“Ultimately, at the end of the day, it all comes down to choosing the right eggs.”

Samantha Hyland frowned at this, her nose crinkling prettily across its bridge as she sipped the (admittedly rather excellent) St Emillion from her wine – glass, savoring the sensation as her taste buds responded to the enticing aromas that were beginning to pervade the room. She swallowed and set the tall – fluted glass on the occasional table in front of her – a wry smile suggesting itself across her smooth features and she nodded.

“Okay, I’ll bite…” Sam settled back into the comfortable cushions and absently adjusted the hem of her skirt as she drew her long legs and bare feet up beneath her and she tilted her head quizzically.

Robert Carrington grinned as he took the perfect, speckled – brown ovoid in one hand and deftly cracked the egg on the rim of the bowl, his smile was generous and the silver – haired Captain of the USS Albion began to whisk vigorously with his other hand, as he discarded the shell and performed that magical trick again – another deep yellow yolk disappearing into the whirlpool being agitated – as he combined a handful of chives into the bowl and nodded sagely.

The CO of the USS Albion was dressed casually in a cream cashmere sweater & slacks and looked just as confident standing astride the small kitchen in his quarters, as he did in uniform sat in the Captain’s – chair, steering the fate of all aboard the Inquiry – class Exploratory Cruiser as it transcribed its passage through Federation Space.

Robert smiled and replied.

“Well, I certainly hope so Sam,” Roberts warm smile complimented his playful grey eyes as he took up a long knife and began to slice first mushrooms and then red – peppers, his hands flowing hypnotically as he neatly sliced one and julienned the other and then deposited these ingredients into a hot pan and cracked black pepper over them as they came alive with a sizzle. “I could just replicate all this of course, but somehow, I feel there is a lack of industry, a lack of …. connection, I suppose?”

Samantha smiled, for the short time that she had been serving under Captain Robert Carrington, she had come to appreciate his collegiate – style of command and had come to realize that, when the “Old – Man” spoke, there was a degree of rhetoric and analogy that inhabited his storytelling and that he was setting a challenge – seeing if his recipient had the wherewithal to glean his duplex meaning. It was one of the things that she was warming to as his new Executive Officer.

She tilted her glass to the Captain, who left his preparations and confidently crossed the floor to the couch and deftly refilled her glass, before she had to ask.

“Consider it my meagre way of apologizing for not hosting you for dinner before now Number One.”

Robert carefully filled her tilted glass, taking time to pour – his hand steady.

“Normally I would have invited you before now – I usually like to enjoy this social ritual with my XO at least once a week.” Carington apologized as he turned back to his preparation in the kitchen, pouring himself a small top – up of the rich straw – yellow vintage before turning to flip the contents of the pan – the sizzling vegetables performing a neat – hoopla and landing back in the pan, before continuing.

“But with one thing or another, especially the delivery of the consignment of Humanitarian – aid to Mestos – #5, well… time just seems to have gotten away from me this time.” Robert took a sip of wine and then smoothed his hands on the apron fastened around his waist. “The inevitable travesty of age I suppose?”

He smiled wryly and then frowned. “What was I talking about again?”

“You were speaking as to the importance of eggs?” Samantha smiled as she took another sip and delighted to the warming sensation of the alcohol, the inviting smells from the kitchen, the diffusion of gentle Jazz – music filling the room and the ever – present thrill of the starfield streaming past the viewport.

“I was?” Robert frowned his snowy brows, his own lined forehead presenting a far more impressive wave of crenelations than that of his more youthful First Officer.

“H’mmm.” Sam smiled and prompted gently, “Eggs?”

This seemed to let Carrington rediscover his stride and he waved a spatula in the air in triumph.

“Oh yes! Eggs! “He grinned wolfishly. Sam did not buy the “Old – Man’s” ‘Old – Man’ schtick – routine for a moment, but the Captain was excellent company and an excellent chef to – boot, so she indulged him, and he continued in a jovial tone.

“You see Sam, a perfect Omelette all depends on the right eggs.” Carrington nodded sagely and deposited a small pinch of Italian – parsley into the bowl with the egg – mixture and added a deft throw of seasoning.

“For example, these are definitely the only New Hampshire Red, pasture – raised Hen’s eggs within subjective light – years of absolutely anywhere.” Robert held up one of the beautiful deep – brown eggs from the carton, turning it this way and that between his fingertips.

“I keep a small supply in Cryo – suspension in sickbay – drives Doctor Albany absolutely nuts; she says she is not running a ‘Bloody – Cludgie” (whatever that is) but being the Captain of a Starship has certain perks and keeping one’s priceless eggs in the basket of one’s choosing is one of them.” He winked as he set the egg carefully back down.

