Spectrum

[Cyberfairy]

CAPTAIN'S LOG, STARDATE 49071.5
The Spectrum is in orbit around Jelkor Prime, a world on the fringes of Federation territory in the Beta Quadrant. Pursuant to our most recent orders from Starfleet, we are to assist a Vulcan observation team in making first contact with the people of this world, a race who are about to make their first tentative steps out into the greater galaxy with their prototype warp-driven starship...








Leaning forward in his command chair, Captain Jeremy Trent paused to admire the glittering world that adorned the primary viewscreen on the forward bulkhead. It was a stunning planet that was remarkably Earthlike, even down to the ambient temperature around the globe and strength of its gravitational field. Encircling the world's equator was a wide ring of asteroidal debris and cometary fragments, and on the outskirts of the solar system, providing a breathtaking backdrop for the planet, a vast azure nebula cloud.

"Orbital status?" the captain inquired, his dark eyes still studying the holographic plane of energy that displayed the flight path of his starship.

"We're holding in a geosynchronous position over the capital city," Lieutenant Commander Sorak reported swiftly from the helm console, "Altitude is forty-two thousand kilometers above the surface as instructed."

Trent gave a short nod of approval, aware that his operations officer had brought the Spectrum into an orbit that was just inside the range of the vessel's transporters. Beaming to the surface from such a distance would certainly strain the ship's systems, but it was far less likely that the advanced alien spacecraft would be detected by the inhabitants of this world.

"I'm detecting some sort of spacedock in a low orbit beneath us," Lieutenant Kimberly Lawson called over her shoulder, the young helmsman having occupied the operations console in order to gain more experience away from navigation, "Preliminary scans indicate that it contains the Jelkorian warp-ship."

"Passive sensor-scans only, lieutenant," Trent warned with a wry smile, concerned that his helm officer would become a little too interested in what she'd discovered, "We can't let these people spot us hovering out here watching the most important event in their history."

"At least not yet," Commander Rupert Taviner added with a broad grin, rising from his chair beside the captain and moving to join Lawson at Ops. Frowning at the sensor streams scrolling past on the operations display, he began to tap a series of commands into the console.

"Problem, commander?" Trent asked.

Taviner paused, as if reluctant to offer an explanation for his behavior. "Just for an instant something registered on the subspace-bands," he said slowly, "Almost like an interference-pattern in the general vicinity of the Jelkorian spacedock."

Trent pushed himself out of his chair. "An interference-pattern," he muttered, a feeling of concern building within him, "Could that warp-ship be undergoing some sort of subspace-field test?"

"Possibly," Taviner allowed, folding his arms across his chest and turning away from the operations console, "Whatever caused the interference they were extremely localized subspace disturbances that lasted for a few hundredths of a second."

"Keep an eye on it," the captain instructed him, turning to the tactical station behind him, "Are we able to raise the observation team?"

Lieutenant Scott Walker keyed the appropriate commands into his station. "These microburst transmissions we've been instructed to use aren't particularly effective as a means of communication," he commented, "We haven't received a response to our hails."

"Those microburst transmissions are designed to appear as nothing but background sub spatial-static should they be detected by the Jelkorians," Commander Taviner interjected.

Walker shrugged. "They're still inefficient," he complained, though he knew as well as any other member of the bridge crew that this form of communication was necessary in any first-contact situation.

Suddenly, a sensor alert from the tactical station drew everyone's attention.

"Report," Trent asked quickly.

Walker was surveying his console with a new sense of urgency, his fingers moving swiftly across the complex controls. "We're getting something on the emergency-frequency Starfleet told us to monitor," he reported, his expression having darkened considerably.

Unable to remain motionless within the command arena where protocol held that he should remain, Trent swiftly ascended the short series of steps to the tactical station where he began to assimilate the information being presented.

Walker manipulated the console further. "The signal's extremely weak," he said, "I'm trying to enhance the transmission with a subspace amplification algorithm but we're limited by how powerfully it's being sent."

