Captain’s Log: Episode One, Act Two, Scene One

The first thing Dee Lipton does once the runabout is secure is to get the contact team transferred to the isolation ward. Even though there had been no containment breaches or notable exposures it was a good practice to isolate and observe the contact team for any potential long-term effects. The team members grumble with good nature about their impending confinement, but it was a known consequence of working on the front line. Besides, the isolation and containment wards onboard the ASCLEPIUS were downright luxurious. There the team would have time to relax and also finish their post-mission observations for the records. 

Next she heads to what she calls ‘Med One’. If the bridge of the ASCLEPIUS was the command center of the ship, Med One was the command center for the various departments, labs, and wards of the medical facilities of the ASCLEPIUS. T’Pern has the senior staff ready, and hands her a lab coat as she walks into the central staff meeting room of Med One. She favors the aged Vulcan with a warm smile of gratitude, which he stoically ignores in typical Vulcan manner. 

“Alright gang,” she says as she takes her seat at the long oval table, “First let me say: Good Job. We took on an unknown threat and handled it with skill and talent. This is why I chose each of you for this team and you’ve made me proud. Gold stars all around.”

There’s a murmur of chuckles among the senior staff that have worked with her before. She notes a few of the newer team members' looks of confusion at the ‘Gold Star’ reference for a moment, but they all would get used to her idiosyncrasies. Eventually.

“But our work isn’t done yet,” She continues. “The ASCLEPIUS is on the hunt for a mystery ship that may or may not either be the source of the infection or potentially a carrier of it.” 

She pauses a moment to let that sink in, then continues: “That means by the time we find that ship, I want us to be prepared. We need a method of detection, a defense against infection or at the least, a countermeasure for this bug. It’s brainstorming time, gang. Let’s hear some ideas.”

—

Merriith S’Roke is in her element and she is relishing it. As Chief of Security onboard a medical ship, she doesn’t get to engage with her predatory instincts very often. Caitians had evolved from stalking hunters who tracked and pounced upon their prey with consummate skill. Right now her prey is a starship, not a plain striding herbivore, but many of the skills translate with the right training. 

S’Roke faces a real challenge: Without knowing the class of ship they are in pursuit of, she has only a vague performance envelope with which to predict plots. The outpost’s records gave a general direction of the ships’ departing vector, and T’Lara and her assistant had calculated how the stars visible in the sensor logs had moved in the time between the recording and when ASCLEPIUS started her chase. This gave them an initial vector to start with, for which S’Roke is tremendously grateful. Without that, they would not have known even which way to start looking. The time difference still presents a monumental hurdle. With Lt. Abel driving the ship, S’Roke is studying local maps of the sector and cross-referencing with updating data being supplied by Lt. Elison’s scans. T’Lara is attempting to glean more information about the ship from the limited information from the outpost’s records, but hasn’t been able to tell them much other than a general size and an estimate of its energy output.

The Pelia sector is a moderately populated volume of space. There are a dozen populated and colonized systems in the sector. While the coreward edge of the sector is recognized as Federation space, the majority of it is unclaimed by any one polity. The next sector rimward is one of the frontline sectors in the Federation- Dominion/Cardasian war. The Federation patrolled Pelia, and Starfleet Command had evidence that the Cardassians were patrolling the neighboring one. 

She sees Commander Gav Neroon’s reflection in her panel, watching her. She sighs, stretches languidly and rolls her shoulders, then turns to face him.

“Sorrry Commander,” she says, “This is going to be a really tough hunt.”

Neroon grunts and reaches towards the panel next to hers to punch in some commands. An image of the Pelia sector appears, and a blinking icon labeled “APPELWAITHE” catches her attention.

”Coordinate with the APPELWAITHE,” Neroon instructs her. “More hunters to beat the brush, right?”

She ponders this for a moment, then voices her idea:

”If it’s a numbers game, what about deploying the Runabouts?” She asks. The two Danube-class Runabouts are more than modular shuttlecraft: They’re small starships in their own right. They could perform their own search grids, and the ASCLEPIOUS carried sensor modules for each that would extend their sensor range considerably. 

