Gungor and Jennings guided the antigrav cart through the arteries of Eos Station, its low hum echoing off the bulkheads that had seen over a century of service. The deeper they traveled, the more the station revealed its age as they entered a region that hadn’t been fully rebuilt. They passed junctions where the lights still flickered in tired intervals and conduits that had been replaced so many times that they no longer matched.
Jennings kept his head on a swivel, panning, scanning the area, his right hand never too far from his side, where his phaser resided. Gungor followed, hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid and contemplative. The cart carried their grim cargo: the two automated janitorial drones named Mischief and Mayhem, the remote trigger that overcharged the antigrav cart, the two PADDs bearing incriminating schematics, and the computer core from the desiccation chamber. All of it sat arranged with ceremonial precision atop the cart, offerings for a digital oracle.
They reached a door labeled “Computer Systems Laboratory – Authorized Personnel Only.”
Jennings keyed the panel and the door slid open with a smoothness that sharply contrasted with the rest of the station – this part had been modernized, upgraded, and insulated from the decay of the older decks.
The computer lab was cavernous compared to the narrow, winding corridors outside. Thirty meters long by twenty meters wide, with a ceiling high enough to accommodate stacked server towers and diagnostic gantries. The lighting was bright, clinical, and unwavering. The air was cool and crisp.
Jennings blinked. “This feels like stepping into a different century. Quite the stark contrast from the corridor.”
Gungor nodded. “We are in the heart of the station.”
Banks of consoles lined the walls, each displaying streams of system telemetry, environmental readouts, and network traffic. In the center of the room sat a holographic projection of the LCARS server, which displayed hundreds of blinking lights indicating statuses and processes being run at any given moment. Behind that was a circular desk and a high-backed chair.
“Hello gentlemen.” Lieutenant Benjamin Dover’s chair completed its slow rotation, the faint whir of servos punctuating the silence. He was a tall, angular man, his uniform rumpled in the way of someone who lived more happily among machines than people. A steaming mug perched precariously beside him in a cupholder engineered specifically to prevent spillage.
“Lieutenant Dover, I presume.” Gungor greeted, his tone clipped, but cordial.
“Benjamin,” Jennings added. “I wish it were under better circumstances, but we have brought you quite the puzzle.”
Dover’s eyes flicked over the array of evidence – the two drones, the remote trigger, the PADDs, and the desiccation chamber’s computer core. His expression shifted from curiosity to a professional gravity. “You gentlemen sure don’t travel light.”
Gungor clasped his hands behind his back, surveying the room as though it were a cathedral of logic. “Your assessment is more correct than you know, Lieutenant.”
Jennings elaborated. “Each of these devices carries with it a sinister weight. We require your services. Each one speaks a language in which we are not fluent.”
Dover’s fingers flicked across the console interface, pulling up comparison readouts. Three columns of code appeared side by side on holographic projections before him. The first display listed the source code of the two automated cleaning drones, the second – the remote trigger, and the third – the desiccation chamber.
Benjamin began cross-checking the drones’ code with the source code that was Starfleet regulation. It did not take him long to realize there were a lot of comment tags and they were not regulation-standardized.
“Hmm, very interesting. It seems whoever modified these codes made a lot of notes on how they did it — it’s all right here in these two PADDs with schematics.” Benjamin commented, while continuing to browse the code.
After Benjamin made his way towards the end, things became even more intriguing. Parts of the code were missing end statements; whoever had done this had become careless.
“Alright, from my preliminary readings it looks like whoever modified the code kept getting sloppier and sloppier towards the end. There are parts of this code that are not even working correctly because the system can’t figure out what to do.” Benjamin confirmed. He had learned a long time ago, mostly thanks to his partner Caleb, that most people did not understand tech talk. So he had learned how to make it easier for others to understand what he was talking about.
“Littered throughout the code are actually instructions on what was changed. Here is a full read out for you. Dare I ask what kind of trouble these machines were involved in?” Benjamin inquired as he sent a copy of the information to their PADDS.
“The two drones have caused aggravation and inconvenience for quite some time, I am told. But the modifications to the sled and dehydration chamber…trouble of the gravest kind.” Gungor replied with a grim tone.
“Well then this doesn’t reflect well for whoever this individual is,” Dover stated, as he cross referenced the modified coding language with the work of all the engineers aboard Eos Station on file. “Because it clearly matches the work of this person here.”
Onscreen, he pulled up the individual’s profile, and sent it to their PADDs. Gungor entered his authorization codes, and at no surprise, it was that of Crewman Rooj Makarul Station ID: 428769.
“Jennings, it would seem we ought to pay this Crewman a visit. Take the evidence back to the security office, and rendezvous at his quarters. I shall head there straight away.”
“Of course, sir.” Jennings nodded and turned. “You have our gratitude, Benjamin. Your work here has been instrumental in our investigation. Send my best to Caleb, would you?”
The pair exchanged a quick glance at one another and gave a stern nod. They knew what remained: locate Crewman Rooj Makarul.
