This tale is set in the time frame of my Lexington series and involves the adventures of two petty officers stationed on board the buoy tender USS Evergreen.
Leaning forward on the imitation wood railing, Quartermaster Second Class Gary Lockwood gazed longingly at the majestic form of the USS Lexington from his vantage point on the observation deck of the newly commissioned Starbase 31. Sighing as his eyes took in the graceful lines of Constitution class vessel, Petty Officer Lockwood admired how the separate parts of the Lexington, its saucer section, main section, and nacelles, all flowed seamlessly together to create a beautiful whole that was truly greater than the sum of its parts.
“Forget about it, Lockwood. Right now you’re as close as you’re ever going to get to one of those babies.”
Jerking his head rapidly towards the source of those words, Gary frowned as he recognized the Evergreen’s Executive Officer, Ensign Winston Morris. Not wanting to antagonize his superior officer, the young petty officer settled for a non-committal grunt as the bearded dark haired Morris flashed a toothy grin. “You’re a cast off.” The ensign spat out, “That’s all we are, you know—Starfleet’s garbage. And that’s all we get from the Fleet. We get their old phasers, their old uniforms.” He swore as he tugged at the gold shirt he wore that the Regular Fleet had discarded the previous year, “And we get their old ships. Like that rust-bucket of ours over there.” He growled as he pointed at the renovated hundred plus year old tender occupying the berth next to the Lexington, the Evergreen, known in a former lifetime as the NX-class Endeavor. “Hell, we even get their retreads as our CO’s. So, forget about the Academy, kid—as far as those bastards are concerned, you don’t even exist.”
Refusing to rise to his tormenter’s bait, Lockwood uttered a quiet, “Yes, Sir,” smiling inwardly at the ensign’s low growl as he stomped away. Watching warily as his brooding superior disappeared into the Orion owned casino, Gary turned his attention back to the Lady in the window, dreaming about how it must feel to sit at the helm of that powerful craft as it sped its way to the next unexplored world.
************************************************************************
As Petty Officer Lockwood’s fingers flew gracefully over his console, the Evergreen, reacting to his instructions, shifted to its new course. The youthful petty officer’s sense of accomplishment at his near flawless course correction was short-lived, however, as the tender’s executive officer growled, “You’re slow, Longwood! My brother’s Irish setter could have done a better job.”
“Aye, Sir.” Lockwood quietly acknowledged, knowing that it wasn’t either his or the old girl’s fault that she was so slow in making her turn. After all, Evergreen’s best years were long behind her. Rather, it was the fault of the plodding XO who had ordered the turn far too late, forcing Longwood to strain the ship almost to its limits as he brought her back on course to her first destination, Subspace Communications Relay Substation Gamma 542.
Laughing, Morris declared in a voice loud enough to carry throughout the tiny bridge, “And you think you can cut it in the Academy, Lockwood? They’ll wash you out after your first run in the simulator.”
Stoically bearing the snickers and guffaws coming from most of the bridge crew, the woman sitting at the comm station being one of the few exceptions, Lockwood almost missed the executive officer’s call “Captain on the bridge,” until he was nudged in the side by the on duty comm tech, Communications Technician Third Class, Melissa Pappas. Standing up just in time, Gary sighed in relief as Lieutenant Walsh arrived on the bridge, along with the rest of Beta Shift.
“Thank you, XO.” Walsh responded in a bored tone as he took the data slate containing the previous shift’s log from Ensign Morris. Settling down into the center seat, Walsh studied the entries, his lips turning down into a frown as he read. Glancing up from his reading, his eyes fell upon those of his young helmsman, “Petty Officer Lockwood? Meet me in my office in two hours.”
“Aye, Sir.” Gary replied almost forlornly, feeling Melissa’s soft fingers momentarily touching his in a gesture of comfort and support as she whispered in his ear, “Meet me in the galley after you see the skipper and we’ll talk.”