Sam couldn’t help but stifle a small laugh at the Captain’s, quite good, impersonation of the USS Albion’s irascible Scottish Chief Medical Officer.

“Sure – I could just replicate them.” Robert turned down the heat on a smaller pan and slid a knob of butter in – that slowly began to pool in the gentle heat. “But I am a big believer in authenticity and of progeny.” He nodded as he tilted the bowl and gently rolled the pan around as the egg – mixture evenly coated the surface and began to transform.

“And in that way, making an Omelette is quite like running a Starship, Sam.” Robert Carrington’s eyes twinkled knowingly, and Sam saw the implicit lesson starting to form and sat up on the couch – intent now.

“How so?” She smiled.

“Well, take yourself for example?” Robert nodded as he began to tease the edges of the Omelette gently away from the edges of the pan, lest they stuck.

“You’re comparing me to an Omelette?” Sam raised an eyebrow sardonically and put down her glass, folding her arms in mock admonishment.

Robert chuckled as he expertly flipped the Omelette into the air with one deft flick of his wrist, satisfied as it landed squarely back in the pan, and he set it to the heat once more.

“No – I’m likening you to an egg.” Carington smiled.

“I’m not sure if that is, in any way, a more flattering analogy – but pray continue?” The XO nodded.

“A finished Omelette is form made perfect.” Robert Carrington nodded knowingly as he slid the beautifully – browned disc onto a warmed – plate, quickly covered it with a clean – cloth and then began to repeat the ritual again – making a second Omelette.

“It is a finely balanced orchestration of the right ingredients, prepared in – advance with foresight and consideration of their effectiveness and harmony when brought together in combination. Leave one single ingredient out. The Omelette is disharmonious. Neglect to season it properly, the Omelette exists – but it is stridently out of balance. Leave the Omelette to cook, unsupervised, for too long – it is ruined.”

Samantha had to admit, as far as analogies went, this was a good one. Lessons also seldom smelt this enticing or were quite as palatable to digest – the genius in Carrington’s approach was hard to fault.

“I think I’m starting to appreciate your cooking style.” Sam smiled warmly and took another sip of her wine.

Captain Robert Carrington nodded again as he began to tend to the second batch.

“As the Captain of a Starship you have to face the fact that to get the Omelette made, in – doing so, eggs are going to have to get broken at some point or another.” Robert was speaking to the eggs now, his face intent on his task, his tone reflective.

“As both a member of a ship’s company & also the Captain of your own Starship, Sam, you have had to come to terms with the tragic loss of members of your crew. It’s a loss that no Captain takes lightly but it is an important lesson that will season a commander if they have the insight to learn the right lesson from those ‘broken eggs.’”

At this revelation, Sam’s mind instantly went unbidden to her former comrade, Jan De Vries and his selfless sacrifice to save his shipmates aboard the USS Sacramento – all the promise of his young life snuffed out in the brilliant detonation of a torpedo’s wake.

 She saw the face of Aldus Coe, the Special Services Crewman’s grey-blue face in repose as he lay on the Mortuary – slab of the USS Savannah – the unwitting victim, murdered as part of an elaborate ploy by the New Marquis to destroy the New Orleans – class Frigate when the Labyrinth had failed to do their dirty work for them.

She felt the unpleasant pang of sorrow and the leaden burden of responsibility – every time her thoughts drifted towards their deaths.

Her face must have betrayed her inner – conflict, as Captain Carington’s tone steered her away from dwelling on such moribund – reminisce and he began to combine the vegetables along with the freshly – prepared egg – pancakes, quickly enfolding them in the golden parcels and then grating a fine cheese over the finished plates.

“I pride myself in the selection of my eggs, Samantha.” Robert nodded as he took up both plates and nodded for her to join him at the quarter’s small table, which was set for dinner. Sam took up her glass and unfolded her legs, smoothing down her skirt as she rose from the couch.

“Taking your example as case – in – point Sam, my former XO aboard the ‘Ticonderoga’ was Trevenan Williams.” Robert crossed to the table and gently placed each plate down.

“You served with Captain Williams?” Sam asked as she was seated. “I didn’t know that.”

“Trevenan Williams is one of the finest judges of character that I know.” Captain Carrington turned to take the bottle of wine and pour again, but Sam nodded a polite negative and placed her slim hand over the glass to signal that she had an elegant – sufficiency. “I should know – I had a hand in forging that character.”

