starfleet officer walked briskly down the aisle holding aloft a digital message pad.  “Incoming message from the Republic, Doctor Cromwell,” sounded the maroon-clad lieutenant.  “Sorry we were late departing from Jupiter station.  With the late arrival of the Bremerton, and the mix-up in destination orders, your transfer didn’t clear the dispatch office until after 1300 hours.”

The doctor looked up at the lieutenant, accepted the datapad without response, and reviewed the message:  "Chief Medical Officer: Report to sickbay and meet your staff.  Be prepared to start physicals when we depart."

Without looking up to the man, the doctor frowned and asked “When do you think we’ll be arriving at Utopia Planitia?”

“Approximately 1800 hours, sir.”

“That’s almost an hour after the Republic is scheduled to depart” replied the doctor.

“Again, I’m sorry sir” said the lieutenant.  “I can transmit our situation to the Republic if you wish.  I’m sure we can rendezvous with her while she’s still in-system.”

The doctor nodded his head reluctantly, and the officer turned around to exit the way he came.  “I’ll let you know when we’re about to dock, sir.”

Slapping closed the book in his hand, the doctor glanced out the window and mused upon his disposition.  “Great,” he thought.  “Another botched first impression.  If this keeps up, I’ll be back on Pacifica sifting through nucleotides for another three years.”

An hour later, an empty mug was placed onto the serving platform of the runabout’s food replicator, and with a multi-toned surge of energy, the drinking vessel was whisked away.  After finishing his coffee, Doctor Cromwell was about to return to his seat when the Andorian pilot announced over the intercom “good news, sir.  The Republic signaled that she’s running behind schedule.  We’ll be able to arrive before she leaves drydock.”

For the first time since embarking on this trek to the Sol system, Leon Cromwell could breathe a sigh of relief instead of frustration.  Walking to the forward of the passenger compartment, the doctor continued on into the cockpit where the young Starfleet officer sat at the helm.  After taking a seat at the co-pilot’s station, Doctor Cromwell said with peace of mind “thank you, lieutenant.  That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

Smiling, the Andorian replied “I know you’re nervous about your new assignment, sir.  If I were lucky enough to be posted on a Galaxy Class starship, I’d be worried about being late to my new post as well.  Do you think you’ll find your new crew different from the Bremerton?”

Doctor Cromwell sat back in his seat with a look of certainty.  “Definitely, lieutenant.  The Bremerton was purely a science vessel, loaded with civilian scientists and only about a dozen Starfleet crewmen.  Our evolutionary genome-mapping mission to Pacifica was the most laid-back job anyone could ask for.  However, Galaxy Exploration command is a totally different animal.  I’m bound to run into the hard-charging military types.”

Twitching an antenna, the lieutenant asked “hard-charging military types?  All good Starfleet personnel should have a certain amount of military discipline, even non-bridge officers.  We all have that instilled in us at Starfleet Academy.”

The doctor smiled and retorted “not every officer goes through the academy.”

Raising an eyebrow, the Andorian turned in his seat to look at Doctor Cromwell.  “I’ve never run into anyone in Starfleet who hasn’t.  Didn’t you go to the academy?

Shaking his head, Doctor Cromwell simply said “no.”

Startled, the lieutenant asked “how did you get into Starfleet then?”

“Well, I spent six years as an enlisted Starfleet crewman, stationed as a life-science research technician on starbase 123” replied the doctor.  “After my enlistment was up, I studied to become an MD at the University of Tycho on Luna, and spent my last two internship years at Starfleet Medical.”

The Andorian looked confused, and replied “but, I was told you hold the rank of lieutenant commander.”

“When the Cardassian War broke out,” continued the doctor, “Starfleet scrambled to find qualified medical personnel and offered me a civilian contract as a field surgeon headquartered out of Starbase 72.  After the war was over, I stayed on as assistant chief medical officer with the honorary commission of lieutenant.  My commission was fully activated when the Dominion War broke out, and I spent most of my time going from ship to ship patching kids back together.  Afterwards, they promoted my commission, and gave me the option of any assignment I wanted.  This last assignment on the Bremerton was my attempt to return to a life-sciences background, and maybe some peace and quiet.  But….”  Patting the datapad that held his transfer orders, he added “Starfleet seems to have other ideas.”

A proximity-alert sounded on the helm station, and the pilot turned back to the controls.  “Entering sector of Sol-Four” he said.  “On course to Utopia Planitia drydock twelve. 120,000 kilometers and closing.”

As the rusty red planetscape of Mars reflected off the viewport, a distant metallic structure appeared out of the black, starry backdrop.  Looming closer, the runabout circled behind the gargantuan framework, and like the belly of some giant beast, cradled within its ribs was the blue-gray shadow of a slightly smaller construct.  A large circular saucer-shaped hull sat atop an ovalized, cylindrical secondary hull that boasted two blue pinstriped warp nacelles.  Port and starboard running lights blinked in synchronized harmony, as thousands of smaller viewport lights shined steadily throughout the craft.  The runabout came to a halt at the rear of the massive assemblage, and began a final approach into the rear-facing main shuttlebay on top of the saucer-section.

“She certainly is a sight to look at” whispered Doctor Cromwell, with his eyes fixated on the approaching vessel.

As the two gentlemen watched on in awe, the subspace comm came to life.  “Runabout Benning, this is Republic docking control.  Approach beams are activated.  Engage your landing cycle, and enjoy the ride.“ 

After fingering his control console several times, the Andorian lieutenant replied “acknowledged Republic, you have control.”

Slowly, the runabout inched ever closer, offering the occupants one last review of the majestic ship.  Proudly displayed on the bulkheads beneath them, highlighted by registry lighting and docking strobes, read: “U.S.S. REPUBLIC – GALAXY CLASS STARSHIP – NCC-76241 – UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS.”

With a soft jarring and a muffled clatter, the small courier vessel came to a stop, and the Andorian helm officer declared over the comm channel “all stations secure, Republic.  Preparing to disembark passenger.”  Turning to the doctor, the lieutenant said “we’re all clear, sir.  Welcome to your new home.”

Standing up, Doctor Cromwell smoothed the wrinkles out of his turtleneck sweater and adjusted his comm badge.  He slung his cylindrical boarding bag over his shoulder, and shook the Andorian’s hand.  “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem, sir” he replied.  With a smile and a jest, the pilot added  “watch out for those hard-charging military types!”

Returning the smile, the doctor proceeded to the egress ramp.

“Atmospheric pressure equalized” announced the monotone computer voice in the airlock.  Doctor Cromwell dialed the debark command on the planetfall hatch, and with a hiss, the door slid open and the egress ramp lowered.  As he strolled down the platform, ship personnel were going about their assigned duties at a rapid pace in preparation for departure.  Leon felt slightly out of place, either because he was standing around not doing anything, or perhaps because he was the only one in civilian clothing.

As the ramp retracted, the hum of the runabout’s engines began to increase in pitch, signaling their startup cycle.  Looking at the cockpit window, the smiling Andorian waved a goodbye to the doctor.  Waving back, he was interrupted by the loudspeaker.  “Runabout Benning preparing for departure, all personnel clear the launching platform.  Repeat, all personnel clear the launching platform.”  Realizing that he was not yet across the yellow demarcation line on the floor, the doctor looked up to see the shuttle bay personnel looking at him quizzically.  Embarrassed, he quickly trotted past the line, and turned around to see a chuckling Andorian in the runabout cockpit.  As the bay doors opened, and the warning beacon activated, the small craft levitated off the bay floor, spun slowly around and departed.  The dim flash of the atmosphere field shimmered as the runabout passed the threshold, and the doctor watched it disappear into the depths of space before the bay doors slid back closed.

 

<location: corridor, deck 4, USS Republic>

Lana watched the captain handle getting the crew on board the ship. It was amazing how he was able to keep track of everything. That and she also had on her mind the fact he had asked her to dinner to discuss what he was looking for in an XO. She couldn't wait. But she also felt the wedding band on her finger from when she was married to her husband. She laid her hand on her stomach as she followed the captain around feeling her baby.

The executive officer had been given a message that she was to meet the new doctor who had just arrived to the Republic. She knew it was part of her job, but she was nervous about doing it. According to her PADD in her hand, he had just landed in Shuttlebay One.  When she got there, she walked in and noticed someone there that she hadn't seen before.

The doctor stood at the base of the runabout’s ramp for a good minute, allowing the thought to settle that he was not going back to the Bremerton.  Scanning the crowd, an uneasy feeling crept into his stomach as the disciplined, uniformed crew went back to work preparing the Republic for her first trip out of drydock in over six years.  Suddenly, the doctor perceived that one of the crew was staring at him with a look of uncertainty.  She was a tall officer, wearing the maroon uniform of the command branch.  The three rank pips on her collar indicated her station as a Starfleet Commander, and this, the doctor assumed, was a member of the senior staff.

“Doctor Cromwell?” she finally said with a professional demeanor.

Reaching out to shake her hand, the doctor replied “yes, that’s me.  Permission to come aboard, Commander.”

Lana reached out her hand and shook his. "Permission granted Doctor, and I would like to say welcome aboard the Republic," she said. "I am Commander Lana Taylor at your service. The captain had a few things he needed to attend to, so I will be the one to be escorting you around. Shall we go?"

Commander Taylor led Doctor Cromwell out of the shuttle bay and into the adjoining corridor.  As the duo walked side by side, past and around officers coming from the opposite direction, the doctor couldn’t help but to apologize for the obvious.

“Sorry about my late arrival, Commander.  There were a few mix-ups at Jupiter Station.  I hope the captain wasn’t too displeased” he concluded with slight hesitance.

As they stepped into a turbolift, the doctor happened to notice the small bulge in the Commander’s abdomen.  Since her face did not denote any sign of weight gain, and the fact that the bulge was located in the uterine area, he realized that he had stumbled upon his first piece of official ship business.

“So,” he said straightforwardly, “have you had your pre-natal exam yet?”

Lana looked at the doctor. She was surprised that he picked up on her pregnancy. "Um...," she stuttered in shock. "How did you know?" she asked.  She stopped in the hallway just inside of the ship.

As she stopped suddenly before entering the turbolift, Commander Taylor’s piercing gaze and apprehensive demeanor met the doctor’s forthright expression, and he realized that he had struck a nerve.  Often forgetful of what his trained eye picks up on, he cleared his throat in reparation.

“I, uh, assume that this subject was not intended for public scrutiny?” he said with a tone of professional trepidation.  “If you’re concerned with my knowing this information, I can assure you that I hold all of my patients’ medical conditions in the strictness of confidence.”

He peered cautiously outside the open turbolift door, looking from side to side in search of some passerby who was scrutinizing their conversation.  Fortunately, no one had noticed the Commander’s abrupt halt, and the doctor spoke in a quieter voice.  “If I knew where exactly my office was, I’d invite you in for a private consultation.  That being not the case, perhaps we can either head to sickbay, or possibly settle for this?”  The doctor motioned for the commander to step through the door into the turbolift.