***********************************************************************
“Petty Officer Lockwood…” Lieutenant Walsh greeted upon hearing the door chime, “Come in. Sit down.” Watching as the young ensign took the chair opposite his small spartan desk, Walsh cleared his throat as he set the data slate he was reading down. “I’m sorry…” looking compassionately on the young petty officer, the gray haired CO continued to speak, “Starfleet Academy turned down you application.”
“Did they say why, Sir?” A crestfallen Lockwood inquired as his heart sank at the bad news.
“Here.” The Evergreen’s commanding officer replied as he slid the data slate across his desk to the petty officer sitting opposite him. “Read this—it’ll tell you everything.”
“It says…” the youthful quartermaster read; his heartache growing as he recited every word “…that even though my service record is more than adequate, that the current class has already been filled. That I should apply again next year.”
“Well…” Walsh responded, his lips turning up in what he considered to be an encouraging grin, “You can always try again.”
“Yes, Sir.” A dispirited Lockwood answered back.
Taking pity on his dejected crewman, the old lieutenant offered some guidance, “Young man. Starfleet Academy gets tons of applications from beings throughout the Federation.” Bitterness rising in his voice, the older man continued, “But, as you’ve probably already figured out, getting in is a rigged game. Unless you or someone in your family has connections in the Federation, or you come from a family with a history of service in the Fleet like the Stiles, the Shelbys or the Owens’s, or you’re from one of the newly admitted worlds like Betazed or Trill, you have to do something to set yourself apart from all the other names, faces, and numbers that are competing against you. Something that will catch the initial screening committee’s eyes and make them give your application a closer look.”
“Like what, Sir?”
“For one thing, show some initiative and self confidence.” The older man advised as he recalled opportunities that he had let slip by leaving him now, at the end of his career, in command of an obsolete ship on its last legs. “You have to show everyone—beginning with me—that you belong out here. Be your own man—but be careful. Don’t confuse arrogance for self confidence. I’ve seen the careers of too many officers ruined because of that.” Pausing long enough to make sure that his words had sunken in, Walsh concluded their meeting, “Dismissed.”
***********************************************************************
As he walked down the narrow, somewhat dingy corridors of the converted buoy tender towards his ultimate destination, the galley, Petty Officer Lockwood imagined what it must have been like to have been aboard during the ship’s prior lifetime—when it was still the pride of the Fleet. The fourth of the NX line to be commissioned and the first with the new warp seven engines, the Endeavor, under its first captain, Jeremy Porter, had distinguished itself first during the Romulan War and then later on several voyages of exploration before finally being retired. Brought back into service several years ago, the old girl was overhauled, given a new name and registry number, and sent out to the frontier as a workhorse tending buoys and relay stations and ferrying supplies. A sad end for a great lady. Lockwood thought as his mind’s eye saw the ghosts of those blue jumpsuit clad men and women moving briskly down the corridor, brushing past him as they went about their tasks.
The galley door sliding open for him, Lockwood at once spotted Melissa sitting at one of the tables all by herself in her red coveralls, her dirty blonde hair done up in a ponytail. Flashing a smile as she recognized him standing in the doorway, she called out to him, “Hey Gary! Grab yourself some chow and come on over. Try the chicken salad—it’s actually pretty good today!”
Unable, in spite of himself, to resist the young communications tech’s infectious good cheer, Lockwood walked over to the food processing stations. Slipping in a disk for the chicken salad, Gary waited patiently until the door slid open revealing a plate with his chicken salad and a glass of iced tea. Putting his food on a tray, he walked back towards the table where Melissa sat. “So how did it go with the Old Man?” She asked, taking a bite out of her sandwich.
“They rejected my application again.” Gary announced in a morose voice. “That’s the second time.”
“So, you can apply again, can’t you?” Melissa asked helpfully between bites of her chicken salad.
“I can apply one more time” Gary replied as he took a sip from his ice tea, “But if they reject that one, I won’t be able to apply again for five years.” Shaking his head, the young petty officer moped, “I don’t know…maybe Morris is right…maybe those people in admissions are right to turn me down—maybe I don’t have what it takes.”
