SS CELESTE MARU – Bridge
“No!” The air filled with the groans of the engineering team toiling to download the logs and other data from this derelict freighter.
For the past two hours, the engineering detail had scratched their heads, mumbled curses, and slammed their fists against consoles in frustration. They shared both hushed and heated conversations and intoned incantations using mystical words that were supposedly more powerful than black holes. They observed, analyzed, and speculated–to no avail. Whenever a glimpse of progress was coaxed out from the ship’s logs, an invisible force seemed to re-scramble everything back into indecipherable goo…followed by groans of the engineers as they had to start over.
The constant setbacks were not the worst part of this situation. At least not for one participant in the team. Ensign Aaron Carson sat alone, silently, at one of the unused stations. The feeling of helplessness, the knowledge that he was not contributing, the fact that he was dead weight, in the way. That was the more severe torture inflicted on the non-technical, administrative officer accompanying the technicians. Everyone else was contributing; he was just taking up space.
Carson listened as the engineers discussed their confounding findings. “The measurements aren’t changing. Four separate tricorders and multiple recalibrations. The only thing that can account for this is that Planck constant is changing.”
“And that’s impossible. It’s called a constant…because it’s constant.”
“Then how else do you explain what we’re seeing?”
And so started another round of speculation and hair pulling. Carson returned his attention to his PADD. The only positive side of this situation was that his non-existent participation gave him the opportunity to review his notes from his morning’s orientation and start reviewing some of the Support section’s files.
Carson was startled when the engineering team leader addressed him. “Ensign, so as you’ve noticed, we’re having a bit of a problem accessing these logs. We’re going to have to access the computer core directly, but in these old freighters, that’s a sealed unit. Normally, we’d’ve already had a crew pop it open, but since this is not a Starfleet vessel, we need the owner’s permission for something that invasive. So until we get that, we’re on hold.”
Owner’s permission. Carson recalled that Senior Chief Finley told him this freighter was a derelict. That could be a problem. “I see. How long will that take?”
The team leader shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. That’s way above my pay grade.”
“Okay,” acknowledged Carson, repacking his field kit and following the team out to the airlock.
SB BRAVO – Administration Department
Ensign Carson returned the field pack to Senior Chief Finley and summarized the two hours spent aboard the Celeste Maru. “And for all that effort, they were only able to extract one word from the entire core.”
“What word?”
“‘Loon.'”
Finley’s professional indifference suddenly evaporated. “‘Loon?'” he quickly asked.
“Yes, Senior. Out of their six or so attempts, that’s the only thing they managed to get each time.” Carson noticed the senior chief’s sudden interest. “What? Does that mean anything?”
“You’re aware of the current crisis, Ensign?”
“The Displaced? Only the basics everyone knows. Why? What’s a Loon?”
Finley sighed internally. Partly disappointed that his new officer had so little awareness about the current fleet crisis. Partly understanding that the Academy probably shielded its students from these types of distractions. “Not a ‘what,’ but a ‘who,'” corrected Finley. “They’re like the temporal police. They have a history of wiping out universes where the temporal flow gets corrupted. If they’re involved–if they’re already poking around in our universe–we’re in grave danger.”
