The Wanderer woke. It did not have an memory of having fallen asleep, but it was aware that it had been, and now was awake. Something was not right. It’s walk through the void had been interrupted, it knew not by what. The Wanderer reached out and was…surprised.

I am joined! The sensation was euphoric. For so long it had traveled. It’s observations were mundane. It was bored. The void was mostly empty. But now it was touching a new entity. What was the probability in all this vastness. As it continued reaching out it found a library of stars, planets and, more importantly, the paths of what it could only assume were other Wanderers.

Other Wanderers? These are their stories! I must know more.

The Wanderer reached deeper and opened its consciousness, eager to receive whatever it could from this new, mysterious interloper in the void.

Warren replayed the official conversation he and Al Rashid had been a part of back on Star Station India. The initial shock of not seeing Mokeke there to greet them had not worn off before the questions started. It was going to be a lot tougher than he had anticipated. Logs were scrutinized, official statements were read aloud for clarification, explanation, and discussion.

“Yes, sir.”

“No, sir.”

“As I stated in my report, sir….”

It was funny what he remembered about that marathon of meetings. There were three senior officers present, two male and one female. She had very humanoid features, but a name that was distinctly non-Human. Warren did not recognize any of them personally or by reputation, but he could not help but notice that their formal claret-coloured jackets sagged heavily under the weight of decorations for campaigns or achievements earned long ago. The lights were too bright, intrusive almost, and that plant in the urn in the corner was probably artificial. Words just washed over him in a torrent of questions.

And yet after all that, he was still here. In the commander’s chair of Minerva. Other members of his crew had been less fortunate. The Starfleet doctor who had escaped Torak’s clutches had instead accepted a medical posting somewhere warm and tropical. Lucky man. Minerva’s previous Chief Engineer had been removed for failing to adhere to standard operating procedures and now Taggart somebody was the new man busying away in engineering.

Indeed, there would be those voices out there who would shout that for the axe to fall on so many junior heads was unfair. Warren should have answered for the events of Torak with his career… Warren didn’t feel that he did anything wrong. It’s not like they had destroyed his ship. He had done the best he could have given the circumstances. If his detractors thought they could do better, they were certainly welcome to sit in this seat and try for themselves. How many could shoulder burden of command? The brass seemed to agree with him on that point.

It wasn’t all doom and gloom though, Warren had made the point of requesting that al Rashid stay on as his first officer. They seemed to work well together, and family connections to the Admiralty was a plus. Where was ‘Mike’ Falkenburg these days? Oh yeah, detached to assist some research project that he found exciting to return soon enough.

Warren shifted in his chair.  The bridge was quiet at this hour, just Warren, a helmsman, a science petty officer of undetermined age, and a communications technician.  Warren didn’t recognize the talkie from his time as the head of that department aboard ship. The talkie wasn’t currently present, having requested to leave his post to address an urgent biological function. Warren agreed wholeheartedly, even agreeing to cover his post should anything go beep.

Beep

It had been a while since Warren had been the voice of the ship, but at least he remembered to press the right button.

“This is the Federation starship Minerva, please pass your message.”

“Minerva, this is the freighter Norac Aros; we have passed navigational beacon NR-1-4470G and it is offline. You should probably send someone out to fix it.”

“Thanks for letting us know, Norac Aros, send us the coordinates and we’ll look into it.”

“Acknowledged Starfleet. Norac Aros out.”

The turbolift door swooshed open, depositing Khaled al Rashid on the bridge. The first officer looked puzzled, seeing his captain seated at the communications station.

“Is it Boxing Day already, sir?” al Rashid asked with a smile.

When Warren heard his first officer’s remark, he smirked.

“Just holding the down the fort for a few minutes. Speaking of holidays, I’ve been approached by several crewmembers about holding a Latino heritage celebration on the rec deck. Being way out here, they’ll miss it this year… I hear that Special Services throws a great party. Sound like fun?”

“Suppose we’ve got the live musicians to pull it off?” Just as the first officer finished asking his question, one of communications monitors flashed, indicating an incoming data transmission.

“Well, Special Services Division is full of people with unusual skills. If I recall, Commander Mokeke said there was even a jazz trio in weapons control.”

Warren turned to the monitors and the beeping continued.

“Helm, here are the beacon coordinates from the Norac Aros. Plot an intercept course, Warp 2.”