Lana looked at the doctor. "I can take you right to sickbay now if you would like. Your office is there also," she said stepping into the turbolift after the doctor.

"Sickbay," she said as she felt the turbolift move. She stayed quiet for most of the ride.

“Great,” thought the doctor.  “My first formal meeting on this ship, and I had to go ahead and make a fool of myself.”  As the hum of the turbolift filled the compartment, the tense atmosphere hung over the two officers like an approaching storm.  Neither knew what the other was thinking, but yet, both had to form some kind of professional connection in the coming months.  However, each felt that they had somehow gotten off the wrong foot with one another.

As the turbolift doors thrust open, Commander Taylor made no delay to the sickbay complex.  She marched through the corridor at a rather quick pace, and the Doctor had to make a few, irregular trots to keep up.  A sharp turn to the left, and through two large doors revealed a sprawling sickbay department.  Several staff were caught off guard at the sudden appearance of their first officer.  An attempt was made by several to come to attention, but the Commander did not give enough time.

"That is all right. This is your new Senior Officer in charge of sickbay, Doctor Leon Cromwell," she said before making a beeline for the CMO office.  The doctor tried to keep up, but couldn’t help to stop for a split second after the announcement of his name.

“Pleased to meet you all” he said, as Commander Taylor disappeared into the office.  Slightly flustered, and wringing his hands, the doctor took a few nervous shuffles toward the suite, all the while saying “Um, I’ll have a staff meeting with you momentarily. . . There’s just a . . . a pre-departure briefing that the Commander has to give me . . . um . . . Captain’s orders . . . you know how it goes . . . see you all shortly . . .”

The door to the office closed quickly after he entered, and the blue-uniformed staff looked at each other in bewilderment.  “What was that?” one of them finally said, after a moment of confusion.  After several clueless shoulder-shrugs, they went back to their assigned duties.

Meanwhile, in Doctor Cromwell’s new office, Commander Taylor stood in front of the computer desk with arms folded, tapping her foot anxiously.  “That’s two botched first-meetings.  I’m on a role,” thought the doctor.  New to the office, he could not get himself to sit at the chair behind the desk.  Instead, he settled on the corner of the desk, and consciously worked to look relaxed in hopes that the Commander would follow suite.

“Now,” he finally said with as much expert placidity he could muster.  “Why don’t you have a seat and tell me what this is all about?”

Lana sat down in a chair that the doctor pointed to. "Well, I am supposed to get you settled into your job before we head out. Captain's orders. I didn't make time for formalities," she said shifting uncomfortably in her seat, which was uncommon for a half betazoid/half human person. "I know so far this day has not went the way you have expected it to go. Nothing has. You assumed I was pregnant. That got me kind of flustered because no one knows. Not even the captain," she said from her chair.

Lana didn't know what to say after that. She twiddled around with the ring on her hand. Her wedding band. She knew eventually she would have to take it off, but she just couldn't bring herself to. "So whenever you would like to see me for a check-up is fine."

Doctor Cromwell listened to the Commander without interruption, but made a mental note of the repetitive shifting in her chair.  She seemed fretful.  Wrought with an anxiety that went beyond that of an expectant mother, or of an executive officer.  Something was on her mind that weighed so heavily that it was threatening to consume her entirely.  When she finished talking, the doctor nodded his head slowly as if attempting to ascertain whether something else might be troubling her.

“Well, give me a day or so to get my department together,” he said.  “I’m used to days not going they way I expect them to, otherwise I wouldn’t be a good department head.  However, if I’m going to be delivering a child while we’re on active duty, especially to one of the senior officers, I’d like to be prepared.”

The doctor stood up and finally went behind the desk in search of a data pad.  “Besides,” he continued, “from the looks of it, you’re in about your fourth month, and although it won’t be awhile until you come to term, you’re already beginning to show the signs of pregnancy.”  He smiled slightly, as if happy to display his medical prowess.  “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have noticed…”

Finding a data pad in the top desk drawer, he exclaimed “Ah, here we go. . .”  For a brief second, he looked at the chair behind the desk, as if unsure whether it was really his.  Finally, he resolved to sit, and after tapping a few times on the data pad, Doctor Cromwell created his first ship-board appointment schedule.  “Let’s do your pre-natal exam in three days at around 1300 hours depending on your schedule—I know you’ll be busy.  Now, on to the other business at hand. . .”

Slowly placing the pad on the desk, the doctor folded his hands, and looked at Lana with a direct, concerned expression.  “Look, I may not be an empath,” he said finally.  “But I’ve gone to enough psychology seminars to know when something is bothering a person.  You’re going to be a mother, and undo stress on you can reap dangerous repercussions for your child.  You already have a stressful position as the Saratoga’s first officer, and as your attending physician, I don’t want to see anymore stress than necessary during this pregnancy.  So, if something else is on your mind, it behooves you to resolve it now.”

The doctor sat back in his chair, and added “mind you, I’m a good listener.  However, if you’d feel more comfortable with the ship’s counselor, you’ll have to wait until I meet with my staff.”

Lana watched the doctor has he started to get everything organized in his office. She was in shock that he had been able to pin point her pregnancy and know that something was wrong. She thought that just her being an empath that she was the only one able to do that.

"Look Dr. Cromwell, I really don't want to bore you with the details of my life the past few months. I have a job to do and so do you. And basically it says that neither one of us interferes with the other one's personal life except on a professional level," she said.

Lana then proceeded to get up out of the chair and fell back in from being light headed.

A furrow developed on the doctor’s forehead, as if he had just discovered a new symptom.  The Commander, slightly pale, appeared to be on the verge of a fainting episode.  Quickly scanning the shelves in his office, Leon spotted a medical tricorder, and immediately put it to work.  Standing up, he walked over to Lana, and ran the diagnostic wand around the executive officer several times. 

As the device sprung to life in the doctor’s hands, a high-pitched hum came forth from the palm-sized apparatus.  “Well, personal life or not, it seems that your electrolyte levels are hovering well below normal.”  Closing the tricorder, he looked around on the floor for his cylindrical boarding bag.  After kneeling down and prying open the two hinged covers, he reached in and produced a black pouch the size of a hardcover book.  The ripping of velcro echoed in the office as the doctor unpacked his hypospray and inserted two small vials of liquid.  Dialing the dosage levels, he reached over and gently administered the injection on Commander Taylor’s neck.

“This is a combination tri-ox compound, metabolism stabilizer, and relaxant” he explained.  “I also added a few drops of my own special cocktail of serotonin, so you should be feeling better in a few seconds.”

Returning the medical equipment back to their case, the doctor looked back at the XO.  “Look,” he pleaded, “this isn’t about you personal life anymore.  Whatever it is that’s bothering you is obviously affecting you physically.  This is jeopardizing your child and your ability to carry out your duties as exec.”

He knelt down and came to eye-level with Taylor.  “Commander . . . “ he stopped to check himself before making a correction in a softer tone.  “Lana . . . as your doctor, I’m giving you two choices: you can either talk to myself or the ship’s counselor about whatever is bugging you, or force me to report this to the captain---and I get the impression you don’t want that. For that matter, * I * don’t want that.  But you have to weigh the options here: is bottling up this stress more important than the life of your child and the lives aboard this ship?  We haven’t even left drydock yet.  Imagine what this is going to do to you over the next few days or even weeks.”

Standing up, the doctor returned to sitting on the corner of the desk in front of the Commander.  “Now,” he continued, “what do you want to do about this?”

Lana looked at the doctor. She didn't see where she had much of a choice but to tell him what was going on. "Doctor, a few months ago, I lost my husband in a battle. I had no idea I was pregnant at the time. I asked for a transfer immediately because I couldn't deal with being on the same ship as the one he had died on. That was when I got transferred to this ship as the XO. Anything else you want to know?" she asked almost sarcastically.

Closing his eyes, the doctor wiped his forehead with his hand.  “Great, I screwed up a third time today,” he thought to himself as a rush of guilt surged through his stomach.  Letting out a sigh, he looked down at the floor, then back to the Commander.  “I’m sorry . . . I had no idea.”

After a moment of silence, his head scrambled to find the right words to say.  “There’s nothing worse in the universe than the death of a spouse,” the doctor admitted.  At the risk of exacerbating the situation, he chose to do what every good counselor he had worked with in the past had done: empathize and try to put it the situation into perspective. “Not only are you distraught with the constant reminder of his passing,” he said with realization, “but you carry his unborn child, and have moved to a new ship where you don’t know anyone.  No wonder you’re overstressed.  The fact that you’ve come this far with it, and accepted an executive position on a starship, is testament to your determination to overcome this.”

Doctor Cromwell shook his head, folded his arms, and looked at the ceiling.  Rationalizing the situation with a note of irony in his voice, he said “it’s amazing.  I’ve been able to comfort screaming soldiers with maimed limbs, given sedatives to battle-worn catatonic starship crews, and even made a grizzly old Klingon who couldn’t lift a batliff chuckle.  But there’s no way at all for me to change the past.”

Finally, he squatted back down and returned to eye-level with Taylor.  “I can’t take the pain away,” he admitted.  Glancing at the floor, the doctor mused for a second before continuing.  “Look, I know we haven’t exactly started off on the right foot, but if you need someone to talk to, let me know.  And it doesn’t have to be here, either” he motioned to the office around him.  “Sometimes just a drink and an attending ear can help more than a hypospray.”

Lana looked at the doctor. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Another man was offering to help her with the fact that she missed her husband and was pregnant with his child.

"I would appreciate that Le...I mean, Doctor," Lana said with her head down blushing for almost calling him by his first name.

She rose up from her chair and looked at the doctor.

Realizing he actually did some good to help the Commander, Leon breathed a mental sigh of relief.  “It’s always tricky,” thought the doctor, “when your patients are enduring mental trauma on top of a medical condition.”  Although he always kept the profiles of his patients totally confidential, once in a while he felt it was necessary to pitch the “I’ll report this to the captain” line to get to the bottom of an issue.  In the past, there were very few times when he was forced to follow through with the threat.  Fortunately, most saw the wisdom in not arguing with their attending physician.

“I’m glad I could help,” said the doctor.  “Remember, you’re not alone on this ship.  We’re all here to help one another, and if one of us is suffering, it’s up to the rest of us to do something about it.”

Just as he finished, the ship-wide intercom activated.

=/\= “Senior staff to the observation lounge” =/\=

Looking back to Commander Taylor, Doctor Cromwell raised his eyebrows.  “Well, I guess this is it” he said.  “After you.”  Motioning to the door, the doctor followed her out of the office as they responded to the captain’s call.

