2321.Q4 - Mission Control
- Location
- Australia
Of all the star systems of the Federation, the Sol System is the busiest and most heavily trafficked by far. More than the Capital, the system is the beating heart of Federation industry, eclipsing Tellar Prime over the last two decades. Freighters deliver load after load of processed duranium, cargo ships arrive with goods, components, civilian ships ferry dignitaries, and a constant flow of starships come and go for refits, overhauls, and shore leave. At any moment there are over a dozen interstellar starships, thousands of in-system craft, and satellites by the million. Everything from small orbital residential communities orbiting Saturn to the gargantuan Earth Spacedock fill out the orbits of the system's planets.
All of this generates so much tracking data that it eclipsed the ability of humans alone to track centuries ago. Now it is largely handled by a series of operations rooms where monolithic mainframes crunched the details. When anomalies arise, they are processed for any clear details regarding possible type, locale, and risk profiles. With these details in hand, the systems present the anomaly for review by an appropriate control room. Naturally, some anomalies were more critical than others, and appear for sentient review with a variety of possible profiles, starting from something as simple as an inbox notification on a technician's console, and going on up.
When the anomaly in Jupiter orbit is first detected on automated sensor pickets, they bounce the feed first to the Jupiter Orbital Control Outpost, "Jo-ko", a station operated by UESPA. The onboard computer takes the barest look at the anomaly's nature before shutting down processing and rerouting the incoming signal to Starbase 1 in Sol orbit. Before that signal arrives, Asteroid belt sensor pickets, some dating to the time of the original Earth-Romulan War, catch the leading wave of the anomaly next. A civilian research station on Ceres begins processing the feed. Operators begin throwing their hands up when a split second later their screens displays out and display a Starfleet Security Lockout screen. At the same time, Starfleet ship-mounted sensors in Mars orbit begin to pick up the signals, including the freshly commissioned USS Enterprise-C, whose new bleeding edge systems compile a signature for the event a half-second before the older facilities aboard Starbase One catch hold of it.
At which point the fun begins, centered around the not-so-humble Mission Control Room aboard Starbase 1.
-
"Commander th'Vahrlass, scheduled arrival."
You look up from the PADD that you had been reviewing. Commander th'Vahrlass to your shift, Hanith to your colleagues in the staff room poker tournament, you have been running this facility since the beginning of the year, after a stint in a similar role for Starbase 10 at Rigel.
"And... there she is, one Betazoid cruiser secured from warp seven, neatly in the Tee-Nez," mutters your assistant next to you, off the audio loop. It's a routine arrival though. You give him a little nod of your antennae. It's a species distinctive affirmative. The Chief Petty Officer has been around the Fleet long enough to know though, and he settles back in his seat while you take a sip of your coffee. There aren't many of your species that drink the stuff, of course. But in your opinion it is Humanity's finest contribution to the interstellar community, by the length of the Uushakar ice shelf. No doubt your taste for it is on your file somewhere - it might even explain how an Andorian has come to run the alpha shift in the most important Starbase in the Federation. For a humble Commander, it's a hair-raising amount of responsibility.
A moment later a voice intrudes over the external audio loop.
"Starbase 1, this is BDS Rixx, reporting arrival in-system. Requesting access through Trans-Neptunian Exclusion Zone."
The Lieutenant at Comms looks over at you while you scan over the read-out on the four-way authentication code-check running in the background of the hail. A lovely little line of green lights go down the right hand side of the LCARS. Across the rest of the display are all the various flight details. A quick scan matches up with what you expect. The Lieutenant at the Comms desk is also looking over those details himself, but it never hurts to double check work. "MCO, Comms, handshake good. Fingerprint good."
"Copy, Comms," you reply. Honestly, you could do this with a nod and a thumbs up, but if someone accidentally lets through a carefully disguised warbird, then someone had better have the right details on their tape when the Inspector-General or Intel's Office 15 comes knocking. "Looks green, proceed."
"BDS Rixx, this is Starbase 1 Mission Control, copy your request. Welcome to Sol System."
"Hello, Starfleet! Glad to be here, Mission Control."
You relax in your seat and take another sip as Comms makes a quick check around to SFI, Ops, the UE, and a few other registers to see if there are any issues with the arrival. It takes only a few moments, mostly bouncing between various duotronic mainframe systems. Overall, It is a relatively routine day at the office for the alpha shift. There were a few close-calls during construction work of the new Explorer Corps logistics station in Jupiter orbit. Some disputes about arrival precedence between Tellar and Andorian freighters had kept you busy for the first hour. The highlight of the day so far has been supervising an interplanetary law enforcement intercept. A few Starfleet runabouts had been ready to launch from Utopia Planitia in case they were needed, but thankfully everyone got to go home safely, including the accused.
