They scrambled to the helmets and ran towards the body, shouting commands and reports into various channels. The medical tent sprung into action and hustled an isolation bed across the dusty ground to the gathered group. Within sixty seconds, the body was secured and protected from the effects of the dry-as-a-bone planet.  Lieutenant Hazel Wallaker breathed a sigh of relief and tapped the communications link on her arm, “Captain, body is secured.  Initial scans are inconclusive – we will need a more extensive facility than the Perseverance offers.”

Wren Walton’s voice replied, “Understood – Commander Clemente, secure the body in sickbay at the highest quarantine level.  Lieutenant, you will need to initiate an examination of the capsule on the planet. Chief Carlson is on his way.”

Hazel held back her annoyance, replying that she understood, and the channel closed.  Lieutenant Bernard Carlson has been among the crew members who recently flooded Perseverance, and his reputation preceded him in so many ways.  Her read of his dossier had started as kind and ended with frustration.  The ship was turning into an island for the lost and broken toys of the Fourth Fleet.  The medical team shuffled off while the operations team dismantled the bunker.  She stomped over to the capsule and began to take readings.  

Ten minutes later, “You did not wait.”

Carlson’s blank face stared back at her as she turned to face him.  “I wasn’t going to sit idly by and miss usable data from this thing.  You could have transported over here.”  She turned around and continued to work inch by inch with her tricorder and scanning sensors.

“I try to avoid them, Lieutenant Wallaker.  Shall I start on the other side?  I brought additional scanning equipment.”  His voice remained neutral, and she began to understand why some had called him more Vulcan than Human.  She gestured toward the opposite slide of the capsule, and she heard him shuffle over and begin scanning.

Hazel continued down, her frown creasing and then deepening. With the device’s contents exposed, it was becoming clear about its age. She tapped at the communications channel, “Captain, this capsule is over 500 years old. Latent biological readings estimate the age of the comparable DNA to be in the range of 300 to 400 years old.”

Carlson said from his side, “This is a highly irregular capsule, Captain Walton.  It was engineered for a single purpose – to preserve whatever was inside.  The inner workings of this creation are a wonder – I would like to take it with us to study it further.”

“Lieutenant Carlson – if you can have it back in the shuttle bay under force field protection, I’m willing to take it with us.  Montana Station is clearing us a medical hall and I’ll get us a secure cargo bay.  Move as quickly and safely as you can.  Walton out.”

He walked around the front end of the capsule in awe of the container.  He briefly regarded Wallaker in silence before postulating, “You are not a patient officer, Lieutenant.”

Hazel stared back at him.  Her annoyance was becoming irritation.  She was not at her best when she was irritated.  Was he trying to push her buttons, or was this his famous default setting she had heard so much about?  She huffed, “In fairness, you are not the most thoughtful officer, Lieutenant.  The capsule is yours.  Good luck.”  She stalked off, leaving him to his work.

“Which one of them is going to kill the other first?”  Commander Park sat on one end of the couch in the ready room, sipping a chilled tea.  Her CO sat on the other end, sipping a spiced cider.

“Which ones?  We seem to have earned a regular rouges gallery of ready-made conflicts.  We’re still short a tactical security officer, never mind a counselor.  We’ll need a guest referee when they spin themselves up.”  She nodded to her XO, “Your primary on making the first steps to smooth the connections so nobody gets caught in an EPS short or something worse.”

Park wondered, “You think some of this was intentional?  Make the name of the ship mean something to the crew?  Beyond just you and me?”  She downed the drink, “Someone in the lower decks already suggested ‘crew of misfits’ or something like that.  Your past as a fixer might also be playing a part in this whole…whatever this is.”

Wren clicked her tongue in protest and quiet agreement, “They don’t forget, do they?  The good, the bad… and whatever else there is.”  She went for a refill, asking, “You ever hear the story of the Ugly Duckling?”

Park leaned forward on the couch, “You think we’re the ugly duckling? The unwanted?  That’s a pretty deep cut, Wren.”

She waved her friend’s seriousness away, “You need to relax. Not everything is a Grimm fairy tale.  Those things were unhinged.  Gave me nightmares.”  Another sip.  “No, my point is that we’re a rough group with rough edges.  Everyone seems to have a chip or two…or three on their shoulder.  What if our unofficial mission is to help our crew change into something greater than they’ve ever been?”

The XO cracked, “I’m not wearing a swan costume, Wren.”  They both laughed at the idea.

Wren brought them back to the topic: “I’m serious. What if Perseverance is the start of something incredible for this crew—the possibility of not just redemption but rebuilding?”

Park smiled, “You always were a hopeless optimist, Wren. You might be right.”  She stood and headed for the door. Oh, and one more thing—Perseverance is a lot to say. Crew has taken to calling her ‘Percy.’  You ok with that?”

Wren down her drink, “Given the other options they might have tried, I’ll take that one.”

Park chuckled as she headed through the door to the bridge, “Who says they didn’t?”  Her grin widened as Walton rolled her eyes.