Commanding Officers’ Log, Supplemental

No matter how many times you dip your toes in the pool, nothing prepares you for the inevitable shock of cold your body undergoes when you dive in. We have dipped, dived, measured, and sampled the hell out of this pool, and now we’re about to lunge in headfirst.

Honestly, short of a battalion of researchers and a Vision-class station parked overhead, I don’t think there is much more preparation we could make for this excursion to the surface. But still, there is this gnawing pit in my stomach.

It’s the calm before the storm. Knowing that at some point the shoe is going to drop, and the more we learn about the shoe, the more painful it seems like it’s going to be when it inevitably falls. But I have to keep it together and put my faith and trust in my crew, as they have in me.

What am I even worried for? It’s not like Starfleet hasn’t dealt with highly advanced ancient lifeforms before…

[USS Fox, Deck 2, Captain’s Quarters]

“Trixie believes she has been able to modify the Mobile Emitters to withstand the interference from the Nucleogenic energy, so your away team members won’t blip out on you every hour and a half.” Archie read off to Michael.

“An hour and a half? I thought it was every two hours?” Michael queried, crossing over to his wardrobe.

“It was, but time is rapidly decreasing between each energy flux. Doc predicts another 24 to 48 hours before it reaches its zenith.” The XO stated.

“Damn, that’s not giving us a lot of time.” The commander commented, removing his uniform jacket and hanging it up.

“I saw Romen running around Deck Three, shirtless with a kilt on. I’m assuming he’s one of your picks for an away team?” Archie asked, turning his back to give Michael privacy while he changed.

“Yeah, physically he resembles the locals enough, and god forbid you let me go without some sort of security…” Michael teased, slipping out of his pants.

Archie could only tilt his head in confirmation and nod with a slight chuckle at the Commander’s evaluation.

“…I saw him earlier too, told him less William Wallace, and more Ragnar Lothbrok. He got all giddy and ran off, saying something about forging an Axe.” Michael finished as he started putting on a thick pair of dark woolen pants.

“Well, I highly recommend you take Doc with you as well. Since you can’t take a hypo spray, he is currently in the medical lab fabricating ‘potions’ for you, should you require general medical attention.” Archie announced.

Michael had just finished tucking in his cream-colored doublet into his pants as he tapped Archie on the shoulder to follow. Slipping on a brown leather Jerkin, Michael fought with the buttons as they walked out of his quarters and around the hallway. “I’m not taking Doc. I see your reasoning, given the aggressive nature of the locals, but that’s what Romen is for. Doc would only serve as a niche capacity in the event I get hurt. Plus, his programming would compel him to try and intervene if the locals were injured or sick as well, and we can’t afford the distraction.”

The doors to Sickbay opened for them as Michael and Archie walked in, “I need someone on the planet with a specialized skillset that will benefit the mission, not me.” The commander concluded, finishing tightening his jerkin and hopping up onto a bio bed.

Archie pondered Michael’s words, not arguing with his wisdom. “Trixie would make a good subject matter expert to analyze whatever alien technology lies beyond the distortion field.”

“Oh, I’m not taking Trixie either.” Michael stated flatly as Doc walked in with a tray in his hands.

Archie paused for a moment, processing what he was just told. His brow furrowed at the implication. “Sir, I must strongly protest. Romen is at least capable of being professional when duty calls for it, but put him together with Yeager?! You’d have better luck controlling a pack of dogs during a Squash warm-up match.”

“He means you, Dummy.” Doc cut in, setting the tray down next to the Commander’s bed.

Michael laughed at the doctor’s bluntness, “We were gonna get there eventually.”

“Wait…me? I thought I was staying with the ship?” Archie blurted out.

“Your specific programming deals with the interaction and management of various cultures and species in a diplomatic manner. Our greatest tool when we get down there is dealing with the people and gaining their trust and guidance. YOU are my subject matter expert.” Michael expressed.

“Plus, you’ll be there to ensure the captain’s condition and status, instead of up here, fretting the whole time like a worried mother,” Doc added.

Still a bit shocked at the revelation, Archie lowered his PADD. “Well then…I guess I should go and prepare for our departure.” The XO agreed. Doc’s words finally registering, he scowled at him silently as he departed sickbay.

Wasting no time, Doc injected Michael with a Hypospray in the neck. “After extensive evaluation of the region’s ecosystem, this will help boost your immune system against alien pollen and airborne irritants to your hybrid Human-Betazed biology.”

Michael rubbed the spot of his injection site. “Don’t lie to me, you just wanted an excuse to stab someone.” He teased.

“You’re the only Biological onboard, so I’ll get it when I can.” Doc smiled. “I also whipped up some tinctures and salves in accordance with the level of apothecary science we have seen thus far. They look period specific, but their of a higher quality, so they actually work. Just don’t trade or lose them.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Michael expressed, taking the vials of liquid that were stuffed into a leather holster.

