LCARS-paneled workstations curved around the broad operations support room. They lined the arcs of the curved bulkheads that wrapped the room in dark alloy. Stacks of large cargo cases and anti-grav pallets filled the room’s space. Holographic displays glowed across angled counters as officers moved between equipment stations. Many carried armfuls of field gear fresh from the recent operations in a different multiverse.
Cases sat half-open beside carts laden with unused environmental suits. Coils of portable sensor nets spilled across the deck alongside tagged crates that still needed to be inventoried and resealed.
At the center of the room, the temporal beacon rested on a reinforced platform. A shimmering containment field formed a protective bubble around it.
Commander Marlon Smythe stood near the central operations table with a PADD tucked in his grasp.
The broad-shouldered executive officer wore his duty uniform open slightly at the collar after being awake for nearly eighteen hours. His dark eyes constantly moved between the incoming personnel and the inventory lists that scrolled across his handheld display. One moment he reviewed equipment turn-in numbers. In the next, he helped two crewmen lower a sealed weapons crate onto a grav pallet. After it sat properly, the commander directed another group towards the decontamination stations.
“Environmental suits go to station three,” Smythe called across the room. “Tricorders should stay powered down until the diagnostics clear any residual temporal contamination.”
“Aye sir,” several voices seemed to answer at once.
Nearby, Lieutenant Commander M’Row crouched beside an open crate. He carefully placed stacks of transport enhancers into foam-lined compartments. The Caitian’s striped ginger tail swayed slowly behind him as his mismatched crimson and blue irises tracked the movement of officers that entered and exited the room.
The line of people returning gear seemed to be never ending.
One young crewman approached the Caitian. He carried three damaged field scanners awkwardly in both arms.
“Sir,” the enlisted man said nervously, “these were exposed during the evacuation near the Nile.”
M’Row took one scanner delicately between furry fingers.
The casing looked so smashed that it almost appeared melted.
“What,” the Caitian asked dryly, “exactly did you people do down there?”
The crewman hesitated before he answered. “A triceratops stepped on it.”
M’Row stared at him for two full seconds.
“Of course it did.”
Across the room, laughter rolled through several nearby stations.
The atmosphere inside operations support felt drastically different from the tense preparation work before the mission. Relief spread through nearly every conversation. Officers spoke loudly in excited tones. Enlisted personnel grinned openly as they told fragments of stories from the alternate realities they just visited and its version of ancient Earth. The room buzzed with exhausted energy.
Ensign Trell Dirov sat at one of the upper diagnostic stations. Black sleeves lined with gold trim were rolled halfway up his cobalt-blue forearms. The Bolian computer specialist worked to process all of the returned equipment with a scanning device. His golden eyes darted rapidly across the readouts that projected above the counter.
“Temporal distortion residue remains within acceptable tolerance here,” he announced as he slid another tricorder into the recycler tray. “For the most part, anyway.”
Crewman Tyler Gantz paused beside him. “What does that mean?”
Dirov tilted his head as he ruminated. “The scanner’s display just mentioned that it thinks it was built more than three years before it was actually manufactured.”
Gantz blinked once. “That sounds bad.”
“It should get settled eventually.”
“That is not comforting.”
“Well,” Dirov replied. “It’s just a matter of time and troubleshooting.”
Several stations away, Ensign Kian Harol monitored a line of officers that waited to return environmental gear. The Trill assistant chief of operations checked each suit personally before he passed them onto waiting sanitation crews. His expression looked far lighter than it had before the mission began. The Trill assistant chief of operations still carried hints of lingering grief behind his eyes. The crushing tension he carried since the Vaadwaur conflict took his close friend seemed slightly softened tonight.
A junior lieutenant stepped up to him. She held a pristine helmet beneath one arm.
“This one barely got used. I didn’t deploy,” she explained.
Harol turned the helmet slowly beneath the overhead lights.
“Maybe next time”, Harol said as he forced a weak half-smile.
“Not if I can help it”, she said playfully. “At least not if we are in a different multiverse, anyway.
Harol looked and smiled with her for several seconds before he handed the helmet to an enlisted technician.
“I’m not even going to ask any follow-up questions.”