 

<location:  in orbit around Mars>

Class VI shuttles were sleek, small, and built for speed, and right now, Lieutenant Commander John Carter needed all the speed he could get.

 The tall, dark haired Martian clenched his hands and tried to relax, checking his course and speed for what seemed like the thousandth time as the perfect syncopation of late 20th century Terran jazz continued over the internal comm system. John ran a hand through his hair, and mused to himself.

"Routine paper work, they said." John tapped out a series of commands on one of the many display boards. A countdown of his ETA to the Utopia Planetia Shipyards appeared. The numbers of the display were falling fast... but not quite fast enough.

"Nothing to worry about, they said." The Lieutenant Commander glanced over his right shoulder, eyes locking onto his old-style duffle, still marked as property of U.S.S. Valiant II, in archaic stenciled print. A well worn stick of ash, about three and a half feet tall with a small basket on a flared end rested against the duffle. John called out to the emptiness of the shuttle's interior.

"Computer, resume log entry." The shuttle's systems beeped in reply. Carter had "respectfully" asked that the voice acknowledgement be discontinued. He cleared his throat and spoke.

"Final transfer to U.S.S. Republic has been approved by Fleet HQ. Getting back into space will be a nice change of pace after a year at the Academy."

Carter's entry was interrupted by the navigational computer's chirp. John then felt the familiar pull at his body as the shuttle's inertial compensators struggled to counteract the effects of shifting from warp speeds to real space. John settled into the pilot's position and couldn't help a smile as the familiar red orb of Mars (he refused to call it Sol IV like most federation citizens) came into view. Floating above, in orbit of John's home world, he could see the sprawling Utopia Planetia Shipyard. nestled in an exterior berth, Carter saw the hull of a galaxy Class starship, the U.S.S. Republic.

"Damn", John said to himself. "It's good to be home." John zipped up his gold collar and reached back to slip into his black duty tunic, then opened a channel to Utopia Planitia Control.

"Shuttle Kierkagard to Utopia Station control." He waited for a response.

"This is Utopia Approach Control, Kierkagard, go ahead."

John keyed commands to put his shuttle under command of the station's traffic systems. "Lieutenant Carter reporting as ordered from Starfleet Command. Sorry for the delay. Please inform Captain Marshall and the Republic that I await his earliest convenience."

"Understood, Lieutenant Commander. We'll convey the message. Sit back and enjoy the view."

John Carter sat down and looked out the viewport of his shuttle as the rust-colored orb that was his homeworld hove closer and closer. Republic’s new Tactical Officer just sat back and smiled. "Oh, don't worry about that. Carter out."

In minutes, the shuttle Kirkagard was safely docked in Utopia Station. John Carter collected his personal effects, and set out for the nearest turbolift. He couldn't help but let out a small smirk as the turbolift doors opened with no sound at all. John shook his head. "That's just not right", he commented, stepping into the lift. Again, he called out to the air. "Refit dock two," he said. "U.S.S. Republic." John shut his eyes and leaned against the back of the turbolift car, the familiar weight of his Lacrosse coup stick comfortably in his hands.

The next sound he was aware of was the bustling of crewmen and repair teams near the central gangway. Ahead of him, he could see the mammoth saucer hull of the Republic. He stepped out of the lift car and strode up the gangway. "Well John, here we go."

 

<location:  main bridge, U.S.S. Republic>

Lieutenant Virtus checked left and right, and once certain no one was looking over his shoulder, verified his information, correcting a mistake made over a year ago. Vic carefully programmed the ship's computer to play the FIRST movement of Gustav Holst's "The Planets" upon Lieutenant Commander Carter entering his quarters.

Victor ran his first diagnostic of the ship's sensors.  Diagnostics take processor time from the ship's computer and require an infinitesimal amount of power from the ship's batteries. But any non-scheduled use of ship's power had to cleared by the XO.  Level 5 diagnostics run every few seconds, and report that the power is on, and that the computer believes the sensors are present, level 1 diagnostics requires hundreds of man-hours, testing every circuit by hand. 

Not wanting to disturb Commander Taylor, Victor settled for a "Level Six" diagnostic.  Not listed in any of the Star Fleet protocol manuals, a Level Six check consisted of reading the ship's specifications, and visually confirming that the ship did, in fact, have those sensors.

Proximity sensors, active, currently offline, UFP standard issue Mark VIII, based heavily on Vulcan T'li sensor technology that was old when the UPF was still seven races, good out to 1000 meters, can see a paint fleck or a water molecule until it gets within three meters of the hull.  Then the ship's own mass interferes with the signal.

Primary Navigation Sensors, active, online, and smart enough to know we are currently docked.  UPF Mark VII point II.  (Vic briefly wondered what SF sciences department genius decided to stick with Terran Roman numerals, but still include a "point" version update.) Cutting edge technology of the last century, able to detect and avoid interstellar hazards in real space at up to 5 x 10^12 meters...

"Five million kilometers... five thousand megameters... five gigameters... point oh oh five terameters... point oh oh oh oh oh five exameters... "

Victor realized he'd been talking to himself, and slyly glanced around.  The ensign on conn was stoically looking forward at the blank screen, but the helmsman on duty had cranked himself all the way around in his seat and was staring.

"Sorry.  Carry on Ensign."

Vic did the math, two ships closing at full impulse would have 15 minutes warning if all other sensors but primary navigation were out.

Secondary Navigational Sensors, passive, always online, and smarter than an Oranian Shoal Slug or a Terran Border Collie, but not by much.  A redundant system that Star Fleet regulations require on all vessels. Regulations dating back to the 21st century on Sol III, when every vessel, from personal land transports to interplanetary exploration probes, had to have three back-up systems for everything.  (Vic wondered for the umpteenth time of his life how the Phoenix ever got off the ground.)  The secondary nav. sensors listen for energy signatures, watch interstellar masses, and wait until something cuts off the energy broadcast or moves between the ship and the interstellar mass, and then makes an educated on what is nearby, and where it is.  They operate on a principle the Academy boys like to call the "Sunbathing Horta" principle, whereby a Horta on a rock will immediately know if a cloud has obscured the sun, even though Horta do not see into the human visible light range. The Republic’s secondary navigation sensors were currently screaming (silently) that the ship was in eminent danger of a collision with six docking clamps, the gangplank, a U.P. communications satellite, a number 12 pneumatic wrench and the planet Mars.

Vic ran a check, and sure enough, there was a number 12 pneumatic wrench resting on the saucer, dorsal, 7.21 meters port of the main deflector array.

The secondary navigation sensors also take over when something is inside the effective range of the proximity sensors.  Theoretically, the closer something is, the better the secondary sensors pick it up.  Vic remembered his third year at the academy, when he and his partner successfully convinced the secondary nav. sensors of their ancient Constitution-class training vessel that there was a 100  megaton sugar cube between the moon and the earth.  Vic got a 5 out of 5 on that project, and a reprimand from the instructor for causing the cadet Lt. to panic, go to red alert, and warn Star Fleet of a possible Borg invasion.  The sugar cube had been resting on the main sensor array.

Short Range Deep Space Sensors, active, online, Mark IX Shinomi, Tellarite design with a Terran sense of style, good to 25 light years, adequate to 40 light-years.  The bulk of the "eyes and ears" of the main sensor array is tied up in short range sensors. 

Vislight, electromagnetic, gravametric, subspace, tachyonic, tardonic (slower than light, i.e. matter), ionic, chronomic (the ship's clock is actually part of the main sensor array, and woe-betide the ensign that damages the sensitive equipment that controls when officers wake up.), and a whole host of other <prefix>-<technical sounding word>-ic detectors.  Vic ran a brief scan of the ship's surroundings.  Two other Fleet ships docked, one more inbound passing Saturn, three UPF merchant vessels in orbit, 8 shuttles nearby, two moons, one planet, all within 1.6 million kilometers.

Long-Range Deep Space Sensors, active or passive modes, offline, Mark X LoRDSS, specially designed for the Galaxy-class, able to pick up stellar phenomenon at over 250 light-years.  Intended for deep space exploration of the gamma and delta quadrants, but interestingly enough, much better at detecting other ships than detecting planets. 

Vic paused, finished with his cursory inspection, and looked around the bridge.  Standard layout, slightly non-standard carpeting and neutral wall coloration.  The Captain, First Officer, Ship's Counselor, helmsman and conn. get to sit, everyone else stands for an eight hour shift. 

His diagnostic complete, Vic logged his findings and put in a work order to U.P. maintenance to collect their wrench before the Republic disembarked. His internal monologue continued to churn, "Is a diagnostic two individual agnostics, or one agnostic that believes in two separate Supreme Beings?  Can you run a check on a person to tell if they are agnostic or diagnostic?  How can you tell if to two agnostics are working properly?"

 

<location: main gangway hatch, USS Republic>

Lieutenant Commander John Carter felt the slight shift of gravity as he crossed the threshold into the main gangway of the U.S.S. Republic. Her brightly lit corridors and graceful curves were not as spacious as the art deco buildings back at Starfleet Headquarters, but, John reflected as he began to weave through crowds of busy crewmen, neither were they as cramped as the Intrepid Class U.S.S. Freedom Star, which was his last deep black assignment.

John felt a rush of adrenaline and a bit of pride as he recalled the 'Star's time on Neutral Zone patrol. 'Neutral my ass!' he thought to himself.

Barely a week into their patrol, the Freedom Star, designated as an exploration vessel for Task Force 06, had been called to the rescue of the U.S.S. Discovery, an older Nebula class cruiser that had been affected by some sort of unusual energy surge. In response to the Discovery's condition, John had been part of the rescue team, dispatched in several shuttles to secure the wreck of the Discovery and assess the condition of her crew.

Recovery procedures had gone well enough. Discovery had been rigged for warp-towing, and the battered ship's hull had been deemed space worthy. Freedom Star's recovery teams all made it back on board, and the captain had ordered a leisurely course back to Hellsgate Station.

John couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of that place, reflecting that there must be a reason why some people end up in back-water posts. he suspected it was to keep the flotsam out of the rest of Starfleet's business. Carter stopped at a turbo-lift door toward the rear quarter of the circular hall he had been walking down, waiting patiently until the car arrived. As he waited, he thought about the unceremonious arrival at Hellsgate Station.

John could recall perfectly the bitter disappointment he felt at being towed into the station's repair bay. On reflection, he knew there was little more he could have done. 'After all', he kept reminding himself, 'when the odds start off as six to one against, what does a warp core really matter? To say nothing of what your ideas do to physics'.

The doors to the lift car opened and john Carter was barely aware of the sly grin he reflexively gave whoever the woman in science blue was who stood in front of him now. Carter glanced at her collar.

'Two dots', he thought. 'Don't stare', but it was too late.

"Can I help you, Lieutenant Commander?" The question brought John's consciousness back to what he was actually doing and away from memories of the Neutral Zone, now almost two years old.