“When I was shopping around for a new Executive Officer, Trevenan suggested you.” Robert’s grey eyes considered Sam’s own blue – gaze for a moment, then he busied himself with the ritual of unfurling his napkin and settling the cloth in his lap.”

“I’m grateful for his recommendation.” Sam murmured respectfully and did the same with her own napkin.

“As am I.” Carrington nodded.

“You had your own command, Sam; some officers wait a lifetime for that opportunity.”

He took a sip of wine, setting the glass back down before taking up his knife and fork. “But you had the foresight to give that opportunity up and the resolve to sign aboard my command when you made Commander. Instead of captaining a smaller command for the rest of your career, you chose to serve in the capacity of a First Officer of a larger vessel and avail yourself of the opportunity to further develop your skills as a leader. That shows character in my estimation.”

Samantha blushed slightly as that accolade and took up her own knife and fork to cover her discomfort at being lauded so.

“Thank you, Robert.” She nodded as she considered the Omelette, it truly did look and smell absolutely enticing, and Sam found that suddenly she was famished.

“A Red – Squad alumni that has advanced to the rank of Commander in just over 5 years is somewhat remarkable as far as career trajectories go. “Captain Carrington noted poignantly as he began to gently cut into his Omelette. “Like my selection of fresh ingredients, I pride myself on sourcing only the very best officers to crew my Starships, Samantha, and in return I expect the very best from them.”

Sam looked up at Carrington and began to frown, “I wouldn’t exactly class myself as exceptional in any….” she began to explain, but the CO cut her off.

“Your humility does you credit Sam.” He nodded in affirmation as he placed his fork in his mouth. When he had swallowed, he set his cutlery aside his plate and expounded.

“In the last year alone, you have been engaged in a First Contact interaction with a hitherto uncontacted Alien entity and in doing so – put the mission priorities ahead of your own personal interests – even when those interests amounted to the death of your father. That shows not only uncommon valor but also an implicit application of duty and honor Sam.” Captain Carrington’s voice carried a genuine tone of respect.

For her part, Sam shuddered inwardly – unable to banish the almost palpable sensation of terror as she rode into space on the surface of the Crystal Entity, choking out her last – breaths as she nearly froze to death riding the back of a ‘God’ into orbit. Of the strange visitations that proceeded that event, visitations and portents delivered by a phantom shade of the man who had raised her – delivered from behind the cold glowing blue crystal where his warm brown eyes used to be.

But Captain Carrington was not finished with his oratory.

“And more recently, as the Captain of your own command, you went to extraordinary lengths to safeguard the lives of your crew and bring your ship home. Captain Williams tells me that your rebuttal of the Board of Enquiry aboard Terminus Station was a sight to behold?” Robert chuckled, “I’ve known Commodore Jalian for some years now and if you can make a mark on her finely – attenuated sensors – you really are someone with sand.”

Samantha grimaced at that, the memory of her interrogation into the events aboard the USS Savannah during its exodus in Underspace was not as amusing when she recalled the proceeding herself. She took another sip of wine to distract herself from the memory.

“And finally, somehow, you managed to singlehandedly uncover a True Way plot to destabilize the Detapa Council and foil a coup to unbalance the political stability of the Cardassian Union.” Robert nodded in asset. “Not that stable is exactly how I would categorize the current state of affairs along the Former Demilitarized Zone at present, but from what I gather – the Federation has you to thank for that ‘Hail – Mary’ play?”

“The credit really does belong to the entire crew of the ‘Savannah’, Robert, I’m afraid.” Sam shook her head in disagreement, “All I did was try to keep everybody alive long enough to try make head or tail of what was going on from one minute to the next.”

Robert Carrington laughed in agreement at this honest self – assessment by his new XO.

“Spoken like a true Starship Captain Sam – that feeling never goes away – it just becomes easier to predict when the disasters are coming, with time.”

Sam smiled at this wisdom and shrugged.

“But these are the qualities that make for a good commander Samantha. Take it from a man who knows his “eggs”. You have the makings of a fine Starfleet Captain, Commander Hyland. With time and the right direction, I wholeheartedly believe that you have the potential to become one of the finest leaders of this current generation of officers and God-only-knows that we need capable leaders, more than ever, after the damage wrought by the events of Frontier Day.”

Samantha really didn’t know how to respond to this frank and (frankly) overwhelming show of faith and support in her abilities, so she opted to say nothing.

