Episode 1: The Alcubierre

Korias is pleased to finally be getting to work researching and trying to find answers for his new captain.

He likes the Phobos. It’s quite a change from the last ship he served on. It’s smaller, much smaller. The crew is thin and essential. There are less minds aboard to creep into his thoughts and distract him from his work. And he does like his work. Nothing focuses him more.

Although he will hardly admit it to himself, the last ship overwhelmed his betazoid mind. And the traumatic climax of his former assignment was when the ship was destroyed, his captain killed, and he was forced to stay collected and take command over the small surviving crew. Despite their rampant emotions of fear and panic, Korias had to lead them to a planet and assume command until they were rescued eventually by Starfleet.

Yes...the Phobos is good assignment. He is eager to get to work.


To be able to provide a full report to Captain Sh'zhialroq ahead of her away team assignments, Science Officer Nevark decides to run a search in the ship's computer Starfleet database for any past studies or logged occurrences that have overlapping mention of warp drive activity and subspace interference. He also researches more details about the Alcubierre's original mission and engine system design.

Lt. Ch'pok, son of T’skrang, is a tall, swarthy Klingon with broad shoulders, thick eyebrows, and a mustache split at the center. His brown hair is worn short and hangs along the sides of face and neck, parted by a prominent sagittal crest beginning at the forehead and continuing over the skull. His gaze is intense and strikingly judgmental. From interacting with the Klingon lieutenant, one gets the sense that taking part in the officer exchange program was not his idea.

Unlike the other personnel around him, Ch'pok is wearing the standard uniform of the Klingon Defense Forces: a black tunic and trousers topped with a two-toned metallic armored vest, large shoulder pads, a six button belt buckle, boots, fingerless gloves made of razorbeast leather, and a sheathed dagger at his side. He wears a diagonal sash across his chest sporting various medals of past achievements, though the honor and meaning of these medals are lost to most of the surrounding humans. Ch'pok has heard the stories of a Klingon serving in Starfleet on one of its Galaxy-class starships, and he'd heard it said that this Klingon succumbed to wearing human garments. To Ch'pok, the notion is laughable.

The Klingon officer stands at his station and watches the view screen with little reaction. He narrows his eyes at the grainy image of the Alcubierre. This stinks of a trap.

Ch'pok turns to face his terminal. The Klingon's first order of business is to discern any potential perils in the area, primarily any other hidden ships or surprises that might be in waiting. He takes a few seconds to study the many screens of the weapons station, or what the humans prefer to call a "tactical station." He is still adjusting to the LCARS system used by Starfleet, and though the touch-based interface is markedly similar to Klingon technology, the layout of the controls is different.

Lt. Scofield sees an opportunity to make himself noticed.

The young officer is standing on the bridge as they approach the disappeared ship. It had been three trivial days searching for the missing craft but now it is in view. The failed scanning clearly means that they'll have to go in. And who better to lead the team than Scofield?
This is definitely an opportunity for him to advance and prove his worth as an officer. You have to grab those opportunities whenever they arise, he reminds himself.

"Captain, may I suggest we send a team in? I could go. he says a bit too eager and a bit too premature.

Dak knew that it would come to an away party, how else could this be done? But he didn't feel the need to chirp at it. Rather, he began making a checklist in his mind of what they would need- shuttlecraft, phasers, possibly encounter suits if the atmosphere wasn't breathable on the derelict ship. As chief of security, it was his responsibility to ensure the safety of away parties, so he prepared himself for the order to go.

As a half-Bajoran/half-Cardassian, Dak was unique in Starfleet- very few like him existed anywhere at all, but here amongst his peers he'd found a family, so he prepared to protect that family. I won't lose another crew . . .

Dak pushed the thoughts of his previous ship from his mind, glad to be back on ANY ship again after his sojourn through Starfleet Intelligence. I will earn these people's trust, he said to himself

Captain Sh'zhialroq made no bones about denying his promotion once again, but she did promise to see about his request for a bunk with less roommates. He wasn't an enlisted officer, after all, even if he wasn't fully commissioned. He let her put her boots on and leave his office. Andorians had remarkable feet, and it really made her less uncomfortable when unburdening herself to the ship's counsellor.

He smiled and thanked her for the book recommendation, wondering why an Andorian would have tried to read human neuro-diverse 22nd century poetry, if they weren't required to do so by some kind of contractual obligation.

Chuck was a handsome man, perhaps too handsome for his own good, which coupled with his disarming and youthful demeanor usually meant he could get by in life with less effort than was strictly necessary. Unfortunately, the Starfleet exams were frustratingly immune to his charms. Next time, he'd buckle down and get that commission!

Later...

On the bridge, as they take in the sight of the Alcubierre for the first time, he stands beside Lt. Ch'pok. They have drilled together once, as Petty Officer Chuck Tate is a highly trained security personnel, despite his sights set on command stripes. "Pick me," he whispers to the Klingon. "When they ask for a security team, pick me and I'll cover your six."