Trent held his breath, impatiently watching his weapons officer attempt to draw more information from the incoming data stream. "I'm realigning the subspace receivers to the inverse of the carrier-frequency," he told him, tapping a command sequence into the tactical board.

Working in tandem with his commander, Walker completed the integration of his amplification algorithm into the communications system. "I've instructed the computer to extrapolate the missing pieces of the transmission," he announced finally, "It's coming onscreen!"

Suddenly, the holographic viewscreen that dominated the forward section of the bridge dissolved into harsh pixels for an instant before reforming. The dark silhouette of a man was now barely visible through the holographic static that indicated the weakness of the transmission.

"This is the Federation starship Spectrum," Captain Trent called, turning to the main screen and slowly descending the steps toward the command arena as he spoke, "We're barely receiving you, can you boost your signal?"

The ghostly image of the other man shifted, as if he was attempting to respond, but before any words left his lips the viewscreen flashed and vanished completely. An instant later, as the computer's preprogrammed routines came online, the pane of holographic energy came back online with the standard image of space ahead of the starship.

"The transmission was terminated at the source," Walker informed everyone, his voice cutting through the silence that had abruptly descended over the bridge, "I'm still hailing them using the microburst transmission protocols but there's no response."

"Should we risk sending a standard hailing sequence?" Commander Taviner asked worriedly, obviously concerned for the safety of the Vulcan observation team down on the planet.

Trent shook his head. "The Jelkorians have developed enough subspace technology to allow flight at warp speeds," he said, "If we send a subspace transmission to the surface there's a good chance someone other than the Vulcans will detect it."

"But the observation team could be in danger," Walker pointed out.

"I'm aware of that," Trent shot back, "But our orders expressly forbid us initiating contact with the people of this world until they make that warp-flight, because until that time comes they're still protected by the Prime Directive."

"Our mission orders contained the coordinates of the observation post," Commander Taviner interjected, leaving his words hanging in the air, his point obvious to everyone who'd heard him.

Trent drew in a long breath, visibly weighing the risks of dispatching an away-team to the surface of this relatively primitive, pre-warp world. "The preliminary mission report said that the outpost is located in the hills above the capital city," he muttered, "They chose that position because it's sparsely populated."

"We'll take every precaution," Taviner assured the captain quickly, "I don't think we can sit up here in the light of that emergency call, sir."

Finally, Trent gave a short nod of confirmation. "Take a minimum away-team down there, commander," he instructed before turning to address Kimberly Lawson at operations, "Establish a real-time transporter lock on them as soon as they reach the surface, we may need to pull them out if there's a danger of their being discovered."

Needing no further urging, Commander Taviner headed for the turbolift as he tapped his communicator badge. "Doctor Chandler to transporter room one," he called, before glancing back at the captain, "Do you have a bad feeling about this?"

Trent sighed inwardly.








As his world coalesced around him from sparkling subatomic particles, Commander Rupert Taviner drew in a long breath of cool air, pausing to savor the subtle aromas that were noticeably lacking from the controlled odorless atmosphere of the Spectrum.

Blinking away the last of the transporter dazzle, he quickly surveyed his new surroundings and saw that he was now standing on a hilltop above what he decided must be the Jelkorian capital city. The cloudless sky overhead was a deep azure, the only visible indication that he now stood on a world other than the Earth where he'd been born, now thousands of light-years away on the far side of the Federation.

The verdant green landscape was almost too idyllic, almost as if it had been generated by the powerful simulation technology of a holosuite. Rows of small trees and bushes could be seen in the distance occupying the perfectly-manicured fields surrounding this isolated city, and small birds flew overhead singing.

Taviner decided that the temperature would have been uncomfortably warm but for the gentle breeze that touched his skin, but after spending five unbroken weeks aboard the starship, was weary of even making a silent complaint about his new surroundings.

Perceiving motion nearby, the first-officer glanced sideways to regard the lithe form of the Spectrum's chief medical officer, Joanna Chandler. She had busied herself by scanning the region with her tricorder, aiming the device in a full circle in an attempt to ascertain whether anything was out of place.

"I'm not detecting anything that could have jammed communications from the duck blind," the doctor reported crisply, "Maybe they had an equipment failure."