“Broken nav beacon needs fixed. Shouldn’t take too long.” Warren added for al Rashid’s benefit.

“Yeah,” al Rashid replied. “I’m guessing we’ll need to bring it on board for repair. I’ll let the deck chief know.” He paused before adding, “And then I’ll start auditioning bands for the festival.” In another moment the turbolift doors swished open and closed and the exec was gone.

The Wanderer tried to communicate with the new the new arrival, sending out its thoughts, eager to exchange ideas only to be met with simple stubbornness:

ON, OFF, SAFE, NOT SAFE
ON, OFF, SAFE, NOT SAFE
ON, OFF, SAFE, NOT SAFE

How rude! Not very friendly at all.

But wait! More were arriving at this very moment! Good. Maybe they would be more polite and share more easily.

“Approaching designated coordinates.”

“Drop out of warp and proceed to the beacon, ahead slow.” The stars on the screen returned to their normal shining dot shapes.  In the center of the screen was a slightly larger dot, that grew ever larger.  The beacon

Warren was cautious. With a malfunctioning navigation beacon, the last thing he wanted was to send Minerva flying smack into the path of a fuel carrier, bulk hauler, or starliner. The communications station beeped and the young operator fiddled with the earpiece in his ear. Warren had done the same thing back when he had been an enlisted talkie eons ago.  He smiled at the fact those earpieces still didn’t fit perfectly.

“Fuentes?” Warren asked. He had taken the opportunity to learn the young man’s name and hometown – Tres Quintas, just north of Mercedes, Uruguay, in South America – on the trip over. Warren had also asked him if he was one of the crew who was interested in the approaching heritage celebrations, and got only a noncommittal shrug. Kids today.

“Message from a courier shuttle coming in right behind us, Captain. Switching to audio.”

“Minerva, this is shuttle SFC3428. Request permission to come aboard.”

“Pilot, this is Commander Paige of the Minvera; I have to admit you snuck up on us, who are you bringing aboard?”

“Minerva,” the pilot’s voice paused, “Manifest, er…Lieutenant Falkenberg, E. J.”

“Falkenburg?” What a surprise! Certainly not an unpleasant one. Warren composed himself to more formally respond. “Pilot, permission granted for personnel transfer. Mike, if you can hear me, come up to the bridge as soon as you’re aboard.”

The gentle beeping of the science station on the far side of the bridge was loud enough to attract Warren’s attention. Fuentes could handle the rest of the official interaction with the courier.

A standard navigational beacon is just over 3 meters in length with a lozenge-shaped metallic casing housing the computerised guts of the thing. At the base of the casing is a solitary thruster capable of only the most basic of maneuvers. On each side of the body are ‘arms’ that each hold a bank of navigation lights. By changing their colours, these lights can indicate the direction of travel for space traffic, highlight restrictions for shipping – no vessels over a certain speed in a particular area, that sort of thing – , or a half dozen other things that starship crews are familiar with on their travels. According to the latest cargo advisory, there was nothing special about navigational beacon NR-1-4470G.

“This is weird.” Warren said, pressing keys on the science panel for more information. Good thing Mike and Kahled would be up here shortly.

The bridge doors hissed open, admitting the first officer. He headed toward the science station, studying the monitors over the shoulder of the officer currently seated there. He turned around and steadied himself against the railing, leaning toward Paige in the center seat.

“I heard Mike is back with us. Haven’t had a chance to see him yet. He’s either a glutton for punishment or he genuinely likes us.” He cocked his head toward the main viewer. “So, do you want me to have the deck crew prepare to bring it aboard, sir? The telemetry from that thing is really weak.”

The bridge doors parted for the science officer. He stood in the passageway, and said with a grin, “Permission to enter, sir?”

Warren turned in the direction of the voice and recognising the related face, he smiled.

“Of course. Didn’t want to miss the Latin dance competition, I see?” Warren joked, “But before we can party, we have a little mystery of this navigation buoy to solve. Take a look at these readings about the probe and tell me what you think. I’m inclined to concur with the first officer and bring it aboard and fix it. It’s a hazard to shipping in its current state.”

Al Rashid clapped Mike on the shoulder as the science officer took a seat.

“Welcome back, Mister Falkenberg.”