Commander Smythe glanced up from his PADD as he approached. A pair of operations crewmen pushed a hover cart past him loaded with folded pressure suits.
“What’s your status?” Smythe asked Harol.
“We’re almost through the first wave of returns,” the Trill replied. “We’re still waiting on three survey teams and one tactical detachment to return their gear.”
Smythe nodded once as he listened.
“Have there been any major losses?”
“Only a few pieces of small equipment.”
“That’s acceptable”, Smythe replied. “Things went surprisingly well over there.”
The executive officer’s voice carried genuine relief beneath its usual militant cadence.
Along with no major done damage done or equipment destroyed aboard the Hurricane. There were no fatalities or missing personnel.
Considering the parameters of the mission, the results bordered on being miraculous.
A pair of science ensigns carried the final resonance stabilizer assembly. The device rested between both officers, held by grips on either side of its bulky frame. The compact unit hummed gently beneath its containment shell. Pale blue warning lights rotated around the edges of its casing.
“Where do you want the ripple dampener, Commander?” one asked.
Smythe pointed at the large table beside the beacon.
“Keep that isolated until Starfleet Science gets a chance to look at it.”
The two ensigns exchanged uneasy glances before they carefully lowered the stabilizer on the rectangular surface.
M’Row looked up from his crate.
“You know,” the Caitian muttered, “most crews return from away missions with rocks or cultural artifacts.”
“We brought back a captured alternate warship,” Dirov replied as his eyes remained locked onto his console.
“And the Ganelax rescued a few displaced Romulan bureaucrats,” added Gantz. “It seems dozens of ships crossed through the portal into different worlds.”
Several nearby officers seemed to ponder the words. Harol glanced to him as he continued his inventory checks.
Commander Smythe rubbed one hand slowly across his jaw as he scrolled through another set of equipment manifests.
“I still can’t believe we just saw an alternate version of ancient Egypt.”
M’Row’s ears twitched.
“To be fair,” he said, “the entire situation was somewhat unbelievable.”
“That is one word for it, to say the least. Surreal.” Smythe scratched his head.
Another group entered through the wide compartment doors. They carried containers of sealed, unused medical kits. Two nurses quietly discussed the day’s patient roster as they followed closely behind them.
Smythe stepped aside to help a crewman maneuver a grav pallet around the central table.
The younger enlisted man barely looked twenty.
“Sir,” he asked as he adjusted the pallet’s environmental controls, “did I hear that we fought a Klingon vessel and towed it back through the portal?” He never trusted any news he heard. Everything was a rumor until proven otherwise, in the crewman’s mind.
“We did. It wasn’t easy, but timing was on our side.”
The crewman shook his head slowly. “That sounds like tough work.”
Smythe gave the faintest hint of a smile.
“After the last few weeks,” he said, “I’m beginning to think the word difficulty refers to another department on the ship.”
The enlisted man chuckled nervously as he stood. Finally, he turned and continued walking to the turn-in line.
Nearby, Dirov finally leaned back into his station seat. The side of his azure palm rubbed tiredly at one eye.
“Do you know what still bothers me?” the Bolian asked.
M’Row looked over and quipped a response. “Was it the fact we technically traveled out of the multiverse or was it the giant carnivorous reptiles?”
“The beacon.”
Several officers nearby looked to the secured device at its mention.
Dirov lowered his voice a little as he continued.
“It worked too well.”
Harol looked up from the suit inspection. “I wonder if Starfleet is going to keep using these.”
“They absolutely are.” M’Row’s tail curled and danced as he chimed in.
Dirov folded his arms loosely across his chest as he spoke next.
“I barely understand how the portal stabilized the temporal corridor for our trip,” he said. “But the good thing is that now Starfleet knows how to retrieve displaced personnel across alternate realities.” His expression soured before he continued. “Someone still might try to weaponize that eventually.”
The room quieted slightly around the conversation.
Commander Smythe looked at the dormant beacon for several seconds.
The silence lasted only briefly before another wave of personnel entered. They brought tactical field packs and dismantled scanning equipment.
One officer described how the velociraptors hunted through tall grass after they were transported away from the settlement. Another explained how the alternate Klingons nearly released another predator species before the Hurricane intervened.
At the far end of the room, two engineers carefully folded environmental suits stained with mud and ruddy desert dust.