"Like it would ever be something as simple as that," Taviner muttered quietly, placing a reassuring hand on the phaser slotted into his equipment belt before narrowing his gaze at the beautiful landscape, "How far is the Vulcan outpost?"

Chandler checked the miniaturized screen on her tricorder. "A few hundred meters due east of here," she told him, "According to the files I downloaded from the ship's computer before we left, the Starfleet Corps of Engineers carved it out of solid rock in a system of subterranean caves."

Taviner nodded slowly, beginning to descend the incline they'd beamed onto, feeling the grass brush past his boots as he moved.

Suddenly, he noticed something move in his peripheral vision.

Instinctively, he drew his phaser and motioned for his companion to do the same, crouching to one knee and sweeping the immediate area with his weapon.

A figure stepped out from behind a large tree, attired in a gray military uniform that sent a shiver down Taviner's spine.

The figure was a Romulan.

And he was armed with a sleek, black disruptor pistol.

Taviner head snapped around as a second Romulan emerged from his concealment behind a rocky outcropping, then a third and forth until the two Starfleet officers were completely enclosed.

"THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!" one of the aliens commanded.

The first-officer complied, dropping his own phaser to the ground and listening to the doctor's weapon strike the dirt a moment later. He raised his hands into the air as the lead Romulan walked forward.

A predatory smile was present on the man's face. "What do we have here?" he said.








Seated in his command chair, Captain Jeremy Trent waited patiently as his starship continued its orbit of this world on the fringes of explored space. He passively monitored the activity of his senior officers as they worked at their respective duty stations, preferring not to interfere and retain the modicum of detachment that his position required.

"I'm detecting another starship moving into sensor-range," Kimberly Lawson announced from her position at operations.

"Identification?" Trent asked calmly, fully expecting the presence of another vessel in orbit around Jelkor Prime.

The young woman tapped a series of points on her console. "It's the T'Omrek," she said finally, "It's in standard orbit beneath us, now passing over the Jelkorian capital city.

The captain nodded absently in acknowledgement, recalling the mission reports and briefing that he'd received during the Spectrum's rendezvous with another Starfleet ship earlier that week. The Vulcan observation team stationed on Jelkor was scheduled to be retrieved by the T'Omrek upon the successful completion of their mission, at which time a more expert team of first-contact specialists would arrive to take over.

"Let's see them," Trent ordered.

The image on the viewscreen dissolved into harsh holographic static for an instant, before the pixels reformed to convey a new scene. Soaring high above the stunning blue waters and ochre continents, a Vulcan science vessel was now visible. It was an austere ship in appearance, sleek and organic, constructed from a substance that had a burnished violet color.

As a man who counted the design-lineage of Federation spacecraft amongst his interests, Trent was aware that the general appearance of Vulcan starships had changed very little over the course of two centuries. The vessel that now dominated the Spectrum's viewscreen shared its visual form with the ships that had monitored Earth's first forays into the galaxy in the 2150s. It was something of a testament to the early Vulcan shipwrights that their initial starship designs were still serviceable even at the twilight of the twenty-forth century.

"That's a S'vari-class ship isn't it?" Scott Walker asked.

"Correct," Commander Sorak confirmed from the helm.

"Strange," Lawson interjected, visibly confused by some of the readings being displayed by the operations board, "I'm detecting very little power being generated by the T'Omrek's warp-core."

Trent pushed himself out of his command chair, frowning at his officer's report as he realized that something else was out of place on this distant world. "Could they be in some sort of standby mode?" he inquired.

It was a reasonable assumption that the Vulcan ship had instituted a power-conservation protocol whilst it was resting in orbit awaiting the Jelkorian warp-ship's test-flight.

The operations officer quickly tapped a command-sequence into the console, attempting to draw more information from the sensors upon which she could base a conclusion. "Even a powered-down ship should have its station-keeping RCS thrusters online," she muttered, "The T'Omrek is in freefall, getting closer to the atmosphere with every orbit."

