They had been underway for a few days, and Sadie sat at her console, attempting to solve a puzzle.  It started yesterday with a flicker of a reading several systems over.  She was extending and directing the Olympic’s sensors to understand better what was out there.  They were currently working on a mapping project with the USS Mackenzie.  Suddenly the signal cleared.  She quickly tapped the console to record the data.  “Atega?” She turned in her chair to face the Communications Chief, “I’ve got something.”

Presley walked over to her station and studied the screen, “That’s…a hybrid signal.  You’ve got data and communications tied together.”  She sat down at the station beside Fowler, “You take the data; I’ll take the other.”  They worked as the signal ebbed and flowed.  Atega had to boost the signal and run it through nearly all the available filters.  The call had traveled so far and been through so much space it was lucky they’d picked it up all. 

It took them twenty minutes before Fowler sat back in her chair, “This is a request for asylum.  For every possible government in the universe.  There are some names on this that I don’t recognize.  You?”

Presley was shocked, “It’s a distress call…in every language possible…with some that the computer has classified for additional research.”  She turned to Fowler, “We need to report this.”  She tapped her badge, “Bridge to Captain Crawford.”

Peter sat in the center chair, Captain Wren on his screen as he explained, “The message is pretty garbled, but we could make out a desperate call for help.  It would take us an hour and a half to intercept.”

She was examining the data on her PADD on the bridge of the Mackenzie, “We’re taking a run at the data now.  We don’t know the signal’s origin?”

Crawford replied, “That’s part of the mystery, Wren.  Usually, we can detect what government or fleet would have composed the message…but this one isn’t showing up with anyone in our database.  I’m recommending we move to intercept.”

Walton was quietly thankful for the interruption to their mapping project.  The repetition was getting to some of the crew as they scanned system by system.  This afforded them something to break the monotony.  “Recommendation accepted.  Helm, plot an intercept course.  I’ll advise Starfleet of our mission deviation.”  

The channel closed, and Pete smiled in relief, “Helm, get us on our way.  Atega and Fowler – work with their new chief of science and see what you can find out.”