Crewman Gantz held it up uncertainly as he thought of the world the stain represented.
Commander Smythe lowered his PADD onto the central table as he stretched one shoulder with a light pull. He picked it up after he stretched and continued his work.
At the rectangular table, a science lieutenant carefully placed a containment housing over the temporal beacon.
The field shimmered brighter underneath it.
“The beacon is secure,” she announced.
Dirov looked to Commander Smythe.
“That’s the last major piece.”
Harol checked one final manifest before he looked up with a nod.
“We’re almost ready for the full turn-in.”
Smythe exhaled slowly.
“Great work, everyone.”
The compliment carried enough sincerity that several nearby crewmembers bristled with visible pride.
Smythe’s commbadge chirped to interrupt the moment.
The sharp electronic trio of notes cut cleanly through the layered noise that filled the operations support room.
Smythe tapped the badge in immediate response.
“Smythe here.”
Captain Raku’s voice answered. “Commander,” the Bajoran said sharply, “head to the nearest terminal immediately.”
Smythe tensed up at Raku’s surprised tone.
The captain sounded stunned. There almost even sounded like there were hints of sadness underneath his words.
The room around Smythe continued to move as he focused entirely on the transmission.
“Understood,” he replied carefully. “What’s going on?”
A brief pause followed before Raku answered quietly.
“There’s an important message from Starfleet Command.” Another short silence followed before he added, “You need to see this for yourself.”
Smythe’s facial features clenched up with anxiety.
“I’m on my way, Cap.” The channel closed.
Around him, the operations room continued to hum with relieved conversation and exhausted laughter. Officers packed away the final remnants of their impossible mission.
Smythe turned slowly toward the nearest LCARS terminal as the room’s warm energy suddenly felt much farther away.
Crewmen rolled sealed storage crates towards the aft cargo lifts. A pair of engineers folded environmental suits near one of the open lockers. A Vulcan operations specialist ran returned tricorders through decontamination diagnostic procedures. Conversation and laughter drifted beneath the steady hum of the ship’s distant warp core.
Smythe’s eyes lowered briefly to the dormant temporal beacon that sat beneath its containment field.
Anxiety crept slowly through his veins. His breathing hastened as dreadful possibilities began to form in his mind.
He first wondered if they had left someone behind.
The evacuation from ancient Earth happened fast. Dinosaurs stampeded through settlements just before that. Crowds rioted near the breeding facilities. M’Row transported hundreds of human life signs to the surface after the Klingons boarded the raptor. Maybe there was some accident with that operation that took the wrong person.
A single missed transport lock suddenly felt like a terrifying possibility.
Smythe’s jaw locked so tightly that he paused before he opened the comm channel. He exhaled slowly through his nose before he forced himself to move to it.
The executive officer crossed the room to get to the furthest operations terminal from the others. Officers continued to sort gear around his path. Nobody seemed to notice the shift in his expression until M’Row did.
The Caitian’s mismatched eyes followed Smythe carefully as he moved across the room.
“Is everything alright, Commander?” he asked as he got closer.
Smythe gave a short nod and a look of forced conviction.
“Hopefully.”
The answer lingered strangely enough that several nearby officers glanced up from their work.
Smythe reached the terminal near the upper workstation arc and activated the secure channel.
The display flickered into operation as Commander Erica Tute appeared on screen.
The older human woman sat inside a softly lit office at Starfleet Command. Freshly dyed dark brown hair framed sharp features that had been touched by age and long years in command administration. Fine lines creased at the sides of her eyes whenever she smiled. She did so as soon as she saw him.
“Commander Smythe,” she said warmly.
His eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. “Commander Tute.”
The pair recognized each other.
A year earlier, Tute handled portions of his assignment review board when Starfleet transferred him to the USS Brawley as executive officer. Later she appeared again during his reassignment toward the USS Cardinal and USS Hurricane.
Smythe held his back straight into a rigid, formal posture.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“I imagine not.” Tute leaned back lightly in her chair. “You look tired.”
“We just got back home from our displacement.”
“I heard. Captain Raku just told me that.” A faint smile crossed her face again. “How did the mission go?”
Smythe clasped his hands as he considered her query.