“Now eat your eggs Commander, they have come a long way to be here today, and they are getting cold – which is beyond a crying shame.” Robert nodded down to Sam’s plate, and she blushed again as she realized the Captain was right, she hadn’t touched her food – so enveloped she had been in this dinner – discourse. She took up her knife and fork.

The Omelette, of course, was excellent……

He had set the suit to awaken him when he was approaching the target site, the AutoMed unit to subcutaneously inject a mild stimulant to awaken him from the similarly narcotically – induced slumber; but in the end it was the ponderous bulk of one of the Aerothasaurs bumping him with its scarred flank as it jostled for position as the herd navigated an atmospheric band of slipstream – that brought Petty Officer Mike Bannister back to the present and on – mission.

Dwarfed by the migratory herd of the cloud – dwellers as they described their course through the Moon’s Mesosphere, Mike was perfectly camouflaged from the planet – based early – warning net that scoured the skies above the target – as he inhabited the same thin band of atmosphere as the Aerothasaurs – a veritable fly amongst the purple-blue variegated flanks of these majestic beasts.

Mike worked away some of the foul sleep-taste from his mouth with a sip of water from a small spigot just below the suit’s faceplate (just millimeters from his face) and tried not to focus on where the suit’s recirculatory may have repurposed the moisture from. The suit (which had been effectively dormant for the last three days as Mike had endlessly orbited high above the surface of Taralis, slowly coming to life in a way as to only present a picometre – level emissions signature) gently suggested a flow of telemetry across the faceplate HUD and bought its occupant up to speed.

Far below him, the Stratosphere gradually surrendered to the thickening air of the Troposphere, where a suffusion of broad cloudscapes partially obscured the target, that the suit informed Mike was fast approaching. Travelling at some 2,981.7 kilometers per hour, Mike interrogated the multiple streams on data, ensuring that the data-link was feeding this vital information to the weapon.

<> the suit sent the data in text – only, streaming across the faceplate.

He was going too fast – the slipstream he currently inhabited was dragging him off – target.

Mike calculated the Wind – Correction angle that would be necessary to take the shot.

α=sin−1[va​vw​​sin(ω−δ)]

With a thought he narrowed the smart – vanes that extended from underneath of his armpits and fused them to the sides of his body – all the way down to his ankle – effectively making the suit an aerofoil; and felt the same surface between his legs constrict as he left the Aerothasaurs above him – dropping from the Menopause level to the Turbopause level of the Mesosphere, the suit’s onboard CPU making adjustments as it encountered different chemical species becoming well-mixed due to turbulent eddies, far fast than Mike could ever do himself.

As he reached the Kármán line, aerodynamics began to perceptibly take over from astrodynamics and the suit flared the smart – vanes, clawing at the thickening soup of atmosphere and using the resultant friction to slow Mike down.

He checked his Airspeed, relative to his groundspeed and was satisfied that the series of 70 degree angled – bank S – turns that the suit was now throwing him through, would bring the suit back to an acceptable heading alignment and speed.

He readied the weapon.

Mike knew that he would only have one shot, that the entire mission relied upon his preparation and capability. Despite all this, the suit confirmed that his resting – heart – rate was a steady 55 bpm.

The cloud layer was much closer now and Mike switched to spectral imaging, dispelling the cloudscape below like magic as he crossed over the orbital terminator into the Moon’s nighttime and the surface below came alive through the science of EM.

<< Distance to target – 17,000 km. Airspeed – Mach 1.6. Time to Target – 8.908 seconds)>>

Satisfied, Mike slaved the weapon’s targeting feed to the telemetry and sent the signal.

When he had inserted into orbit in the extremes of the upper – atmospheric layers of the Cardassian Moon of Taralis, some 3 days ago, the tiny replicator in his suit pack had begun to manufacture and disperse a series of dust – like nanoparticles. Effectively weightless, the slipstream had carried these nanites and distributed them in a micron – thin layer throughout the atmosphere. Now activated – they effectively turned that layer of atmosphere into a planet – wide Ionic resonator that would appear as a mere by-product of the many storms that ravaged the surface and were the perfect carrier for Mike to send his message.

“Actual – Overwatch. In position. DTT – 4.7 seconds.” Mike spoke softly as the suit screamed through the atmosphere, the weapon extended probe like and remorselessly tracking the target kilometers’ below, myriad tiny servo’s whining as it made gyroscopic adjustments to counter a range of inhibiting factors posed by his headlong progress.

“Overwatch – Actual. Standing by to transport.” Came the reply of Lieutenant Hask in his earpiece. “Take the shot.”