T'rissa groaned rolling out of bed for her third shift on the bridge. She ran her fingers through her hair yawning and stretching before flopping back on her bed and letting out a long breath. A short while and several more deep breaths later she sats back up and headed into the fresher to clean up. The ships chief medical officer, had promised her less than a day before that this shift time adjustment wouldn't last more than a week but that definitely felt like a week more than was honestly acceptable.

The ships fresher was, acceptable, but her early life on Andoria had left her with a preference for water based showers and hot ones at that so she'd imported her own special fresher setting from her previous posting. Thusly, when she finally emerged from the washroom she left behind a room bathed in steam and moisture. The environmental systems would take care of the steam in short order but the walls were another story and so she spent an extra five minutes wiping things down before pulling her uniform out of the closet and climbing into it.

T'rissa's skin was pale for a Vulcan and her long straight red hair was unusual enough that it made her something of an oddity among her people. She let out another breath and set about pulling her hair back behind her ears and fastening it in place with an ornate silver clasp adorned with a series of Vulcan glyphs. Fastening her uniform she took a moment to look at herself in the mirror before ordering a large mug of green tea and an english muffin.

When she appeared on the bridge a few moments later the muffin was gone and she carried the tea cup carefully. T'lyras, the night shift pilot turned to look at her and raised an eyebrow before getting up and relinquishing the con. T'rissa nodded and handed the black haired Vulcan woman the cup of tea prior to taking her seat. "I hope you have a pleasant slumber lieutenant, I made you some tea green tea, it helps me relax."

"Thank you." T'lyras replied as she nodded back giving the tea a sniff, "I hope your shift is equally pleasant lieutenant."

"Thank you." T'rissa said with a nod before turning her attention to the controls in front of her and the disabled ship on the main viewscreen.

When Chuck Tate speaks to Ch'pok, the Klingon exhales loudly through his nostrils and gives the Petty Officer a sidelong glance. He considers the human's question for a brief moment before turning his whole head to look at him. The gesture is not unlike a phaser turret swiveling to acquire a target.

"My... six?" he growls. As is typical of Klingons, nearly everything said by Ch'pok sounds tinged with aggression. He assumes Tate is employing some form of Federation slang. "Do you mean my flank?"

"Old earth phrase, means cover your back," Chuck explains with the enthusiasm of someone who expects to be liked for his helpfulness.

Lt. Ch’pok again considers the Petty Officer’s words. "I agree to your terms. We have an accord. Though I do not know who will assign the team. That task may fall to Lt. Khiatt."

"At once, Captain" Fenris acknowledged the order. He took a moment to consider the mission and the composition of the team.

"Mr. Nevark, I'll need your scientific expertise on this.
Lt. Khiatt for security along with Lt. Ch'pok.
And finally, Lt. D'Syre, I think I'll need your expertise as well. Fenris concludes believing he has put together the best team for the mission. One obvious omittance is Chuck Tate. It is not just the good looks and the charm of the man that made Fenris feel jealous but also that they had the same ambitions making them in Fenris' mind almost rivals.
"We'll leave as soon as possible."

Korias responds to Fenris Scofield, " I am ready sir."

At the omission, Chuck realizes he was schmoozing the wrong officer, but he elbows Lt. Ch'pok. Well not really elbows him, but leans a little closer and says, "I'm a decent shuttle pilot, too."

Dak nods to acknowledge the order, "I will have encounter suits and phasers at the shuttle bay in 20 minutes. Are there any other supplies we will need Sir?"

T'rissa stood up from her position at the pilots console and turned to follow Commander Scofield. "Sir," she says stepping in behind him, "might I suggest deploying a probe." Her voice is even and calm, "Perhaps we get it close enough we could isolate the source of the interference or potentially use it as a signal booster for our coms back to the Phobos."

Lt. Ch'pok turns to the captain. "My short-range tactical scans are inconclusive, but they suggest the interference is centered on the engineering section of the vessel."

He pivots to face Scofield. "Petty Officer Tate would be of value. He is a shuttle pilot of some capability." Though his words are a recommendation, the Klingon's gruff manner make them sound more like a command.

"Suits and phasers, yes" Fenris replies Khaitt "We'll need a few tricorders. Mr. Nevark, I trust you bring one for any examination, we might conduct. I'll bring one as well. Also, see if we can obtain a medkit. We risk being unable to beam back in an emergency, so we better be prepared for all eventualities."

"Excellent idea with the drone, D'syre."

Then Tate volunteered. Fenris felt a pang of annoyance but seeing the insistence of the Klingon, he had no choice. "Lt. Tate, thank you for offering your assistance as a pilot. I very happy to accept it." he says a bit stiff and formal.

Chuck nods, and tries to look professional, even if he's yippeeing inside. Contain it, PO, you're in Starfleet, just do a good job, the best you can, and make a name for yourself.

To Scofield, he says, "Sir, I'll do my best, sir." And to the Klingon, he adds, "Thank you, sir."