“It went surprisingly well, actually,” he admitted. “We suffered no losses aboard the Hurricane. Minimal casualties occurred among the Klingon crews involved in the capture of the alternative Mat’Ha.” He paused briefly. “Timeline contamination wasn’t avoidable, but we contained most of the damage.”
“Mostly?” Tute repeated carefully.
Smythe let out a tired breath. “There were a few situations where I feel like we could have handled things a bit better. It got messy with the ancient humans.”
Tute blinked once. “Raku mentioned something about that.”
“Being there felt a little out of left field.”
“I can only imagine.”
Smythe shook his head slowly while continuing.
“The alternate Klingons released prehistoric predators into Anu settlements near the Nile basin. The resulting panic destabilized portions of the population. We assisted evacuation efforts afterward.” His expression remained stoic. “The populace began to openly question whether the Anu were actually gods as they believed.”
Tute’s smile faded into thoughtful concern.
“Those thoughts are likely to echo through their world for quite some time.”
“Possibly.” Smythe took a quick glance at the temporal beacon as his thoughts wandered. “Part of me wonders if this was somehow always a part of Earth’s ancient history. Maybe the result of our mission is what scared the Anu away eventually.”
Tute tilted her head as her eyes looked off in the distance.
“You know,” she said, “there actually used to be a lot of old Earth legends that involved ancient aliens. Some used to believe a race called the Anunnaki visited Earth in its distant past.”
Smythe’s eyes widened at her words. “You’re joking.”
“Not at all. I hadn’t put two and two together until now”, Tute replied.
“That is kind of concerning.”
“It gets worse when you remember that people used to think aliens helped build the pyramids long before the time they were credited.”
He groaned softly. “Please don’t freak me out, Commander.”
Tute released a gentle laugh.
“At least the Loom never appeared,” she said after a moment’s thought. “That alone means the situation should stabilize naturally over time.”
Smythe nodded in reply. “Hopefully so.”
Silence settled briefly between them before his expression brightened as he thought of something.
“So tell me,” he began carefully, “why exactly did you contact me?”
Tute folded her hands together as the cinched on top of her desk.
“Let me ask you something first.” Her eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity. “Did you earn a minor in biology during your Academy years?”
Smythe blinked. “Huh?”
“It’s a simple question.”
He frowned slightly as his mind thought of a time long ago.
“Sort of. Strategic operations was my major though.” Then a faint look of realization crossed his face. “I did take a few extra science courses every year.”
Tute waited for him to elaborate.
Smythe let out a short breath of tension before he continued.
“A friend of mine transferred into an exobiology specialization during my sophomore year,” he admitted. “I accidentally fell into an advanced science track just trying to keep pace with her.”
Tute smiled knowingly. “Your grades showed a strong understanding of the concepts.”
Smythe looked immediately suspicious. “I learned enough to get by.”
“It still makes for a useful qualification,” Tute said. “Especially with your years of service in the command branch.”
Her expression shifted into one with more formality.
“Commander Smythe,” she said carefully, “Starfleet is officially considering you for your first command.”
The words landed heavily enough that Smythe froze in response.
Noise from the operations room felt as if it faded around him for a moment.
“You’re serious”, Smythe said with a tone of disbelief. He knew he had been considered for a command at one point, but he had never spoken to Starfleet Command about it.
“Very much so.”
Smythe stared at her from across the screen. He shook his head slowly after a moment.
“I’m not sure if I want to leave the Hurricane. We’re just getting started here.”
Tute’s expression softened. “That response is one reason you’re being considered.”
He exhaled slowly.
“I mean it. This crew…” His eyes drifted briefly across the room toward M’Row, Harol and Dirov as they sorted equipment nearby. “I’ve spent a year building trust with them.”
“Starfleet noticed.”
Smythe rubbed anxiously at the base of his neck.
“I’m not a science officer,” he admitted. “Half of the missions on the Hurricane involve research assignments and general exploratory work.” His shoulders shifted uneasily. “I don’t think those kinds of crews respect commanders that pretend to understand specialties that are far outside of their realm of experience.”
Tute shook her head immediately. “Science does not define the scope of your assignment.”
Smythe frowned slightly. “Then what does?”
The older female commander leaned closer.