In a fraction of an instant, the weapon hummed, discharged its energies in a finite focused – beam that lanced down from 65 kilometers above the surface of Taralis, at a point still some 700 Kilometers out from the Facility and lanced into its target – a Transport – pattern inhibitor, situated in the North – East quadrant of the secure – compound.

The next effect was a pattern disruption of only 0.000001 second, not even enough for the Cardassian Sensor – operator who was supposed to be manning the screen (but in fact was tutting and trying to brush a gobbet of Yamok – sauce from his uniform at that instance) to register the effect.

But more than enough time for the Hazard Team – Albion to deploy their Holo – screen and transport into its hallucinatory projection of just another shipping crate in the corner of the compound.

“Overwatch – Actual. We’re in.” Lieutenant Clara Hask sent as the team materialized into being, relatively safe within the illusion being projected by the slaved – holo emitters hovering at four points around herself and the remaining four members of her team.

Somewhere, high above them, speeding away from the Insertion – point at some 530.08 meters per second, the Squad – Marksman sent back.

“Actual – Overwatch. Good Hunting.”

Hask started the Mission – clock running @ 12 minutes and 0.32 seconds – the exact time that would elapse before Petty Officer Mike Bannister (Callsign – “Overwatch”) would complete one more EHAO (Extreme High Orbital Overpass) and take one last mind-bogglingly extremely – challenging sniper – shot to (again) disable the Transport Pattern Inhibitors that the Cardassian’s were so confident secured the Research – Facility ‘Corvus’ from exactly the type of covert – intrusion that the Hazardous Situation Response Team from the USS Albion was currently prosecuting.

“Easy in – easy out” Clara thought with no small trepidation as she nodded to her team, as motley an assemblage of Starfleet Crew and Talents as ever there was – the perfect embodiment of the diversity of doctrine and unorthodoxy that made the Hazard Team the effective tool that Starfleet only employed when all other fixes would not fit.

Most obvious by his immense physical bulk alone was Crewman Rarsk, who dominated the centre of the group of talented volunteers like a gigantic grey – skinned edifice.

Standing some 7 feet tall and with the massive physique that typified Rask as one of the only three Vodrian’s serving in Starfleet, it was easy to dismiss this native of the Gamma Quadrant as the Team’s brute.

Born to a Vassal – species that had been bred for centuries by the Dominion to serve as indentured – laborers, by merit of their immense physical strength and endurance that was the legacy of evolving and thriving on a planet with comparatively 12 x times the Standard – gravity of earth – Rarsk’s face was a heavily muscled visage with study twin – crenelations of bone ridging either side of a smallish face suggesting his reptilian heritage. It was his bright, Golden eyes that suggested a keen intelligence that offset this brutish exterior.

Rarsk squared his massive shoulders and flexed his powerful twin – fingered hands and looked about as if untrusting that the ruse of the Holo – hide was sufficient to obscure his mammoth bulk.

In stark contrast, the most diminutive member of the Hazard Team (and their newest recruit) was positively eclipsed by the presence of the immense Vodiran Ordinance Specialist.

For now, Lieutenant Hask had no time to spare for the team’s Science Specialist, Crewman Park Soo Jin as she hand signaled the diminutive Korean woman to accompany Rarsk to the next rally point. As the pair slipped off into the darkness, Hask keyed her headset and the target – impager acquired the approaching sentry and highlighted the Cardassian through his nascent heat signature.

“Wait one.” Came the terse communication, tight beamed from the team’s Technical Specialist, the handsome Vulcan Crewman T’Kul. “Reading an Aerostat accompanying. Combat model. Must be a recent addition to the patrol protocol”.

Hask cursed. 

As Hazard Team Leader it was her job to plan the mission for every probable outcome and the exigency posed by the addition of a robotic sentry had not factored into her mission – planning. The Science and Research facility that her team had been tasked to infiltrate was proofed against even the most minute spectrum of emitted energy – Hazard Team Albion were armed with an arsenal of Phasic Weaponry – but to employ their weapons would be to expose their presence and the Mission Objectives would ultimately fail.

“Doc -proceed as planned.” She subvocalized, confirming that Petty Officer Valera should proceed.

As the team split up – the hovering holo – hide divided – shifting and adjusting for both the known location of surveillance nodes and the likely location of other sentries that had been surreptitiously marked by Overwatch’s suit in the preceding orbits that he had spent slumbering away at over the last 72hrs.

Sometimes you just have to roll the hard Sixes and pray that you come up on top.

As the Cardassian Sentry passed the arranged point, the lithe Argentinian Field Medical Specialist rolled out from underneath a stack of power – modules and jammed a hypospray into the amour – joint of the Sentry’s ankle.

