Archive of Our Own

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Tales of the Blackstone | David Worthey

Contents
PART 1 3
CAST OF CHARACTERS 3
MESSAGE FROM STARFLEET 4
MEETING IN THE READY ROOM 5
MEETING ON THE STATION 13
AFTER THE MEETING 21
DELIVERING THE NEWS 25
CARGO BAY 31
LAUNCH 38
ENROUTE 39
FINAL COUNTDOWN 45

PART 1

CAST OF CHARACTERS

ADM ch'Thorn DTI Operative/Sector commander
Commodore S. Stowe DTI Operative
Commodore Arsene Girand CO – Starbase Bravo Sierra
Captain Ravi un-Dun Commissioning Captain BLACKSTONE
Captain Vin CO – USS MANHATTAN
CDR Jaaf Sinter Executive Officer BLACKSTONE
CDR Frasier Chief Engineer BLACKSTONE
CDR Elani Kritikos Project Manager Prometheus Class
LCDR Soffett Personnel Officer Starbase Bravo Sierra
LCDR Atepa Engineering Officer BLACKSTONE
LT Tovar Communications Officer BLACKSTONE
LT Helio Marin Navigation Officer BLACKSTONE
Senior Chief Halko Senior Science Specialist/Enlisted Advisor Blackstone
Chief Brice Dufrane, Senior Engineer Specialist BLACKSTONE
Chief Watike Transporter Officer BLACKSTONE
Crewman Torv Computer Specialist BLACKSTONE
Agent Yeers DTI Operative
Agent Dias DTI Operative
Unnamed Operative #1 Section 31
Unnamed Operative #2 Section 31

MESSAGE FROM STARFLEET

FROM: Commander, STAR FLEET
TO: Commander, USS BLACKSTONE (NCC-74918)
SUBJECT: Ship's Movement (Order#201928.DTI)
Mission is deemed "NEED TO KNOW," with minimum possible dissemination. You are directed to 1) Offload all non-essential personnel and proceed with crew complement, not to exceed 20 souls, including command personnel; 2) Delete computer database to minimum operational software; 3) Depart starbase and proceed at required speed through designated coordinates (included separate document) to arrive at rendezvous point NLT Stardate indicated; 4) At specified stardate alter course to 111mark14, warp 6; 5) Continue as directed until further notice.

MEETING IN THE READY ROOM

One curious thing about Starfleet's newest vessels in Starfleet's inventory is that they were very brightly lit and still had that peculiar smell that only comes from an industrial replicator. The scent is the same fleet-wide, and anyone who has ever been on a newly constructed ship recognizes it immediately. Still, the most jaded Starfleet officer breathes deep and sighs in contentment when encountering that pleasant aroma. For some, it has a calming effect.
This did not work for Commander Jaaf Sinter as he stood outside the door of Captain Ravi's ready room located aft of the Prometheus Class ship USS BLACKSTONE's main bridge. He took a deep breath, straightened the perfect grey uniform top with its burgundy turtle neck underneath, and debated the reaction he would receive with the latest round of failure reports accumulated during the most recent space trial. It was common for a new ship to have its share of problems, especially with one as sophisticated as the Prometheus Class. Still, some of the stubbornly persistent issues were beginning to shift from minor concerns to full-blown problems.
In a rare moment of distraction, he raised a hand to activate the door chime. He marveled that the lighting onboard Federation ships were incapable of causing a shadow or being bright. He mused that it must be a safety feature unless you specifically asked for it on the holodeck. One hand was empty; the other carried a pair of PADDs. The Personnel Access/Display Device was an awkwardly named data management tool that was ubiquitous and easier to manage than the old data slates of the late 2250s. Moving his hand that last crucial fraction of an inch, he heard the repeated warble on his side of the door and knew it was also sounded on the inside.
"Oh, for the Great Bird's sake." The commanding officer of one of Starfleet's newest ships sighed at the overhead panels of a mostly completed ready room. "Come" was the Federation Standard word that ordered the computer to release the door and allow a visitor to enter what would typically be a private area. Looking up, the compact, copper-metallic-skinned man sitting behind a highly reflective desk leaned back in a chair much larger than his diminutive frame. Whereas Capellans, as typified by the ship's Executive Officer, were at the extreme upper end of the fleet's height alliance, Captain Ravi un-Dun, as an Ithenite, was at the lower end and continually had trouble forcing replicators and the Federation Supply Corps to provide him with equipment and furnishings to accommodate his more petite frame. Also, since the USS BLACKSTONE was a ship in construction and still needed to be outfitted for her permanent crew, the captain's Ready Room furniture was designed for the median body frame and would be changed when the permanent captain reported onboard. So, the chair and desk were comically outsized.
Ithenites were from a high-gravity world on the edge of space that bordered the Tzenkethi Coalition, and genetic research indicated them to be an offshoot of that elusive and secretive race. They retained the glowing metallic-hued skin, in all its varying shades, common in Tzenkethi people. However, they did not have the pheromones that made that elitist species so enthralling. Ithenites were known to be excellent administrators and almost natural leaders with a sense of order that approached compulsiveness. It was prevalent among the few members of their species who entered Starfleet.
Most rose quickly to the rank of Captain, many adding additional stars and bars in the old parlance. Admirals and Commodores were frequently found among their members. The prevailing opinion on the deck plates was that Captain Ravi would get his first caged-pip upon the successful launch of the BLACKSTONE.
"If that is not a report that we are all green across the board, you might as well hand in your resignation." said the Prometheus' interim Commanding Officer, looking up with a tired expression.
"Then you'll want this PADD instead of this one." Said the Executive Officer as he dropped one hand and raised the other. He was using them to hide just the hint of a smile. He did not skip a beat in the conversation or his stride.
The two of them had been through a dozen variations of this dance since the BLACKSTONE left on her first shakedown cruise. The only difference from then until now was the degree of fatigue they were willing to show. When the space frame was first "laid down" and declared a viable project, the two most senior officers knew each other only by reputation. Captain Ravi had spent most of the latter part of his career putting ships together and making them work. Conversely, Sinter spent most of his time flying from sector to sector, quelling one trouble spot after another and seeing significant action during the Dominion Wars.
Ravi had developed a reputation as a man of little humor, exacting in manner and demanding high standards for himself, his crew of construction engineers, and the ships he put his name on. He was known to be steady, reliable, and by-the-book, an easy standard to meet as he had a hand in writing many of them. Sinter was considered a maverick, undisciplined but brilliant. He was the type that took action on his "gut instinct" and found ways to justify his actions after the fact. He was a brilliant tactician, but his humor and cavalier attitude often made it difficult to be taken seriously. That flippancy vanished when the situation warranted, except for well-timed gallows humor.
They had been through variations of this "dance" since starting this "troubled" construction project well over a year previously. They developed both a professional rapport and a close friendship. In the privacy of the Captain's Ready Room, he knew that it would not endanger either reputation if the captain bent a bit and he was a little irreverent.
Commander Sinter was typical for a Capellan: very tall, just over two meters, passionate, driven, and spontaneous. Considered a maverick, innovative, and risk-taker, he was fast-tracking to the Center Seat, not record-breaking like Tryla Scott, Elizabeth Shelby, or James Kirk. However, he was believed to be there before many thought he should. The one thing not typical for his race was a dry, biting sense of humor that came out in quiet moments.
"I'll just keep that on file with the others, you know, one day, I'll forward one of them to Starfleet Personnel. Maybe they'll send me someone who can get something done for a change." While the captain's tone was deadpan, there was a twinkle in one eye born from shared hardships and long hours over poorly replicated caffeinated beverages.
"You know you can't get anyone better than me."
"Sure can't get anyone worse. Do you have a status report, or are you invading what little quiet time I get to work for no apparent reason?'
Looking at the captain's desk, it was difficult to tell if he was serious or needed a counselor. The Captain's Ready Room served as the Commanding Officer's private space away from the stresses and distractions of the Main Bridge.
Main Bridge was a term with special significance with the Prometheus Class. Three bridges or command and control complexes were designed to operate the three sections of the ship that would be used independently. The Command section was situated on Deck One and forward of the dorsal micro-warp nacelle housing. The other two were in the Upper and Lower Warp Hulls, respectively, and were similar to the Battle Bridge of the Galaxy Class; neither had ready rooms.
In this space, there were dozens of PADDs covering the reflective surface of the captain's desk. Though they were in haphazard stacks, it was clear that fatigue was beginning to cause disorder. The smaller standard personal and personnel recording devices were interspersed with the larger graphic PADDs for diagnostic diagrams and a small assortment of the red Engineering variety. For there to be this many, the captain had to be either behind on collating his reports to the Bureau of Ships or his yeoman had yet to collect them for redistribution to the Department Heads for tomorrow's round of reports. Either way, it was clear that Ravi was dealing with a load that would crush most mortal men. In his own mind, Sinter did not look forward to this part of getting the captaincy.