[USS Fox; Deck 2, Transporter Room]
(20 Minutes Later)

Romen looked like a background character from a He-Man holonovel. He stood proudly in the transporter room, sporting calf-high hide boots, a leather periskelis with woolen undergarments; his chest was bare but for a sleeveless fur-covered long coat and a leather strap across his forehead, which, for some inexplicable reason, now held long shoulder-length hair. An axe, whose bladed head was almost as large as his torso, was strapped to a holster along his back, giving off menacing, barbaric vibes.

“There is a chance we may cross blades with the locals; it’s just their custom to test each other’s mettle. I’ve given us the edge by replicating period-specific weaponry, with higher quality craftsmanship and lining our outer clothing in Kevlar threads.” Romen explained. “I am Roh-man,” he enunciated with the verbal affliction of a Ferengi saying ‘Human’. “Barbarian Warrior, and sworn protector of my priestly charges!” he expressed, pounding his fist to his chest.

“You are the priestly disciple Are-Tree,” Romen announced, approaching a robe-clad Archie, handing him a leather-strapped belt with a quiver and a short composite bow made of wood and metal. “You follow and document our priestly lord’s accolades during his perilous journey to the center of the world, because you are a nerd.”

Archie snatched the belt and weapon from Romen with an unamused stare. “Oh, I’m so clever, let’s make him the ‘archer’ because his name is Archie.” He mocked under his breath as he affixed the rest of his attire, following up with unintelligible curses.

“And now, to our Lord, Michael!” Romen proclaimed in an exaggerated tone. Michael could only facepalm, still afflicted with giggles from Archie’s declaration. “A blade fitting of your highest station, archon of the old gods, on this holy pilgrimage you lead us!” Romen knelt on one knee, presenting another leather belt, with a metallic longsword sheathed in a leather hilt.

“You are enjoying this WAY too much.” Michael chuckled as he took the weapon and garment.

“It is our duty to uphold the Prime Directive and thus maintain strict adherence to the narrative we portray to the local populace.” Romen affirmed, haughtily.

“That, or someone’s been playing Neverwinter Nights on the Holodeck recently.” Archie jabbed as he walked up onto the Transporter Pad.

Trixie entered the Transporter Room, a small box in hand. “Universal Translator is at approximately 96% accuracy.” She announced, handing out small necklace medallions from the box. “You might run across one or two words that it can’t translate, but context clues should be able to fill the gaps. Your ignorance of these words can be dismissed as regional dialect variation.”

Michael took the necklace and put it on. The small medal hanging from the hemp rope was shaped into a crude fox head, a personal touch he truly appreciated.

As the others equipped their jewelry, Trixie handed the Commander a pair of fingerless gloves and large, round black spectacles. “You might need this.” She exclaimed.

“Sunglasses?” Michael inquired, taking them in hand and examining them.

“Our brief glimpse into their culture indicates the priestly orders tend to operate blindfolded,” Doc stated, entering the Transporter room as well. He motioned to Archie, who was already putting a blindfold on over his eyes. “It doesn’t affect us as much as it would you. So we found that a lot of religious illustrations depict figures with deep, hollow eyes. Hence shades.”

“Put them and the gloves on too!” Trixie stated excitedly.

Michael did as instructed, and as soon as everything was fit and snug, Trixie tossed him a jug of water. When the gloves made contact with the hallowed wooden surface of the container, small text began to appear on the inside of his lenses.

“Rigged the gloves with a micro scanner. You can’t take a Tricorder down, but this can give you some idea of what you’re working with. The data is fed through the glasses. And yes, before you ask, it’s bio-printed to you specifically. So if they fall in the wrong hands, they won’t notice a thing.” Trixie declared proudly.

“Alright, let’s grab our gear and get ready to head down,” Michael announced, grabbing a moderate-sized backpack of provisions. Romen had a large camping pack he slung over his shoulder, while Archie collected a messenger bag sling.

Just then, Yeager ran into the transporter room wearing a Hawaiian Shirt, and flowery lei, “They leave yet? Let’s get this party sta—” he started to ask, seeing the three still on the transporter pad, “OH! Hay Skipper! Good Luck down there!” he said, and with a flick of his head, beach shades fell from his forehead neatly onto his face, and pointing finger guns at the Commander.

Archie could only bury his face in his palm and shake his head in disbelief, even though he could very well have predicted this behavior. “Trixie, you have the conn while we are away. Keep the Fox out of sight and keep comms open as long as possible.” Michael ordered.

“Aye, Sir.” Trixie reported, the flood of command washing through her as she smacked Yeager in the back of the head, knocking his shades off and taking the controls of the Transporter.

“Be safe, sirs!” Doc remarked as the Split Crew gave their goodbyes.

“Energize.”

[To be Continued]