“Don’t have what it takes?” Locking on to her friend’s eyes with her own piercing blue eyes, Melissa quickly responded, her voice now taking on a challenging quality, “If that’s the way you think—then maybe you don’t.” Getting up, she added fiercely, “Maybe this is where you belong with the Old Man and Bristle Face. The three of you can mark time together complaining about how the universe screwed you over while the rest of us are out doing stuff.” Turning her head as she walked away, she added one last parting remark, “What you do is up to you—but for whatever it’s worth, I have faith in you.”
Chewing on the lovely communications tech’s remarks as he chewed on his chicken salad, Gary almost missed the intercom call ordering him to the bridge. Finally picking up on the call after it had been repeated, Longwood dashed out of the galley, making his way as fast as possible to the bridge. Arriving at last on the bridge, the young quartermaster was greeted by a snarling Ensign Morris.
“About time you showed up, Lockwood!” The bearded ensign growled as he pointed at the main viewscreen where he saw the cylindrical form of Subspace Communications Relay Substation Gamma-542 rotating slowly on its axis against the background of stars. “You and Petty Officer Pappas are to beam over to the substation and carry out whatever maintenance needs to be done there. The Evergreen will be back in approximately six hours. That should give even you two enough time to get your jobs done.”
“Aye, Sir.” Both petty officers responded in unison before dashing off the bridge. As the pair made their way down the corridor, Melissa suggested, “Meet me in the transporter room after you’ve changed into your EVA suit. I’ve got to pick up my tools and then get changed myself. Hurry up—looks like Bristle Face has got it in for you today.”
“Right.” Gary replied as the pair split up, his mood improving slightly at the opportunity to be both off the ship and alone on an otherwise uninhabited space station with the lovely Melissa Pappas. “See you in a few.”
“You two ready to go?” Transporter technician first class Alan Greer growled as he tapped his chronometer impatiently. “Morris is getting impatient. I think he’s bucking for JG again.”
“Pfft…” Petty Officer Pappas snorted, “Hope he gets it this time—it’ll get him out of our hair.”
“Unless the Old Man finally decides to retire and they decide to bump him up in his place.” The transporter tech pointed out morosely.
“We better get going if we don’t want him in our faces again.” Longwood pointed out as he leaped up on to the transporter pad, holding a helping hand out for his companion.
“Good idea.” Melissa agreed as she took the proffered hand. As both petty officers gave their silver environmental suits one last check, they heard Alan’s voice through their comm units.
“Gravity should be on when you beam aboard, but it’ll take a couple of minutes or so for atmosphere and pressure to reach optimal levels. If something goes wrong, just give a holler and I’ll yank you back.” Receiving in reply two thumbs up, the transporter technician grinned as he activated the transporter controls, “All right…have fun, you two, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
************************************************************************
Rematerializing in the main control section of the substation, Gary activated his tricorder. “Atmosphere and pressure rising…” he reported, nodding his head several moments later as the readings reached standard levels. “We’re safe.” He declared as he cracked open his space suit. Activating his comm unit, he reported, “Maintenance party to Evergreen, pressure, temperature, and atmosphere are within operational parameters—we’re beginning work.”
“About time.” Ensign Walsh’s voice sounded out from the comm unit. “We’ll be back in six hours.”
“Well…” Melissa grinned as she stripped off her EVA suit, tossing a gray jumpsuit hanging from a peg on the wall to Gary as she slipped on one of her own, “…it’s time to get to work.”
“Right.” Lockwood replied as he slipped on his coveralls. “I’ll get started on the internals while you run a check on the comm systems and logs.”
“Sounds like a plan.” The young communications tech responded as she sat down before a communications console. Turning her attention to the console, Melissa typed in a sequence on the antiquated keyboard. “That’s odd…” she mused to herself as an unfamiliar code sequence popped up on the display monitor. Cursing under her breath the fact that the computers on these old relay stations still relied on keyboard input rather than the voice activated computers that were common throughout the rest of the Fleet, Petty Officer Pappas typed in the code sequence to order the computer to run a full diagnostic. Punching the enter key, Melissa leaned back in her seat anticipating the expected test screen to appear on her monitor only to be jolted back to full attention as a pop-up window accompanied by a warning bell appeared instead. “Unable to comply—authorization not approved?” The young communications tech shook head. “What the hell?”