Glancing down at the data display in his hand, the change in demeanor from light-hearted banter to all-professional was striking. "Most of the issues from the last shakedown have been resolved; the construction and outfitting teams you kidnapped for this commissioning are better than average. The port lateral Bow Reaction Control System thruster on the Upper Warp Hull still fires intermittently. There is still an indicator fault in the Coupling Status Monitoring System. According to the Operations console, we are in Vector Mode and Detached. By the way, Commander Kritikos says that if the Reaction Control Thruster fires in space dock, his control gantries can withstand the strain, but we should remove the propellant from all systems until the fault is cleared. About a hundred other minor faults can be corrected with DOT-7s and regular maintenance crews."
Commander Elani Kritikos was the Prometheus Class Project Manager and Starbase Bravo Sierra's counterpoint to Captain Ravi. They worked as a team to ensure that new construction proceeded without incident. Kritikos had been assembling and launching starships for his entire Starfleet career. He excelled in ship mechanics at Starfleet Academy and was assigned to the Theoretical Propulsion Group at Utopia Planetia Shipyards. Discovering that he had no aptitude for theory, he switched to the practical side of ship construction. And the rest was history. In his mind, making the Galaxy Class ships function in a dual mode, accommodating both families and scientists, was the pinnacle of his career. The headache of the doubly more complicated Prometheus Class was the low point. If having at least three of everything for a ship designed to separate into three parts was not enough of a nightmare, getting it all to work together seamlessly made everything infinitely worse.
"Tell the Commander that Chief Dufrane and the Engineering Hologram are already getting that RCS drained and to get in touch with the Bureau of Ships; if we cannot solve this issue, then we will need to do a complete RCS rebuild, and we are not out of space dock yet. Have the Chief run another Level 1 diagnostic. Maybe this time, we will get a usable answer. Doing a rebuild/reinstall will put commissioning at least a week behind schedule, and I will not lose any more time. Have the Bynar team look into the diagnostic and the decouplers; maybe it is just in the programs. I have said it before; they have made this ship too sophisticated to run efficiently." said the captain as he stared out the small ready-room window through the space dock lattice work to the stars beyond.
Sinter grinned back, "I've heard it said, 'The more they overthink the plumbing, the easier it is to stop up the works.'"
"Right."
Nodding, the XO carried on, "The diagnostic is a go, but the Bynars have been redirected to install a complete portable computer system. Someone in Starfleet decided we needed the equivalent of a fourth computer core to keep this monster running. We already have one core per hull segment." The remark highlighted animosity toward Starfleet, the ship, or both.
Exasperation creeps past the captain's usually calm demeanor, "Just how many computers does the Federation think we need? Prometheus runs adequately on twinned computer cores; all the capital ships I have put into service only had one. I have not missed a delivery deadline. I do not intend to miss this one even if the new captain, crew, and commissioning ceremony are a couple of months away."
"New captain? I was under the impression that you had been tapped for this command and were going to live out your Golden years in that center seat," ending the friendly jibe with a gesture to the Main Bridge.
"As much as I would love to, I have done too many ship commissionings in my career…."
Interrupting, "If you weren't so good at it…."
"You can be replaced, you know? Where is that resignation? I might head back to lead the Ship Design Bureau." Constructing ships one at a time has lost its luster; I am ready to move on to bigger goals and higher things."
"The upper shelf?"
"That is it; you are gone!"
On cue, the LCARS interface on Captain Ravi's deck signaled for attention.
In this instance, it signaled an intra-ship message. Placing the PADD his XO had offered onto a stack already several high and causing it to overbalance, fall, and cascade into adjacent stacks, Captain Ravi glared with annoyance, turning to activate the desktop device. "Ravi here, go ahead"
"Sir, Communications Officer, I have a message from Commodore Stowe on the star base for you."
"Pipe it in here, COMMO."
"There is nothing to pipe, Sir. It is an "Eyes Only" encrypted text relay. You'll have to enter your decryption code from the COMM Station." Ravi looked at the XO with eyebrows raised. Sinter shrugged in return, his face contorted into a look of confusion.
"On my way." The captain circled the room and strode to the exit; his executive officer deftly moved out of his path and followed behind. The transit took only seconds, and the pair rounded the corner to the ship's main bridge complex.
When the twin automatic doors parted, it was not hard to suppress the subtle grin that usually attached itself to the Executive Officer's face. This was his favorite place and where he loved to be most in the galaxy. Usually, the hum of activity underscored with the myriad mechanical sounds that indicated that all was running smoothly soothed his frequently agitated soul. Still, when unusual things happened, it damaged his calm and put him into a very businesslike mode.
By the ship's chronometer, it was at the start of the third shift. The bridge should be minimally manned with personnel in the early sections of their qualifications rotation. However, there were more personnel than expected, and most were senior. Starfleet Medical also determined that maintaining an approximation of the day-night cycle improved crew performance. Also, the lighting should be low. But, the lighting was full, causing both men to blink uncomfortably.
"OK, COMMO, let's see the message."
"Aye, Sir," came a crisp reply from the officer sitting at the Communications station. Like most of the new ship's construction crew, LT Tovar was human. He was fluent in over three dozen languages, an expert in communications hardware, and a lethal hand-to-hand fighter. Back in the Academy, he was almost lost to the Security Branch. He decided there was more excitement in teasing out a recalcitrant frequency than fighting with an obstinate Nausican.
The ship's Communications Officer was at his post to the left of the captain's chair in the command horseshoe. The bridge was laid out in a vaguely oval pattern along the ship's long axis with concentric rings. Turning back to his console, the Tovar accessed the encrypted file that had been recently transferred from the star base's transmitter stack.
On a nearby screen, the LCARS display cleared, and the Federation Seal appeared above several blocks of text. The text was visible as a jumble of print characters from many languages.
This prevented anyone who intercepted the message from quickly deciphering any meaning from the text strings. Immediately below the Federation seal was the insignia of Starfleet Command and one for the Office of the Admiralty Board. Muttering under his breath, the Captain stood close and manually entered his authorization code.
A brief series of secondary questions appeared, and his mood became more intense with each answer input. After the fourth such entry, the console emitted a confirmation beep. On the screen, the blocks of text began to translate into Federation Written Standard. Ravi had to lean in to reach the lenticular display's restricted viewing angle. Though he could not read the displayed text, Sinter could read his Captain's face and knew that whatever the message said, he would not like it.
Finished, Ravi stepped back, motioning for Sinter to enter the viewing angle. Sinter quickly scanned down the text. Additionally, he took note of a countdown timer prominent in the lower part of the text. This indicated the message would auto-delete if no action was performed within a specified time. After assimilating the information, Sinter stood back, and Ravi stepped forward to enter a string of commands. A panel opened on the console's edge, and a printout of the message emerged. He took the message and tucked it under one arm; again, he accessed the control surface. After a few commands, the screen cleared and returned a flashing red indication of message deletion.
"XO, With me." With those words, BLACKSTONE's two most senior officers returned to the Ready Room. Once back into his private office, while circling around his desk, Ravi said to the universe. "Starfleet has got to be out of their collective bureaucratic minds." He took the printout and palmed it on the desk's surface as he returned to his oversized seat. Looking into Sinter's eyes, he said, "Stowe is insane if he thinks we can make that type of timeline. This is absurd. Who is this Commodore? I don't recognize the name."
"I don't know him either," Sinter confessed.
"Must be some Sector Commander trying to make a name for himself at our expense. I will make his name expensive. Have you ever seen orders or communiqués with a 'DTI' code?" Ravi's mind shifted gears from exasperation to investigation.
"No, I haven't. It has got to be some new directorate." Offer the larger man.
A lack of information shifted Ravi to indignation. "Well, I am going over to the station and getting this sorted out. Regardless of what happens, we have much to do in a very short period." With that pronouncement, Captain Ravi stood up to his full height of just over one meter and started for the ready room exit, tucking under Sinter's status PADD from just a few minutes ago under one arm. "Mobilize every repair team and the auxiliary teams to start on every discrepancy on this list, prioritizing engineering, environmental, and class two or above, emphasize safety. I don't want anyone hurt over this foolishness. I am going over to the star base and getting this straightened out." He stormed out of the room without looking at the more prominent man, fully expecting him to follow every command issued without question. Ravi was a man of small physical stature but a starship commander, one of a rare breed, and would make sure he was treated as such.
Looking at the closed door, Commander Jaaf Sinter did a slight involuntary shudder. He said to the room at large, "Someone's in trouble, and I don't want to be you." He started shaking his head ruefully. Scooping up the printout for safekeeping, he put his long legs to use, striding out of the back room onto the Main Bridge. The withstanders saw the look on the ordinarily jovial man's face and suspected it was about to be a very long night.