Neroon gifts S’Roke a rare grin, holds up a finger that means ‘wait one,’ and walks around the bridge to confer with the Captain a moment. Soon after, Captain Je’Ghettorii returns with Neroon to S’Roke’s station.

”Lieutenant,” the Captain begins and she gives him all her attention, “I approve deploying the ARATUS and ACESO with sensor modules to extend the search grid. Their orders will be to detect the mystery ship, or signs of infection among the neutral polities in their search grids, but not to engage in any way. Find that ship and report.”

”Eye sir,” she replies as the Captain turns to return to his chair.

He turns again before taking more than a step, says to both Neroon and S’Roke:

”Good idea, both of you. Carry on.”

An hour or so later, Merrith S’Roke once again has the Captain and Exec standing by her station, and T’Lara has joined them. Her display shows a trinary star system; The center star is a large and hot F class, labeled ‘Alpha Masalgu.’ Circling it at over a light year distance is a warm G class labeled ‘Beta Masalgu,’ and orbiting the G class is a cool red M class labeled ‘Proxima Masalgu.’ 

Merrith clears her throat and recites her prepared notes:

”Alpha Masalgu Six has the oldest culture and elements from that culture colonized Beta and Proxima’s planets in the last two centuries. This cluster of stars is the only one in the flight path of our mystery ship. It’s a convenient stop to cool off your warp drive and re-orient towards your next destination. Beyond it is the Görnhead nebula, and beyond that is the border to the next sector. Cardassian space.

Sirs, I recommend we split out forces: ASCLEPIUS can check out Alpha, while ACESO and ARATUS check out Beta and Proxima, respectively. We’ll be close enough that any two elements can respond quickly if the third finds anything. The next closest star systems will take days for the runabouts to reach.” 

Captain Je’Ghettorii turns to his science officer; “T,Lara, What do we know about the Masalgu Trinary and it’s cultures?”

T’Lara doesn’t even look at the datapad in her hands, her eyes are on the display but it’s like she’s looking through it.

”Alpha Masalgu’s major government is a constitutional monarchy. The ruling family has made it clear that it is their policy to stay neutral in the Federation-Cardassian/Dominion conflict. While they retain close cultural ties to their daughter colonies, they do not have political control over them. 

Beta Masalgu has a functioning democratic government, and the last Federation diplomatic enjoy’s report described their attitudes towards the current conflict as … Blasé. Their current social media is highly divided on the topic and without a supermajority consensus, the Beta government cannot proceed on any policy.”

”My kind of people,” Neroon chuckles, then waves the science officer to continue.

“Proxima Masalgu,” T’Lara continues unaffected by the Tellarite’s color commentary, “is a very recent offshoot of the Beta culture and currently has a fledgling democratic government. There is a movement to request entry into the Federation, but they have yet met some of the requirements to be accepted, chiefly that they have yet to overcome several crucial economic and cultural dependencies from Beta to qualify.”

Finishing her diatribe, T’Lara looks to her Captain and nods.

”Thank you, T’Lara,” Je’Ghettorii tells her, then looks to Merrith S’Roke. “So. ASCLEPIUS to Alpha, ACESO to Beta, and ARATUS to Proxima. That is your recommendation?”

Merrith nods, “Yes sir, it is.”

Je'Ghettorii nods, satisfied with her confidence. He turns to the communications officer. “Lieutenant Hyrys, please contact APPELWAITHE and update her on our plans, and with my compliments, kindly ask Captain Tonner to check out the Görnhead nebula. Her superior sensors should make scanning for anybody hiding there that much easier.” 

The Bajoran officer nods, turns to her station to craft the message.

Je’Ghettorii then speaks to the two Ops stations at the front of the bridge: “Lieutenant Abel, best time to the Masalgu trinary?”

The young Lieutenant, who has been listening in to the conversation behind him and already done the calculations, turns to his Captain and says: “Captain, best time to ideal separation point for the Runabouts is twelve hours. ASCLEPIUS can reach Alpha an hour after that, and ARATUS and ACESO can reach their destinations two and three hours after that.”

Je’Ghettori smiles as Neroon’s good-natured grumbling voice carries across the bridge: “What are you, Abel? A mind reader?”

Abel, unsure how to respond, meekly replies: “No… sir?”