"Sorry." John said, as he stepped into the car. He glanced up, then turned his head slightly to the right. "Deck 4". He said. A slightly muffled "humph" came from 'the blue woman'. Carter settled into the car and glanced over at her. "What was that?" He asked.

"Officer Country," was the science lieutenant's reply. "Hope you like it there sir." 

John Carter arched an eyebrow, suspecting she meant more than she was saying. "And," he paused for effect, "Why wouldn't I? The Republic’s practically a luxury liner compared to my last cruise."

'The Blue Woman' nodded in agreement. "No argument there sir," she said. "But..."

'Why?' John wondered. 'Why is there ALWAYS a but?!?' "Yes?" was all he managed to let out.

Blue woman hid a smirk behind her hand as she felt the lift stop on Deck 6. She stepped the doors as they slid open, silently, again, much to Carter's annoyance. As the stepped onto the new deck, she looked back over her shoulder to address Saratoga's new Tactical Officer. "Officer Country is haunted." She said the words so casually, John knew she at least THOUGHT she was serious. Blue woman stepped out of sight as the doors to the lift car slid shut.

John Carter stood in the lift, blinking once or twice as he felt the car resume it's journey upward to his final destination. The lift car stopped at deck four, doors sliding open silently...again. Carter stepped onto the deck and turned to his left, eyes on the lookout for his new quarters. "Haunted," he said out loud to no one in particular. "Sure it is." He continued, "Of COURSE it is. I mean it would have to be, wouldn't it?"

Carter stopped and keyed the command to open the door to his new home. He kept musing aloud to himself. "Good one to pull on the new guy I guess. Better be on the watch for strange shapes and odd noises." The door to John Carter's quarters opened, and he stepped inside.

A wall of sound hit the Starfleet officer with almost physical force, and John felt himself jump, his duffle and coup stick hitting the floor. "Griffe!" he shouted. "What's that sprocking noise"? John stooped down to get his duffle while his brain sorted out the sounds that were assaulting him. Powerful, pulsing drums. Angry, slicing strings, and weaved in all of that, a melody so low and menacing, it could only be one piece.

John threw his head back and laughed. "That crafty little..." he chuckled. "I was wondering why he didn't answer my call last week. Too smart for my own good". Carter tilted his head back and yelled over the thunderous music. "Computer!" he shouted. "End playback". The music ceased as the computer obeyed Carter's command. "Thank you", he said. "Now", he called out, "give me the location of Victor Virtus"!

The ever-present, non-localized voice of the ship's computer filled John's quarters.

"Lieutenant Virtus is on the main bridge."

John was momentarily startled.  Vic had been a Lieutenant Commander a year ago on the Freedom Star.  Could he have had to take a demotion to get this assignment?

Lieutenant Commander John Carter stowed the last of his personnel gear in the recessed dresser that comprised most of the port side wall of his cabin. He still had trouble believing that any ship in the fleet, even the vaunted Galaxy Class, could allot so much space to individual crewmen. Even the Sovereign Class, which was larger in total than the Galaxy, and had for a time supplanted the Galaxy Class as the "Queens of the Fleet", had what amounted to less internal space because of interior compartments designated for various science or other mission specific functions, reconfigured shield and sensor arrays, and about a million other internal workings that John still didn't fully understand. He shut the last of his dresser drawers, crossed the room, and draped his black duty tunic over the back of his chair.

Sitting before his work-station, he saw the read tell-tale indicating a personal message was waiting for him, thanks to the ship's internal communications net. Carter had received access and command codes along with final confirmation of his assignment to the Republic, and had managed to commit the sequences to memory during his somewhat rushed flight from Sol III to Mars. He quickly keyed in the new sequence, and watched as the ship's computer displayed the message.

It was short and to the point, from the ship's Executive Officer asking that all Senior Staff review the status of their departments, and prepare reports for the XO's review prior to Republic’s departure from Utopia Station. John read the message, then deleted it. Rather than continue a one-sided relationship with the ship's computer, John flexed his fingers and began tapping commands into his console. A full review of Republic’s Tactical Systems and Personnel would take more time than he actually had, if it were going to be done right, but John Carter had a habit of seeing a deadline and obliterating it rather than just beating it. He opened the Tactical Department's Personnel Database, and set about seeing what he had to work with.

A sea of humanoid and alien faces sailed by as Carter reviewed the records of those he would be responsible for in the coming months. After a few minutes, some things were becoming clear. These were good people. 'Not the cream of the fleet', John thought to himself, 'But we can't all be on the Enterprise'. Even as John became aware of that thought, he chuckled to himself. 'G'! He thought. 'I can't believe they're all the way up to G'!

John Carter began compiling the duty roster for his department as well as several 'default' away team pairings for situations he considered to be common. 'Then again', he knew, 'nothing that happens in Fleet is common anymore.

Managing the workings of the Tactical Department was easier by far than trying to juggle the needs of ALL the departments on the ship, and for the first time, Carter was glad that it wasn't his responsibility this time around. He had been thrust into the position of becoming Freedom Star's XO because of what Fleet had called an 'Untenable conflict of interest' in his former ship's command structure, and that had been an education in diplomacy. One that John had decided he didn't need to repeat any time soon.

John's gaze dropped to the lower right corner of his data display as he put the final touches on the Tactical duty roster. The young Martian squinted his eyes and shook his head quickly. "Only 45 minutes" he said. "Not bad for a guy who grading thesis papers and running middies through the 'grinder' about this time last year." Carter finished the schedule, then posted it to the ship's master list, as well as copying each of his charges and the XO and CO of the Republic. According to Fleet regs, he was now responsible for a personal review of the ship's combat and defensive systems, but he couldn't do that from his cabin.

Lieutenant Commander John Carter stood up and resisted the urge to make what his sister had called 'The Old Man Noise'. It was, John had decided, a Carter family trait that had started God knew how long ago in the mountains of Virginia on Earth, and had managed to attach itself, perhaps even on a genetic level, through the family's migration. From the initial colonization of Mars all those centuries ago, through present day. All the Carter men. ALL OF THEM, would rise from a seated position and utter something of a cross between a groan and a growl, before taking that crucial first step to wherever it was they were going. John made that noise now, internally if not aloud, as he reached for his tunic.

John slipped into the black jacket with slate blue shoulders, and gold piping on the sleeves to match his department color. After years of wearing red, denoting his attachment to the traditional Conn/Command track, Carter still couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that he was now in Tactical, despite having taught Advanced Starship Tactics at the Academy for the last year. John fastened his tunic at a comfortable level and pushed the sleeves of his uniform midway up his forearms. It was a state of dress that wasn't specifically against regulations, but wasn't entirely endorsed either.

Republic’s Tactical Officer stepped toward the door to his quarters. The door opened at his approach, just as John had the urge to turn and take one last look at the room. The Lieutenant Commander glanced over his shoulder, and, seeing nothing amiss, set off at a brisk pace back down the corridor to the nearest turbo-lift station. 'Next stop', he thought, 'Main Bridge'.

 

<location: chief engineer’s office, USS Republic>

Ashley paced in her office, trying her best not to appear bored. She had checked and rechecked nearly every system she could, and everything was ready to go. She sighed and checked the warp intermix ration one more time, and as usual it was at optimal levels.  Two of the technicians from the shipyard came walking around the corner carrying some tools and PADD's. Ashley jumped and walked quickly over.

"Crewman, what's that you have there?" she asked, like a hawk savaging for fresh meat.

One of the crewmen stammered and looked at the other who looked at her and said, "Yes, lieutenant, we were just on our way to the bridge to complete some repairs to the rear stations."

Ashley grinned and snatched the PADD from the crewman. "No need, I'll take care of that for you."

The crewman looked startled, then slowly grinned. "Don't tell me you are already bored already, sir. You haven’t even left drydock yet!"

Ashley grinned lopsidedly. "Does it show that much, why don’t you guys accompany me, and assist?"

The crewman looked at each other, and the one on the left spoke. "I'd love to, but if your going to help him, the dock manager wanted me to get on transporting some deuterium canisters." and with that he turned and left.

Ash and the tech entered the turbolift bound for the bridge. Ashley looked over at the crewman. "what’s your name again?"

The crewman looked at her, then said, "Crewman Daniels."

Ash raised one of her half Vulcan eyebrows. "I haven’t seen you around on the refit crew, did you just transfer in?"

Daniels nodded. "Uhhh yes, I just came in from a transport ship on a long assignment", he said with a strange grin.

Ash nodded, and then stepped out into the bridge as the doors parted. After greeting the present officers, Ash walked over to the aft stations. Pulling out her hydro-spanner, Ash pulled the panel off the bulkhead and stuck her head in. Daniels kneeled next to her, and peered in at the mass of ODN cables and displays within.

When he though she wasn't looking, he slipped a small circular device out of his pocket and pressed it under the bottom of the panel behind her. But having inherited excellent hearing from the Vulcan side of her physiology, Ash knew exactly what he had just done. She completed her scans and adjustments, then stood up and snapped the panel back in place.

"That's it. Everything is set and ready to go up here." she said, and looked at Daniels. "Would you like to hit the mess hall and have lunch?"

Daniels appeared nervous then suddenly looked up at her. "Actually no, I kinda have to run. Have a few more stops before I'm done."

Ash smiled and nodded. "Okay then, thanks for your...help" she said as he abruptly turned and entered the turbolift. As the door closed, she noticed something had fallen out of his pocket where he had been kneeling. Bending down, she saw that is was a PADD. But after looking at it more closely, she realized it was unlike any PADD she had seen before. "Must be some new design R&D is testing out here" she thought to herself. She tapped her combadge.

“Sawyer to Daniels.”

There was no reply. Ash repeated the hail once more, than asked the computer what the location of Crewman Daniels was.

=/\= “There is no crewman on board the Republic by the name of Daniels.” =/\=

Ash sighed, then went back to one of the rear stations and opened a channel to the dock master. "Hey Commander Radditz, its Ash on the Republic. You just sent a crewman named Daniels over to do some repairs on the bridge? He left some of his equipment here and I . . . "

=/\= "You must be mistaken Commander.  I have sent no teams to the bridge, and I don’t have any crewman named Daniels on my staff." =/\=

Ash looked surprised, then assumed she must have just heard his name wrong. She thanked the commander, then got up and decided she would just go return it to him personally over at the station. She took one last look around the bridge, then walked into the turbolift. Leaning against the wall, she accidentally rested her finger on the face of the PADD of Daniels, and it suddenly beeped to life. Looking down, she was immediately shocked when some of the words on the screen caught her attention:

 

Starfleet Department of Temporal Investigation

Incident Report

Stardate: Classified

Vessel: USS Republic 76241

Stardate: Classified

Temporal Incursion: Miswired ODN junction at rear bridge stations will cause a system overload in the main science panel, which will cause a cascade Neural Gel Pack explosion, causing severe structural damage, killing the entire command crew on the bridge, and severely damaging the Utopian Planitia Shipyards.