MEETING ON THE STATION

Starbase Bravo Sierra was one of dozens of repair and supply bases scattered throughout the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. They are far from the major shipping lanes, industrial planets with trade routes, and areas where Starfleet would rather not have the casual space-faring passerby to observe activities. The other primary consideration for their placement was proximity to hostile powers, regardless of size. They were also used for industrial fabrication and ship construction.
Based on the antique K-Series designs, this type of star base was a central spire with spokes extending at 120-degree angles. The classic design was one set of arms. Having been refit multiple times in the last few decades, Bravo Sierra had six arms, making the station appear like a spinning snowflake.
The "uppermost" point was the administrative and operational offices. Living quarters occupied most of the central spindle. The lower hub contained long-term storage and the engineering and facilities complex.Here, fusion generators provided power for the station's myriad systems.
The upper three pods were shipping transfer points. Lower arms and pods served as a space dock in one, billeting of transient crews in a second, and industrial replicator with raw materials storage in the third. Cylindrical support tunnels acted as shopping concourses or recreational facilities.
Usually, these stations were sparsely populated. However, Bravo Sierra was a bustling hive. The crews from half a dozen ships in various states of repair were either billeted there or enjoying the limited shore leave facilities. It was easy to overlook events occurring in isolated cargo bays or the comings and goings of a small group of people dressed in simple gray utilitarian garments.
For safety and security reasons, ships undergoing specific repairs were housed in isolated gantry mechanisms like a spider web. Transfer pod, worker-bee, and shuttle usually accessed these sequestered ships. Captain Ravi's state of mind meant these slower, pedestrian transportation modes were unsuitable. Not only would the time involved allow his anger and frustration to resolve into something more reasonable, but there was something more dramatic about appearing outside someone's office that demanded a minimum level of immediate attention.
Commodore Stowe's message contained the office code of the terminal from which it originated. This allowed Ravi to give coordinates to his Transporter Chief, Chief Watike, who plugged them into the transporter's interface. Chief stared at a scanner built into the console's surface and frowned.
"Sir, there is a transporter pad near the Commodore's office, but it is coded as departure only. I'll send you to the closest public pad. Ravi expected this development, but it did not improve his dour mood. Many high-ranking administrative offices worked their transporters in such a fashion to limit interruptions. It was a standard security measure. Those who worked in that office or were invited often had an override code allowing entry. Ravi did not. Using his scanners, the swarthy man gave brief directions from the receiving pad to the commodore's office, where the terminal was presumably located. Thanking the Chief, Ravi gave the command to energize the system and disappeared in a cascade of light.
Under the best circumstances, traveling by transporter is a near-instantaneous process accompanied by little physical sensation. Modern transporters would even allow motion and conversation. Older models ostensibly froze the subject for dematerialization. The transition from one place to another, especially with Starfleet facilities at both ends, is smooth, with standardized gravity, temperature, humidity, and lighting. The floor is always level, and it only took a second to align yourself once the beaming process was complete.
Ravi was momentarily taken aback when he arrived on a cargo pad in an unmanned area, expecting to materialize in a reception area or at least a manned station. The first step down from the transporter pad was accompanied by a wave of vertigo. Knowing that was a sign of interrupted transport, Ravi glanced at his wrist chronometer and saw it skip a couple seconds as it realigned with the station's local time. Because the standard transport sequence was instantaneous, this was another indication that something was not according to Starfleet standards. He would add this to the list of things for which Commodore Stowe would answer.
Looking around a cavernous space, it was clear that it was generally used for storage wherever he was. Stacked in orderly rows were the standard Starfleet cargo containers. They were arranged in a manner that highlighted their contents and warning labels. Ravi could see an exterior cargo door without the tell-tale glow of an atmospheric force field. There were clear rows between stacks, but the container's tessellated shapes made looking across the room impossible, creating a maze. Knowing that a docking port must be on the station's outer skin, any access point to the station proper was most likely on the opposite wall. Hence, he began moving in that direction. After only a few corners, a high-security inner door appeared. This type of door was common for large openings between spaces with the possibility of hostile environments on one side: cargo bays, shuttle bays, exterior hatches, and, oddly, holodecks.
Arrowing in on this means of egress, the small man moved with determination.
Before entering the door's activation area, he noticed a standard compartment door set into the bulkhead to his left. Following Starfleet signage conventions, a label proclaimed the occupant's name, "Commodore S. Stowe," in bold lettering above an access chime. Seeing this, Captain Ravi changed direction and marched to the door.
Doors to private accommodations can only be released by the occupant or special override; this was not a personal space, and it opened automatically at his approach. Barely clearing the opening door, he moved directly to the small desk and addressed the figure beyond. Even standing at full height and erecting posture, he was not eye to eye with the figure under Starbase Bravo Sierra's emblazoned crest, but evident fury filled the cramped space.
Commodore S. Stowe put down a data slate with studied deliberation and looked at the obviously enraged figure before him. Behind a small Starfleet issue desk was an individual nondescript to the extreme. Average of every feature and could easily pass for any humanoid race. Even gender could be debated, as by Terran standards, facial features were a curious mix of masculine and feminine. Though seated, the person appeared neither tall nor short, neither pale nor dark. Eyes, hair, skin, and complexion subtly shifted to match the viewer's expectations. Even when raised, the voice was so even a timbre as to be immediately forgotten. There was no accent. The words could be recalled, but not the voice's character.
"It is customary to announce yourself before entering a superior's office," said the seated individual with a neutral facial expression but clear menace and reproach underlying the tone.
"It's customary for command orders to make sense. These orders you issued are ill-considered and potentially unsafe. BLACKSTONE is not ready for an extended voyage, especially if you remove the crew and gut the computer system." barked Captain Ravi as he threw his PADD upon an empty expanse of desk.
With no change in expression or sparing a glance, the Commodore put out a hand to halt the PADD's slide and prevent it from skidding into him. Locking eyes with the more petite man, in a flat voice, Stowe intoned, "I am well versed in BLACKSTONE's condition and crew status. Based on YOUR own reports, the major repairs required will be completed within 18 hours. All other repairs can be completed underway, thus mitigating the material condition. And, as to your crew, USS MERLIN will rendezvous with you en route with an entire crew complement to augment those disembarking."
Beginning to realize the futility, the deflating man countered, "Those people will need to get up to speed on BLACKSTONE's systems. Also, that repair estimate is predicated on using Bravo Sierra's fabrication facilities and technical staff."
Reaching out of sight, Stowe produced an oversized engineering PADD. "Based on this morning's status report, you will be ready to get underway in 18 hours if you leverage all your resources in material and manpower. My analysts have determined that the computer core installation, data download, repairs, and crew offloads will be completed in the specified time frame if you start no later than 1400 today and work according to this schedule." With deliberation, he placed an oversized engineering PADD on the deck surface, rotating it to face Captain Ravi.
Ravi took a moment to scan the information. With a confused tone, "That information hasn't yet been released to the station. How did you get hold of it? Regardless, this is absurd. Whoever came up with this has the crew working through the night, and the schedule figured to the second. What is so vital is that Starfleet has to pull a half-complete ship to solve the situation."
"That information will be revealed to you when the situation warrants. The case is still in flux, and no other ships have the capabilities of a Prometheus class."
Interrupting, "Every ship captain has heard that excuse before."
"Continuing on, The USS Merlin is delivering a fully briefed and trained crew to address the situation. There is no expectation that it should progress beyond the expected parameters. Unless you misrepresented USS BLACKSTONE's readiness, she will be ready to get underway on time. If you do as you are ordered."
"'No Expectation,' those are 'Famous Last Words.' The ship's status is not in question." Recognizing impending defeat, the more petite man tried to pull a trump card from his uniform sleeve by challenging the bigger man's wisdom, "You are putting the crew under extreme physical stress for no reason. Running an unproven ship on a skeleton crew is an unwarranted risk."
"USS PROMETHEUS fought battles against Romulans and Federation ships of the line with no live crew while operated by two medical holograms and a computer still in learning mode. A trained crew of twenty will be more than adequate to handle a brief voyage until you can embark the crew from the Merlin. Be that as it may, there is nothing else to discuss here, Captain." The final word was pronounced with an emphasis that clarified the difference in their ranks. "You have your orders and will carry them out. I need BLACKSTONE's particular capabilities for this mission, and you will be underway per the schedule." These words were delivered with finality not previously evident, brooking no further discussion. Though not said, Captain Ravi's dismissal hung tensely in the air between the two men.
"When I return to BLACKSTONE, I will be on a channel with Starfleet Command, lodging a protest with a safety report."
"Do as your conscience requires, Captain; I would expect nothing less," Countered the Commodore. "But we have USS BLACKSTONE ready to get underway on schedule. Dismissed." Now both men know the conversation was complete, whether either man had anything else to contribute or counter.
At that word, Captain Ravi un-Dun's actions and responsibilities were clear. Such an abrupt dismissal took the small man aback. He was accustomed to having leeway and autonomy in his career. Ship construction was an exacting and demanding enterprise. Disasters could occur in many ways, and new methods were discovered as new systems and equipment were developed and deployed. To be balked and overridden in such a perfunctory manner before he signed off on a construction caused him to respond automatically to the spoken command. The resulting pivot turn was rough but executed with an Academy cadet's snap and a senior man's wounded dignity. The first few steps would not make an Academy instructor proud.
In his mind, Ravi considered that all of the forms of protocol had been obeyed.
He had received orders. He evaluated those orders and found them both lawful and against his command judgment. He respectfully questioned those orders with the issuing authority, which had been confirmed. He informed the issuing authority that he found them inappropriate and would seek confirmation from the next person in the chain of command. However, until they were either confirmed or rescinded, Ravi was honor-bound to carry them out to the best of his ability; if that meant dangerously driving his crew and putting the ship in danger, so be it. He would be on record. At this point, his choices were limited to comply (safest, but ill-advised), resign (thereby, his XO would face the same decision), or go rogue (unthinkable; besides, it would drag too many good people down with him.)
All these thoughts of proper procedure and a deep sense of wounded pride caused what little dignity remained to him to be destroyed when he reached the door and found himself face to belt with a wall of shiny black. A pair of human men filled the doorframe. Clad in a glossy material from shoe to collar, the two men were fit beyond natural genetics. They had moved without sound, entering when his attention was on the commodore. When they did move, that motion was fluid and full of suppressed menace. Ravi's immediate impression was a barely constrained threat held behind eyes that took in every detail and released nothing.
Though not clones, their features were eerily similar to the point of close family. The two men flowed apart and allowed the petit man to exit. One turned to follow Ravi's awkward departure. That move put him back to back with his twin facing into the office space. From an outside observer, their eyes continually scanned the environment, assessed threats, and looked for routes to attack or retreat. The pair moved into Commodore Stowe's office in unison, still back to back, and the door automatically closed.
After a few minutes, the tinkling sound of a transporter briefly overcame the ubiquitous background hum of the station. Captain Ravi un-Dun and his wounded pride had departed the station. The transporter sound barely intruded into Commodore Stowe's office.
The seated officer looked up at the two black-clad men. Erect postures displayed that the two were on guard against a threat only they could see. With no preamble, Stowe opened the conversation with directness. "Have you taken care of all the arrangements?"
The two men remained standing, though two standard issue chairs were available.
Each man moved to put his back to a bulkhead. While it was challenging to differentiate them, the marginally taller man said, "Section 31 only takes orders from within the bureau."
With a patience worn thin from the previous altercation, "I don't have time for a contest of wills or a jurisdictional pissing match. These orders come from far above all of our pay grades, and all our necks are on the line if things go off-book. Is it done?"
The small black-clad figure spoke for the first time, "All the appropriate measures have been arranged to guarantee that BLACKSTONE cannot contact Starfleet once the mission starts. A communication intercept is installed in the subspace relay between here and Starfleet command, rerouting subspace communications to our parameters. The other device has been procured and reprogrammed. It will be on station at the appropriate time. My superiors are not accustomed to being someone else's minions. I want to know how Section 31 became DTI's errand boy."
Commodore Stowe said in a deadly, flat tone, "I caution you, beware curiosity, lest ye become a cat. That untoward confluence occurred when our needs aligned. Be more specific with the details."
One of the two indistinguishable agents continued, "USS MERLIN has been redirected and will not be at the rendezvous. A probe with the required capacity was unearthed, and reprogrammed with the programs and data you provided. It is onboard a cloaked ship at the designated coordinates. Now, do you have the dossiers that you agreed to provide?"
Reaching out of sight, Stowe brought up a half dozen isolinear optical data chips and fanned them open. Clearly seen, their labels were inscribed with the names and serial numbers of BLACKSTONE's Command Crew. Glinting, the delta and hourglass of the Department of Temporal Investigations, was engraved into each chip's structure.
Reaching out a gloved hand, one agent took custody of the chips. "Normally, I'd say, 'It was good doing business with you,' but this situation is neither good nor business. We have one more of your chores to complete, and this distasteful business will be complete. Section 31 protects the Federation, and we do what is needed. DTI plays with lost children and looks into other people's actions. You are no more than a nursemaid, and I see no use for you." With derision dripping from the comment, he reached up to activate a black communicator delta secreted on in his palm. The two men vanished in a column of light that emitted a glow far dimmer than a standard transporter.
"Arrogant asses," muttered Commodore Stowe to the room at large. He produced a tricorder far more advanced than the standard issue from the same unseen pocket that produced the data plaques. This particular tricorder was far more sophisticated than the one under development on Starfleet's drawing board. A brief scan detailed where evidence would betray his presence in the small space. A wipe here, a wave of the tricorder wand there, and all traces vanished. Pulling a small pen-like device from one pocket, Stowe pointed it at the back wall and pressed the activation stud. The wall became a door-sized cloud of iridescent black smoke, into which the Commodore stepped. When the smoke faded, so did the Commodore.