Je’Ghettorii strokes his beard, “Set your course Lieutenant, and get us underway.”

He then looks at S’Roke with an appreciative gaze, “Lieutenant, go enjoy a shift off. I want you ready for what may happen in twelve hours.”

—

The discussion and debate around the table of Med One is lively and highly technical, and Dee Lipton is enjoying watching it swirl before her. This is her team and she’s damn proud of them. A message from the bridge pulls her attention away and she reads the Exec’s update on the mission plans. 

“Alright gang,” she says loudly while rapping her knuckles on the tabletop to get everyone’s attention. It takes a moment for the various sub-conversations to die down and she stands to deliver her dictates.

”Update from the Captain: In twelve hours we’ll be approaching the Masalgu Trinary. There we’re sending Runabouts to two daughter systems, while the ASCLEPIUS proceeds towards the primary. Wrap up your discussions, get some rest. Nobody on this ship is going to make a mistake because of exhaustion. We’ll reconvene in eight hours for final preparations. Dismissed.”

—-

Costes Vandalore is enjoying a sonic shower, and misses the first chime on his coms because sonic showers are loud. The pulsating waves are beating out the tension in his shoulders and back nicely, so he is taking his time. Post-flight checks on the ARATUS had taken hours, which he had overseen personally along with the chief flight engineer and her technicians. The ARATUS had taken a hit while escaping the exploding outpost, and Costes wanted to make sure nothing had actually gotten past the Runabout’s shields. Then he had filed his ships’ logs with the Flight Ops, as well as dictated his own personal reports. Then he had time for a shower. He was hoping to get a bite to eat next and was considering what he was going to order from the ship’s galley when the second chime on his coms got his attention.

It was another mission from Flight Ops. He scans the orders, mentally noting the change in module and crew he’d have along this time. Executing a system search would be far more engaging than babysitting a bunch of doctors but paradoxically less stressful. He was no medic, but watching the vids of the crew of the outpost turn into clouds of mist had chilled him to the core. It was something he had no idea how to deal with, and standing by had worn his nerves raw. Having something to do, now, was just what he needed. He mentally does the calculus for the prep time for the new mission, and realizes he has no time for a proper sit-down meal in the ship’s galley. As he dresses with a fresh uniform he reflects to himself at least he would be able to use the replicators on the ARATUS, and he had updated the recipes on the Runabout with some of his favorites.

End Scene one.

Captain's Log: Episode One, Scene two

-The ARATUS, a DANUBE class Runabout-

Maybe this was a mistake, Dee Lipton thinks to herself as she waits on the bridge of the Aratus. Her legs crossed, her free foot tapping an impatient rhythm in the air. I hate waiting.

Before her on the control panels of the Danube class runabout are views of the contact team in the bio-containment module currently docked with the runabout. The module is entirely sealed off from the rest of the runabout; it has its own power and life support and is loaded with the best scientific and medical gear the Federation could cram into its’ hull. The contact team is already in their hazard suits: full-body protective gear with better protection than a space suit. They’re testing the final connections to the outpost’s external airlock before opening up the module to the interior of the station. Doing things carefully and by the book. Excruciatingly but necessarily slowly.

“You okay, Doc?” the pilot of the runabout asks her from the other command chair on the Aratus. Costes Vandalore has an infectious smile and a flyboy’s confidence. “I got some PADDs loaded with literature, games. Unfortunately they turned down my request to install a Dom-jot table onboard, even though I swear it would fit in the rec space.” 

He jerks a thumb back towards the space behind the four command seats: the ‘rec’ space -as he calls it- is lined with stacked bunks, a replicator and a fresher closet. There’s a bench around a table, and very little room for anything else, much less a gaming table capable of handling a roulette wheel, dice throw trench and spaces for strategic card placements that a proper Dom-jot game requires. The smallest Dom-jot setup Dee had heard of fit in a suitcase and used holograms for everything but the actual money bets.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, she smirks. “Oh, I never gamble with money, Chief. Only lives.”

Costes chuckles, but in that awkward way that shows she’s thrown him off his groove. 

“What I WANT,” she continues, shoving herself out of the command chair and walking into the rec space; “Is to be on the other side of this bulkhead, getting involved directly.” She puts a hand on the aft wall of the deck, as if she could will herself to the other side.