“What’s up?” Gary inquired with a smirk as he looked up from his station. “Found something you couldn’t handle?”
“Nothing that a spanner upside the head of an obnoxious quartermaster’s mate couldn’t deal with.” Melissa responded with a mock grimace. “Seriously…for some reason or other, I’ve been locked out of the computer’s functions—can’t even run a basic diagnostic. What about you? You tried getting into the sensor logs yet?”
“Not yet.” Lockwood admitted, “I’ve been concentrating on some strange readings from the internal life support systems.”
“What sort of readings?” Melissa asked, her head tilting slightly to the left in that way it always did when the young blonde was confronted by a puzzle.
“There’s a slight uptick about a month ago…” Gary answered back, his brow furrowed, “…and then another a month before that…like the system had been briefly activated.”
“Yup.” The communications tech declared, nodding her head firmly as she typed in another sequence on her keyboard, “Someone’s been mucking around with our stuff. I just tried to type in a bypass code and the damned thing spat it back at me. Whoever’s been snooping around here knows their stuff.” Pausing for a moment to ponder the situation, the lovely petty officer advised, “You might want to check those sensor logs sooner rather than later…”
“Yeah.” Gary agreed as he attempted to access the nav systems. “Hmmm…” the quartermaster’s mate murmured, “That’s odd…”
“What?” Melissa asked as she wiped a greasy smudge off her cheek.
“The sensor logs read as if nothing unusual happened…”Gary explained, “…but there’s an inconsistency in the sequencing…it’s like they’ve been cut and spliced…” Shaking his head, the ambitious young rating remarked admiringly, “Whoever did it knew what they were doing—no question about that. I only stumbled on it by accident.”
“Thanks. Hear that Simon? We need to do a better job covering our tracks.”
Turning about quickly, both petty officers saw a blinding yellow light and then nothing.
***********************************************************************
TALES OF THE FLEET: TO DREAM THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM
Leaning forward on the imitation wood railing, Quartermaster Second Class Gary Lockwood gazed longingly at the majestic form of the USS Lexington from his vantage point on the observation deck of the newly commissioned Starbase 31. Sighing as his eyes took in the graceful lines of Constitution class vessel, Petty Officer Lockwood admired how the separate parts of the Lexington, its saucer section, main section, and nacelles, all flowed seamlessly together to create a beautiful whole that was truly greater than the sum of its parts.
“Forget about it, Lockwood. Right now you’re as close as you’re ever going to get to one of those babies.”
Jerking his head rapidly towards the source of those words, Gary frowned as he recognized the Evergreen’s Executive Officer, Ensign Winston Morris. Not wanting to antagonize his superior officer, the young petty officer settled for a non-committal grunt as the bearded dark haired Morris flashed a toothy grin. “You’re a cast off.” The ensign spat out, “That’s all we are, you know—Starfleet’s garbage. And that’s all we get from the Fleet. We get their old phasers, their old uniforms.” He swore as he tugged at the gold shirt he wore that the Regular Fleet had discarded the previous year, “And we get their old ships. Like that rust-bucket of ours over there.” He growled as he pointed at the renovated hundred plus year old tender occupying the berth next to the Lexington, the Evergreen, known in a former lifetime as the NX-class Endeavor. “Hell, we even get their retreads as our CO’s. So, forget about the Academy, kid—as far as those bastards are concerned, you don’t even exist.”
Refusing to rise to his tormenter’s bait, Lockwood uttered a quiet, “Yes, Sir,” smiling inwardly at the ensign’s low growl as he stomped away. Watching warily as his brooding superior disappeared into the Orion owned casino, Gary turned his attention back to the Lady in the window, dreaming about how it must feel to sit at the helm of that powerful craft as it sped its way to the next unexplored world.