AFTER THE MEETING

Finishing some station business, Commodore Girand stood at his desk and stretched. The years of flying a computer screen had softened his once-hard frame, but he was still within fitness standards. Those standards got harder and harder to meet as the years passed. Realizing that it had been a while since he had visited Operations and thought the walk would do him good, he rounded the desk and headed for the exit.
The door opened without him granting permission. Two figures stepped forward to obstruct Girand's exit. Their matching black uniforms and solid physiques exuded menace and authority. Girand frowned. There was no chime for entry, nor did his aide announce the men forcing entrance. The two men deftly stepped around the confused commodore and planted themselves in office chairs opposite the commodore's desk. They did not look back but laid a pair of credentials on Girand's desk. It was clear to all involved that they felt in command of the situation and environment.
Turning from the door, Girand spoke curtly. "Gentlemen, this is not the best way to see me. I have business in Operations, see my yeoman, and have an appointment scheduled."
The one on the left said, "Your yeoman was unexpectedly called away and will be gone for fourteen minutes."
The one on the Right said, "If you forgive the intrusion and allow us to conduct our business, we will be gone in twelve."
The left, "Commodore, we are Agents Yeers and Dias of the Federation Department of Temporal Investigation. We have reason to believe that BLACKSTONE's mission concerns our department." There was no gesture to identify which agent was associated with which name.
The Right, "Just what is the nature of the priority mission."
Moving to put his desk between himself and the interlopers, he said, "I don't appreciate you barging into my office and causing disruption on my station, and BLACKSTONE's mission is none of your concern." Barely glancing at the proffered identification, Girand pushed the credentials back toward their owners.
Left, "The order came from..."
Right, "The order will come from..."
Left, "...the highest level of the Federation and it is imperative that BLACKSTONE reach..."
Right, "...will reach..."
Left, "...will have reached..."
Right, "...the rendezvous point at the appointed..."
Left, "...recorded..."
Right,"...predicted..."
Left, "...time."
Rubbing his forehead, Girand said, "You two are giving me a headache, and I did very well in Temporal Mechanics." Shaking his head, he said, "I can assure you that BLACKSTONE will depart the star base on time. What happens after they pass the outer marker is not my concern. As an experienced ship commander, I would be nervous flying BLACKSTONE in her current condition, especially a pre-commissioned ship that still needs to receive her Space-Flight certification. Captain Ravi will handle his ship according to her condition and his expert judgment.
Right, "Your comfort level is not a factor, so long as BLACKSTONE departs..."
Left, "...will depart..."
Right, "...according to the log records..."
Left, "...itinerary. As near as the records indicate..."
Right, "...predict..."
Left, "...your part in this is complete once the BLACKSTONE leaves..."
Right, "...left..."
Left, "...will have left..."
Right, "...will go..."
Left, "...went underway."
Right, "Until then, follow these orders, and all will go..."
Each man held up an isolinear optical chip.
Left, "...has gone..."
Right, "...will have gone..."
Left, "according to design."
Right, "records."
Clearly reaching his limit, "Agents, I will thank you for leaving my office. I assure you that, if possible, a professional like Captain Ravi will have his ship away on time, and I will do everything with my considerable power to make that event happen, your instructions notwithstanding. If you have nothing further, I'll also thank you for never darkening my doorstep again."
Standing, Left "We don't."
Standing, Right "We didn't."
And with those words hanging in the air, Yeers and Dias turned to leave.
Before departing, each man placed a single isolinear optical chip on the desk. The chips rested parallel and in the exact center of the open expanse. In unison, the pair left Girand's office. They strode with a purpose for a few steps, neither looking left nor right. After a few minutes, they reached the entrance to one of the station's many turbo lifts. They stood before closed doors, awaiting a lift car as if it were normal, and the two gentlemen had not just accosted the station commander with impunity.
Glancing to the other, Yeers spoke with disgust, "I hated that. Us trying to talk like DTI agents is ludicrous."
Dias replied, "A necessary evil, my friend."
Yeers pulled a shiny arrowhead-shaped object from a hidden pocket. One slivery side was embossed with a star that had become the symbol of Starfleet's starship operations since the earliest days of the service. The other side was glossy black enamel. A gentle squeeze caused the device to emit a soft chip. In front of them, the turbo-lift doors opened with a whoosh. The two stepped forward briskly but did not turn to face front as etiquette expects. Before the automatic doors could close behind them, they vanished in twin columns of pale light.
Girand had heard of DTI agents. They were supposed to be from a fringe department of the Federation that investigated time travel and resettled those displaced from their natural timeline. Rumors circulated that they were odd, but this was ridiculous. Still, Ravi thought they had to serve some function, or Starfleet would not have them around. He reached out for the computer interface on his desk. Picking up one of the chips left behind, the Commodore inserted it into the receptacle on the machine's side. The emblem of the Federation Council flashed quickly and slid upward as a cascade of text filled the screen. Skimming the words causes an unaccustomed frown. The information displayed was a comprehensive list of tasks with an annotated timetable delineated to the second. This was peculiar in the least, and since it related to one of the ships under his purview, he thought it best to contact the captain in question. Sliding the display closer, he opened an accessory window and entered a code connecting him with the USS BLACKSTONE.

DELIVERING THE NEWS

Returning to the BLACKSTONE, Ravi walked straight to the communications panel integrated into the face of the transporter console. "Ravi to CDR Sinter, Call a Department Head meeting in ten minutes, get with the station, and have them recall all ship's personnel. Finally, get with the station's Personnel Officer. Whoever it is is about to pull off a major magic trick. Have our Chief Dufrane stand by and coordinate with the station on a crew offload. I'll explain it in a few minutes. Ravi, out." Barely nodding to the visibly confused transporter operator, he left. He knew that this disquieting news would metamorphose into rumors in short order, and he and his command staff would have to act quickly to get in front of the speculation with accurate information and a united front.
Upon arriving at his ready room, Capt Ravi stared out the window into infinite space beyond. Allowing only a brief moment to salve his wounded pride, various emotions played across his face, the final one being resolution. Being a man of duty, he knew what to do whether he liked it or not. As nothing was criminal or inherently dangerous, he had to perform what the orders specified. Climbing into the oversized chair, he activated his comms.
"Ravi to Bridge."
"Bridge, here, sir." Spoke the words of the communications officer on duty.
"Get the XO to announce a ship-wide Captain's Call in thirty minutes. Also, patch me through to the station Commander. I need to speak with him at his earliest convenience."
"Aye, Sir. But I have Commodore Girand on the channel for you."
"Thank you,"
"You're connected, Sir. Bridge out."
There was no audible signal, but Ravi thought he could discern a subtle difference in the timbre of sound from the desktop speaker. Leaning back in the comically oversized chair, the Captain said, "Commodore, I was about to call you to inform you about some unorthodox assistance I will need to request from the station."
"Well, then, you must be a mind reader because I've received a troubling set of orders, myself, stating that I am to put the entire station's resources at your disposal to fulfill the requirements of your current mission. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to give you all the support I can, but I thought BLACKSTONE was not mission-capable.
"I'd say we are not, but Starfleet demands that we get underway in just over 18 hours. I have to disembark about ninety percent of the crew with all their belongings and scrub all Federation-specific data, personal logs, and most of the Library Computer while, at the same time, a Bynar team completes an emergency install of another computer core. I'll tell you, I am not happy with the situation, Arsene; something seems off here, but my hands are tied unless I can get Starfleet Command to overrule. I don't have any recourse."
Commiserating with the man on his view screen, the station command replied, "To tell you the truth, I am not happy with the strain you will put on my station."
"I apologize, but I have nothing to do with this. I received a clear and direct set of orders, and I'm contacting Starfleet for clarification. Until they respond, I must act as if these orders will be upheld. That means I have to depend on your support for the time being. I know it will be rough on your people, but it shouldn't be for long."
"What do you need?"
"I'll be disembarking 120 people and their gear. They'll need berthing and storage. We'll be offloading a large amount of computer material, so mainframe and servers to support a massive amount of computer data; finally, we'll take most of your current energy and replicator reserves. My orders are to replicate a considerable quantity of materials before we depart. I don't know what it's for, but the specifications are exacting and detailed. It'll push your industrial replicators to the limit if we are to get it done before departure.
Commodore Girand leaned forward in the frame and furrowed his brow. "This situation is highly irregular. I'll have my Personnel officer, LCDR Soffet, contact you with billeting arrangements. With two other crews already on the station, they are already four deep in a room.
We'll have to convert a couple of the cargo spaces. It won't be high-class accommodation, but your crew will have a place to lay their heads. I can get our Loadmaster to arrange storage for the personal goods. I'll ask the COs of the TURING and SUN TZU to donate computer space until Information Technology can replicate the servers and you have all the raw power I can give. The fusion core is only operating at eighty percent at the moment. If that is not enough, we'll siphon from the TURING; their EPS system already has a tap. It won't be a significant difficulty to reverse the EPS flow for a short period. If that can't get it done, I am out of ideas. That's the best I've got."

"That's all I can ask." Ravi visibly relaxed.
With a hint of pride in his voice, Girand praised his people. "I have a sharp crew of engineers here. They are a good group and will work miracles. They'll be able to pull a rabbit out of a hat."
Feigned outrage colored the small man's voice. "Hey, that's our shtick. Thanks, Arsene; I'll have LCDR Atepa coordinate with CDR Kritikos on the repairs, and CDR Frasier will handle the remaining engineering hurdles. We'll make this happen."
With the same humor, Girand replied, "Glad I could help, You owe me, Ravi. You'll get out on time if we have to push you out by hand.”
With a chuckle, Ravi said, “Let's hope it won't come to that.”
“Bravo Sierra, out.”

Once the communication line went dead, Capt Ravi accessed a secure channel.
This communication pathway was designed for ship captains to contact their operational commanders directly. It required special authorization codes and bypassed adjutants and aides, who aimed to separate their bosses from trivial issues. The Starfleet logo was superseded by the figure of an Andorian woman with a sector chart in the background. "Captain un-Dun, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call.
"Admiral ch'Thorn, I just received some untenable orders from a Commodore Stowe directing significant changes to ship design, stowage, and crew complement, along with orders to get underway for an undisclosed mission deployment before BLACKSTONE's commissioning."
"Yes, I have been informed. There are some issues with elements along the Federation border near Coalition Space. We are pulling several ships to beef up security. Though it is a little early, BLACKSTONE is ready or will be by the time she arrives on station. The crew we have put together is drawn from other members of the Prometheus class and a group of top-notch specialists. I assure you, you will be in fighting shape long before you reach the Neutral Zone.
"Admiral, this is still highly irregular. The crew already embarked is qualified and trained to BLACKSTONE's unique requirements.
"Captain, Your concerns are duly noted. Your crew will be taken care of in a manner befitting the singular nature of these circumstances."
Reacting to the uncertain nature of that comment, "Just exactly what does that mean?"
Ignoring the interruption, "Ensure you are underway on time; factors outside your purview must be addressed. You have your orders, and I have other matters that demand my attention. ch' Thorn, out." At those stark words, ch'Thorn abruptly severed the connection.
From the Admiral's perspective, it was evident that the smaller man was upset with the situation. Still, the Admiral's countenance did not change. He reached into a concealed pocket to access a small trapezoid device. Those few in the know would recognize the 29th-century device as a portable holo-emitter familiar to the autonomous holograms that have become more prevalent since USS VOYAGER's return.
The future technology was complex, near impossible to copy, and illegal in civilian possession. Once the device was deactivated, ch'Thorn's appearance faded, and that of Commodore Stowe replaced it. Manipulating his pen-like servo, a device more in line with the 29th century than the 25th, the same smoky transport effect filled the admiral's office, leaving it quiet and empty.
Just as the effect faded, Admiral ch'Thorn strode into her office. Sitting down, she tried to access his Starfleet communications queue, knowing it would take time for the dozens of message requests to load; she glanced away, reaching for a silver cup containing the fluid that would get her through the tedium of minutia that filled the majority of her day. This split-second distraction caused her to miss the unusual activity occurring on her computer screen. A priority message request from USS BLACKSTONE appeared, flashed once, and then deleted itself. The list rearranged itself to absorb the vacant space, leaving no trace.