Mission: Place a modified ODN transponder onto the rear station under-panel to correct the mis-aligned circuits and prevent the explosion.

Outcome: The explosion will be prevented, Republic will survive to complete classified missions on stardates CLASSIFIED and CLASSIFIED

Temporal Agent assigned: Commander Daniels

Signed, Admiral J Fitzgerald

 

Ashley stared at the PADD, shocked. Then the turbolift doors opened and deposited her back in Engineering. Clasping the PADD in her hands, Ash walked quietly back to her office, and put the PADD into the drawer and locked it. Protocol dictated that she would have to notify the captain about the situation.

 

<Location: Main Bridge, USS Republic>

“Captain,” announced Lieutenant Virtus at the rear science station.  “Message coming in from Starfleet Command.  It's our orders.

“Download it to a PADD for me,” replied Captain Marshall in the command pit.

Virtus hands him a PADD containing the orders, and the captain quietly reads them over.  A minute later, he tapped a button on his command chair console.

“Senior Staff to the Observation Lounge.”

Moments afterwards, the entire departmental and command staff of the Starship Republic had assembled in the spacious conference room behind the main bridge.  Standing up, Captain Marshall addressed them.

“Well it looks like we're all here so welcome aboard the United Star Ship Republic.  Starfleet has contacted us, and I have received our first mission orders.”  He pushed a button to bring up a display on the screen.

“This is the Yeldon system.  It is in the Beta Quadrant.  It will take 36 hours to get there at Warp 6.  There is rumored to be a secret T'saz base there.  We are to check it out.  If there is, we infiltrate, get what information we can and get out. Then we destroy the base to hold up their advancement into Federation territory. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me after we have left dock and before we get there. Now, if you'll follow me to the bridge.”

With the short briefing completed, the assembled officers followed the captain onto the nerve center of the Republic.  Everyone took his or her station, and Doctor Cromwell seated himself in the second officer's chair.

“Alright,” the captain announced.  “Let's get this show on the road.  Departure stations.”  He taps the intercom button.  “Lieutenant Commander Sawyer, how are the engines?”

=/\= “Fit as a fiddle.  As you would say sir, like greased lightning.” =/\=

“That I would,” the skipper replied.  “Commander Taylor, hail the dockmaster.”

“Control tower reading, Captain,” she replied from her seat next to him, reviewing the checklist monitor.

Redialing a new channel on his armrest, the captain called out “control, this is Republic, requesting permission to depart.”

=/\= “This is control Republic.  You are granted permission to depart.” =/\=

“Clear all moorings,” announced Ensign Zelk, the Ferengi helmsman.

The captain responded in the standard departure checklist lingo.  “Awaiting port gates from this mark.”

=/\= Mooring lines cleared. =/\=

“Ensign Zelk,” Marshall started.  “Take us out at one quarter impulse power.  Once we're clear set a course for Yeldon II and engage at Warp 6.”

“Aye Captain,” he replied.

John Carter glanced at the Tac board as the senior staff of the Republic looked ahead. Familiar stars and phenomena filled the scene. John checked local and long-range sensors, then gave a quick glance to the helmsman. He couldn't help but think that the view from the Republic’s Tactical station was somehow just . . . wrong. Carter glanced at the back of Captain Marshall's head, then fixed his gaze on the forward screen as he spoke.

"Sensors showing open sky Captain. We're clear and free to navigate". John keyed his master Tac display to Long-range Active Sensors, and rolled his eyes as now Lieutenant Victor Virtus, who had somehow managed to be Chief scientist rather than Engineer on the Republic raised his hands in the time-honored "golf-clap" while simultaneously mouthing, 'Nice one, John'.

For his part, Carter gave a cocky smirk and fingered the pips on his collar, making sure to tap each of the three pips . . . very . . . slowly.

As the ship went into warp, the doctor watched as the bridge crew went about their duties with confidence and anticipation of their upcoming mission.  The bridge of the Republic was much bigger than he imagined.  Years ago, he had the chance to participate in a brief tour of a Galaxy Class starship, the USS

Yamato.  However, they never made it to the bridge.  The vessel was in drydock, and he was just a young trainee crewman fresh out of basic enlistment training.

Seeing the control center for the first time gave Doctor Cromwell a sense of purpose and belonging that he never felt anywhere else in Starfleet.

“These people," he thought, "where will they be in a year?  How will our upcoming missions affect them?"  Remembering the recent briefing, the doctor turned to the captain in the next chair and asked "I’m not too familiar with the

T'saz, sir.  What are we likely to run up against if we find a base in the Yeldon system?"

“Well Doctor, we don't really know that much about them.  They are from the Vencta System.  A purely military culture.  Data on their ships is extremely limited.  There's a file in the ship's computer on them.  I'll see that all of the crew receives a copy.”

Meanwhile, Victor Virtus moved from the sciences station to the secondary tactical station, jockeying for a better spot to hear the Captain describe the T'Saz to the doctor.  This also allowed Vic to engage in his favorite on-duty pastime.  Victor composed a written 'Request for information' and sent it the one meter to the primary tactical station.

'Request for information.  Lieutenant Commander Carter, please update on current condition and well being for past'

Vic ran a brief check on Sol IV's orbital rotation vs. Sol III's.

' .53 Martian years.  Sensors indicate a rise in levels of pride and confidence originating in the vicinity of the sciences department head.  Recommend against attempting any heated negotiations with Andorian crew members.  CSO.'

Vic masked a chuckle by coughing.

John tapped a few keys at his tactical station. The MSSD, (Multi-Station System Display) which had been the Starfleet standard for well-over 100 years, shifted and changed to open a text dialogue between John Carter's Tactical Station and Science One, across the back of Saratoga's spacious bridge.

Carter couldn't help but think back to his time onboard the U.S.S. Valiant II, when  a cocky and over-confident Lieutenant John Carter suddenly found himself at odds with thousands of years of Andorian cultural tradition. Even on starships, Andorian's maintained a complex and oft times confusing clan organization where positions in society actually took precedence, albeit not officially, over rank or position within a given ship's command structure. Carter had bucked this tradition by appointing an Andorian crewman he saw as better qualified (to say nothing of his higher rank) for an away mission ahead of another Andorian. What John did not know was that the crewman he had rebuffed was senior to all other Andorian's on the Valiant, and he had therefore insulted this Andorian's house, clan, and . . . depending on who you might have discussed the situation with, the Andorian Race as a whole.

The situation came to a head when John Carter literally had to fight for the correctness of his decision. So there he was, son of a Martian diplomat and a xeno-biologist, facing down a holodeck full of Andorian's who would sooner have snapped his neck than admit an error, and it was about to get worse.

Growing up on Mars had given John Carter a natural, and perhaps even genetic edge when dealing with hot, dry conditions. This is a trait that Andorian's decidedly did not share. John knew that he couldn't possibly take on a room full of angry Andorian's, but thanks to his command codes, and some timely manipulation of the holodeck's climate controls, he wouldn't have to. Carter had arranged for the temperature inside the holodeck to begin at around 70 degrees and steadily climb at a rate of 2 degrees every 2.5 seconds.

Xeno-biology 101: Andorian physiology is not well suited to temperatures over 85 degrees. Studies indicate that Andorian subjects exhibit violent flashes of temper at higher temperatures as their body chemistry changes to accommodate the body's demand to be cooled.  After behavioral changes, if the temperature is not decreased, Andorians fall into a state of torpor as their bodies conserve energy by shutting down to a minimal state.

At a final temperature of 115 degrees, which even John Carter had to admit was hard for him to deal with after being away from Mars so long, the last Andorian dropped. To Carter's reckoning, the final score was Mars 72, Andor 0, but it wasn't anything John Carter would want to repeat.

Back in the present, John Carter was composing a quick response to Victor Virtus' question. The two officers had actually met on the U.S.S. Farragut when John was an Ensign, and through some strange quirk of fate, had managed to be assigned to the same command for each of next two assignments. First, on the Valiant II, an Excelsior class vessel that had been assigned to mid-range scientific survey, then to the U.S.S. Freedom Star, where John soon found himself facing down a sizable chunk of the Imperial Romulan Fleet. It was after his 'innovative' dealing with three D'deridex class Warbirds that the Freedom Star was towed back to Hellsgate Station (Starfleet designation SB 666). There, Victor and John met again when Virtus was assigned to be Freedom Star's Chief Engineer. However, shortly after Freedom Star was declared once again space-worthy (following the installation of a new warp-core and re-enforced inertial dampeners), that John had been unexpectedly re-assigned.

What Victor Virtus did not know, was that Carter had been requested to teach Advanced Starship Strategy and Tactics, as well as a course in Basic Small Craft Flight Control, which the cadets affectionately called "Bacon".

John reflected on his time at the academy as he composed a reply to Victor's query. Eventually, he decided on:

'I spent a year on Sol III teaching Midshipmen what not to do.  Boothby says hello'. He sent the message off to Virtus' science station, and then opened a library query to prepare all non-sensitive material regarding the mysterious T'Saz.

Vic read the incoming message from Tactical, and caught the reflection of his two pips in the display.  He responded in his typically droll fashion. 'Good to see you too, John. Must remember to send Boothby a fruitcake.  Punched SB-666 Commander Morgan in the mouth for third joke about time travel. Spent 3 months in brig.  Three meals a day plus all the exercise you want.  You should try it; very liberating.  Seem to have lost half a pip while inside; must remember to look for that later.  Requested transfer to Sciences.  Theory much safer, and all things are possible again. Teaching at the academy?  Must have been hell for a cowboy like you.  Are a whole generation of Starfleet officers going to be flying through Romulan quantum singularities now?'

Vic waited for Jones to reach the ops center.  Operations officers were generally solid, dependable, with a good attention to detail.  They were also great people to play poker with, as they were usually too busy with duty to spend their credits on luxuries, and they rarely bluff.

There is something about Starfleet branch training that singles out types of poker players.  Command department want people that can bluff well, and play the people, not that cards.  Sciences tend to do well in the long term, but crack when the stakes get too high.  Medical officers can read you like a book, and are patient enough to give Job lessons, but can lose sight of the cards while they are composing your psychological poker profile, and they usually think you are bluffing, even when you are not.  Ops are not suited to bluffing, and Tactical are either too cautious or bet too heavy at the wrong moment.  Engineers are the ones you want to watch out for.  They know the odds, and could care less about the other players.  It's just a math game.

Never play poker with your ship's counselor.  You cannot win.

 

<location: main engineering, USS Republic>

Ash was dismissed and immediately made her way to engineering to oversee the first test of the engines at warp speed. She called out orders to the techs that were running around, and then, the mighty warp core rumbled to life, and energy of excitement filled the air. The order came down from the bridge, as the helm took the mighty vessel to warp 6.