Of course, you don't just handle Sol System traffic. Starbase 1 is the hub for the whole sector, which is why you work with a constant flow of bright eyed Staff officers from Sector and Task Force. This side of the job is causing a lot more worry this morning. A series of ships have been having their tracks drop in and out as they cross the Sector. A convoy en route to Vega Station disappearing for two hours brought the Starbase First Officer, Captain Cesar Gonzalez, and the Task Force Flag Aide, Captain Pak Yeonwoo out onto the floor. Thankfully, they recently left the nerve center after helping clearing through some local subspace distortions. Great officers, and a handy pair in the senior staff poker nights, but you just get twitchy about senior officers on your control room.
"Science, Mission," you say, voice calm.
"Copy, Mission," comes the reply.
"Make sure to check the subspace wake shadow on the Rixx. No point playing around on a day where we've had sensor anomalies."
"Copy that. Results coming in now, sensors are green, full read-outs will be on Telemetry's desk now."
"Thanks, Science." You look up and across at where the Lieutenant in charge of the tracking station is riding herd on a pair of senior Petty Officers. "Tracking, Mission, you're good to link up." A thumbs-up answers you back.
"Rixx, this is Tracking, requesting flight plan and navigational interface."
"Understood, Tracking, submitting data packet."
"Okay, stand by."
On the main status screen that occupies most of the wall in front of them, a bright new track appears, tracing a line that crosses the solar system. It originates beyond Neptune Orbit, the closest that any non Starfleet or UESPA starship is allowed to come to the Sol star before cutting warp and checking in with Mission Control. Having to work with mission control on anything is anathema to most Starfleet Captains, a notoriously independent lot, but for other powers, the control is considered par for the course. And speaking of courses, the Rixx's orbital track on the screen ended neatly with a minor inertia dump half an AU out from Sol IV and an easy approach before circularising their orbit near one of the Utopia Planitia berths. Around about the point of the inertia dump they'll be out of your hair and in the hair of your counterpart at Utopia Planitia Orbital Control.
"All, Mission, polling for the Rixx, give me green-red," you call over the mission control loop. Almost immediately you start seeing a line of green marks appear on your LCARS as everyone reports in. Green marks plus one little red mark that turned your smile upside down.
"MCO, Medical, the system just flagged a recent Class 7 infectious agent report on the Rixx."
Your frown becomse a full fledged grimace. "Copy, Class 7."
"Comms, Medical, get us an SBL."
"Rixx, this is Mission Control, we're going to need a Sickbay Uplink to clear a flag here."
"Understood, Mission Control, we're opening that now."
A few extra reports appear on your screen. The powerful Starbase 1 mainframe has identified the voice of the Rixx as their alpha-shift Communications Officer, Lieutenant Ixinoi, another part of the system's ongoing processing of incoming details. Different ships put their communications hubs in different places, naturally. Betazoid Patrol Cruisers tend to have their comms officers occupy an alcove of the bridge, their conversations just a quiet part of the background noise of the bridge environment. Others separate them off into a separate comms room with direct access to a variety of specialist cryptographic equipment and maintenance access to the main subspace relays.
"MCO, Medical, flag is cleared. I've registered with Starfleet Medical Infectious Diseases but looks like everything was treated correctly."
You put your hand over your voice pickup and turn to the petty officer next to you. "I guess that's a no on contracting Betazoid Heartfire today."
"I'm almost disappointed," replies your assistant dryly.
"Comms, Mission, I have a green-line, proceed."
"Course approved, Rixx, you may transit the exclusion zone."
"Thanks, Starfleet, Rixx underway."
A quick turn and you pick out the Network Coordinator's station, a quintet of people operating stations off to your right. "Coord, Mission, go ahead and register the Course Notice."
"Copy that, Mission."
You hear some noises behind you, and when you turn around you see the Starfleet Security detail at the door checking over an unfamiliar officer in Starfleet Intelligence pink ... with no rank or office insignia. Strange to say the least. Apparently the security detail thought so too, as a number of extra Security types began quietly appearing and loitering nearby, phaser pistols standing out boldly on their hips. To your surprise a moment later and the security begins to dissipate and the officer is allowed through. She walks directly up to your console and sits down in one of the vacant seats.
"Let's just bypass the twenty questions I had to go through at the door," she says aloud. "Computer, validate code Delta-Omicron-Gamma-Beta-1-9-8-5."
A happy chirp pops out of the console in front of you. "Successfully validated; validation code belongs to Senior Agent Lorraine B., Office 0, Starfleet Intelligence Command."