In BLACKSTONE's conference room, the walls were bare. Recessed lighting made it look more like a holding cell than a meeting place. On the inboard wall sat a lighted display case designed to showcase the ship's history. The only article in place was a pair of busts cut from iridescent material representing the ship's namesakes. Unfortunately, the overhead lighting created a sinister, vaguely disapproving cast on the smiling faces. The other three walls were bare and had no color to give them personality, and a neutral floor covering blended into the walls. To one side, a series of floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view to space beyond, and when underway, twin nacelles from the upper warp hull would bathe the room in an off-white combination from the red bussard collectors and blue warp field coils. With the engines powered down, the only exterior light came from the floods and spots dotting the space dock's gantry system. Outside, an occasional worker bee or dockyard shuttle cast shadows across the room, distorting already confusing shadows with a traveling zone of inky blackness.
A dozen chairs, occupied by BLACKSTONE's senior officers, were arrayed around a standard-issue conference table. The table had as little personality as the room it occupied. The surface reflected the concern on the seated officer's faces. A few stared abstractly out the windows, and others chatted, questioning why the captain would call an emergency meeting in space dock. The most motivated studied PADDs.
The captain stepped in and moved directly to the head of the table. Tapping the table's control surface, he displayed the text Commodore Stowe's orders on the screen behind him. Two minutes elapsed before the room burst out in confused and angry exclamations. These trained officers immediately grasped the absurdities enclosed in its succinct phraseology.
A gentle finger tapping on the table's surface brought the room to order. "As you can see," stated the captain, "we have a gargantuan task ahead of us. Before you raise any more objections, I have already questioned these orders with Commodore Stowe and had Admiral ch'Thorn confirm them. I have logged a formal complaint, but it will be days to weeks before we get a response from the Judge Advocate General's office in this sector. Since there is nothing technically against regulation with these orders, we must follow them. People, it seems we are victims of our own success. The crew will have a lot of questions, and you will have to pull a few sleight-of-hand tricks and get the crew to buy the con we'll have to perpetrate to get this accomplished in the time remaining. The story I'm telling is 'early delivery and crew turnover.' This crew will be granted leave and be up for reassignment to "Asker's Choice" billets. Hopefully, we can keep them busy enough over the next few hours; they won't have time to notice anything odd. There is a lot to do and a very short time to get it done. Dismissed.
Number One, a moment, please."
A measure of grumbling and questions was traded among the group as they filed out of the conference room. These were professionals. They would make the hard calls, move delicate equipment, and do what else was required to complete the job. They would work their people as hard as necessary, praising or cajoling as needed. Most of the talk ended when they hit the threshold. In private, they knew they could question the situation, especially until the captain reached a decision and started issuing orders. After that point, they would present a united front unless there was cause to doubt the CO's judgment or fitness for command.
Turning to the man remaining behind, Ravi asked, "Can we pull it off? This will be an 'all hands on deck' affair, but disembarking the ship, cleaning the computer core, doing a significant install, and getting underway in less than twelve hours is a major disappearing act, even for us."
"We've done more with less. The replicators will have to work overtime supplying caffeine. My real question is the crew; they're smart." The tall man was beginning to pace at that end of a circuit near the Blackstone figures. "They'll know something is up."
"Then we'll have to pull an old magician's trick and do some misdirection. That is a perfect time for Chief Halko to work magic; he and the other enlisted leaders will have to act as the 'Lovely Assistant' distraction." The captain said this dramatically waving a hand as he strode the stand beside his Executive Officer.
"Halko's going to see through the ruse before you're finished speaking. I know he'll be on board with the plan, but won't be happy about it. What are you going to tell him?"
"I'll tell him the truth. I can trust his discretion. By the way, has he ever been happy?
"I've never seen it."
Both men chuckled, turning to depart the conference room. When the door sighed closed behind their departing frames, a shadow moved across the room. To the casual observer, it appeared as a space-suited figure caught in the glare of a gantry light. The shadow seemed to aim a tool at a particular spot near the stern. The label for the decoupling system interface was not visible from inside the ship. A small part of a single isolinear control chip fused. By itself, it would not be a factor, but the shadow moved to strategic points along BLACKSTONE's hull, performing similar actions at other control junctions. After several such actions, the suited figure walked to the ship's edge and launched itself into space. Inertia caused the shape to sail onward until it was blocked from view from every angle. At that point, a cloud of greenish-black smoke formed. The figure sailed into the cloud and did not appear on the far side. In the soundless void of space, the cloud dissipated.

CARGO BAY

In BLACKSTONE's Cargo Bay, her entire crew complement began to assemble. While underway, the bay was stacked to the overhead with an assortment of containers filled with items too delicate, exotic, or unstable to be replicated. To one side was a cargo transporter, a device not as precise as one rated for living material. Beyond that, a pair of hatches on either side of the hull allowed access to objects that had to be moved physically; currently, they opened to the construction gantry and station rather than open space. During pre-commissioning, the containers were in disarray, with the cases open to remove contents for installation. Though disorder reigned, deliberation could be seen in the layout of containers and contents. Crew members filtered into the empty area from all sides, carefully repacking and reorganizing to create more open space. They greeted each other with banter and jibes familiar to people in the service with shared experiences. One common question on almost everyone's mind was, 'Why were they here?'
As crewmembers assembled, they naturally separated into groups representing Officer, Senior Enlisted, and Crewman ranks. Additionally, as a well-trained and disciplined pre-commissioning crew, gathered naturally into divisions: Engineering from Administration and Logistics from Science, etc. Neat rows of Starfleet's finest awaited their commanding officer, exchanging subdued idle chatter.
An officer stationed by the entrance, noting the Captain's approach, yelled "STAND BY" as a signal to pay attention. A junior crewman activated a Boatswain's pipe, calling 'Attention,' the antique signal for personnel to pay heed to significant events.
Striding into the cavernous space with his Executive Officer walking on his right and the Senior Enlisted Advisor on the opposite side, Captain Ravi looked straight ahead to the improvised podium erected at the front of the assembly. Having not been at the Department Head meeting, the ship's most senior enlisted man joined the assemblage from the corridor outside the cargo bay. Senior Chief Halka looked like he had been in Starfleet since its founding. His age was estimated at somewhere between thirty and one hundred and thirty. Like most Efrosians, his hair was long, snow-white, and wispy. But, unlike others of his species, baldness had overtaken his pate; but, a lush growth remained below on brows, upper lip, and jowls. Bushy brows overshadowed piercing blue eyes sunk into a deeply lined face, negating the need for eye protection common to residents of his dimly lit world. Standing almost two meters tall, he could have been Sinter's twin if he massed more than half of the more prominent man. Strangers considered him cadaverous, and crew who knew him from previous commands swore he looked the same from decades ago. The prevailing story was that he had enlisted, looking aged and ready to retire. However, people, suspecting frailty or weakness, soon had a rude awakening as the man's wiry strength far outstripped expectations. Finally, he had knowledge of scientific disciplines that rivaled Vulcans. There were a few questions to which his knowledge, logic, or intuition could not shed a light on or divine a solution to.
The Captain scanned the assembled masses at the piper's last echoing tone. As much as he hated the prospect, he climbed a couple of steps upward on a makeshift platform, adding another meter to his meager height. The platform raised him to a position about a head taller than the rows of personnel. From this vantage, he could see and be seen by most of the crowd. Though small, he could project enough volume to be heard; there was nothing he could do about being short. He knew and respected the crew arrayed before him. Many of these people had been part of his Starfleet family since the first structural members of this build had been bonded together. It saddened him to think that they would not be there when the USS BLACKSTONE was commissioned, a significant milestone in the life of a ship; they would not get to work systems they had installed and made functional, ironing out all the quirks and inconveniences. Nor would he be able to look them in the eye and tell they had done an excellent job, pinning medals and bestowing other well-deserved accolades. He hated the thought of being unable to tell these warriors the truth. For some reason, someone in Starfleet felt the crew inadequate for the upcoming task, and that that same person was impatient to get a new toy. That mysterious individual wanted the BLACKSTONE but not her crew.
Ravi looked over the sea of expectant faces and was proud. After a beat, Captain Ravi un-Dun said, "Crew of the USS BLACKSTONE, you have all done a tremendous job getting this creative nightmare of a ship from an innovative idea to a space-worthy platform; a platform that may dethrone the vaunted ENTERPRISE as the flagship of the fleet. The BLACKSTONE's new impatient captain heard how good of a ship she is and wants her early, clean of the debris that comes with construction, so he can start fitting her out with his own people and stamp his own personality on these bulkheads; you have put such a high shine upon. With that in mind and a tight timeline, we have to make one last heroic push, after which you are getting a brief non-charged leave here on Bravo Sierra before reporting to your new duty stations. Space is already being prepared for you and your personal equipment. The station will take care of all of your needs but don't get spoiled because you'll be back on the deck plates before you know it. Now, to business, you have one hour to clear your staterooms, labs, and work rooms. Gather it all here for transport to the station. Anything left behind will be a housewarming present for the room's new occupants. After that, report to your Department Heads for reassignment to primary computer control. You will take a physical copy of BLACKSTONE's core infrastructure and logs for transfer to Memory Prime for permanent storage. This will take a massive concerted effort, even with help from station personnel. Still, you have accomplished miracles before, and I know you can do it again. Over the last twenty months, you have pulled a lot of rabbits out of a lot of hats; now, I have to ask you to pull a hat out of a rabbit. You are the best crew in Starfleet, and serving as your commanding officer has been an honor. But, you slackers, you're on the clock. Report to your department heads for further instructions. Dismissed." There was no cheering or clapping. The crew stood at attention for a beat and then relaxed. Officers called to their people, giving instructions on where to gather for clarified instructions.
The crew exited the space quickly and efficiently when the captain's final words died away. There was no rushing or pushing. Crewmembers headed to spaces onboard the ship specific to their department. In these offices, more detailed instructions were disseminated to gather personal possessions and put other affairs in order. There was no loud chatter of questions; in just a few moments, the cavernous space was quiet and empty except for the Commanding Officer, Executive Officer, and the Senior Enlisted Advisor, who turned to face the ship's most senior officer.
"Sir, that was the well-phrased and delivered stack of mugato droppings I've ever seen; what's really going on?"
"I don't know, Senior Chief, and that worries me.