************************************************************************
As Petty Officer Lockwood’s fingers flew gracefully over his console, the Evergreen, reacting to his instructions, shifted to its new course. The youthful petty officer’s sense of accomplishment at his near flawless course correction was short-lived, however, as the tender’s executive officer growled, “You’re slow, Longwood! My brother’s Irish setter could have done a better job.”
“Aye, Sir.” Lockwood quietly acknowledged, knowing that it wasn’t either his or the old girl’s fault that she was so slow in making her turn. After all, Evergreen’s best years were long behind her. Rather, it was the fault of the plodding XO who had ordered the turn far too late, forcing Longwood to strain the ship almost to its limits as he brought her back on course to her first destination, Subspace Communications Relay Substation Gamma 542.
Laughing, Morris declared in a voice loud enough to carry throughout the tiny bridge, “And you think you can cut it in the Academy, Lockwood? They’ll wash you out after your first run in the simulator.”
Stoically bearing the snickers and guffaws coming from most of the bridge crew, the woman sitting at the comm station being one of the few exceptions, Lockwood almost missed the executive officer’s call “Captain on the bridge,” until he was nudged in the side by the on duty comm tech, Communications Technician Third Class, Melissa Pappas. Standing up just in time, Gary sighed in relief as Lieutenant Walsh arrived on the bridge, along with the rest of Beta Shift.
“Thank you, XO.” Walsh responded in a bored tone as he took the data slate containing the previous shift’s log from Ensign Morris. Settling down into the center seat, Walsh studied the entries, his lips turning down into a frown as he read. Glancing up from his reading, his eyes fell upon those of his young helmsman, “Petty Officer Lockwood? Meet me in my office in two hours.”
“Aye, Sir.” Gary replied almost forlornly, feeling Melissa’s soft fingers momentarily touching his in a gesture of comfort and support as she whispered in his ear, “Meet me in the galley after you see the skipper and we’ll talk.”
***********************************************************************
“Petty Officer Lockwood…” Lieutenant Walsh greeted upon hearing the door chime, “Come in. Sit down.” Watching as the young ensign took the chair opposite his small spartan desk, Walsh cleared his throat as he set the data slate he was reading down. “I’m sorry…” looking compassionately on the young petty officer, the gray haired CO continued to speak, “Starfleet Academy turned down you application.”
“Did they say why, Sir?” A crestfallen Lockwood inquired as his heart sank at the bad news.
“Here.” The Evergreen’s commanding officer replied as he slid the data slate across his desk to the petty officer sitting opposite him. “Read this—it’ll tell you everything.”
“It says…” the youthful quartermaster read; his heartache growing as he recited every word “…that even though my service record is more than adequate, that the current class has already been filled. That I should apply again next year.”
“Well…” Walsh responded, his lips turning up in what he considered to be an encouraging grin, “You can always try again.”
“Yes, Sir.” A dispirited Lockwood answered back.
Taking pity on his dejected crewman, the old lieutenant offered some guidance, “Young man. Starfleet Academy gets tons of applications from beings throughout the Federation.” Bitterness rising in his voice, the older man continued, “But, as you’ve probably already figured out, getting in is a rigged game. Unless you or someone in your family has connections in the Federation, or you come from a family with a history of service in the Fleet like the Stiles, the Shelbys or the Owens’s, or you’re from one of the newly admitted worlds like Betazed or Trill, you have to do something to set yourself apart from all the other names, faces, and numbers that are competing against you. Something that will catch the initial screening committee’s eyes and make them give your application a closer look.”
“Like what, Sir?”
“For one thing, show some initiative and self confidence.” The older man advised as he recalled opportunities that he had let slip by leaving him now, at the end of his career, in command of an obsolete ship on its last legs. “You have to show everyone—beginning with me—that you belong out here. Be your own man—but be careful. Don’t confuse arrogance for self confidence. I’ve seen the careers of too many officers ruined because of that.” Pausing long enough to make sure that his words had sunken in, Walsh concluded their meeting, “Dismissed.”