"Hail them!" Trent commanded, rapidly becoming concerned for the safety of the two groups of Vulcans who had been sent to Jelkor Prime.

Walker pressed the necessary points on the tactical console. "I'm sending the standard microburst hailing-sequence!" he said quickly before shaking his head, "They're not responding!"

Trent approached the two forward stations, unconsciously moving closer to Sorak since the people who served on the other vessel were of his race. "Intercept that ship," he ordered briskly before turning to Lawson, "Run a sweep for lifesigns."

As Sorak adjusted the Spectrum's orbit and brought the starship into a gentle descent toward the Vulcan craft, Lawson turned the full focus of the sensors onto the T'Omrek. The series of low-pitched chirps emanating from the Ops console indicated negative readings.

"The results are inconclusive," Lawson told him, "I don't understand what could be interfering with our scans."

Trent angrily strode across his bridge toward the nearest turbolift, turning his back on the large image of the derelict Vulcan starship. "This entire mission is becoming a disaster!" he snapped, "I'm taking an away-team over there to find out what's going on."

"Captain!" Walker called after him in protest.

"You're with me, Mr. Walker!" Trent commanded, his tone instantly silencing any further objection as the doors to the turbolift hissed open on his approach, "Sorak, the bridge is yours!"

As his tactical officer hurried into the elevator chamber, the lift doors closed.

"Transporter room two," Trent said.

 

[Cyberfairy]

Emperor Desat paced his vast private chamber with a mixture of both apprehension and anticipation, striding purposefully past the eye-shaped viewing portal that provided a vista out over the capital city of his world.

Desat stood just over six feet in height, with long black hair that hung down around his padded shoulders. He was just over twenty-seven years of age, the youngest man every to preside over the Jelkorian ruling council, having inherited the throne following his father's premature death earlier that yet.

Suddenly, the large doors to the plush chamber were opened by a palace aide, and the alien being who had become a permanent fixture at Desat's residence strode inside. As always, he wore his angular gray uniform embossed with the emblems of his own planet. His hair was as black as Desat's own, cut in a straight military style that emphasized his upswept ears.

"We have a problem," the newcomer stated curtly as the wooden doors closed behind him.

Desat was taken aback by the tone in which he was spoken to by this person, but had become accustomed to it over the preceding weeks. "You appear to be saying that somewhat regularly of late, subcommander," he responded with forced civility.

Subcommander Tashyk regarded the young emperor with an expression of disdain, obviously recognizing the fact that he was being mocked by a member of what he had termed a prewarp race.

Desat shifted uncomfortably in the silence, adjusting his long imperial robes as the Romulan soldier's dark eyes regarded him.

"Another starship has arrived in orbit," Tashyk explained briskly, "Belonging to people who wish to disrupt our alliance and prevent the flight of your warp-ship tomorrow."

The Jelkorian emperor drew in a surprised breath, feeling a deep sense of apprehension gnawing at him just as it had when the previous spacecraft had arrived earlier that week. The Romulan detachment stationed on Jelkor had apparently dealt with the matter, as they had dealt with the alien spies who had been watching the planet from their hidden observation post. Tashyk had assured Desat that nothing would interfere with their plans to launch the faster-than-light vessel, but now something else had apparently gone wrong.

"Who are they?" Desat demanded, "Are they the same group who came three days ago?"

The Romulan shook his head. "Not exactly," he told him, "But they belong to the same organization."

Desat narrowed his eyes at the alien representative. "But you can deal with them?" he said expectantly.

"It's not as simple this time," he retorted, visibly shaken that his plans were falling apart around him, "The first ship to arrive was a small science-vessel with very little armament."

The young emperor felt this unease growing. "And this one?" he prompted.

"A sovereign-class Federation vessel," Tashyk answered, "The newest addition to their fleet and one of their most powerful models of starship. Apprehending its crew as I was able to do before isn't an option."

Desat opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak the doors to his chamber burst open and another Romulan soldier marched in. The subordinate, who Desat recognized as Tashyk's second-in-command, came to attention on the deep-crimson carpet.