GETTING UNDERWAY

The bridge of a starship is never empty, even when in port in a protected location like a star base. Personnel always oversee shipboard communications, routine maintenance, and minor repairs. The number of personnel on duty varied with the time of day. Usually, the night shift is the most sparsely populated. Even at night, a handful of people were always performing their duties. Understanding this fact, it was highly disconcerting when Captain Ravi strode onto the bridge, finding a single person manning the combined Navigation and Operations console. Even more unusually, it was one of his senior officers. Ravi knew he'd delegated the final manning to Sinter, but having so few people on board was still disconcerting.
The man at the helm, Ravi's senior navigator, was performing the pre-underway checklist, ensuring that the ship was ready in all respects to get underway from space dock. Completing this administrative function was usually a team effort under the auspices of the Officer of the Deck. Neither the normal OOD nor the Operations team were onboard, per their highly irregular orders, and this individual was doing the work of several people.
Captain Ravi had long ago dispensed with the traditional call of "Captain on the Bridge." There were many reasons for this forgoing of the protocol. Firstly, Ravi was not one to stand at the ceremony. It did not really work in the chaotic environment of ship construction.
Also, since the ship had not been formally commissioned into active service, most standard customs and protocols did not apply. Finally, when there was only one other person in the room, there was no one to announce him, and everyone knew he was present.
Stepping to the raised Command Section bridge of USS BLACKSTONE, Capt Ravi sat in the center seat and looked around the new ship's brightly lit command center. He objectively knew that the vessel could operate on a skeleton crew, but having a single operator at so many consoles was still disconcerting. The vessel usually ran with a complement of one hundred and 140 souls, a third to a quarter of which was on station at any given hour. The hum of quiet conversation and muted footfalls of personnel doing their duties gave the ship life. Silence prevailed with only twenty crew members, most of them in engineering. Addressing the man at the controls, "Mr. Marin, how are we at getting underway?"
BLACKSTONE's navigator did not look away from the display scrolling before his eyes. "Progressing well, Sir. If I get clearance from the dock master, we'll be free and clear to maneuver ten minutes ahead of schedule."
"Good job, Helio."
"I'd love to take credit, but credit goes to automation and the computer."
In the comically oversized chair, he adjusted the pad behind his back. "I would rather have human oversight."
Behind him, a turbo-lift door whooshed. What would typically be minor background noise was loud in the empty space. CDR Sinter strode in and began shifting controls at many stations around the perimeter of the bridge. He manipulated control consoles around the bridge, shifting them into or out of standby mode. Completing a circuit, Sinter sat at a station behind the Captain's center seat. Working at his Science console, he remotely accessed functions from different stations. Seconds later, their functions were moved to computer oversight or were slaved to the communications station. Hearing the soft chirping of an extensive array of computer commands from behind, Ravi swiveled his command chair to see that his executive officer was moving to sit at Communications.
He had unconsciously registered that there was a person at the console behind him. Communications was one of the few operations that were always operational, and the field's delicate nature required live oversight. Seeing his Second in Command at such a junior post was startling. A glance at the array of displays made it clear that competency was not an issue. The man had reconfigured the station to display readouts and controls for Science, Communication, and Life Support.
An alert cut through the quiet undertones that served as background noise. Ravi swiveled back and stepped to a position just beside the officer occupying Flight Control. He scanned the extremely complicated display. Like the Executive Officer's display, the console screens were reconfigured to show readouts and controls for three disparate areas: Flight Control, Weapons, and Engineering. While he scanned the data, a display reorganized itself, displaying an alert in bright red font. Adjacent to the warning, a secondary screen produced scrolling data highlighted in both warning red and caution yellow. The captain read down the list, and a frown creased his face. He was aware of all the information. It was the same that CDR Sinter had shown him j ust a day ago. Turning to the console operator, he ordered, "Helio, run a second diagnostic. If there are no critical faults, we have to get underway."
Looking at the confused display, Ravi found the communication panel and punched up Main Engineering. "Chief Engineer, what have you been doing for the last eighteen hours? We are showing decoupling and RCS faults again".
A voice came up from the panel, "Captain, I don't have the time or energy to give you a list of all my team has accomplished in a couple of shifts. I have ensured this beast is locked into one piece, no matter what the readout says. I guarantee we'll stay that way. Regarding the RCS, a team is ready to pull the fuel on the way to the rendezvous if we get to it. There are a few bigger alligators in the pond. If that is not good enough, fire me." Ravi had to trust his people.
Ravi did trust them; they were the best. That expertise and the extreme circumstance meant he would allow a lot of latitude for a poor attitude. His own nerves were raw, and he had been curt with some personnel.
Trying to lighten the exchange, "Are you certain we'll reach the rendezvous point in one piece?"
"Yes, so long as nothing else breaks. If it does, we'll fix it. Really?
What can happen?"
"I don't want to know. Bridge, out." Ravi closed the channel and returned to his seat. From behind, Sinter announced. "Captain, I am receiving a data package from the star base. It is being routed directly to the helm console."
"Marin, what are you getting?"
"Sir, it is a set of automated helm instructions: coordinates, courses, and speeds. A text file attached states that BLACKSTONE must be underway by a specific time. According to the notes, we can leave early, not late. It references a particular set of orders and allows no deviation from the movement plan once started.
Sinter opined, "That must be the separate message that the Commodore Stowe's original orders talked about." He looked at a chronometer adjacent to the viewer dominating the forward bulkhead. It was rapidly counting down to zero. "Are we ready to get underway?"
"Sir, Underway Checklist is complete, and space dock has cleared all moorings. We are holding position by thrusters only."
Looking at both officers on the bridge and comparing it to the number of empty chairs, he was not pleased with the ratio. He was resigned to fate. Looking at a complicated array of gantry beams that framed a view of open space ahead, he said, "Ok, Helm, as much as I don't like this, take us out and activate the programmed flight plan."
"Aye, Sir. Ahead on thrusters. We are underway." An automated tone sounded throughout the ship, though few people were present to mark the change in status.

LAUNCH

Precisely at the appointed time, twelve hours after informing the crew, USS BLACKSTONE cleared Starbase Bravo Sierra's gigantic spider web of a construction gantry, where she had been ensconced like a moth in a cocoon. All the windows and ports were dark, while the deck edge and sidelights were on. The corridors and workshops echoed in dimmed utility lighting. Rather than sailing out, emerging in a stately fashion, it appeared as if BLACKSTONE's pale form oozed from its cage, dropping into the darkness. From the outside, BLACKSTONE looked abandoned and dead. If it were not for the required running lights, the ordinarily vibrant, sleek shape would appear as a dead hulk drifting in space.
From his office, Commodore Girand watched the sleek arrow shape of the USS BLACKSTONE move, proceeding farther away from the warm glow and relative protection of Starbase Bravo Sierra. Safety concerns limited a starship's authorization to warp near a sun or any of the system's planets. BLACKSTONE's four-nacelle design was more stable. Still, the commodore had to give special authorization for a warp before the outer reaches of the system's Kuiper belt, the ring of planetoids and comets at the farthest extent of a planetary system. Girard was directed to provide that authorization against his better judgment.
Because she was in proximity, the commodore could follow BLACKSTONE's progress as she dwindled with distance. Deep down, he believed that a ship running that dark was fundamentally wrong. As she moved away, the last thing he could see from the surrounding black were the glow from the impulse exhaust vents and a flash of red and green running lights.
Suddenly, the impulse glow dimmed, and BLACKSTONE seemed to hang suspended in the velvety blackness of space. Equally sudden, the four warp nacelles developed an azure glow associated with impending charge. Without fanfare, BLACKSTONE vanished in a flash of gravimetrically condensed starlight. The Commodore could not shake a sense of foreboding in the afterimage of warp flash. He was sure that he would never see that ship or crew again.
But, before he could slip further into melancholia, he heard his name over the communicator attached to his left breast. "Girand, here. Whatever it is, I'm on my way to Ops. You can meet me there." With one last glance out of a transparent aluminum window, he left his office and entered the chaos of Starbase Operations.