***********************************************************************
As he walked down the narrow, somewhat dingy corridors of the converted buoy tender towards his ultimate destination, the galley, Petty Officer Lockwood imagined what it must have been like to have been aboard during the ship’s prior lifetime—when it was still the pride of the Fleet. The fourth of the NX line to be commissioned and the first with the new warp seven engines, the Endeavor, under its first captain, Jeremy Porter, had distinguished itself first during the Romulan War and then later on several voyages of exploration before finally being retired. Brought back into service several years ago, the old girl was overhauled, given a new name and registry number, and sent out to the frontier as a workhorse tending buoys and relay stations and ferrying supplies. A sad end for a great lady. Lockwood thought as his mind’s eye saw the ghosts of those blue jumpsuit clad men and women moving briskly down the corridor, brushing past him as they went about their tasks.
The galley door sliding open for him, Lockwood at once spotted Melissa sitting at one of the tables all by herself in her red coveralls, her dirty blonde hair done up in a ponytail. Flashing a smile as she recognized him standing in the doorway, she called out to him, “Hey Gary! Grab yourself some chow and come on over. Try the chicken salad—it’s actually pretty good today!”
Unable, in spite of himself, to resist the young communications tech’s infectious good cheer, Lockwood walked over to the food processing stations. Slipping in a disk for the chicken salad, Gary waited patiently until the door slid open revealing a plate with his chicken salad and a glass of iced tea. Putting his food on a tray, he walked back towards the table where Melissa sat. “So how did it go with the Old Man?” She asked, taking a bite out of her sandwich.
“They rejected my application again.” Gary announced in a morose voice. “That’s the second time.”
“So, you can apply again, can’t you?” Melissa asked helpfully between bites of her chicken salad.
“I can apply one more time” Gary replied as he took a sip from his ice tea, “But if they reject that one, I won’t be able to apply again for five years.” Shaking his head, the young petty officer moped, “I don’t know…maybe Morris is right…maybe those people in admissions are right to turn me down—maybe I don’t have what it takes.”
“Don’t have what it takes?” Locking on to her friend’s eyes with her own piercing blue eyes, Melissa quickly responded, her voice now taking on a challenging quality, “If that’s the way you think—then maybe you don’t.” Getting up, she added fiercely, “Maybe this is where you belong with the Old Man and Bristle Face. The three of you can mark time together complaining about how the universe screwed you over while the rest of us are out doing stuff.” Turning her head as she walked away, she added one last parting remark, “What you do is up to you—but for whatever it’s worth, I have faith in you.”
Chewing on the lovely communications tech’s remarks as he chewed on his chicken salad, Gary almost missed the intercom call ordering him to the bridge. Finally picking up on the call after it had been repeated, Longwood dashed out of the galley, making his way as fast as possible to the bridge. Arriving at last on the bridge, the young quartermaster was greeted by a snarling Ensign Morris.
“About time you showed up, Lockwood!” The bearded ensign growled as he pointed at the main viewscreen where he saw the cylindrical form of Subspace Communications Relay Substation Gamma-542 rotating slowly on its axis against the background of stars. “You and Petty Officer Pappas are to beam over to the substation and carry out whatever maintenance needs to be done there. The Evergreen will be back in approximately six hours. That should give even you two enough time to get your jobs done.”
“Aye, Sir.” Both petty officers responded in unison before dashing off the bridge. As the pair made their way down the corridor, Melissa suggested, “Meet me in the transporter room after you’ve changed into your EVA suit. I’ve got to pick up my tools and then get changed myself. Hurry up—looks like Bristle Face has got it in for you today.”
“Right.” Gary replied as the pair split up, his mood improving slightly at the opportunity to be both off the ship and alone on an otherwise uninhabited space station with the lovely Melissa Pappas. “See you in a few.”
“You two ready to go?” Transporter technician first class Alan Greer growled as he tapped his chronometer impatiently. “Morris is getting impatient. I think he’s bucking for JG again.”
“Pfft…” Petty Officer Pappas snorted, “Hope he gets it this time—it’ll get him out of our hair.”
“Unless the Old Man finally decides to retire and they decide to bump him up in his place.” The transporter tech pointed out morosely.
“We better get going if we don’t want him in our faces again.” Longwood pointed out as he leaped up on to the transporter pad, holding a helping hand out for his companion.