The concoction that Amado had synthesized was fast acting and delivered an immediate soporific effect on the mind of the sentry, whilst instantly paralyzing his muscles – leaving him incapacitated but standing upright.

The accompanying Aerostat registered that its companion had stopped and smoothly rotated along it’s vertical access to scan the stricken Cardassian.

Every member of the Hazard Team held their collective breath.

Suddenly the Aerostat was slammed into the ground as Rarsk burst from cover with an impressive burst of speed and decided the dilemma with a smash of his massive fists. The machine spat a few sparks from its shattered casing and was still.

The massive Vodrian looked momentarily pleased with himself, until Lieutenant Hask pushed past him – the displeasure of this breach of planning evident on her fine Californian features. Crewman Rarsk shrugged – action had been required and he took action. What more was to be done at times like these?

Clara pushed her annoyance aside, knowing that the success of the mission now hinged in extemporization. She motioned for Crewman T’Kul to move up – even as Petty Officer Varela was pulling the paralyzed Sentry’s armored glove off his hand and was both sampling the Cardassian’s DNA and committing a scan of his fingerprints to his specialized medical – tricorder.

“Overwatch – Actual.” She sent.

“Actual – this is Overwatch – go ahead.” Petty Officer Bannister sent via the compromised atmospheric transmitter he had created.

“Wrinkle. Require to move up Extract / ETA in T-Minus 6 Minutes. Can you expedite?” The Hazard Team Leader sent to the Sniper as he rounded the far side of the moon. There was a significant pause as Bannister made the necessary calculations to speed up his orbital progress.

“Can do, Actual.” Overwatch returned. “Are we FUBAR?”

“Negative. Unexpected guest. Require Taxi ahead of schedule.” Hask responded – mentally editing the requirements of the already tightly – planned mission.

“Copy that – meter is running. Overwatch out.”

Clara turned back to her team. The Vulcan Technical Specialist was cradling the Cardassian’s face and cranium with both hands – as he effected a Mind – Meld that was assisted by the narcotic injected by Amado Varela – making the victim susceptible to suggestion and the psychic intrusion.

“The code – do you have it?” Clara subvocalized, looking around the compound – wondering when the destruction of the Aerostat sentry – bot would register with the facilities central command nexus and when the system would issue a status enquiry to the destroyed unit.

The clock was well and truly ticking and now was running fast.

T’Kul nodded, his smooth dark features barely discernible from the dark infiltration suit that he wore. Without bidding he moved swiftly to the armored entryway that led to the lower levels of the facility and their prize and expertly removed an access panel and began to interface with the security system.

Amado joined the Vulcan – providing the skin – samples and blood – sample that he had harvested from the Sentry – along with the fingerprints he had copied and the memories that T’Kul had wrested from his addled mind – these keys should be sufficient to fake entry to the facility.

Lieutenant Hask felt T’Kul’s hesitation even before he communicated and raised an eyebrow.

“It appears that the increased security measures extend beyond Aerostats.” T’Kul sent. “An additional optical biometric has been added to the protocols within the last 24hrs. I will see if I can hack the personnel database to locate the Sentries most recent medical records – but this will take time.”

Clara Hask was about to swear inwardly when the massive frame of Crewman Rarsk pushed past her and, with one massive thick two – fingered hand, the Vodrian picked up the frozen Cardassian Sentry like he was a ragdoll, crossed the short distance to the Vulcan security specialist and pressed the paralyzed soldier’s face to the recognition scanner.

“Or, of course, you could just do that.” T’Kul sent dryly as the massively – armored blast doors hissed smoothly apart, and the Hazard Team flowed deftly inside.

Safely inside, the doors returning to their original closed position, Lieutenant Hask glowered at the massive Vodrian – who looked mildly ridiculous with the swaying body of the Cardassian Sentry suspended at a massive arm’s length.

“Oh! Put that down and get back to work!” Clara glowered at Rarsk, with irritation.

Showing no more emotion on his face than he had before, the Vodrian let the Cardassian drop to the floor in a heap and moved to the Turbolift doors. Wedging his thick fingers between the gap – Rarsk’s massive shoulders shook as the Alien team – member physically tore the protesting doors apart – exposing the cavernous darkness of the shaft below. 

Rarsk peered into the darkness – his eyes attuned to the gloom far better than either that of the Humans or the Vulcan and he rumbled in his strange language that their Universal Translators read as:

“Elevator is at the bottom of the shaft – estimate some 42 levels below.”