"Forgive my intrusion, subcommander," the soldier began, his speech somewhat breathless as if he had been running.

Tashyk held up a hand to silence any further apology. "Give me your report," he instructed.

"One of our perimeter patrols has found something," the officer told his superior.

"What?" Tashyk urged impatiently, beginning to loose his temper.

"Bring them in!" the younger Romulan called over his shoulder.

Upon hearing movement, Desat's head snapped around to look at the doorway, and he watched in horrified amazement as two more aliens entered, each of them attired in black uniforms with gray-ribbed shoulders. Three of Tashyk's Romulans followed, holding their advanced hand-weapons that never wavered from their captives.

This new breed of alien was unknown to Desat, whose people had only had the existence of life on other worlds confirmed in the last month by the arrival of the Romulans. They were male and female, and the former appeared to be wounded as if he'd put up a fight whilst being brought to the palace.

"They beamed down from the Starfleet vessel," Tashyk's deputy explained, "We apprehended them in due course and removed their communication badges."

Tashyk nodded slowly as he assimilated the information, his eyes scrutinizing every detail of the two new aliens. "Who are you?" he asked them, a deadly edge in his voice.

"I'm Commander Rupert Taviner," the male alien said hoarsely, "And whatever plans you've got for this world aren't going to work."










As the quantum mist of the transporter beam thinned and evaporated around him, Captain Jeremy Trent was immediately affronted by the coldness that suddenly surrounded him. For a brief moment he was struck by the fear that he and his away-team had materialized within an airless vacuum, and that somehow the dedicated targeting-scanners serving the Spectrum's transporter system had malfunctioned.

But as he felt the chilled air begin to fill his lungs, he realized that his fears were baseless. The transporter officer on duty had assured them that the destination environment had been safe for transport, but had obviously neglected to tell them how low the temperature was aboard the target ship.

Now, Trent stood aboard the lifeless Vulcan science vessel T'Tomrek, slowly descending toward the atmosphere of Jelkor Prime where it would eventually be subjected to the fiery death of reentry unless the Spectrum intervened.

As per his orders, the transporter chief had beamed the away-team into the crew lounge of the small research ship, a central location from which the party could fan out and inspect the spacecraft. The relatively large room was intended as a public space for the few Vulcan scientists who served onboard, and a place where they would gather to eat their meals and converse with each other.

As Trent surveyed his new surroundings, he was aware of the low-level blue lighting from panels overhead and along the base of the walls, providing the only illumination and presumably running off the ship's emergency batteries. He noticed that there were few amenities in this place, only the most basic of fixtures such as two replicator terminals on either side of the lounge. A handful of square tables served by thin, ramrod straight chairs designed to complement Vulcan posture were the only real features.

Through the four tall viewports along the outer wall, Trent could clearly see the gentle curve of the world the ship was descending toward, but his gaze lingered for only an instant before he directed his attention toward the other members of the away-team.

"The ship's environmental controls are offline," Lieutenant Simon Day announced, his breath condensing into a cloud of vapor as he considered the data being displayed by his tricorder, "The artificial-gravity plating has retained its charge but it's offline, so we can expect to be floating around within a few hours unless its reactivated."

"I don't intend to still be here in a few hours, lieutenant," Trent replied absently, his eyes scrutinizing an unfinished game of kal-toh that someone had started on one of the tables. The game was designed to improve the player's concentration and logic, but was rarely mastered by anyone outside the Vulcan race due to its sheer complexity.

Scott Walker was wandering slowly around the angular furniture with his eyes directed at the deck, obviously looking for clues as to what had happened. "Everything looks completely untouched," he decided with a frown, "It doesn't look like they rushed out of here when the ship came under attack."

Trent nodded in silent agreement. If the T'Omrek had been involved in a battle, the chairs and tables would have been tossed around the room like toys. These were undisturbed.

"And we would've seen battle-damage to the hull as we approached," Day added, still taking readings with his tricorder, "It looks as if someone has simply turned everything off and left the ship here to burn up."

"Computer?" Trent said into the silence, watching as his words became mist as they left his lips.

All primary and secondary computer functions are offline, a disembodied male voice answered.