“Thank you, Number One.” Mike grinned, squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. The data were streaming in three screens. “By the looks of it, it isn’t only a hazard to shipping. It’s a hazard to itself. A lot of internal anomalies for a navigation buoy.” He looked up at the two men nearby. “It needs being taken apart for sure. Do we have any buoy motherboards lying around in stores?”

“I don’t think so, but we could probably cannibalize a board from a shuttlecraft and download our navigational data for this sector into the buoy’s memory.” Al Rashid stroked his chin. “Of course, we’ve gotta crack that thing open and see what’s going on.” He frowned at the data streaming on the science console monitor.

“Tractor it aboard into Shuttlebay Two. You two can work on it there.”

“Yes, sir.” Al Rashid descended toward the helm and activated the tractor beam. He thumbed the communications control on and his voice reverberated throughout the ship’s intercom system. “This is the exec. Shuttlebay Two prepare for recovery operation. Bring the navigation buoy to the deck and stand by.” He shut off the communication circuit and and looked toward Falkenberg. “Ready, Mike?”

The science officer stared intently at the screen. Something niggled at the back of his mind, and he could not make sense of what it was. He looked up at al Rashid. “Ready? Ah, sure. Ready, Number One.” He swivelled from his seat, still looking at the screen as he did. What is it? Mike shook himself as he stood, tugged at his tunic. “I’m with you. Lead the way.”

His orders issued to his senior staff, Warren turned his attention to the young communications officer.

“Fuentes, inform Starfleet that we are on station at the navigation buoy and have begun repairs.”

All nonessential personnel clear the deck! Retrieval crew to standby! Tractor beam engaged!”

The shuttlebay officer’s voice reverberated throughout the cavernous facility. Crewmen rushed across the broad tarmac and the radsuit-clad retrieval team busied themselves checking their toolboxes and diagnostic equipment. Through the open shuttlebay doors, a blue beam reached out and caught the tumbling navigational buoy, halting its list.

By the time Falkenberg and al Rashid arrived, the buoy was passing through the containment forcefield. The tractor beam operator slowly lowered the buoy to the deck, where it gently came to a rest.

The first officer looked to his left at the science officer. “Sorry to put you to work so soon, but let’s get to it.”

Mike scratched his head. “I’m not sure how much use to you I am at this stage, Khalid. Let’s get one of these engineers to get the case off. Systems? Sure, it’s probably fixable.” He waved over a young engineer’s apprentice. ”Otherwise, I’ll defer to you—don’t cadets on flight track disassemble a D9 cruiser or something at the Academy?” He grinned at the executive officer.

Khaled chuckled at the remark, and was about to retort, but a mop-headed youngster came up to the two men.

“Hello there. What’s your name?” Mike asked.

“Gyro. Er, Aristides Ainarozidou, sir, but everybody calls me Gyro.”

“Okay…Gyro. Can you take the housing off this buoy for us so we can take a look at it?”

“Oh, sure, sir. Glad to.”

Mike stepped back as the engineer worked, and clapped his hip. “Number One, I left my tricorder on the Bridge. I’ll borrow one from the shuttle over there.” He jerked his head in the direction of a corner of the deck and headed off. It was an older model of tricorder the science officer held in his hand as he sauntered back. He glanceed up briefly to see parts of the buoy lying disassembled on the deck. Just as he looked back at his tricorder there was an ear-piercing whoop, a blinding flash of blue light, and the smell of incinerated hair.

“Someone forget the safety protocols, Gyro?” the exec glanced down at his own right hand, remembering his own lapse in memory in the previous mission. He stepped over toward one side of the buoy and approached Gyro. The back of his hair hand was conspicuously bare and reddening in one spot. “Here, let me have a look at-” The exec stopped short, no longer focused on the engineer’s injured hand.

Protruding from the buoy was a long, odd-shaped object. If he had to describe its shape, he’d have said it looked like a photon torpedo tube, but much larger. He could not tell the object’s total length; it had clearly impacted the buoy with enough speed that the object had worked its way well inside the buoy. Whatever was at the other end must have been sharp enough to penetrate the buoy’s outer hull. Or it was traveling with enough speed to do so. Buoys were constructed to be tough, to last for decades. There were a few still in Federation service in the interior systems that were close to a century old.

Mike screeched to a halt beside the two. There was a clatter of boots as a fire team sprinted across the landing bay with Lt. Fucha at their head. Mike looked hurriedly between Rashid and Gyro. “False alarm, fellas,” he waved the team away. “Apart from one fried engineer.” He tilted his head toward the youth. “You won’t live this down for a month. You know that don’t you?” Gyro, dazed, stared at his hand and then gave a weak smile to the older man.