The Hazard Team Leader nodded to Crewman Park.

“Soo Jin – you’re up.”

Soo Jin nodded her close-cropped blonde hair and approached the void without pause, she drew out the Stasis Grenade (one of her own designs), keyed the trigger and threw the device clattering down the Turbolift shaft.

“Here’s to trusting the miracle of science.” The slim young woman smiled, turned and fell backwards into the shaft – instantly disappearing.

“Amen to that.” Petty Officer Varela sighed and threw himself down the shaft after the Science Officer – followed one by one by the other members of Hazard Team Albion.

Last to make the drop was Crewman Rarsk itself. Momentarily, the huge Vodrian worried that even the arresting effect of the Statis Field might be insufficient to bleed off the inertia caused by his considerable mass – but science was science, so with a deep swallow – down he too cast himself.

The nauseating, yawing sensation of freefall, lights flashing by impossibly fast, just enough time to doubt the science and then it was as if Rarsk had fallen into an invisible gluey – marshmallow. An invisible, but infinitely pliant area of faintly glowing blue energy hovering just above the roof of the Turbolift car that marked the detonation effect of the Statis Grenade.

Rarsk blinked his small grey eyes and gathered himself, rolling to his massive plate – like feet just as the Statis Field faded and the Vodiran set to work with his own specialist bag – of – tricks.

He drew out a pistol gripped applicator and slotted a small cylinder into its grip.

“They to cover their eyes.” The Alien rumbled as he described a circle some 2 meters in circumference across the surface of the Turbolift and its machinery.

A specialist in Organic – Chemistry, Crewman Rask completed the spread the Thermolytic paste (of his own design) and backed away to join the others at the corner of the shaft.

For a few short seconds – nothing happened.

Soo Jin began to say …” Are you sure that….” But the Vodrian held up a thick, grey finger and cautioned.

“Please to be waiting….”

Suddenly, as the air in the shaft activated the oxidizing reagent in the Thermolytic paste – which flared brightly and briefly without smoke or odor – instantly evaporating a 2 – meter hole in the top of the Turbolift car – as if the material had never existed in the first place.

Rask nodded his powerful, armored cranium and commented with satisfaction.

“They to go now.” (The universal translator doing its level best to transform the complicated Vodrian dialect into something approaching coherence.) 

Like a stick of Paratroopers, the members of Hazard Team Albion dropped into the vacant Turbolift and effected final insertion into the heart of the research facility.

There before them lay their prize – The Artefact.

In the middle of the laboratory, enthroned on a pedestal of technology and held aloft by a web of geometrically aligned maniple tractor beams sat a perfect black – body tetrahedron. According to intelligence reports – a mysterious alien artefact discovered by the Cardassian High Command during the recent Multicursal Anomalies that had exposed known space to Underspace.

“Tech – scan for countermeasures.” Hask commanded and the Vulcan began to scan the space for hidden booby traps or sensors that would alert the Cardassian’s of their intrusion. T’Kul went to work.

“Science – Verify & Authenticate.” She commanded as Crewman Park approached The Artefact running her own scans.

“Black body artifact, undeterminable molecular composition and mass.” The Science specialist murmured as she assessed the artifact. Soo Jin was the most gifted Theoretical Scientist assigned aboard the Inquiry – class USS Albion, what she lacked in years – she surpassed most people in the ability to postulate and extrapolate the form, function and meaning of obscure alien technologies.

“Resistant to Gravimetric scanning.” Crewman Park frowned, “Adjusting energy-resolving, photon-counting detectors – let’s see if an “old – school CT scan will unlock your secrets? C’mon baby, talk to me?”

“Clock is ticking people.” Lieutenant Hask warned with a note of urgency in her otherwise commanding voice.

At the Turbolift shaft, Crewmen T’Kul and Rarsk were readying the deployable grav-pallet that would house their prize and lift the team back up to the surface – hopefully in time for Overwatch to make his next and final fly past – opening up the narrow window for extraction and beam out.

“Wait – there should be Tachyon Radiation – this thing came out of Underspace?” Soo Jin’s voice had a note of uncertainty that caused Lieutenant Hask to return her attention to The Artefact. “It should be screaming Tachyon Radiation from every metaphorical pore!”

She turned to Clara, her warm brown epigenic eyes wide with the implications. “Actual! This is a fake!”

“PAN! PAN! PAN! Plan Delta – Evac NOW! NOW! NOW!” Lieutenant Clara Hask warned her team urgently, even as she became aware (with growing horror) of the murderous hiss of deadly gasses being vented into the Laboratory – space from the life – support system. Emergency alarms began to strobe, and the space was plunged into nightmarish red emergency lighting.