Every hair on the back of your neck goes straight up like a rocket. Even the simple fact that such a thing as an Office 0 exists is known only to a few officers. Fewer still know what it does. And of those, some very tiny fraction know what it actually does. Before your current posting, you were in the second group. However, your current role came with a briefing that is apparently very similar to the one given to newly minted starship Captains. Learning about the Temporal Agents had not been the most terrifying part of that little talk, but damned if it hadn't been a tight competition.
"I knew things had been running too smoothly today," you say with a heartfelt sigh. "Petty Officer, I'm going to need you to wait by Comms." Your assistant gave you a clipped 'Yes, sir' and gave you some privacy. "Well, Agent, I don't think I've polluted any timelines lately..."
"From a certain linear perspective," replies the Agent. "But for now, just relax, Commander. Commodore Chekov will be joining us shortly, I'm sure you will want to make a good impression."
You say bolt upright in your seat. Nothing like having your boss' boss on hand to instill a good sense of blind terror, particularly when that boss is a bona fide legend of Starfleet. One with some Endurance-related ghost stories around him at that. Then something catches your attention. "That's impossible, Commodore Chekov is attending a meeting at Gaen, he's lightyears away."
The agent grins a little wryly at your reaction. "Of course, before we begin, it is important for you to understand something."
"Neither Commodore Chekov, nor I, were ever here."
"I have to say, Agent, you're confusing the hell out of me, what are-"
A sharp trilling beep interrupts the conversation. "All, science, hold channel, hold channel." You can only store wordlessly at the Temporal Agent, who allows herself the smallest of smiles. "MCO, Science, temporal anomaly forming in Jupiter orbit."
Right.
You train for years, starting in the Academy, but it never really ends. You read papers, briefings, you examine the actions of storied commanders. Everything in preparation for a moment where you need to stand and make the decisions that will see you celebrated or vilified. Except who knows what the real story is, what with a Temporal Agent at your side. A deep breath is all you can give yourself before you plunge in.
"Copy temporal, copy Jupiter," you reply, voice solid and strong. "AEO, Mission, call system-wide yellow-alert, call sector-wide Flash: Anomaly in Sol, hold off approach. Tracking, eat Jo-ko; divert all civilian traffic out of orbit, towards Ceres." Over your shoulder, you can see the Ground Control officer already in motion. "GC, lock the doors, start temporal protocols." Out of the corner of your eye you see an approving nod from the newly arrived agent.
It takes only a moment for the order to be answered. Behind you a Station Master-at-Arms issues Type-III phasers to a pair on the door. "Copy, MCO, room sealed. All, GC, be advised we are now operating under temporal secrecy restraints."
"Core, Mission, take us to Red Alert," you say, switching audio loops to the Starbase's internal control net. A moment later klaxons begin to sound in the halls and the distinctive red lighting appears.
"DCO, Core, kill off all dock approaches, we need to raise shields."
"All system orbital tracks, this is Mission Control, wave off any approach on Starfleet or UESPA assets. An anomaly has occurred and is being investigated."
"Science, Mission, details, what have we got?"
"Still pulling in details, and cross-collating from a number of sources," replies the Lieutenant-Commander running the sensors. "Our best eyes on target are the two Ambassadors in Mars orbit. We're dealing with a large, highly volatile temporal rift. This one is baryon-open, and we are picking up bits of matter we are trying to analyse."
"MCO, Planetary, I have warning lights across the upper atmosphere of Jupiter, that rift is causing a lot of spacetime curvature tidal stresses."
The science officer replies before you can. "Right - also, Enterprise-C is already done with preliminary matter analysis. This rift is trans-dimensional, there's an infinitesimal energy shift originating in a tiny change in the fine-structure constant as they arrive in our dimension."
"Tracking, Mission, what ships do we have in system?"
"MCO, we have Ambassador, Enterprise, Lightning, Rixx, a UESPA Connie-B, Constellation-A, and two Mirandas," answers the man's tightly strained voice. With nearly every craft in system registering an abrupt course change, life had just become very busy at his station.
"Mission, Core, shields are up."
"Roger that."
"MCO, Comms, the Enterprise is communicating with a ship through the rift, responding on ... Commander, they're hailing the Tarrak!"
Calm, professional, precise. That's what your job requires, and you aren't going to make any odd squealing noises at the arrival of a ship that was on the verge of being declared presumed lost with all hands on the other side of a trans-dimensional temporal rift. Or, well... You aren't going to make many odd squealing noises.
"MCO, Telemetry, incoming data packet from Tarrak. Beat up, but Enterprise is repeating a cleaned-up version."
"Telemetry, copy, isolate and process."