Costes ‘Ahems’ and says: “Well I could beam you over there with the Aratus’ emergency transporter. But then I wouldn’t be allowed to beam you back.”

Dee sighs. “Yes, yes. I know that Chief. I’m just being dramatic.” She returns to her seat at the front of the runabout. She watches the team go about their work for a moment, then keys open a channel.

“Lipton to contact team. What’s your status?”

She sees one of the team turn towards the camera, tap their own comms badge. “Contact team here. We’ve just completed the last seal checks.” He reaches out of view and returns with a remote sensor probe the size of a large fruit, maybe ten centimeters across. “We’re about to deploy the survey remotes.”

“Terrific,” she tells the team leader, “Set the data streams to copy me here, and I’ll set up a bridge for the data to the Asclepius. And let’s keep this channel open.” 

She returns to the ‘rec’ space, orders up several holo-screens to surround the table, and orders a coffee from the replicator before sitting down. One by one the mid-air holographic screens fill with visual and data streams from each of the survey drones as the contact team activates and links them to the Aratus’ network. She in turn opens a channel to the Asclepius and routes the same data there in real time. Entire teams of analysis and specialists were on standby, waiting to see what was going on inside the outpost. She idly wondered if they’d break out the popcorn.

Costes Vandalore puts his boots up on the center console, and activates a PADD and starts to read.

The bio-containment module features a secondary airlock system, which the activated survey remotes hover within on their own tiny lift engines. The outer locks are cycled, and after an initial moment to confirm nobody and nothing was waiting on the other side for them, the remotes then sped off into the interior of the station. They work as a coordinated team, splitting up to cover ground. Gathering information on many wavelengths and beaming it all back to the containment module, then to the Aratus, and then on to the Asclepius. The probes have enough intelligence to coordinate with their siblings, and to recognize points of interest and stop to investigate and ask for help. It doesn’t take long for the first anomaly to be brought to the team’s attention.

A ruddy pink mist filled the first habitat deck. Dee pushed the non-visual data to an analyst team on the Asclepius and asked for an evaluation. Meanwhile she compared the location of the remote with the initial scans from the Asclepius. Sure enough, this was one of the zones of vague lifesigns.

“Proceed with caution,” the contact team lead ordered to the team member controlling that particular remote. The remote floats forward at half its previous speed, scanning in continuous arcs as it goes. 

The analysis team reports their preliminary findings, which blossom across a new holo screen around Dee’s impromptu desk. She draws her attention away from the distraction that the remotes’ varied views provide to give the prelim report a once over. The problem with remote scans is they’re inherently probabilistic; layers of intelligent guesses. Inference and supposition matrices. Bio-organic compounds, almost certainly. Signatures for proteins from half a dozen Federation races, probably. The mist was likely a soup of people. Deirdre Lipton has seen death, dismemberment, even a transporter accident. But this? This was bizarre. Addendums append themselves to the report as the remote enters the mist, direct samples are taken, and the analysis team collapse probabilities into facts.

The other remotes soon encounter other mist fields. Identical properties. Identical mysteries. Maddeningly, there was no obvious cause for this. Weapons fire burned and vaporized organic compounds, and the signs were detectable. Plasma fires denatured proteins when they didn’t vaporize them as well. All known and detectable causes of death. None of which fit the current circumstances.

What she and the crew of the Asclepius had was a puzzle with a couple billion pieces, and no idea what the assembled picture was supposed to be. 

Captain's Log: Episode One, Scene One

 -The bridge of the ASCLEPIUS-

The exec staff file into the bridge from the Captain’s ready room, taking their positions: Dee takes an Ops station at the back of the bridge, next to T’Lara’s science station. It isn’t officially hers, but out of tradition on a medical ship the ship’s chief medical officer has a place on the bridge. Being next to the Vulcan’s science station was also a convenience of proximity. Meredith S’Roke takes her position: An ops station behind the central command seats. Next to her is the ship’s Bajoran Comms officer, Byla Hyrys. Kerric and Dylan have stations on the far left and right sides of the bridge. Je’Ghettorii and Gav Neroon take the central seats. 