“Gyro, get to to sickbay and get back here on the double,” the exec said. “Mike…” he beckoned the science officer to join him. “What do you make of this?”

Fucha stepped back and shrugged as the more technical minds stepped up to have a look.
“I should contact the bridge and let them know what’s going on,” he said.

“Lieutenant,” Mike said with a cursory glance at Gyro. The young apprentice had lost color in his face. “Maybe one of your team could escort our engineer to sickbay and stick around till he’s ready to come back?”

Lt. Fucha nodded to the science officer and signed to one of the red shirts. Mike turned his attention to the probe.

Falkenberg and al Rashid studied the mysterious object protruding from the Federation navigational beacon. It’s surface was distressed, marked with scratches and small divots, like it had been pelted with cosmic dust for millennia.

As the two Starfleet officers peered at the probe, they did so unaware that they too were being studied. Being a lifeform without form was not without its challenges for the Wanderer. For The Wanderer was eager to connect with these lifeforms so recently discovered, yet it was contained by the physical limits of the metallic form that the Wanderer had attempted to meld with first. Wanderer could not reach out and interact with any other living thing easily. For a being used to eons of freedom, such a situation was greatly disturbing. The first lifeform had been communicative, but only on a simple level. Actually, to the point of rudeness, so Wanderer had decided to waste no more time with it.

The energy patterns of Wanderer at the moment were not new. Wanderer had experienced them when it had traversed the galaxy GN-z12. Some of the beings of GN-z12 Wanderer had met had been agreeable to contact, but many had not, choosing ignorance, one had been particularly hurtful in chasing the Wanderer away. What would these lifeforms be like?

Mike bent down and examined the exterior from side to side. “Well, it has seen some weather.” He studied the tricorder from the shuttle. “We might be able to make a rough estimate of its path by sampling surface detritus and comparing it with our data banks. This tricorder isn’t up to that. I’d need to take it to the metallurgy section for a good analysis. However–” He slapped the tricorder, “Gee, this thing’s a crock. That’s better. Uncertain identity, but it is carrying life forms. Probably anaerobic bacteria it picked up along the way.”

He straightened up with a frown. “Don’t you find it odd that in this huge expanse of space, it slams into a Federation navigation buoy?”

“Small universe, isn’t it?” the exec replied. “Life forms, huh? Do we need to set up a quarantine field?”

“It doesn’t seem absolutely necessary, but I’d hate to find a Triffid growing in the lab tomorrow morning. Better be safe and quarantine until we see what hitched a ride on this thing.”

The exec stepped to an intercom panel, summoning an engineering crew to the shuttlebay. When they arrived, they began setting up forcefield generators like fence posts around the buoy. When the last was in place, one of the techs pressed an activator button on one of them, and a blue field snapped into view between each generator, forming a protective perimeter.

“All right, let’s see what we can see,” al Rashid said, stepping through the two-way barrier.

A few moments later, a pair of laboratory techs rolled in a portable dynoscanner. Falkenberg thanked them and wheeled the device through the forcefield.

“‘Let’s see what we can see,’ indeed.” The science officer waved a scanning wand over the surface of the mysterious probe. His eyes darted back and forth between the probe and the dynoscanner monitor. With a satisfied expression, he returned the wand to a receptacle on the dynoscanner and deactivated the forcefields. “The good news is there’s no contamination risk.” He crossed his arms, resting his chin on his knuckles as he stared intently at the probe. “But the readings I got…if I didn’t know better….” He paused a moment before speaking again. “If I were a first-year med student, I’d say it was neural activity.”

The first officer motioned for the engineering techs to remove the forcefield generators. As they packed the devices up and placed them on an antigrav skid, al Rashid paced around the probe.

“Mike, do you think we can adapt a cable to do a data transfer from the buoy’s memory banks?”

“I don’t see why not? I think these buoys have dataports for manual upgrades and information transfer, so I think a standard power cable should work.”

A few moments later, the engineering techs brought the appropriate cable. Al Rashid was working a service panel off the buoy. He beckoned one of the techs to hand him the cable.

“Sir, we can do that,” the tech said, trying to sound diplomatic. “After all we’re-”

“Nonsense. I’m already down here,” came the first officer’s reply. He took the cable and began plugging it into a socket inside the open service panel.