“Starfleet wants to commission another vessel into Task Force 72 operation.” Her eyes stayed fixed on him. “Yes, the ship will increase scientific capability in the region.”
Smythe listened carefully.
“You would take command temporarily.”
“Temporarily?” Smythe seemed confused.
Tute nodded as she continued. “Your primary role would be mentorship.”
His eyebrows lifted again. “For who?”
Tute’s lips curved upward into a smirk. “Lieutenant Commander T’Naagi.”
Smythe stared at her as he blinked rapidly. “Commander T’Naagi is brilliant.”
“She is indeed,” Tute agreed.
“She already runs half of the science operations aboard this ship.” Smythe seemed reenergized at the thought of the posting.
“Someday she might command a starship of her own.” Tute’s expression began to regain its warmth. She could see a sense of understanding finally start to form across Commander Smythe’s mahogany facial features.
“She would serve as your executive officer, of course.” The commander unfolded her hands. “You would mentor her through her first command-level operations while she handled much of the advanced scientific oversight.”
Smythe’s posture eased at her words.
“I guess it makes sense to pair my command training with her scientific acumen, at least to help her get started.”
“Exactly. That’s Starfleet’s angle.”
He looked down briefly while processing the idea. “Do you really think I could command that type of specialized ship?”
Tute almost looked offended.
“Marlon,” she said firmly, “you survived the Blackout’s Vaadwaur incursions, as well as the recent multiversally displaced, dinosaur-infested war zone.” Her eyebrows lifted high as she gave a searching look. “I think you can probably manage a science vessel for a few months.”
A short laugh escaped him despite the anxiety that he still felt deep inside. “I bet she’ll end up running circles around me.”
“Probably,” Tute admitted happily. “That’s sort of the point.”
Smythe’s chest rose and fell slowly as his breathing deepened. Excitement had finally replaced his uncertainty at the idea. He couldn’t stop the faint grin that began to form.
Tute noticed immediately.
“There it is,” she said.
“What?”
“The moment you started to think about saying yes.”
Smythe fought the urge to chuckle again. “I can’t exactly say no to working with T’Naagi.”
“No,” Tute agreed. “I bet most people can’t.”
He glanced back across the operations room again.
“It will still be hard to leave.”
“You won’t be far.” Tute smiled reassuringly. “The ships will operate together every so often. There will be joint assignments and coordinated efforts.”
Smythe nodded slowly. “Alright,” he admitted. “I’m interested. Consider this a yes.”
Tute’s smile widened fully now.
“Good. Official review packets will arrive within the week.” She looked deeper into his eyes. “And Commander?”
“Yes?”
“Early congratulations on your upcoming promotion.”
Smythe’s expression brightened visibly. “Thank you, Erica.”
Tute bowed her head. “Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
The channel closed.
For a moment Commander Smythe stood and stared at the dark display. He slowly turned to face the others.
Half of the operations room had overheard enough to piece things together.
M’Row sat frozen beside the crate that he had been organizing. Dirov looked stunned. Harol’s tired expression broke fully into a grin.
Gantz spoke first. “Well,” the crewman announced loudly, “captain on deck.”
The room erupted into applause. Dirov whistled a shrill noise. One Bajoran engineer near the storage lockers shouted, “About time!” Harol asked whether captains still had to help inventory surplus equipment.
M’Row rose from his station in a smooth motion and gave an exaggerated formal bow.
“My deepest condolences on your promotion, sir.”
Smythe laughed at the ginger-furred man’s humor.
Harol stepped forward and offered his hand.
“Congratulations, Commander.”
“Thank you.” The pair shook hands firmly.
Dirov brightened visibly. “A science command,” the Bolian said excitedly. “That actually suits you.”
“That feels mildly insulting.”
“It was intended positively, I assure you.”
Gantz pointed toward the terminal.
“So does this mean we have to start acting professional around you now?”
“Absolutely not,” Smythe replied immediately.
Relieved laughter spread through the group.
M’Row’s tail flicked slowly behind him.
“You do realize that T’Naagi is going to turn your ship into a flying lab assignment.”
Smythe smiled wider now.
“That’s probably true.”
The Caitian’s multi-hued gaze stared into the distance lost in a deep thought. “It could be worse.”