“Good idea.” Melissa agreed as she took the proffered hand. As both petty officers gave their silver environmental suits one last check, they heard Alan’s voice through their comm units.
“Gravity should be on when you beam aboard, but it’ll take a couple of minutes or so for atmosphere and pressure to reach optimal levels. If something goes wrong, just give a holler and I’ll yank you back.” Receiving in reply two thumbs up, the transporter technician grinned as he activated the transporter controls, “All right…have fun, you two, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
************************************************************************
Rematerializing in the main control section of the substation, Gary activated his tricorder. “Atmosphere and pressure rising…” he reported, nodding his head several moments later as the readings reached standard levels. “We’re safe.” He declared as he cracked open his space suit. Activating his comm unit, he reported, “Maintenance party to Evergreen, pressure, temperature, and atmosphere are within operational parameters—we’re beginning work.”
“About time.” Ensign Walsh’s voice sounded out from the comm unit. “We’ll be back in six hours.”
“Well…” Melissa grinned as she stripped off her EVA suit, tossing a gray jumpsuit hanging from a peg on the wall to Gary as she slipped on one of her own, “…it’s time to get to work.”
“Right.” Lockwood replied as he slipped on his coveralls. “I’ll get started on the internals while you run a check on the comm systems and logs.”
“Sounds like a plan.” The young communications tech responded as she sat down before a communications console. Turning her attention to the console, Melissa typed in a sequence on the antiquated keyboard. “That’s odd…” she mused to herself as an unfamiliar code sequence popped up on the display monitor. Cursing under her breath the fact that the computers on these old relay stations still relied on keyboard input rather than the voice activated computers that were common throughout the rest of the Fleet, Petty Officer Pappas typed in the code sequence to order the computer to run a full diagnostic. Punching the enter key, Melissa leaned back in her seat anticipating the expected test screen to appear on her monitor only to be jolted back to full attention as a pop-up window accompanied by a warning bell appeared instead. “Unable to comply—authorization not approved?” The young communications tech shook head. “What the hell?”
“What’s up?” Gary inquired with a smirk as he looked up from his station. “Found something you couldn’t handle?”
“Nothing that a spanner upside the head of an obnoxious quartermaster’s mate couldn’t deal with.” Melissa responded with a mock grimace. “Seriously…for some reason or other, I’ve been locked out of the computer’s functions—can’t even run a basic diagnostic. What about you? You tried getting into the sensor logs yet?”
“Not yet.” Lockwood admitted, “I’ve been concentrating on some strange readings from the internal life support systems.”
“What sort of readings?” Melissa asked, her head tilting slightly to the left in that way it always did when the young blonde was confronted by a puzzle.
“There’s a slight uptick about a month ago…” Gary answered back, his brow furrowed, “…and then another a month before that…like the system had been briefly activated.”
“Yup.” The communications tech declared, nodding her head firmly as she typed in another sequence on her keyboard, “Someone’s been mucking around with our stuff. I just tried to type in a bypass code and the damned thing spat it back at me. Whoever’s been snooping around here knows their stuff.” Pausing for a moment to ponder the situation, the lovely petty officer advised, “You might want to check those sensor logs sooner rather than later…”
“Yeah.” Gary agreed as he attempted to access the nav systems. “Hmmm…” the quartermaster’s mate murmured, “That’s odd…”
“What?” Melissa asked as she wiped a greasy smudge off her cheek.
“The sensor logs read as if nothing unusual happened…”Gary explained, “…but there’s an inconsistency in the sequencing…it’s like they’ve been cut and spliced…” Shaking his head, the ambitious young rating remarked admiringly, “Whoever did it knew what they were doing—no question about that. I only stumbled on it by accident.”
“Thanks. Hear that Simon? We need to do a better job covering our tracks.”
Turning about quickly, both petty officers saw a blinding yellow light and then nothing.
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Both Lockwood and Ilara were made up characters. I had originally intended for this to be a one-shot, but now I might just extend it and take Gary and Melissa through the Academy...