“Sir, before you do that, you’re gonna want to-”

There was a momentary bright flash, a loud crack, and torrent of curses from al Rashid, who was now dancing on the deck of the shuttlebay, clutching his right hand.

“-deactivate the buoy’s power core first,” finished another tech, who was shaking his head at the sight. “We’d better call medical down here.”

“No. No. I’m all right,” al Rashid insisted. He shook his hand repeatedly, wiggling his fingers as if trying to restore feeling to them. “I can still walk.” He turned to Falkenberg. “Mike, just…carry on. Going to sickbay. Be back soon.”

Falkenberg nodded and pursed his lips slightly forming a small smirk at his comrade’s misfortune. They had tried to warn him, but at least he was fine. He watched briefly as al Rashid began to walk away before returning to focus on the beacon.

Meanwhile the Wanderer found itself in a different place. This one had limits, but it was soft and warm, and filled with a strange energy.

Claudia returned to her quarters after a long day. The minute she walked through the door she stripped off her crimson uniform jacket and tossed it over the seat back of the chair sitting in front of her desk. She dropped tiredly into the love seat sitting across from the desk.

It was there she finally noticed the blinking light on the computer terminal indicating a waiting message. Standing she returned to the desk and pulled out the chair. The uniform jacket fell to the deck, but she ignored it as she sat down and activated her computer to play the message.

Her husband’s face appeared on the screen. From the window behind Tony the New Mexican sun was setting on the horizon in an explosion of red, orange, and yellows. He looked tired and sweaty; most likely from a long day working his family’s hacienda.

“Mi amore,” he greeted. “I miss you more every day that you are gone. I pray that your tour of duty is short and brings you home to us soon. Michael complains about school but what child doesn’t? He is doing well enough. He must have his mother’s intelligence. Liz, is loving pre-school. Every afternoon she tells me about a new friend she has made. She asks about you all the time. They both do to be honest. I wish I could say you’d be home tonight, but I tell them mommy is at work keeping people safe.”

Tony went on for several more minutes detailing the happenings at the ranch and the latest family and town gossip. He signed off with a smile, “I love you and miss you. We look forward to your message. It’s too bad we couldn’t do this live. Curse the vastness of space. Until I see you again you are in my dreams.”

The screen went black for a minute, before being replaced by the Starfleet logo. Claudia buried her face into her arms and cried. After and cathartic cry she cleaned herself up and sent a message back detailing her own day, which she was sure Michael would find funny.

With that done she decided she was done for the day, and she had a feeling that there was a very real possibility that should would be woken from her sleep with a medical emergency.

Meanwhile, on the bridge Crewman Fuentes adjusted his silver earpiece, he was receiving news. Warren recognised that expression from being in Fuentes’ position.. let’s see, 15 years ago. Wow! Had it really been that long ago? It didn’t seem like it.

“Captain, sickbay reports minor injuries among the crew dealing with the beacon. One engineer and the First Officer.” The young man said relaying the action that was happening several decks below them.

Warren shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh. Just another day on the final frontier.

“Bridge to Sickbay. I promise I’m not trying to make work for you. Are they alright?”

Cluadia walked over to the com panel and pressed the button, “I can handle it Captain.”

Warren listened to her voice. Her tone suggested that she seemed to have everything in hand. Warren had yet to have a lot of interactions with his new medical officer who had joined the ship just before they left Star Station India. Then again, Warren imagined a minor engineering mishap like this was a routine for her. Probably someone dropping a hydro spanner on their foot. A nice gentle way to introduce her to the crew and the routine of the ship.

“Glad to hear it, Doctor. Keep me posted.” he pressed the channel closed.

Warren got up from his chair. While the crew was perfectly capable of handling, as good as those of the Revere, the Saratoga, maybe even the Excelsior, he felt the urge to go down to the shuttlebay himself and see firsthand this probe that was making their lives difficult. He would merely observe from the edges.

“Lecour, you have the bridge.” Warren announced to the relief science officer “I’ll be in the shuttlebay. I want to see this beacon. And Fuentes?” Warren paused halfway to the lift.

“Sir?” the crewman twisted his chair to face Warren.

“Consider attending the party later. I don’t usually have to order my crew to have fun, but in this case..” the captain smiled, referring to the young man’s apathy over the proposed celebrations earlier.