“I have the bridge,” Je’Ghettorii announces as he takes the central command chair, “Miss Elison, report.”

“Captain,” the lieutenant at the left hand Ops station says, turning to face the ships CO and XO. Tiana Elison has olive skin and neatly pinned back ebon hair. “We’re at relative rest to the system’s edge. Initial scans show no anomalies or contacts in-system so far. Abel?” 

“Captain,” the human male seated in the right hand Ops station speaks next. His name is Geo Abel. “I have a half-impulse course laid in for Outpost 9712’s known orbit and location that will get us there in under forty five minutes”

Je’Ghettorii nods. “Very good, Helm. Stand by for orders.”

The captain then turns his command chair to look behind him at the communications officer. “Lieutenant Hyrys? Hail outpost 9712. Tightbeam if you please.”

“Transmitting now, Captain,” The Bajoran says. After a few minutes she speaks up again: “No response, Captain.”

Je’Ghettorii shares a meaningful look with his Exec officer. Gav speaks first: “Captain, with no reply and this close to a combat zone, I recommend we go to yellow alert before proceeding.”

Je’Ghettorii nods, turns again to his communications officer:

“Byla, send to the Appelwaithe the following:” He waits for her to nod her readiness before continuing: “ ‘Captain Tonner: Asclepius has arrived in-system. No initial contact with the outpost. Proceeding with caution.’”

“I have it, sir,” Byla confirms.

“Sign it. Seal it. Send it. Commander Neroon: take us to yellow alert.” 

Gav Neroon punches a command into his command chair’s sideboard, speaks in his executives’ voice to the entire ship: “All hands: go to yellow alert.” The yellow alert klaxon sounds and Gav then speaks to the helmsman: “Mister Abel, execute your plot and take us in.”

Dee Lipton decides it’s a good time to check in with her staff. She turns to the ops station screens and hails her executive assistant. T’Pern answers her coms and behind him Dee can see the staff of ‘main medical’ moving and preparing in the wake of the invocation of yellow alert.

“Commander?” he says.

“Hello T’Pern,” she says to him; her fondness for the aged Vulcan showing itself in the way she talks to him. “As you can see, we’re going in with our guard raised. There’s no response from the outpost, so we should be prepared for a high-risk contact situation. Let’s prep a contact team with maximum hazard protections, alright?”

The gray-haired Vulcan nods sagely; “That would be the most appropriate approach. I shall assemble the team and their equipment.”

“Thank you, T’Pern. I’ll keep you informed from the bridge of any developments.”

-Thirty some minutes later-

Outpost 9712 is a spindly structure with a ring-like habitat structure halfway down its length. The Asclepius is pulling up alongside the station. 

On the bridge, the Captain turns to face his science officer. “Scan report, T’Lara?”

The Vulcan replies: “Inconclusive and inconsistent, Captain. There are life signs for approximately one hundred individuals, but I cannot identify or even localize a single one. It is … perplexing. The station is otherwise intact and fully operational.”

Dee leans over from her seat to look over T’Lara’s displays. Instead of well defined knots of biological activity, the station’s living and working spaces are filled with a haze of radiations equivalent to biological metabolic processes. She doesn’t realize Gav has arrived to stand behind her until he speaks, making her jump slightly.

“How is that possible?” he grunts.

Dee gestures at the ‘heat map’ image of the station's layout: “We should see well defined, if slightly fuzzy, spots where individuals are. And even in groups, we should be able to pick out individuals within a cloud of biological activity. Instead we’re seeing a general fog of life form readings. It’s pretty evenly distributed throughout the station. Right, T’Lara?”

“The good doctor is correct in her explanation,” T’Lara says, “Something could be jamming or blocking accurate scanning.” She adjusts her controls, attempting different filters and algorithms. 

“What are your recommendations for the next step?” Gav asks them, his arms folded across his barrel chest.

T’Lara answers first: “I cannot ascertain any more information from here. Direct observation is required before a hypothesis can be formulated.”

“We need boots on the ground” Dee translates, “I have a team ready with hazardous environment gear. We could send them over in a Runabout with a bio-containment module.”

“Why not use transporters?” Gav challenges.