The Temporal Agent coughs into hand next to you, getting your attention. "Actually, that may take a while, so let me give you the cliff notes. On the other side of that rift is the greatest temporal hazard we have encountered since the 25th Century-"
"What?" you blurt.
"Sorry, you get a very non-linear appreciation for time in my line of work," she replies with a grin and a shrug. "Anyway, forces on the other side of that rift are attempting to weaponise spacetime across dimensional lattices."
As you take in the agent's words, you frown and cross your arms, giving her a piercing look. "Alright, so you knew something was coming, and you've come here to do something about it. What do you need from me?"
Before the Agent could speak, a new voice cuts in as someone sits in the chair abandoned by your assistance. A voice using what your human colleagues tell you is a "Rushing" accent, or something along those lines. Human sub-cultures elude you.
"We need you to be Mission Control, of course," answers Commodore Chekov.
"What? But, how, when, what?" you blurt and look between Chekov and the sealed door. "C-Commodore, I'm going to require you to validate your identity."
Chekov gives you a roguish grin and quickly validates his identity ... but not the one you have heard before. "Successfully validated; validation belongs to Temporal Coordinator, Commodore Pavel C., Office 0, Starfleet Intelligence Command."
"By the star of Andor," you mutter, shifting nervously in your seat.
"Don't let anyone know we were ever here," says Chekov, "Gather up as many wessels as you can and get them to the breach. Meanwhile, we will make sure you don't get caught out by temporal matters."
It is a quirk of Starfleet operating regs that it is considered better to leave things in the hand of a officer on the scene with expert knowledge - even if they are junior - than necessarily hand authority directly to a flag officer who needs to be brought up to speed. Chain of Command is important, of course, but at the end of the day, Starfleet is about navigating through what works, and what is right and just. A flag officer is no latter-day god among mortals, after all. So even with the Commodore at your side, and a note on your console that the Starbase commander has arrived at the control center, your dispatch role remains crucial.
"Comms, Mission, tag Lightning and UES Luna to the anomaly. Place it under interdiction. Private comm."
"MCO, Tracking, I have Enterprise and Ambassador on the move. Give a wave off?"
You nearly laugh aloud at that. Explorer Corps has a hate-hate relationship with starbase control teams at the best of time. "Tracking, Mission, moot point, ignore it."
At your side Chekov speaks up. "Rear Admiral ka'Sharren is on the Enterprise right now. She'll take the Explorer Corps ships through, but they'll need more support."
"Comms, Mission, advise all fleet stations there is a threat according to the Tarrak data packet. All combatant ships emergency launch."
Up on the main screen you can see the burgeoning chaos occurring as dozens after dozens of new tracks appear every second, with hundreds of in-system craft, some massive asteroid miners, break for new orbits away from Jupiter, either inwards towards Venus and Mercury, or outwards towards Saturn. Equally, vivid blue and green tracks announce friendly starships making their approaches. A minute passes by and you get a chance to skim the data packet from Tarrak. The thought that if they can come through this rift, other ships can follow quickly grabs your attention.
"AEO, Mission, standby for Priority One Code flash," you announce. The magnitude of what you are about to announce roils your guts for a moment, but you push the feeling aside. "Computer, unlock Priority Code One protocol; authorisation th'Varlass-Sigma-Omicron-Lambda-3-3-7."
"Authorisation accepted."
"Computer, queue a Priority Code One Signal - Emergency Sol System, dimensional portal open, threat of unknown ingress. All ships respond to earth." In your mind's eye you can see the enormous size of the Starfleet Organisational pyramid that sits above your head. All waiting and ready to squash you if this turns out to be some sort of false alarm. Of course, with Chekov and the temporal agent handy, that hardly seems like a likely outcome, but still. "AEO, Mission, dispatch the queued Code One flash."
"Copy that, MCO."
You turn your head to Commodore Chekov. "Well, that's one mandatory Board of Inquiry I've let myself in for."
"Not bad," says Chekov. "I didn't get a board of inquiry of my own until I was a Captain."
"MCO, Tracking, the Enterprise just deployed through the rift. Ambassador is approaching."
"MCO, Comms, I just had a report from the Lightning, they're planning to follow."
"Comms, Mission, affirm the Lightning. Instruct Luna to follow."
"MCO, Science, it looks like the rift is destabilising, it will be impassible within five minutes."
"That is expected," says Chekov. "Vessels will not be able to traverse for a while, but the rift will remain, and can be unlocked from the other side."
That draws a wince. "OID, Mission, instruct Jupiter outpost to change orbit to bring it into range of the rift."
"Roger - ETA fifteen mike."
"Understood."
"MCO, Tracking, Lightning and Luna are through. It looks like the rift is now losing baryonic-permissiveness."