"Watch those levels, M'Benga", Ash called out, and as she did, the drive shifted into a higher level, and with that, the Einstein's objections were disproved as space itself was warped and faster than light travel was achieved.

Ash smiled proudly as her team ran around her like a well greased machine.

"Good work people. Good work."  She stood in main engineering, but she felt that something wasn't quite right.

"Crewman Phillips, check the isodyne relay's, see if they are out of alignment."

Phillips scanned from his console then looked up. "Yes sir, they are 14% out of alignment. You could hear that, sir?"

Ashley grinned and chuckled out loud. "When I was in the academy ensign, I could detect a 2 micron divergent in the isodyne relays, and call me ma'am" she said, with a wink at the impressed crewmember.

"Bring me a hydrospanner, let's get this taken care of before the captain hear's it to, hmm?"

 

<location: A turbolift, en route to the officers mess, USS Republic>

As the first full shift ended, and the Alpha crew was relieved, Vic caught John's eye and covertly gave him the universal sign for, "We need to talk." 

As the turbo lift doors closed Vic turned to Lieutenant Commander Carter and dispensed with formality.  "It's good to see you again John!" Lieutenant Virtus gushed, giving the slightly startled officer an unsolicited hug.

There was a slightly uncomfortable pause before John returned the embrace.  "Um... it's, uh,... good to see you to Vic."  John looked at his friend quizzically.

Vic regained his decorum and stepped back.  "Sorry sir.  Had to get that out of my system.  Care to join me for a drink?"

Vic was dying to catch up, as well as tell John the latest gossip.  Although it defied seven hard and fast laws of stellar mechanics, scuttlebutt could travel faster than subspace communications over short distances.  The distance from Jupiter station to the Republic was currently surprisingly short.  Scuttlebutt said the Republic was picking up another late arrival, and this person was a member of Star Fleet Intelligence.  That could mean any number of things, none of them good.  John would turn eight shades of red when he heard, two of them not visible to the naked eye.

Inside the turbolift car just off Republic’s main bridge, John Carter was still grinning from Victor Virtus' uncharacteristic outburst. John tilted his head down and rubbed the back of his neck, thankful that the Alpha Watch on Republic was finally over. Carter looked at his friend and posed a question.

"So," he asked, still rubbing his neck, "there's another one coming?" John ran down a mental list in his head. He himself had almost missed Republic’s departure from the Utopia Planetia shipyards, and the ship's new CMO had only made his rendezvous with the ship because of a "questionable" problem with the warp intermix ratios, at least, that's what the scuttlebutt was.

"All I heard was someone else is coming aboard somewhere between here and Jupiter Station", victor answered.

"And scuttlebutt is always right?"

"As constant as Planck, John."

John Carter chuckled. "Well I'll be damned Vic," he chided in mock astonishment. "You ARE a scientist."

As the two friends spoke, Virtus shifted his weight slightly to compensate for the decelerating lift car. He noticed Carter's silent, almost imperceptible wince as the lift doors opened... silently.

Victor and John both crossed the car's threshold onto the crowded corridor of Deck Eight, enroute to the Officer's Mess. Virtus adjusted his walking pace by .03 meters to allow for the height difference between himself and Carter. This would alter their projected arrival into the Mess Hall by 1.26 seconds. Virtus brushed the silent computations aside and looked at his friend. "You look better in red John."

Hearing those now familiar words, John Carter remembered his nervousness during a subspace briefing, now well over a year old with Admiral Timothy Harkins, at that time, Chairman of Starfleet's Tactical branch.

Reports of the U.S.S. Freedom Star's engagement with as many as six separate Romulan Warbirds near the Neutral Zone had brought John more than his fair share of celebrity. Thanks to innovative thinking, and the unfortunate side-effects of the Romulan propensity to power their starships with forced quantum singularities, John had been directly responsible for the destruction of one warbird, the crippling of another, and had been at the helm controls of the U.S.S. Freedom Star when he caused one of the Warbirds to implode. Thankfully, that had been enough to make the other ships in the Romulan task force withdraw, but it had overloaded Freedom Star's inertial dampeners, and caused an automatic shut-down of the ship's warp core.

To John Carter's way of thinking, he had done what he was taught; giving the rest of his crewmates a fighting chance, any way he could. That was the thing that had caught Admiral Harkins' attention.

Starfleet Admiral's were accustomed to getting what they wanted (to only a slightly greater degree than Starship Captains), and Tim Harkins, a man who's round, jowly face and crown of white hair hid a soul of pure duranium, wanted John Carter teaching Starship Tactics at the Academy. Whether that was to keep an eye on John rather than let the helmsman run roughshod through the galaxy, John certainly couldn't tell, and Harkins wasn't saying.

Harkins was insistent. He was also an Admiral. So Carter packed his bags, well aware that the mandatory branch change this assignment brought with it would almost certainly derail John's plans for a command of his own. He had worked his way in record time from just another Conn Officer to Department Head, to XO of Freedom Star, and now, a man Carter was forced to respect and obey simply because of the amount of braiding on his collar, was telling the young Martian to throw all of that away, simply because John had done his job.

Carter gave out an audible 'huff' as he felt his shoulders slump. "Yeah", he said to Virtus. "I get that a lot."

Sensing John's obvious, and for that matter unusual tension, Virtus tried to change the subject. He was saved from having to do so by the fact that he and Carter had managed to navigate through Republic’s corridors, and were now standing directly in front of the frosted glass doors, emblazoned with the familiar Starfleet Delta, that marked the Officer's Mess.

John Carter smiled as the duo's presence at the doors triggered them to open with a semi musical scraping, like chimes in a soft breeze. The two officers stepped into a spacious room, well-appointed with several long tables and several more reclusive areas for the crew of Republic to enjoy meals and "down time". John altered his stance, angling for the replicators on the rooms near wall. "Grab us some seats," he said. "Still take your usual Vic?" he asked, taking a few steps before Virtus could answer.

"Naturally John." Victor Virtus quickly scanned the room, seeing many familiar faces, thanks to his copious review of the members of his department, and was conscious to nod respectfully to each "blue-collar" he made eye contact with. Weaving easily through the crowd, he found a small vacant table near the port bulkhead of the room. 'This will do' he thought, as the table gave himself a good view of the room, and Carter a good view of the stars streaking past the ships armorplast viewport at super-relative speeds. Victor settled into his chair as John returned from his replicator quest with a drink in each hand. One, Victor noted was a familiar, frothy orange. 'That would be John's orange juice', Victor thought. The other drink was a strange iridescent blue, which Carter set in front of his friend as he sat down.

"What in the name of Tesla is that"? Victor asked.

John Carter looked up, clearly confused. "Arcturian spring water", John answered. "Your usual.”

For 2.7 pica-seconds, Victor Virtus considered that his friend was, in fact, correct. Then, he realized he knew better. "No doubt John", Victor said, careful not to be too patronizing, "you have me confused with another former Chief Engineer turned Sciences head here on the Republic."

"Yes, because that happens so often." Was John's reply. Carter looked at the drinks and shook his head. "Sorry Vic", he offered. "Guess I'm distracted".

"What's her name"?

 

<location: main sickbay, USS Republic>

With his blue-uniformed staff standing or sitting at various places in the main sickbay ward, Doctor Leon Cromwell held a datapad in one hand, and paced a circle in the center of the group.  After leaving the bridge, the doctor went to sickbay and called in the gamma crew shift on their off-duty hour for a full-crewed staff meeting.  He felt that this changeover between the alpha and beta crew shifts posed an excellent opportunity to go over the roster and schedule for the coming days with the entire staff.  His civilian attire was a strong clash against the Starfleet apparel, but as he annunciated his clear, direct words to his fellow officers with an occasional animation of his hands, there was no doubt as to whom was in charge here.

"Normally, the Chief Medical Officer of a starship wishes to be the single, direct contact point for every decision made regarding diagnoses in their department" explained the doctor.  "However, we’re on a ship of over a thousand personnel, and I don’t expect to be available for all split-second decisions.  Therefore, unless it’s an extraordinary circumstance, the attending MD in sickbay has my expressed authorization and support to act in their own professional experience when treating patients who come through these doors."

Pausing, the doctor referred to his pad for the next items of business.  After scrolling through a few computerized pages, he changed over to a different subject before continuing his briefing.

"We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us in the next few days" he said with eye contact on everyone in the room.  "The captain has ordered that everyone on the ship be given a full physical examination as soon as possible.  That’s a big job, and so I’m going to divide up the task among the different shifts for each ship department.  Tomorrow, we'll take care of the medical department, and have you all participate in diagnostic exercises that will double as an evaluation of everyone’s medical skills.  As far as the rest of the ship, Doctors Jensen and Y’lair will co-ordinate the physicals for the science and engineering departments, Doctors Fernmore and Yezbeck will take the operations and security departments, and I will handle the command department and senior officers."

Doctor Cromwell stopped his pacing in front of a young, scarlet-haired humanoid lieutenant, and glanced at the pad before addressing her.  "Doctor Harris, as pediatric specialist, I would like you handle the physicals for all family members and non-Starfleet personnel."

Confused, the young lady responded "Hudson, sir.  She’s Harris. . ."  Doctor Cromwell followed the lieutenant’s pointing arm to find another female lieutenant across the room waving for recognition.  A few chuckles filled the air as the cheeks of the newly embarrassed department head flushed with a slight rose color.  "Sorry. . . " he offered in amends to the two lieutenants.

Clearing his throat, Leon looked around at everyone and continued his speech with a slight smile.  "I look forward to serving with all of you in the days to come.  I expect you all to provide to this crew the best damn medical care that Starfleet has ever seen.  That’s all.  Dismissed."

As the alpha and gamma shifts filed out of sickbay, Doctor Cromwell was last to leave.  Deciding that his first day on the job wrapped up better than he thought it would, he decided to treat himself to a meal in the officer’s mess.  Normally, the middle-aged, reclusive MD ate alone in his quarters, but professionally, he felt it necessary to get to know this new crew.

As he stepped into an empty turbolift, the doors closed upon his destination announcement: "deck eight."  Pacing as he did during the briefing in sickbay, he let out a sigh as the past day rambled on among the tangled paths of his own thoughts.  "Uniforms . . . " he thought to himself.  After three years aboard the USS Bremerton, and interacting with an almost totally civilian crew, Leon found himself facing a ship full of military personnel.  The last time he was among this many uniformed officers was during the Dominion Wars, and the memories that stirred were enough to rob his mind of relaxation.