ENROUTE

Contrary to every expectation, the ship was running flawlessly since departure.
The alerts from earlier had been resolved. Chief Engineer Frasier had spent the last two shifts supervising teams in all three hull sections. Collectively, the fifteen men cleared a large portion of the discrepancies that had clogged Sinter's shakedown cruise report of the day prior. There was a concern that men and equipment would be overtaxed.
The ship was replete with state-of-the-art automation, but it still required a minimum of human oversight to interpret readouts and set priorities. Starfleet had an uncomfortable history with autonomous craft and environments run by artificial intelligence. Even a technological marvel such as the PROMETHEUS class required guidance. The Artificial Intelligence Control was designed to work from verbal inputs or, in the absence of that, the parameters fed into its central computer core. For precision maneuvering in time and space, direct input was the best option for synchronized movements along a precise flight plan. It takes special knowledge and programming skills. It also takes a comprehensive understanding of where everything is in space along the route. Unfortunately, that understanding is better garnered by hindsight.
For this mission, artificial control followed a set of orders fed into the helm via message before leaving space dock. Those orders had assumed control of the ship almost immediately after departure and were still operating the helm. It was rare that a helmsman had no actual control over the ship's movement. The computer announced and executed every course and speed change for the last sixteen hours with no input from the man at the console. While this automation gave a measure of freedom and relaxation, it balanced that freedom with the anxiety of not knowing the ship's destination.
Ravi had stayed in the center seat on the bridge since departing space dock.
The absence of a crew made him apprehensive. He thought there was something fundamentally wrong with a ship designed to operate with one hundred and forty having only twenty persons on board. With all the required repairs and routine operational maintenance, finding a single person, much less a group of people, was rare. The highest congregation of the crew was in Main Engineering in the upper warp hull. He sat on the bridge several decks away.
Ravi knew the BLACKSTONE was a testament to her design principles. He had worked diligently to bring her construction to fruition. But, the man had grave misgivings about putting control of a warship in the hands of a computer, no matter how sophisticated that artificial intelligence, how man fail safes and overrides were installed. He knew he had a blind spot with artificial intelligence having autonomous control of a starship. His family had a personal history with the concept. Nearly a hundred years ago, his grandfather had been killed in a war-game exercise between the M5 computer system controlling the starship ENTERPRISE and his grandfather's ship EXCALIBUR.
With this lingering sense of unease, he chose to stay and oversee everything, keeping a keen awareness of ship operations and where he could find the nearest override. In one part of his brain, he knew that if the ship started acting erratically, there was little he could realistically do but call Engineering and have computer control interrupted. Another part of his brain also knew that other ships in the Prometheus class had worked flawlessly, and his ship was likely to continue that trend.
There was light in his personal darkness when Engineering called the bridge, stating that the RCS and Decoupling Systems had been repaired, passing multiple diagnostics. The nagging part of his brain told him that the computer control was what was making him nervous. However, all appeared to be "right with the world," and all systems the computer monitored were working.
While contemplating this achievement in the face of adversity, an alert sounded on Sinter's station behind him. It did not startle him; bridge consoles chirped for various reasons. Spinning in his chair, he watches the man at the console input a series of commands.
This resulted in a secondary, screen-within-screen opening, releasing a torrent of information. Though too far away to read, green lettering indicated it was benign data, most likely administrative. In Ravi's world, this was the usual thing that any ship captain would have to deal with daily. Routine administration and maintenance were ongoing. It was impossible for a ship in space not to have some minor preventative procedure performed regularly. The other side of the coin was personnel issues. There would always be performance reviews and requests for transfer or reassignment within the ship. And with reassigning the vast majority of his crew, this was an administrative avalanche. Or, and this was one he was still coming to terms with since putting on Captain's pips, requests, and counseling that went with the unavoidable relationships that occur on a mixed-gender ship. It was made even more problematic when you account for all the permutations that can occur when you add in interspecies relations.
In the hours since departure, Ravi had reviewed the scant information in the launch orders that Commodore Stowe had issued. There were a few sentences that had caused him to strip himself of one hundred and twenty members of his crew and almost all of their computer information. Ships ran with extensive library computer information and a near real-time connection with Memory Alpha, the Federation's scientific and cultural data repository. Now, he had no crew, no computer, and no communications. Not a good mix.
It was just past the time when the break for a midday meal should have occurred, LT Helio Marin, the officer at the helm, spoke to the room at large. "We are dropping out of warp."
At that moment, the forward view screen transitioned from the false color image of warp space to the unblinking pinpoints of starlight that indicated sub-light speed travel. A full third of the screen was dominated by a filigreed white cloud with a flare of brighter white flashing at regular intervals in the center.
"We are approaching the last of the designated coordinates. The computer is using RCS and station-keeping thrusters to align with the final location and orientation instructions."
Leaning back and talking over his shoulder, "Sinter, what information do we have about this area of space? What am I looking at?"
Moving to his regular Science station, Sinter keyed a few commands into his keyboard. A minimal amount of information appeared on a screen angled to be scanned, most in a neutral shade of green. A few lines were displayed in cautious yellow, and a single notation in an alarming shade of red.
Returning to communications, Sinter gave his report. "Sir, we are in the Sarpeidon sector; there is a debris cloud full of starship wreckage as leftovers from the Dominion War. Evidently, the Starfleet Corps of Engineers has yet to salvage here. This area of space was dominated by a couple older civilizations. Both the T'Kon and Iconian Empires had outposts. The residents of the planet Sarpeidon reportedly developed an as-yet unknown method of time travel, and the area is subject to extreme fluctuations in subspace because of the stresses caused by warp core detonations and output from a collapsed star. And that beauty dominating the screen is the Beta Niobe singularity, which remains when the central star went nova and collapsed to a singularity. It converted from the main sequence to its current state about one hundred and fifty years ago based on gas expansion and high-energy emissions.
"How did you pull that card out of the deck? The computers give you that?
"No, computer information on this region has been deleted, most of it, I recalled; the rest comes from dispatches.
Genuinely impressed by the report, Captain Ravi praised the man behind him.
"You paid attention at the Academy."
"Reading, All Stop. I know exactly when that star went supernova, star date 5943.7." Marin Said, "The Enterprise was here when it blew; they barely got out with their hull in one piece."
"That's a fascinating tale." said the captain with a wry grin and good humor.
Tales of the ENTERPRISE had passed from a matter of Starfleet record into the realm of folklore, especially after a series of holo-novels had reached epic popularity. Many former Enterprise crewmembers unequivocally stated that what appeared in the popular media was embellished for drama.
Ravi continued, "Contrary to popular belief, the ENTERPRISE was not the only ship to explore space and have adventures. Don't believe everything you have seen on a holodeck. Some are just tall space-stories."
Ravi grinned at the young man sitting in front of his command chair. Lithe and wiry, Marin was small for a human but more significant than his captain. He recalled that man's record: Honors in Navigation and Stellar Cartography at Starfleet Academy. Ravi has poached him from under the command of one of his best friends and academy classmates. Captain Vin of the MANHATTAN billed him a bottle of Saurian Brandy to approve the transfer. Even almost a decade after the Dominion War, Saurian Brandy was hard to come by on the open market. Marin's performance had been more than worth the price. If Helio Marin had one drawback, it was a fascination with Starfleet history in general and the ENTERPRISE in specific. It closely bordered on obsession.
"Sinter, are we safe? I am not comfortable with being this close to a naked singularity and short on crew."
"If engineering did the work and all the repairs hold, we are in no danger," replied Sinter. "There is limited gravitational stress or high-energy particle impact on the shields. Under other circumstances, I'd like to get closer and run a complete analysis. You don't get to observe the formation and life of a singularity every day."
"Thank the Great Bird for that. I'd like to keep my distance; get whatever information you can from here. Helm, how long are we going to be loitering here?"
"I have no idea. I have not been flying this ship since we left Bravo Sierra. The computer has been in control of everything. When we dropped out of warp, the navigational sensors started scanning space within fifty thousand kilometers of the ship like they were looking for something. I am willing to bet that the next leg will begin when they find whatever they are looking for. "
"Great, another unknown. If we are in a holding pattern, we'll put the time to use; both of you run any housekeeping diagnostics you've had to postpone. "
Manipulating their respective consoles, the two officers ran a sequence of programs designed to test the status of the systems and components under their purview. There were multiple levels of diagnostics from level one, a cursory status check, to level five, an exhaustive check down to individual components. This level of diagnostic check required taking the system out of service. The most detailed specialty checks went to the atomic level. They were reserved for integrated exotic systems like the warp core or transporter.
Within seconds, Marin's console emitted a tone that signified attention was needed. Looking down and reading the display caused a frown across his smooth, swarthy features. Stepping down from his command chair, Ravi moved to the more prominent man's side. Most captains would approach from behind and look over the seated man's shoulder. This was impossible because Marin was taller than his captain even when seated.
"Marin, what do you have?"
Without looking up, the Helmsman relayed the data on his screen. Even while giving the report, Marin was reinitializing the test with one hand and doing a database search for causes with the other. "The decoupling system is showing a status mismatch again. I know that we are solidly latched, and the system is powered down. Still, we are getting indications of hull separation."
Ravi pressed the intercom control on Marin's console and spoke down at the grid.
"Bridge to Engineering."
"Fraiser, here."
"Mr. Fraiser, while we have a moment. Send teams to the Upper and Lower Warp Hulls to manually reset the control interface for the decoupling system. We are getting that status mismatch again."
"Roger, Things are stable here. I am taking Crewman Torv and going up to the computer core to see if we can reprogram the output parameters. I'll have Chief Dufrane and his team go to the lower hull to examine the coupling sensor modules.
"Who's left in Main Engineering?
"There are a few people left; they can handle anything that comes up.
"Whatever it takes, I just don't want to come apart at an inopportune moment."
"That shouldn't happen."
"'Shouldn't' is the operative word. Bridge, out."
From the helm station, Marin looked the captain eye to eye. "Sir, I am new to the Prometheus Class. Has there been any testing on what would happen if the decoupling system fails?"
With a grim grin, "Yes, Helio, the ship separated into more than three pieces. Don't worry about it. It has never happened outside of a simulation, and it will take a long series of things going wrong, both mechanically and with the computer, for that to happen to us. We are not that unlucky." Under his breath to the ceiling while crossing his fingers, "I hope."
Turning to the rear of the bridge, "Sinter, tear yourself away from the singularity for a minute and do a comprehensive scan of nearby space. I am uneasy just sitting here without knowing if there is something special out there. We were brought here for a reason."
After a moment, Sinter said, "Sir, Nothing significant to report." \
In the silence, the routine bridge background noise became uncomfortably loud.
Stepping to his chair, Ravi sat down heavily. He said to the room, "It seems we wait." And, wait, they did.