The captain vaguely recognized the synthesized computer voice from the time he'd spent aboard other Vulcan ships.

"Well something must be online to generate that message," Walker put in.

"That's just a preprogrammed response to any computer inquiry," Day told him quickly, "But you're right to say that something is active. The base-level computer intellect must be running to recognize the captain's words and interpret them as a question."

Trent turned and quickly located the only exit from the lounge. "You need to ascertain which systems are still online," he instructed his chief engineer as he headed for the doorway, "If you can access the internal-sensors we can establish if any of the crew is still aboard."

"Aye, sir," Day confirmed quietly.

Trent reached the doorway, surprised when the single panel retreated into the bulkhead as he approached. Clearly, his presence had been sensed and the door servos activated to allow him to exit, so portions of this ghostly starship were still active.

The captain emerged into the long corridor, again dimly illuminated by rows of emergency lighting. He was relieved to see that there were no bodies littering the passage, but reminded himself that there were a dozen rooms that still lay unexplored. Even more disturbing was the obvious fact that the T'Omrek was equipped with transporters, which meant that the missing Vulcans could even be on the surface of this pre-warp world.

"Let's head for the bridge," Trent said to his officers.








Seated in the central command chair of the Spectrum, even Commander Sorak was unable to suppress, as he did with his other emotions, the sensation of power that he now controlled. During his two decades of service in Starfleet, he had been left in command of several spacecraft in their respective commanders' absence, and privately admitted that he found the sensation agreeable.

"Status?" the Vulcan inquired.

At the operations console, the station which Sorak himself generally occupied, Kimberly Lawson glanced over her shoulder. "That's the forth time you've asked me that in the last ten minutes," she reminded him, more than a hint of annoyance present in her voice, "I'll tell you if anything happens, commander."

"Indulge me," Sorak responded, silently chastising himself for allowing his concern for the two separate away-teams to be detected by the crew.

"I'm still tracking Commander Taviner and Doctor Chandler on the surface," Lawson told him, "Their combadge signatures are strong and it looks like they're approaching the capital city."

Sorak frowned. "What is their exact position in relation to the city?" he inquired, uncomfortable that the two crewmembers had ventured so near to a population centre of a Prime Directive world.

Lawson appeared to be surprised that she had allowed Commander Taviner to wander so close to the city without bringing it to Sorak's attention. "They're on the outskirts," she said urgently, "Moving quickly toward the centre of town."

Sorak rose sharply from the command chair. "Redirect visual-sensors on the away-team's position," he instructed her.

The holographic pixels of the viewscreen reformed into the image of a high altitude visual scan of Jelkor Prime.

"Magnify," the Vulcan ordered.

Lawson tapped the appropriate magnification controls on the Ops panel, and the viewer zoomed in toward the surface of Jelkor in a number of stages, the pixilated image being computer-enhanced with each jump.

Sorak watched as the continents came into sharp focus, followed by a leap in magnification that brought the sparsely scattered towns and cities into view. Within seconds, the various sections of the capital city became clear, then progressively more detailed images of its roadways and streets.

"I'm pinpointing the away-team's position," Lawson reported.

Even Sorak was shocked by what he saw next.

Two equestrian life forms, this world's equivalent of horses, were bolting through the city streets uncontrolled, knocking over market stalls and causing people to run to avoid being trampled.

"The combadges are attached to those animals," Lawson announced in disbelief.

Sorak bowed his head solemnly, shocked by how wrong this simple mission had become. The Spectrum's first-officer and doctor were now lost on Jelkor, with no means by which they could contact the ship, their presence having apparently been detected by this prewarp civilization.

"Orders, sir?" Lawson asked nervously.

The Vulcan looked up at her. "Call the captain."

 

[Sandoval]

It's a pleasant enough little start that has the feel of a TNG episode. I enjoyed it. Nice to see a 'normal' ship and crew rather than one in dire straits or with the forced angst that many feel necessary to inject into their stories.

Look forward to the rest.

 

[Mistral]

Pleasant beginning-now let's see where it goes.