As the turbolift slowed and changed direction before speeding up again, the doctor stopped pacing and leaned against the wall with arms folded.  Deep in musing, he cracked a smile with a fleeting thought.  "I finally caught up to you, Tarses" he mumbled.  The doctor hadn’t realized it until now, but being aboard a Galaxy Class starship was the culmination of a dream he had during his early enlistment years.  It was an aspiration he shared many years ago with his Martian roommate from the Starfleet medical technician’s course, Simon Tarses.  The young duo spent their training months together envisioning a grand idea of space exploration, hoping that they would somehow find their way to the frontiers of the Federation in a starship.  Eventually, when they finished their training, Leon was assigned to starbase 123 while Tarses had the luck to be posted to the Enterprise-D.  Green with envy, the young Crewman Cromwell stopped communicating with Tarses, and the last he ever heard of him was a few years later when Starfleet Security interviewed Leon about the man.  He assumed that Tarses had achieved his dream of entering the academy, and was undergoing a security clearance investigation.  The thought made Leon even more envious, and never gave the Martian another thought until now.  Feeling a little guilty about leaving loose ends, Doctor Cromwell found himself muttering "I should have looked him up before we left drydock . . . damn.  If only I had the time."

Before he could continue with the thought, the turbolift doors thrust open, and the doctor strolled his way down the corridor to the officer’s mess.  Upon entering the cafeteria, he found himself in a virtual sea of Starfleet uniforms.  Butterflies swirled in his stomach as he realized how conspicuous he was in his ivory turtleneck sweater.  Attempting to ignore the casual looks of curiosity from passing officers, the doctor made his way to the food replicator and announced his order.  "Chicken sandwich, potato salad, and black coffee."  The computer acknowledged with a warble, and after a surge of matter-energy conversion, a tray with the doctor’s meal materialized on the serving platform.

Retrieving his tray, Doctor Cromwell turned around and was faced with a dilemma.  At this hour, the officer’s mess was full of alpha shift personnel coming off duty for their evening supper.  Feeling like a friendless boy who arrived at a new school, the doctor searched for a place to sit but found most of the tables full.  Finally, his eyes settled upon a table in the corner overlooking the room, and situated next to a viewport that offered a spectacular view of the warp-burnished starlines beyond.  Two officers sat at the table, but a third chair remained empty.  One of the officers was a lieutenant commander clad in the gold uniform of the operations branch, and the other displayed a lieutenant’s rank in science blues.  Smiling and cavorting among themselves, they seemed to be engrossed in the casual conversation of two friends catching up on old times.  Doctor Cromwell walked up to them wearily, not wanting to interrupt their discussion.  He took a last glance around the room, hoping to find another open spot to eat.  As the choices grew thin, he cast off the last of his temperance and politely interrupted the two officers.

"Excuse, me.  May I join you?" the doctor asked.

Brought out of their conversation by the appearance of a well-dressed, albeit casual civilian, John Carter and victor Virtus looked up as Doctor Leon Cromwell posed his question. Carter and Virtus both exchanged looks, and Virtus raised his hand. "Please," the scientist said.

Doctor Cromwell gave a polite nod and set his tray of food down as he settled into his chair. In the meantime, John Carter continued his train of thought. "I don't know who she is Vic," the Tactical Officer explained. "She's a Lieutenant in blue," he continued. "So either she's one of yours, or she belongs to the sadists in Sickbay."

Virtus caught the tilt of their civilian table-mate's head and the amused smirk the stranger now had on his face.

Victor Virtus was a very smart man.

Virtus cleared his throat and spoke. "What my vermillion collared friend means to say sir," Victor extended his hand. "Is that I'm Victor Virtus. Chief Science Officer."

Doctor Cromwell shook Virtus' hand politely. "Pleased to meet you Victor," The Doctor said. "I'm Leon Cromwell." The Doctor shifted his gaze to Carter, "Chief Sadist." He said with a smile.

"This is me shutting up now." John said.

"I thought that's what that was." the Doctor added, clearly amused. He quirked an eyebrow at Carter. "And you are?"

John thought briefly, then smiled. "Apparently in a lot of trouble when my Fit Rep comes up."

"This," Victor chimed in, "is Lieutenant Commander John Theloneus Carter. Late of the U.S.S. Freedom Star, Republic’s Tactical officer, and..." Victor held up all five fingers and spoke just loud enough for the closest tables to overhear. "Five-time All-Mars Lacrosse champion."

"Is that a fact?" the Doctor asked. Carter nodded, then sniffed the air.

"It was a long time ago Doc." John said, trying to deflect the conversation. He held out his hand. "Call me John".

"Right." Cromwell furrowed his brow. "Theloneus hmmm? You're Italian?" he asked.

Across the table, Victor Virtus lost all composure, letting out a torrent of laughter that caused heads to turn across the Officer's Mess. "I TOLD you!" the scientist bellowed. "No one. No one! Not here, not on Mars, not even on Zeguma Beach," Victor stood up and continued to rant, now addressing the entire room. "No one knows who Theloneus Marsh was!" Having proved his point, Victor sat back down.

"Monk." John said.

Having put two and two together, the Doctor offered understanding. "So, Theloneus Marsh was a monk, and you're Italian."

Victor was lost in another outburst of glee.

John Carter calmly laced his fingers together, propping his elbows on the table. He looked Cromwell squarely in the eye. "Theloneus Monk." John said firmly.

The Doctor looked at the still laughing Virtus. “Theloneus Monk is Italian?"

"Oh, yes!" Victor was crying now. "Why not?!"

John pointed a finger at his collapsed friend, and tried to speak forcefully, despite the smile on his face. "You!" he shot to Virtus, "are NOT helping!" Carter turned slightly to face the now bewildered Doctor Cromwell. "Theloneus Monk was a 20th century Jazz musician. Not Italian, American." Carter sat back, having finally set the record straight.

"I see." the Doctor offered.

"Do you?" John asked.

Cromwell shook his head. "Not at all."

Victor Virtus raised his hand. "Check please!"

 

<location: main bridge, USS Republic>

The stars swept by, blurs of light along the black curtain of space. The silent passage of time and distance cloaked by an illusion of movement. Alone in the vast void, the U.S.S. Republic, it's sleek lines adding to it's sense of speed, moved along at speeds beyond those of light, yet somehow not, trapped in the fabric of Warp on it's journey to the Beta Quadrant.

Ensign Yothers stood at the tactical display, watching for any change in the instruments. He'd recently been assigned to this duty station during beta watch and planned on doing everything in his power to not make a mistake. He scanned the bridge checking to see if anyone else looked as anxious and nervous as he felt, but everyone seemed intent on his or her own station that it was hard to tell. At least this assignment would be something he could write home about, thrilling his little brother about space travel and adventure. Suddenly, a small section of his Display changed color and Ensign Yothers nearly gasped out loud before he realized it was an incoming communications from a deep space relay. With almost practiced ease he opened the channel and was somewhat confused by the message.

"Sir," he spoke quickly to the young Lieutenant watch-officer in the Command Chair, "We have an incoming Priority Alpha message from Starfleet."

"Put it through." responded the Lieutenant.

"I can't, Sir." replied Ensign Yothers rather cautiously. "It's a Omega Clearance Only. That means only the Skipper can clear it."

"Fine open a line to the Captain and let him know." said Cross rather quickly.

“Just great,” thought Ensign Yothers, I get to wake the Captain.

 

<location: corridor on deck 8, USS Republic>

Captain Marshall left the bridge to head for his quarters.  The night watch had just come on duty.  He needed to relax because the last few hours have been horrendous.  He selected the name for the Captain's Yacht, Columbia. 

Arriving in his quarters he saw the message on his comm terminal.

 

Captain, I am in my quarters...if you would like to have that dinner tonight.  --Commander Taylor.

 

He thought about it for a minute and finally decided better now than later.  He walked across the deck to her quarters and hit the door chime.

Lana heard her chime go off.

"Come in," she said.

The captain walked in when the doors opened. She stood up and looked at him.

"Welcome captain," she said to him.

"Commander, would you care to join me for dinner?" asked the Captain.

"I'd be delighted." said Commander Taylor.

"I figure we can use the anteroom off of the officer's mess.  It should be quiet there."  They left and entered the turbolift.  Reaching Deck 10 they got off and walked to the room that the Captain was talking about.

"I thought you had to go through the Officer's mess to get to this room." said Lana.

"Nope, redesigned during the refit.  I kinda like it,” replied Jim.

As they sat, the young Captain asked, "Well, I think we're off to a good start don't you?"

Lana looked at the captain. "Yeah, we are off to a pretty good start. The doctor is settled in and ready to start as soon as possible," she said rubbing her stomach. "How is everyone else settling in?" she asked.

"Fine as far as I can tell.  I think things are going to work out just fine. We've got a good . . .”

The intercom beeped, interrupting the conversation

=/\= "Captain Marshall, we have a Priority Alpha Omega Clearance communications from Starfleet." =/\=

“Put it though,” he replied, turning to Lana, "I hope this will only take a minute."  The image on the screen in the room showed a Starfleet admiral, and Jim knew as Richard Flynn; Chief of Starfleet operations in sector 000.  “Admiral,” the captain greeted him.

=/\= “Captain, we've dispatched the Runabout Ryan from Jupiter Station to connect up with you.  They'll be delivering Lieutenant Commander Douglas Forrest, your new Chief of Intelligence.  =/\=

“Good to hear,” Marshall replied.  “He'll be a welcome addition.”

=/\= “Hold your current position they should be arriving within the hour.  Flynn out.” =/\=

As the screen went dark, the captain tapped his combadge.  “Bridge this is the Captain.  Drop out of warp until we receive our delivery.  When it gets here have Lieutenant Commander Carter assemble a welcoming committee. I'm sure he won't mind. Marshall out.”

He turned back to Lana, "Sorry about that, duty calls. When we're alone you can call me Jim."  Just then their food arrived.

Lana looked at the captain. "I don't know what to say. I have never called a captain by his first name. Not even in private," she said kind of baffled. She then thought back to the call that the captain had gotten. "Looks like we are getting more crew members on board," she said smiling.

Lana continued to eat her dinner while watching the captain also. "But okay, Jim...what exactly is our first mission?" she asked.

"Well, it appears that we're dropping out of warp for an hour until our new Chief Intelligence Officer arrives," replied Jim.

"Intelligence?" she asked.

"Our mission is more than just taking out that base. We're to go in and gather what information we can in case the T'saz start more attacks on the Federation. This is not the first mission that I was hoping for. I think that with you being pregnant, I'd better lead the away team." said the Captain.

Lana sat back in her chair astounded at what the captain just said about her pregnancy. "Look, Cap...Jim, I am just as capable now as I was before I got pregnant to lead an away mission. My pregnancy will not get in the way or interfere. If you want, I can get Doctor Cromwell to okay me for an away mission," she said getting upset.

Lana then stood up. "You gave me the job as XO because I have the skills to do it. Then you tell me or try to tell me that I am not able to lead an away mission. Thanks."

Lana then walked out of the mess hall and just started walking down the hallway.