Dee shakes her head. “With an unknown bio-contaminant? We can’t trust the transporters’ biofilters to catch it. Even with the special receiving decks here on the Asclepius, I’d rather have a runabout serving as the foot in the door. The bio-contaminant modules are designed to handle situations like this. They can even be detached and continue to work as a forward base if need be.”

Gav grunts, turns to the captain, who has been listening but not involved in the conversation. Je’Ghettorii meets his exec’s gaze, nods in agreement. Gav turns back to T’Lara and Lipton.

“Very well, doctor. Proceed.”

“Yes sir,” Dee says, standing from her station,”Then we’ll be on our way immediately.”

“Just a moment,” Je’Ghettorii interjects, “Are you intending to go with the contact team, Doctor? Tell me why I should risk my senior medical officer going on this away mission?”

“I don’t have to go into the hot zone, Captain. The runabout’s command deck is separate from the bio-containment module and I can coordinate with the contact team from there. In this situation, communication is essential and the closer to the hot zone I can get, the faster I can react.”

Je’Ghettorii frowns, clearly not happy with the risks at hand. He takes a moment before responding:

“Very well doctor, but you will respect all protocols and keep yourself safe. I cannot afford to lose you.”

Captains Log: Prologue

Computer: Begin recording.

Personal log, Chief Medical Officer Lipton, USS ASCLEPIUS, Stardate [REDACTED]. We are approaching the [REDACTED] system, Pellia sector, on report of unusual biogenic casualties among the staff of an allied outpost- Wait a minute. “Redacted”? What’s wrong with saying [REDACTED]? [REDACTED]. [REDACTED]! [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED]! Oh, what the hell?

Dee Lipton angrily puts down the stylus she has idly been twirling in her hand while recording at her office desk, and punches in commands to her terminal. After a couple of waiting beeps a languid contralto voice responds: “Go for S’Roke.” There is a resonant vibrato to the feminine voice.

“Merrith, Dee here. Did you put some kind of auto-redaction filter on my personal files?”

“Ah. Hello doctor,” The Caitian chief security officer of the ASCLEPIUS replies, “I was wondering when you’d notice it.” 

“Wha-, when?” Dee stops herself, refocusing her thoughts, “Since when?”

“Since we left DS9 on this mission. New protocol. Starfleet Intelligence is worried about information leaks and data security.” Her voice subtly rolls her ‘r’s. 

“Aren’t all records encrypted anyway? Especially when transmitted?”

“They are. This is just another layer of data obfuscation. Honestly, Dee, haven’t you played back any of your logs since we embarked?”

Dee thinks for a moment, realizes sheepishly that she has in fact not reviewed a single personal or professional log made since they left the deep space station on their latest assignment. She then frowns.

“Merrith, what would be the point of reviewing my logs, if all the details are redacted?”

Merrith S’Roke makes a sound, not quite a purr but more like a distracted ‘hmmm’ that a human would, then says: “You request de-redaction and use your authentication. All your redacted logs are encrypted with your personal encryption protocol.”

“I have a personal encryption?”

“Everyone does, now,” Merrith said, “Captain has called for a department head meeting in fifteen minutes. See you there.” With that, the channel closes.

Dee leans back in her chair, swings it once around on its swivel base while sighing in exasperation. She then turns back to her terminal: “Computer: resume recording.”

Personal reminder to check with Doctor T’Pern on Medical’s stores of [REDACTED]-GAH!

With a growl of annoyance Dee smacks the cancel control on her terminal. She stands and grabs her lab coat from the back of her chair and shrugs into it. She then leaves her office, choosing to take a long walk to calm herself before arriving at the captain's ready room.

-Captain's ready room, fourteen minutes later-

The doors to the ready room shuush open for Lipton. She’s the last exec staff member to arrive, but she isn’t late. Seated around the long table are the department heads for the ASCLEPIUS. Their position demonstrate an informal hierarchy of responsibilities aboard the Federation medical ship:

Captain Je’Ghettorii, Efrosian, sat at the head of the table. His attention currently focussed on a datapad in his hands.

Commander Gav Neroon stands next to the captain's chair, though he had a chair to the captain’s immediate right. Even standing, the Tellarite still only comes to the Captain’s seated head height. 