“COMPUTER! FREEZE SIMULATION!” Came an authoritative bark from behind her and Clara closed her eyes and breathed heavily.

The deadly gas instantly stopped, and the prim form of the Tactical Training Hologram strode into the frozen chaos of the Lab.

Appearing as a stocky Nipponese NCO from the 23rd Century, clad in a maroon Starfleet uniform jacket, the TTH was modelled on the infamous Master Chief Isagi Saroga (long – dead) and as always it looked displeased, irritable and disgruntled.

“A promising start Lieutenant.” The TTH nodded curtly, red emergency light gleaming on the bald – pate of his head as the little man’s Mustaches drooped with the thin line of his mouth. “Care to hazard a guess at which point it became less so?”

“Too many moving parts.” Lieutenant Hask rubbed her eyes tiredly, the stress of the last few minutes leaving her tired to her very core.

“In part.” The Master – Chief nodded his head once as he strode around the space with his hands behind his back. “Your method of entry was sound enough. Your choice of a EHAO was creative, if not a little risky – too many moving parts, as you say – nevertheless it achieved your goal of insertion into the target area without detection.”

“I didn’t account for the introduction of extra security in the last few hours.” Clara ran through the mission in detail, pragmatically trying to catalogue the points of critical failure.

“A comfortable integer of reasonable failure should always be allowed.” The TTH nodded, satisfied with his pupil’s current train of introspection. “Security details are updated; events necessitate changes of policy – the butterfly flaps its wings, and an imperceptible shift of cascading events follows.” Saroga nodded sagely. “You cannot plan for every eventuality Lieutenant – but you should always assume the worst.”

“I lost control of my people.” Hask glared at the towering form of Crewman Rarsk – who looked back impassively at her.

“Deru kugi wa utareru.” The TTH allowed. “The Nail that sticks out will be Hammered down.”

Clara frowned, she was both too amped up on adrenaline from being mid – mission and also exhausted now that her team had been suddenly pulled out of the training- simulation. 

She was in no mood for oblique proverbs.

The TTH noted this and explained.

“Faced with a sudden change in mission parameters, Crewman Rarsk acted – rashly in this case – but acted nevertheless.” The TTH stared at Rarsk, the Vodrian stared back – Clara had the impression that both together could probably stare a hole through solid durillium – plating.

Hask sighed and completed the train of thought.

“But Rarsk is under my command and it is my responsibility to anticipate the unanticipated and provide my Team – members with options to deal with such developments.”

The Master – Chief nodded curtly again, but his tone betrayed a hint of admiration.

“Just so Lieutenant Hask. Saru mo ki kara ochiru.”

“I’m sorry?” Clara sighed tiredly.

“Even Monkeys fall from trees.” The TTH nodded, meaning that even skilled operators can make a mistake.

 “Perfection we will pursue tomorrow, same time, same place. You are dismissed. Computer end simulation.”

As the illusion of the Cardassian Research Lab gradually decompiled around them, leaving the practicality of the Holodeck around them, Lieutenant Clara Hask ordered her Hazard Team to quit the deck to proceed to a Mission Debriefing session – where the lessons learned from today’s training exercise would be teased apart for her after action report – that she would complete before gladly hitting the showers with her team – before return to their ‘day jobs’.

When they had departed, Commander Samantha Hyland, Executive Officer of the USS Albion joined the TTH on the now – deserted Holo – deck.

The pair stood in silence for a few moments before the XO turned to face the taciturn hologram. She had served with a version of the TTH during her last command aboard the USS Savannah (as had countless other Starfleet officers across various commands over the years) and she felt a sense of affinity and personification with this amazing piece of technology – seeing him more as a person – as its designers had surely intended.

“Well, Master Chief,” Sam asked mildly, “Would you say that they are ready?”

The TTH seemed to consider this question with all solemnity (even though it was linked to a comprehensive database that told it about every conceivable aspect of each officer – to such a degree that it could be said that the TTH knew more about each person than the person themselves) before replying.

“Ashita wa ashita no kaze ga fuku.”

“The winds of tomorrow, will blow tomorrow.” Samantha translated – absorbing and considering the implicit meaning intended by the TTH’s choice of proverb.

“Just so.” The Master Chief nodded again.

“You know, I’ve missed serving with you Master Chief.” The XO smiled wryly. “Dismissed.”

The TTH de-rezzed, leaving her alone on the deck with her thoughts.