"Mission, Network, FYI, I'm getting requests for updates from everyone from the First Officer up to Admiral ch'Tharvasse and the Office of the President."
You turn towards Chekov barely able to keep panic out of your expression.
"Exciting, isn't it?" replies the old explorer with a broad grin.
All of this generates so much tracking data that it eclipsed the ability of humans alone to track centuries ago. Now it is largely handled by a series of operations rooms where monolithic mainframes crunched the details. When anomalies arise, they are processed for any clear details regarding possible type, locale, and risk profiles. With these details in hand, the systems present the anomaly for review by an appropriate control room. Naturally, some anomalies were more critical than others, and appear for sentient review with a variety of possible profiles, starting from something as simple as an inbox notification on a technician's console, and going on up.
When the anomaly in Jupiter orbit is first detected on automated sensor pickets, they bounce the feed first to the Jupiter Orbital Control Outpost, "Jo-ko", a station operated by UESPA. The onboard computer takes the barest look at the anomaly's nature before shutting down processing and rerouting the incoming signal to Starbase 1 in Sol orbit. Before that signal arrives, Asteroid belt sensor pickets, some dating to the time of the original Earth-Romulan War, catch the leading wave of the anomaly next. A civilian research station on Ceres begins processing the feed. Operators begin throwing their hands up when a split second later their screens displays out and display a Starfleet Security Lockout screen. At the same time, Starfleet ship-mounted sensors in Mars orbit begin to pick up the signals, including the freshly commissioned USS Enterprise-C, whose new bleeding edge systems compile a signature for the event a half-second before the older facilities aboard Starbase One catch hold of it.
At which point the fun begins, centered around the not-so-humble Mission Control Room aboard Starbase 1.
-
"Commander th'Vahrlass, scheduled arrival."
You look up from the PADD that you had been reviewing. Commander th'Vahrlass to your shift, Hanith to your colleagues in the staff room poker tournament, you have been running this facility since the beginning of the year, after a stint in a similar role for Starbase 10 at Rigel.
"And... there she is, one Betazoid cruiser secured from warp seven, neatly in the Tee-Nez," mutters your assistant next to you, off the audio loop. It's a routine arrival though. You give him a little nod of your antennae. It's a species distinctive affirmative. The Chief Petty Officer has been around the Fleet long enough to know though, and he settles back in his seat while you take a sip of your coffee. There aren't many of your species that drink the stuff, of course. But in your opinion it is Humanity's finest contribution to the interstellar community, by the length of the Uushakar ice shelf. No doubt your taste for it is on your file somewhere - it might even explain how an Andorian has come to run the alpha shift in the most important Starbase in the Federation. For a humble Commander, it's a hair-raising amount of responsibility.
A moment later a voice intrudes over the external audio loop.
"Starbase 1, this is BDS Rixx, reporting arrival in-system. Requesting access through Trans-Neptunian Exclusion Zone."
The Lieutenant at Comms looks over at you while you scan over the read-out on the four-way authentication code-check running in the background of the hail. A lovely little line of green lights go down the right hand side of the LCARS. Across the rest of the display are all the various flight details. A quick scan matches up with what you expect. The Lieutenant at the Comms desk is also looking over those details himself, but it never hurts to double check work. "MCO, Comms, handshake good. Fingerprint good."
"Copy, Comms," you reply. Honestly, you could do this with a nod and a thumbs up, but if someone accidentally lets through a carefully disguised warbird, then someone had better have the right details on their tape when the Inspector-General or Intel's Office 15 comes knocking. "Looks green, proceed."
"BDS Rixx, this is Starbase 1 Mission Control, copy your request. Welcome to Sol System."
"Hello, Starfleet! Glad to be here, Mission Control."
You relax in your seat and take another sip as Comms makes a quick check around to SFI, Ops, the UE, and a few other registers to see if there are any issues with the arrival. It takes only a few moments, mostly bouncing between various duotronic mainframe systems. Overall, It is a relatively routine day at the office for the alpha shift. There were a few close-calls during construction work of the new Explorer Corps logistics station in Jupiter orbit. Some disputes about arrival precedence between Tellar and Andorian freighters had kept you busy for the first hour. The highlight of the day so far has been supervising an interplanetary law enforcement intercept. A few Starfleet runabouts had been ready to launch from Utopia Planitia in case they were needed, but thankfully everyone got to go home safely, including the accused.