When Lana got up from the table and left is when Jim realized he overstepped his bounds.  He decided to take off after her.  He raced down the corridor and caught up with her.

"Commander, wait." the captain said as she stopped dead in her tracks.  She turned to face him. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded.  I said it in the interest of protecting your dead husband's child.  As long as you're up to it I have no problem with you leading our away teams.  But until you're not, I want to be the second person to know about it, the first being the doctor.  Agreed?"

"You have a deal," she replied.

=/\= "Bridge to Captain, our new Intel Officer is aboard. Also Captain, Starfleet reports that . . . we're getting a priority one distress call." =/\=

The seriousness of the subject cleared any other thoughts from the captain’s mind.  “Red Alert,” he announced.  “All hands to battle stations. Lay in an intercept course and engage at maximum warp.  I'm on my way to the bridge.”

"Well Jim," said Lana, "Looks like we're finally seeing some action."

 

<location: transporter room three, USS Republic>

Lieutenant Commander Douglas Forrest appeared in Transport Room Three. He stood nearly 6 feet tall and showed obvious signs of a good physical routine. Over his shoulder hung a standard issue duffle bag, and gripped firmly in his left hand a rather odd looking weapon, or a Lacrosse Midfielders stick for the more discerning. Everything about Forrest said "Regulation" or "By-the-Book”, from the crisp red uniform to the near glowing shine of his boots. Everything except for his hair, a tad long around the edges, rough you could say. Other than that Forrest wouldn't be noticed if he stood in a group of people. Eyes had a tendency to roll right off him, forgetting he was even there. A very handy talent to have in his line of work.

=/\= “Red Alert, all hands to battle stations.”=/\=

"Well hell," Forrest said aloud, drawing the attention of the nearby transporter operator. "I haven't even gotten both feet in the door."

With an almost casual stride, Forrest made his way out of the transporter room and headed to the nearest turbo lift. Around him officers and crew hurried to duty stations, their Starfleet training shining through.

"I wonder if they get that flutter in the gut, like I do?" he thought to himself.

"Bridge." Forrest stated, as the turbo lift doors closed.

Forrest wondered what sort of assignment lay ahead for him aboard the Republic. People in his line of work did one of three things in 'Fleet. Two of them wrapped up in so much classification that sometimes thinking about it needed three types of Security Clearance and the third one just a vicious rumor.

The turbo lift doors opened onto the bridge of the Republic.  Forrest was always amazed at the size, almost oppressive.

"Lieutenant Commander Douglas Forrest reporting for duty." he said as he snapped to attention. "Permission to enter the bridge?"

"Permission granted." stated the man in the Captain chair.

Forrest took a quick survey of the Bridge, matching faces with names and files. A habit he couldn't stop from doing.

"That must be Marshall." though Forrest, the briefing files he had read while inbound immediately replaying in his mind. "Highly decorated, level-headed, enough of a maverick to be made Captain before 40. The sort 'Fleet pegged for Admiral with 10 years of command."

“Take your station at science two, commander,” ordered the Captain.  “Monitor, all incoming data and communications.”

“Aye, sir,” replied Forrest.  No sooner did he step on board than was the new officer hard at work in the ship’s first crisis.

 

<location: bridge, Ambassador Class Starship USS Zurich>

“Ship's log, Captain John Ortega speaking. Stardate 57301.9.  We're in the midst of a two-week survey mission of the Rosara System.  All is going to plan and once we're finished here, Starfleet has authorized my request to proceed to Amusement, where the crew is to enjoy some much needed shore leave.”

From the Science console, a frantic voice sounded.  "Captain, sensors are recording a shockwave.  It came out of nowhere.  Unknown magnitude and approaching fast."

"Red alert.  Tactical/Helm, can we move out of its way?" said John.

"Unable to sir, its length and height make it unable to move out of its path at impulse," replied Ensign Fren from tactical.

"Sir, we can't form a stable warp bubble to attempt to outrun it,” replied Ensign Wells from the conn.

"Helm, point us into the wave.  Try to get us through this.  All hands, this is the bridge.  Brace for impact."

The Zurich pointed into the huge wave and was soon engulfed in its energy.  The ship pitched and gashes started to form on its hull.  The wave passed, but not before leaving the broken and battered Zurich in its wake.

Inside, the bridge was in ruins.  Consoles were smashed, some showed signs of fire.  Crewmembers laid dead or injured.  Some of the rubble started moving as Captain Ortega crawled out.  "Damage report," he managed to cough out.

Ensign Fren crawled over to the tactical console with an extinguisher and put out the flames.  He pressed a few buttons on the burnt console and then said, "Severe damage to all decks.  Multiple casualties.  Navigation, sensors, weapons, shields, off-line.  Hull breaches throughout all decks.  Decks 7 and 13 are exposed to space.  Transporters, life support and communications are on emergency backups."

Ortega started walking over to the helm and ops positions and saw that Lieutenant Corea was dead, a piece of metal sticking out of his neck.  The ensign across from him at the helm was barely conscious.  "Did we make it sir?" he asked, wheezing.

"For now," the captain replied.  “Ensign Fren, activate the SOS beacon and open a channel for a message.”

"SOS beacon activated.  Channel open," replied Fren.

"This is Captain Ortega of the USS Zurich to any Federation vessel.  We have suffered severe damage to all decks from an energy wave of unknown magnitude.  Multiple casualties.  Most systems are failing or have already done so.  Request immediate assistance.  I repeat, this is Captain Ortega of the USS Zurich to any Federation vessel.  Requesting immediate assistance."

"Broadcast that on all Federation frequencies.  I need to know total casualties and damaged systems."

"Aye sir." Fren pressed the send button and made his way around the bridge to put out the rest of the fires.

 

<location: officers dinning room, USS Republic>

Vic glanced up at the red lights as they interrupted his hilarity.  Pushing himself back from the table, Victor stood, straightened his uniform, and calmly addressed John and the Doctor.

"Battle stations gentlemen."

John and Vic hit the corridor at a jog, as junior officers scrambled around the mess.  The Doctor was a step behind them.

"A drill perhaps," Leon inquired.  John and Vic exchanged glances.

Vic beat John to the response,

"Two point eight hours out from Mars?  We'd better hope it's a drill."  The tubrolift doors opened as the three approached, and a rather attractive lieutenant in medical blue brushed pasted them.  Vic, John and Leon entered the turbolift, and Dr. Cromwell spoke a second before the other two.

"Sickbay."

"Bridge."

The turbolift doors closed as the lieutenant glanced over her shoulder at the three of them and smirked.  John took a step toward the closed doors and pointed.

"Vic, that was the woman!"  Victor glared at John.

"Red Alert John... that's the one where you stop thinking about women until the little red lights on every deck stop flashing."  The turbolift doors opened and the doctor extricated himself from the situation.

"If you will both excuse me."

The doors opened again, this time on the bridge, and the two men moved to their respective stations.

Republic's bridge was a beehive of activity. John Carter and Victor Virtus took quick steps from the main turbo-lift on the way to their stations. As John made the few steps to the Tactical position on the high point of Republic's bridge. Captain Marshall and the XO had already made it to their positions. 'Better late than never', John thought, silently scolding himself. Carter reflexively looked at the Conn station, wondering if Zelk was feeling as familiar with this situation as he was. John brushed the thought aside and configured his system displays to give him as much information as possible.

Information came in from all over the ship. Tactical systems signaled ready, phaser capacitors were charged, and acknowledgements from the ship's forward and aft weapon stations indicated that photon torpedo systems would be on-line soon. John looked to his left and saw that Republic's transdator grid was performing its miraculous task of stepping up the energy in the shield generators to cover Republic in a shell of invisible protection.

Now racing out of the solar system at super-relative speeds, Carter made sure to scan the Long-Range-Sensor-Systems. LRSS indicated clear sailing. No sign of warp signatures, or shipping lane traffic for light-years. Carter took the time to address the back of his Captain's head.

"Sensors show clear skies Captain. We're clear well past Pluto." John finished the sentence, and waited. John Carter hated waiting; something he had to consider ironic when he stopped to think just how much of a Starfleet officer's time was spent waiting for SOMETHING to happen.

Nervous seconds went by as Republic continued its break-neck race out of the solar system. Soon, sensors on John's station indicated that Pluto was far behind the Galaxy class starship, and they were now headed for what veteran spacers called 'The Black'.

The silence was broken as John Carter, and the rest of Republic's bridge crew heard an effectively annoying 'chirp' from the Tac Board. Carter quickly tapped a control to acknowledge the message. "Incoming message Captain," he said calmly. "It's a Starfleet distress call sir, audio only."

"Speakers", was his Captain's clipped reply.

In a fraction of a second, a new voice had the bridge crew's attention.

=/\= "This is Captain Ortega of the USS Zurich to any Federation vessel." =/\=

The voice over the speakers was both authoritative and strained.

=/\= "We have suffered severe damage to all decks from an energy wave of unknown magnitude. Multiple casualties. Most systems are failing or have already done so. Request immediate assistance. I repeat, this is Captain Ortega of the USS Zurich to any Federation vessel. Requesting immediate assistance." =/\=

A wave of anxiety came over Republic's bridge. John Carter glanced over his shoulder at Victor Virtus, and could see his friend... eyebrow raised in contemplation. The Engineer side of Victor was doing math. Calling on everything he knew to answer the unspoken question. John heard it race through his mind in that moment. 'What,’ he wondered, 'what could have enough power to swat a starship out of the black? 'Whatever it is,' he thought, 'we're headed right for it. 'Energy wave, the Zurich’s captain had said.  John Carter realized something he hadn't before. 'If ZURICH was at warp,' he thought, 'Then that means there must be one hell of a gravitic signature...'

Carter re-configured his sensor display to pick up gravitons, the tiny, ubiquitous particles that held the universe together in a way that most scientists, perhaps even the frighteningly astute Victor Virtus, didn't fully understand. John blinked as his display was flooded with a wave front of gravitons. More importantly, they were being pushed by something big. Big and fast.

John Carter heard his voice booming over the busy noise of the bridge before he was even sure what he was saying. "Sensor contact, Captain!" he said, "Bearing Zero-Nine-Five, mark Three-Seven. Moving at .9 c, sir. Lots of subspace wash behind it." Carter saw his Captain nod, then continued to speak. "Recommend we drop to subspace and ride the wave in."

"Ever the helmsman, eh Lieutenant Commander?" Captain Marshall asked. "Very good, Mister Carter," the Captain said. "Mister Zelk, drop to impulse and stand by." Captain James Marshal looked at his crew, who had dutifully taken their stations and were, as far as he was concerned, doing everything they should. "Hold on everyone," the Captain said. "We're going in."

John Carter took a tight grip on the wood aplicay rail in front of him and watched his sensor display.

"Three...two..."

 

<location:  corridor, deck 12, USS Republic>