Across from the Exec’s chair was another empty chair; one formally left open for visiting dignitaries and high-ranking fleet officers.

The next chair to the left of the captain was empty, waiting for her. Medical missions was the primary mission of the ASCLEPIUS, after all.

Next in line, on the right of Gav’s equally empty chair sat T’Lara, the ship’s Vulcan science officer. Science and medicine being the top two departments aboard the ship.

Tanner Dylan, the ship’s chief of engineering was next right.

Kerric, the ships’ Trill counselor, sat across from the engineer, next to Dee’s chair.

Merrith S’Roke, the Caitian ship’s chief of security, sat next to Dylan. 

There were other empty chairs, but this was the core exec team.

Dee takes her chair.

“You’re late, doctor,” Gav grumbles as a greeting, “but I am used to that.” Tellarites liked greeting known friends with insults. Then again, Dee muses, they like greeting everyone with insults.

“Get your chronometer fixed, Commander. I am not late,” Dee responds, knowing that Gav would appreciate a stout retort. 

Gav sniffs, but can’t entirely hide his bemusement. He takes his chair, turns to the head of the table: “Captain?”

Je’Ghettorii glances up, nods to Gav, turns off his pad. Then turns to the rest of the table. His rich baritone voice commands attention.

“Thank you all. Lets begin,” He taps a string of commands into the panel at his end of the table. The wall screen behind him activates, displaying the profile of a star system. Smaller sections show the systems’ location within the Pellia sector, and another shows Pellia’s disconcerting closeness to the warzone that was the Federation’s current conflict with the Dominion and their Cardassian and Breen allies. They were getting close to the front lines, and the ASCLEPIUS was the opposite of a warship. 

“On Stardate TBD, Outpost 9712 sent coded alert messages signaling biological casualties of unknown cause. Starfleet hasn’t heard anything since. We’re to go in, assess the situation and help where we can. The outpost only has a standing crew of one-hundred-and-fifty, so we can easily take all of them onboard if we need to evacuate.

“Yes, S’Roke?” Merrith had raised her hand and now lowers it and speaks:

“Sir, are we alone out here? What kind of backup and response can we expect?”

“The USS Applewaithe is in the sector, performing patrols. She’s of the new Steamrunner class; fast and no heavyweight, but she still outguns us. If we need her. I’ve already checked in with her captain and we’ll be in regular touch.”

Je’Ghettorii turns to Dee: “Doctor Lipton, is Medical ready?”

Dee nods to her captain: “That we are. We’re still taking stock of the supplies we got at DS9. Things were awfully hectic there, and it’s not impossible we got loaded up with someone else’s supplies, but so far everything is as expected.”

The Efrosian nods in acceptance of her report: “Chaos in wartime is to be expected. I know you and your teams will do their best.”

He then turns to his science officer: “T’Lara?” The Vulan looks up from her own datapad.

“Captain, I have been collecting and collating data from the sector for past medical crises, biological surveys, and other possible factors. I shall have a full report shortly.” Her attention then goes back to her pad, returning to whatever data trawling algorithms she has running.

“Mister Dylan, how’s our ship?” Je’Ghettorii then asks the chief engineer.

“All systems green, sir.” The young man replies. He’s quite young for the position, but highly competent and confident. The war was forcing more and more young officers into leadership roles early. The captain nods and turns to the ship’s counselor.

“Counselor? How’s the crew?”

“Everyone’s in fine spirits, sir,” The Trill male replies. “There’s some trepidation about the ongoing war, of course. That last operation on Deja-IV left some emotional scars, but so far everyone’s eager to get back into the thick of things and do good where they can.”

“Merrith, anything else?” He asks the ship’s security chief. She also serves as the ship’s tactical officer, such as the role was for a medical ship. Merrith S’Roke shakes her head in the negative. 

There’s a chime from the captains panel, followed by a voice: “Bridge to Captain. We’re dropping out of warp at the edge of the system.” In time with the message they all feel the ever-present thrum of the ships’ warp drive change in pitch, and the stream of stars outside the viewport slow to standstill dots of light.

“Alright people,” the captain says, standing from his seat, “Stations. Let’s get to it.”