Of course, you don't just handle Sol System traffic. Starbase 1 is the hub for the whole sector, which is why you work with a constant flow of bright eyed Staff officers from Sector and Task Force. This side of the job is causing a lot more worry this morning. A series of ships have been having their tracks drop in and out as they cross the Sector. A convoy en route to Vega Station disappearing for two hours brought the Starbase First Officer, Captain Cesar Gonzalez, and the Task Force Flag Aide, Captain Pak Yeonwoo out onto the floor. Thankfully, they recently left the nerve center after helping clearing through some local subspace distortions. Great officers, and a handy pair in the senior staff poker nights, but you just get twitchy about senior officers on your control room.
"Science, Mission," you say, voice calm.
"Copy, Mission," comes the reply.
"Make sure to check the subspace wake shadow on the Rixx. No point playing around on a day where we've had sensor anomalies."
"Copy that. Results coming in now, sensors are green, full read-outs will be on Telemetry's desk now."
"Thanks, Science." You look up and across at where the Lieutenant in charge of the tracking station is riding herd on a pair of senior Petty Officers. "Tracking, Mission, you're good to link up." A thumbs-up answers you back.
"Rixx, this is Tracking, requesting flight plan and navigational interface."
"Understood, Tracking, submitting data packet."
"Okay, stand by."
On the main status screen that occupies most of the wall in front of them, a bright new track appears, tracing a line that crosses the solar system. It originates beyond Neptune Orbit, the closest that any non Starfleet or UESPA starship is allowed to come to the Sol star before cutting warp and checking in with Mission Control. Having to work with mission control on anything is anathema to most Starfleet Captains, a notoriously independent lot, but for other powers, the control is considered par for the course. And speaking of courses, the Rixx's orbital track on the screen ended neatly with a minor inertia dump half an AU out from Sol IV and an easy approach before circularising their orbit near one of the Utopia Planitia berths. Around about the point of the inertia dump they'll be out of your hair and in the hair of your counterpart at Utopia Planitia Orbital Control.
"All, Mission, polling for the Rixx, give me green-red," you call over the mission control loop. Almost immediately you start seeing a line of green marks appear on your LCARS as everyone reports in. Green marks plus one little red mark that turned your smile upside down.
"MCO, Medical, the system just flagged a recent Class 7 infectious agent report on the Rixx."
Your frown becomse a full fledged grimace. "Copy, Class 7."
"Comms, Medical, get us an SBL."
"Rixx, this is Mission Control, we're going to need a Sickbay Uplink to clear a flag here."
"Understood, Mission Control, we're opening that now."
A few extra reports appear on your screen. The powerful Starbase 1 mainframe has identified the voice of the Rixx as their alpha-shift Communications Officer, Lieutenant Ixinoi, another part of the system's ongoing processing of incoming details. Different ships put their communications hubs in different places, naturally. Betazoid Patrol Cruisers tend to have their comms officers occupy an alcove of the bridge, their conversations just a quiet part of the background noise of the bridge environment. Others separate them off into a separate comms room with direct access to a variety of specialist cryptographic equipment and maintenance access to the main subspace relays.
"MCO, Medical, flag is cleared. I've registered with Starfleet Medical Infectious Diseases but looks like everything was treated correctly."
You put your hand over your voice pickup and turn to the petty officer next to you. "I guess that's a no on contracting Betazoid Heartfire today."
"I'm almost disappointed," replies your assistant dryly.
"Comms, Mission, I have a green-line, proceed."
"Course approved, Rixx, you may transit the exclusion zone."
"Thanks, Starfleet, Rixx underway."
A quick turn and you pick out the Network Coordinator's station, a quintet of people operating stations off to your right. "Coord, Mission, go ahead and register the Course Notice."
"Copy that, Mission."
You hear some noises behind you, and when you turn around you see the Starfleet Security detail at the door checking over an unfamiliar officer in Starfleet Intelligence pink ... with no rank or office insignia. Strange to say the least. Apparently the security detail thought so too, as a number of extra Security types began quietly appearing and loitering nearby, phaser pistols standing out boldly on their hips. To your surprise a moment later and the security begins to dissipate and the officer is allowed through. She walks directly up to your console and sits down in one of the vacant seats.
"Let's just bypass the twenty questions I had to go through at the door," she says aloud. "Computer, validate code Delta-Omicron-Gamma-Beta-1-9-8-5."
A happy chirp pops out of the console in front of you. "Successfully validated; validation code belongs to Senior Agent Lorraine B., Office 0, Starfleet Intelligence Command."
Every hair on the back of your neck goes straight up like a rocket. Even the simple fact that such a thing as an Office 0 exists is known only to a few officers. Fewer still know what it does. And of those, some very tiny fraction know what it actually does. Before your current posting, you were in the second group. However, your current role came with a briefing that is apparently very similar to the one given to newly minted starship Captains. Learning about the Temporal Agents had not been the most terrifying part of that little talk, but damned if it hadn't been a tight competition.