FINAL COUNTDOWN

When the USS BLACKSTONE came out of warp with a flash and a streak of white lights, what may have looked as a silvery blur was at a relative standstill as interstellar travel speeds were reckoned. However, a starship moving at full impulse, cruising at a small fraction below the light speed, is still moving incredibly fast. Contrary to holovid presentations, she was not a shining beacon of light against a black sparkling backdrop. Except for her few lights illuminating her hull and a dim smattering of starlight, she would appear as a dark hole in space. To completely destroy a widespread illusion, stars don't twinkle in space. Stars are cold, hard points of light outside of an atmosphere. Because of the relative darkness and vast distances to find two objects close, it is either a phenomenal stroke of luck or an assignation coordinated by intelligence with foreknowledge of where both will be.
Sometime after they arrived at a nondescript place in the middle of nowhere, Sinter spoke to an unnaturally quiet bridge. "Captain, the debris cloud is shifting in an odd pattern. I'm reading a neutrino surge from 265mark 001, thirty-five thousand kilometers."
"Neutrinos? What is a cloaked ship doing in this neighborhood?" replied the suddenly alert captain.
"It may not be a cloaked ship; this could be an interaction with the singularity and an active sub-space manifold. Besides, we are too far from the Klingon and Romulan space.
"I don't think so. Broadcast in the blind, send a Hail. Find out if someone is there and what they want." Nervousness was putting a demanding, professional edge to the captain's voice.
"No response, Sir. I'm now reading a second trace. Much smaller. Both neutrino surges are moving. The small one is on an intercept course."
"I don't like this one bit; it's too coincidental. Marin, set Yellow Alert. Charge the defense grid and raise shields." It was beginning to strain the small man's neck, whipping his gaze from Sinter behind him and to Marin in front.
"Captain, this may be why we came out here. We could be rendezvousing with the cloaked ship; the other signal might be a shuttle en route."
"I don't want any part of this situation, our orders be damned. Helm, set a course away from those surges and the singularity."
"Sir, the helm just engaged. We are at warp one and heading toward that signal.
"Sinter, lock the view screen on that surge. Get me an image of what we are going to find.
"Sir, we are coming around." Marin was beginning to show strain in his voice. "New heading, 111mark 14. A countdown timer has just appeared on my console. It reads one minute, fifty-four seconds."
"Sinter, I am through with this show. Too many things are happening that I don't like or understand. Warn them off. If you don't get a response, we will open fire".
"The small neutrino surge cleared. I have a sensor return from the debris cloud. Scanning. The computer reads it as an Iconian probe."
"Helm, red alert, don't let that thing get close. Evasive maneuvers. Destroy it if you can't outmaneuver it."
"Sir, Helm is not responding to commands. The weapons systems just went offline. The probe is closing; twenty thousand kilometers.
A burst of light fills the bridge. Ravi was fortunate to be in the shadow of the Helmsman and only dazzled. To the bridge at large, he asked, "What was that?
From the rear of the bridge, "I have lost the larger neutrino surge. I now read a warp trail. The light was a close range high-intensity chroniton burst."
"Great, if we survive this, we'll have Temporal Investigations on our back.
"Captain," Sinter's calm voice contrasted with Marin's. "The probe is closing. Nine thousand Kilometers. I am reading an energy pulse building in the probe."
On the main view screen, a large silvery sphere separated itself from the confusion of a debris-littered background. Its surface was streaked by orbiting blue lightning bolts arcing and flashing at random intervals. Its motion caused it to close on BLACKSTONE via an intercept course. If circumstances continued, the sphere would impact Blackstone shy of the forward arrowhead. Before that catastrophe struck, an arc of lightning jumped the distance between the two objects, and, in that flash, the sphere became inert. The dead shape quickly fell astern.

On BLACKSTONE, consoles began sparking. Slapping at the communications console to extinguish flames and disperse smoke, "We are receiving a transmission from the probe. It's channeled straight to the computer." Looking at one of his science readouts, "Sir, All computer systems are going offline.
"Bridge, this is Fraiser; the computer is shutting down. When that happens, it'll take all power systems with it."
With a great sense of dramatic timing, darkness engulfed the bridge. After a heartbeat, red emergency lighting suffused the space with a carmine tint. A minimally amplified tinny voice emanated from the command chair's communication grid. "That's it. We are now on batteries. Emergency systems only."
Marin frantically pushed control surfaces on the console before him. It refused to respond, but a scant few readouts continued to function. "We've dropped out of warp. Impulse engines are offline; we are coasting on inertia. I am showing a course deflection towards the black hole.
We're falling towards Beta Niobe."
"Fraiser, get that computer back online." Ravi barked.
"Torv and I are heading back to the upper core. This shouldn't happen with the redundant power systems." In the background, footfalls and shortness of breath meant BLACKSTONE's Chief Engineer was running through empty corridors.
"Pull your teams back from whatever they're doing and get propulsion back."
"It'll take a minute; they were doing visual inspections in the Jeffries tubes." The sound of heavy isolation doors cycling meant the two engineers had reached the entrance to the primary computer core. BLACKSTONE's primary computer complex was unique to the PROMETHEUS class. It spanned six decks and was designed to separate when the ship did for emergency or combat situations. In reality, it was three typical cores stacked vertically. Information was copied and traded within its positronic matrix, and all three could operate their portion of this ship independently, coordinating actions via subspace communication. Nothing happened on the ship without being controlled or monitored by the computer.
Most of the functions were dormant in the aftermath of the probes attack. Indicators slowly began coming to life as power flowed back into the space. Readouts on the periphery painted a picture of ship activity. Raw data was still being received and decompressed, filling more of the empty memory capacity recently vacated. Programs that were meant to bring the ship up to operational status began to execute. On a side monitor, the decoupling status shifted from 'Locked' to 'Disengaged.' There were no other indicators of this new condition onboard the ship.
As a vibration began to course through the deck plates, followed by a resounding 'thunk' of machinery retracting, the captain groaned, "What now?
Marin offered, "Sir, I don't recognize that other sound."
To an outside onlooker, BLACKSTONE split into three separate pieces. The movement was stately and slow. The hull's three parts drifted apart but continued in close formation. What was once a single sleek, streamlined form was now two ungainly machines that mirrored each other's and a diamond shape moving through space. From above or below, she looked in one piece; the tripartite image could only be seen from a lateral view.
Inside the hull, the crew, few as there were, began a frantic scramble to restore systems that had gone inexplicably dark. Few stopped to realize that with such a complete loss of power, life support and gravity should have failed. Still, air continued to flow, and 'down' stayed firmly beneath their collective feet. Also, as they traveled through space near light speed, random molecules of dust, debris, and stray atoms should have put holes in the hull. The hull remained in one piece and airtight. What they were keenly and desperately aware of was that emergency bulkheads had closed, separating them from their compatriots or the remainder of the ship.
Those in Main engineering had to scramble up or down as the multilevel space split horizontally, bisecting the warp core along a predesigned fissure. The same occurred in sickbay. The doctor on duty had fallen from a guardrail when the pressure doors engaged. She was uninjured, but since there were no alarms or announcements, the sudden movement of heavy isolation doors had thrown her off her stride to the deck. In the upper warp hull's primary computer core, CDR Frasier and Crewman Torv let go of a string of language when the computer severed connection with the command hull. Looking down, Frasier could see the separation bulkhead slide from its recess, isolating the core from its counterpart in the lower warp hull.
On the bridge, manual restraints are automatically deployed at the loss of power to keep the command crew safely in their seats. These belts were a relatively new installation after some catastrophic failure of the inertial damping field, causing numerous injuries. Sinter and Marin quickly and professionally manipulated assorted controls to get any information. Every console but one was dark. Only the indicator for computer status was reading any information. In the near complete darkness, it is a bright beacon. When the number reached fifty percent, the display was mirrored on every display on the bridge and every console in upper and lower warp hulls.
Captain Ravi was instantly drawn to the bright glow and changing numbers. He asked, "Sinter, what is that display telling me?
"Sir, the computer control is rebooting, and systems are coming back online.
"Thank the Bird for small favors.
Once the escalating numbers reached one hundred, all systems restarted. Bridge lights came on full. The sudden brightness caused eyes to squint and tear from the sudden assault. A second assault upon personal senses was a cacophony of beeps and chirps, typically just background noise, now suddenly loud after the previous silence. When the main view screen sprang to life, the stars were pinpoints of light slowly spinning about a center point rather than long, straight, scintillating strands of warp-corrected light.
"Helm, what is wrong with this picture?
"Sir, we are on impulse drive, and the computer has overridden attitude control. Sir, I am reading a proximity alarm.
"We decoupled while we were dark. Sinter, raise someone on the upper and lower warp hulls and get them to their battle bridges. Let's pull ourselves back together and figure out what is going on."
“Bridge, Frasier here. What the hell happened? The computer just split. I can't regain control from here if the parts aren't talking.
Sinter spoke over the voice on the intercom. "Captain, the re-initialization sequence is complete, and the computer is awaiting final authorization."
"Fraiser," the captain said, "we may have a solution up here. Work from the primary core and try to regain computer control; force a re-coupling command or complete engine shutdown." Speaking aloud to an overhead microphone, "Computer commence start-up authorization code, Ravi un-Dun, Captain USS BLACKSTONE, 2-0-1-9, Kappa, Delta, Pi,"
"Authorization accepted, confirm, commencing program execution," returned a feminine voice that under other circumstances would be soothing.
"Finally, something is going right for a change!"
"Captain, I still don't have navigational control." Marin had regained a measure of composure with the return of lights.
"I knew it was too soon to celebrate." Pushing a different control spot on his command chair, the Captain opened a separate communications channel. "Engineering, the helm is still offline."
An anxious voice came from the speaker, clearly one of the junior crewmen now out of his depths. "Captain, the computer is running a program. The authorization log says it is on your orders, input just a few minutes ago."
From the computer, "Light speed breakaway program: initiated. Warp speed in thirty seconds."
"What the Bird is going on? Fraiser, you're in the computer core; forget the re-coupling, disconnect that thing, and initiate a failsafe. We have got to get control. Take a phaser to it if you have to, but shut it down. It has gone crazy." Ravi leaped from his command chair and began frantically working control at Sinter's science station.
A disembodied voice rose from Ravi's armrest, "Working on it!"
Over his shoulder, Ravi ordered, "Marin, throw manual override and start ripping out isolinear chips, but stop that program." To the overhead mic, "To anyone left in engineering, pull the dilithium crystal frame and force an emergency warp core shutdown."
Sinter's calm voice was in contrast to the air of tension permeating the bridge, "Captain, Lower Hull just jumped to warp."
From the computer, "Twenty seconds to warp drive activation." Its soothing voice had taken on an ominous timbre.
"Sinter, find out where they went and where we're about to go," ordered the captain as he moved back to his chair. If something was about to happen, that was the most appropriate place for him.
Again, Sinter gave a deadpan delivery of disturbing news. "Captain, the upper warp hull just jumped to warp."
A subtle vibration began to make itself felt from the deck. On the view screen, stars began a stately procession around an unseen central point. The immense cloud of dust that was the visible part of the Beta Niobe singularity scribed a swath around the screen's edge, slowly moving to the center.
Finally, showing a small margin of emotion, though Ravi did not like the Sinter's desperate tone, "Captain, I have cracked the navigation program. It is a set of calculations for a light-speed breakaway with the Beta Niobe singularity. We are going to time travel." The finality in the man's voice had a funereal ring.
"Do you know when or where we're aiming for after the maneuver?"
"None since we didn't do the breakaway calculations."
"It seems we are going into the magic light whether we want to or not."
"Program activation in 5, 4..."
"Captain, has anyone ever said anything about your overuse of magic-related metaphors?"
"3"
"No one has ever pulled that pigeon from a scarf."
"2"
"Really, Sir? You had to go there?"
"Warp program engaged"
"I am really beginning to hate that voice."
"1"
"Engaging warp drive."
From the perspective of a person standing still, the arrowhead shape of BLACKSTONE's command section slowly began to accelerate. After a brief interval, micro-warp nacelles deployed from recesses in the upper and lower surfaces of the command section's angular space frame.
An electric blue glow suffused their entire length, spilling onto the smooth grey surface. When the glow became blinding, BLACKSTONE jumped to warp speed, leaving an optical streak of light behind. In the millisecond before leaving normal space, an explosion of white light marked where the ship transitioned from normality to the eldritch mysteries of warp space.

End of Part 1