"I knew things had been running too smoothly today," you say with a heartfelt sigh. "Petty Officer, I'm going to need you to wait by Comms." Your assistant gave you a clipped 'Yes, sir' and gave you some privacy. "Well, Agent, I don't think I've polluted any timelines lately..."
"From a certain linear perspective," replies the Agent. "But for now, just relax, Commander. Commodore Chekov will be joining us shortly, I'm sure you will want to make a good impression."
You say bolt upright in your seat. Nothing like having your boss' boss on hand to instill a good sense of blind terror, particularly when that boss is a bona fide legend of Starfleet. One with some Endurance-related ghost stories around him at that. Then something catches your attention. "That's impossible, Commodore Chekov is attending a meeting at Gaen, he's lightyears away."
The agent grins a little wryly at your reaction. "Of course, before we begin, it is important for you to understand something."
"Neither Commodore Chekov, nor I, were ever here."
"I have to say, Agent, you're confusing the hell out of me, what are-"
A sharp trilling beep interrupts the conversation. "All, science, hold channel, hold channel." You can only store wordlessly at the Temporal Agent, who allows herself the smallest of smiles. "MCO, Science, temporal anomaly forming in Jupiter orbit."
Right.
You train for years, starting in the Academy, but it never really ends. You read papers, briefings, you examine the actions of storied commanders. Everything in preparation for a moment where you need to stand and make the decisions that will see you celebrated or vilified. Except who knows what the real story is, what with a Temporal Agent at your side. A deep breath is all you can give yourself before you plunge in.
"Copy temporal, copy Jupiter," you reply, voice solid and strong. "AEO, Mission, call system-wide yellow-alert, call sector-wide Flash: Anomaly in Sol, hold off approach. Tracking, eat Jo-ko; divert all civilian traffic out of orbit, towards Ceres." Over your shoulder, you can see the Ground Control officer already in motion. "GC, lock the doors, start temporal protocols." Out of the corner of your eye you see an approving nod from the newly arrived agent.
It takes only a moment for the order to be answered. Behind you a Station Master-at-Arms issues Type-III phasers to a pair on the door. "Copy, MCO, room sealed. All, GC, be advised we are now operating under temporal secrecy restraints."
"Core, Mission, take us to Red Alert," you say, switching audio loops to the Starbase's internal control net. A moment later klaxons begin to sound in the halls and the distinctive red lighting appears.
"DCO, Core, kill off all dock approaches, we need to raise shields."
"All system orbital tracks, this is Mission Control, wave off any approach on Starfleet or UESPA assets. An anomaly has occurred and is being investigated."
"Science, Mission, details, what have we got?"
"Still pulling in details, and cross-collating from a number of sources," replies the Lieutenant-Commander running the sensors. "Our best eyes on target are the two Ambassadors in Mars orbit. We're dealing with a large, highly volatile temporal rift. This one is baryon-open, and we are picking up bits of matter we are trying to analyse."
"MCO, Planetary, I have warning lights across the upper atmosphere of Jupiter, that rift is causing a lot of spacetime curvature tidal stresses."
The science officer replies before you can. "Right - also, Enterprise-C is already done with preliminary matter analysis. This rift is trans-dimensional, there's an infinitesimal energy shift originating in a tiny change in the fine-structure constant as they arrive in our dimension."
"Tracking, Mission, what ships do we have in system?"
"MCO, we have Ambassador, Enterprise, Lightning, Rixx, a UESPA Connie-B, Constellation-A, and two Mirandas," answers the man's tightly strained voice. With nearly every craft in system registering an abrupt course change, life had just become very busy at his station.
"Mission, Core, shields are up."
"Roger that."
"MCO, Comms, the Enterprise is communicating with a ship through the rift, responding on ... Commander, they're hailing the Tarrak!"
Calm, professional, precise. That's what your job requires, and you aren't going to make any odd squealing noises at the arrival of a ship that was on the verge of being declared presumed lost with all hands on the other side of a trans-dimensional temporal rift. Or, well... You aren't going to make many odd squealing noises.
"MCO, Telemetry, incoming data packet from Tarrak. Beat up, but Enterprise is repeating a cleaned-up version."
"Telemetry, copy, isolate and process."
The Temporal Agent coughs into hand next to you, getting your attention. "Actually, that may take a while, so let me give you the cliff notes. On the other side of that rift is the greatest temporal hazard we have encountered since the 25th Century-"
"What?" you blurt.
"Sorry, you get a very non-linear appreciation for time in my line of work," she replies with a grin and a shrug. "Anyway, forces on the other side of that rift are attempting to weaponise spacetime across dimensional lattices."
As you take in the agent's words, you frown and cross your arms, giving her a piercing look. "Alright, so you knew something was coming, and you've come here to do something about it. What do you need from me?"
Before the Agent could speak, a new voice cuts in as someone sits in the chair abandoned by your assistance. A voice using what your human colleagues tell you is a "Rushing" accent, or something along those lines. Human sub-cultures elude you.
"We need you to be Mission Control, of course," answers Commodore Chekov.
"What? But, how, when, what?" you blurt and look between Chekov and the sealed door. "C-Commodore, I'm going to require you to validate your identity."
Chekov gives you a roguish grin and quickly validates his identity ... but not the one you have heard before. "Successfully validated; validation belongs to Temporal Coordinator, Commodore Pavel C., Office 0, Starfleet Intelligence Command."
"By the star of Andor," you mutter, shifting nervously in your seat.
"Don't let anyone know we were ever here," says Chekov, "Gather up as many wessels as you can and get them to the breach. Meanwhile, we will make sure you don't get caught out by temporal matters."
It is a quirk of Starfleet operating regs that it is considered better to leave things in the hand of a officer on the scene with expert knowledge - even if they are junior - than necessarily hand authority directly to a flag officer who needs to be brought up to speed. Chain of Command is important, of course, but at the end of the day, Starfleet is about navigating through what works, and what is right and just. A flag officer is no latter-day god among mortals, after all. So even with the Commodore at your side, and a note on your console that the Starbase commander has arrived at the control center, your dispatch role remains crucial.
"Comms, Mission, tag Lightning and UES Luna to the anomaly. Place it under interdiction. Private comm."
"MCO, Tracking, I have Enterprise and Ambassador on the move. Give a wave off?"
You nearly laugh aloud at that. Explorer Corps has a hate-hate relationship with starbase control teams at the best of time. "Tracking, Mission, moot point, ignore it."
At your side Chekov speaks up. "Rear Admiral ka'Sharren is on the Enterprise right now. She'll take the Explorer Corps ships through, but they'll need more support."
"Comms, Mission, advise all fleet stations there is a threat according to the Tarrak data packet. All combatant ships emergency launch."
Up on the main screen you can see the burgeoning chaos occurring as dozens after dozens of new tracks appear every second, with hundreds of in-system craft, some massive asteroid miners, break for new orbits away from Jupiter, either inwards towards Venus and Mercury, or outwards towards Saturn. Equally, vivid blue and green tracks announce friendly starships making their approaches. A minute passes by and you get a chance to skim the data packet from Tarrak. The thought that if they can come through this rift, other ships can follow quickly grabs your attention.
"AEO, Mission, standby for Priority One Code flash," you announce. The magnitude of what you are about to announce roils your guts for a moment, but you push the feeling aside. "Computer, unlock Priority Code One protocol; authorisation th'Varlass-Sigma-Omicron-Lambda-3-3-7."
"Authorisation accepted."
"Computer, queue a Priority Code One Signal - Emergency Sol System, dimensional portal open, threat of unknown ingress. All ships respond to earth." In your mind's eye you can see the enormous size of the Starfleet Organisational pyramid that sits above your head. All waiting and ready to squash you if this turns out to be some sort of false alarm. Of course, with Chekov and the temporal agent handy, that hardly seems like a likely outcome, but still. "AEO, Mission, dispatch the queued Code One flash."
"Copy that, MCO."
You turn your head to Commodore Chekov. "Well, that's one mandatory Board of Inquiry I've let myself in for."
"Not bad," says Chekov. "I didn't get a board of inquiry of my own until I was a Captain."
"MCO, Tracking, the Enterprise just deployed through the rift. Ambassador is approaching."
"MCO, Comms, I just had a report from the Lightning, they're planning to follow."
"Comms, Mission, affirm the Lightning. Instruct Luna to follow."
"MCO, Science, it looks like the rift is destabilising, it will be impassible within five minutes."
"That is expected," says Chekov. "Vessels will not be able to traverse for a while, but the rift will remain, and can be unlocked from the other side."
That draws a wince. "OID, Mission, instruct Jupiter outpost to change orbit to bring it into range of the rift."
"Roger - ETA fifteen mike."
"Understood."
"MCO, Tracking, Lightning and Luna are through. It looks like the rift is now losing baryonic-permissiveness."
"Mission, Network, FYI, I'm getting requests for updates from everyone from the First Officer up to Admiral ch'Tharvasse and the Office of the President."
You turn towards Chekov barely able to keep panic out of your expression.
"Exciting, isn't it?" replies the old explorer with a broad grin.
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