To boldy go to yet another damned frontier...

[ZekeRawlin]

Prologue

((My only warnings are I have a foul mouth, and therefore while my general themes are not generally spicy, my characters will sometimes say some NSFW language.))

{Entry made by Captain Zeke Rawlin.}

Captain's Log; Stardate 1240.84. {Universal Translator determines the date to be Friday October 13, 2265 at 23:43 shipboard time.};

It has been one hell of a week. So I will get straight to the point. The McKenzie currently orbits an M-Class planet the locals call Rhy'Din. The largest hub is on a landmass near the northern hemisphere. This port city shares the name of Rhy'Din with this world and it straddles a river that runs off to the oceans. We are preparing an away team to investigate, as I have determined there would be no violation to General Order One if we proceed. We have detected a small amount of interstellar traffic coming and going from this world so it is clear that if this world has not developed this on their own, then cultural contamination of post-warp equivalence has already occurred before our arrival and therefore the matter is moot. Some of their means of propulsion is beyond our understanding, while others operate very similarly to conventional warp drive. Our initial but limited scans of the planet surface turn up contradictions. We detect very industrial and staggering sources of power, most of a nature our sensors cannot even explain. I will elaborate on why that is in a moment. Yet, the architecture appears to be generally medieval in nature and technological advancement.

The status of the McKenzie is grim. But things are improving. Forgive the crude bluntness of my statement, but when we arrived in this system we were bent over and fucked! You Daystrom shit-heads had absolutely no clue how the damn thing worked but you still crammed it into my ship. Usurped my own goddamned Chief Engineer for one of your civilian eggheads. I don't how the hell they talked Commodore Cartwright into it, but... No, that is not productive. I need to calm down. Computer, delete the last paragraph and resume... Actually computer, scratch that. I want these pricks to see it in the record later. But I will keep my composure... {An audible sigh is heard over the audio.}

I will briefly summarize before I just lay this all out. The experimental drive is obliterated. It's done for. And even if it weren't, the only god damn fool who -- no, I am sorry. I did not see eye to eye with Mister Stigler. But he was a person, and he was one of the lives that this debacle took. God rest their souls. Each and every one of them were under my care. He was the only one on this crew even capable of interfacing the mycelial network. So even if we knew where the hell we were -- I'll get to that in a second, by the way -- it got us here but it will not be getting us back. The feedback from the experimental drive also completely obliterated the dilithium crystals. We will need to replace them, or find an equivalent of some sort. So even warp drive is out right now. We are completely limited to sublight speeds and this solar system. The surge that took out our warp also just completely fried all but the most rudimentary of the MacKenzie's systems. It took the most of a week under zero power, working with portable oxygen. Datapads and books. Flashlights. Rationing MRE dinners. Every single mere, tiny, piece of data down to even the most miniscule gigaquad was fried right out of the ship's computer. With a reboot of our systems, we got the most rudimentary of operating systems up. But the database is gone. Star charts, the Federation database of planets, races, histories, all of it. The only information we have even retained is whatever the crew possessed on datapads and datachips that were stored on physical copies completely isolated from the computer. That and physical books, manuals. We have spent a week's time building up an operating system essentially from scratch in order to get ship's systems back to at least resembling what this ship was capable of. There are two moons that orbit the planet and we have been hiding behind the dark side of the largest of them, which conveniently also has the more leisurely orbit. It has been a haven while we effected what repairs we could. Which brings us to the sensors...

In short, we have no records whatsoever of power signatures of any type in our database, besides the ones we generate ourselves. And even those weren't in our fledgling, ad-hoc database until we scanned ourselves just so we could add that and have something to start with as a frame of reference. All we know is that whatever we are picking up down there is unlike anything we currently employ. My topmost priority lies in seeing of any of it is compatible with our warp drive. Of equal necessity is obtaining any and all star charts we can get a hold of. With our database wiped, we have no frame of reference in which to compare the constellations visible to our sensors and the naked eye. Where we are as it relates to the proximity of Federation space, we are utterly baffled. Shit, I couldn't even tell you if it's really today's stardate. Or whether we're in some other time, reality, or place... I will refuse to complicate things with those sorts of possibilities until we are forced to consider them. So I will continue on as though today is stardate 1240.84 until it is otherwise proven to me.

That's the short story, but how did this all happen? I will append the appropriate logs to the following list. I believe it all began with stardate 1000.77... {Universal Translator determines the reference to that date to be Sunday September 10, 2265 at 17:07 shipboard time.}

To continue...

[ZekeRawlin]

{Records from the files appended from the personal datapad of Captain Zeke Rawlin show that the first of the files in fact bears a timestamp of stardate 1001.53, which the Universal Translator determines is the date September 10, 2265 at 19:39 shipboard time.}...

The Beginning

Zeke fidgeted between displays irritably as he sat at the station next to his pilot. The ensign said little to him during the flight and avoided interaction, probably deciding he didn't want to risk the ire of an obviously rankled Captain. The small little unnamed hopper shuttle ferried him from Starfleet's headquarters in San Fransisco to the starbase in orbit above the planet's hemisphere. Shaped like a large teardrop but pointed at both ends, it was more disc-like where it all met dead center in the middle. And branching off of this middle disc were an assortment of spheres. Biospheres, genetic repositories of forests and habitats of Earth. Mankind's promise that even though he had outgrown the urge to kill himself and decimate his world, he would still take extra steps to preserve it all. It was a measure taken shortly before World War Three. The biomes were sent up individually by scientists who wanted to preserve things for after the war, which ended with massive detonations in many nations. 600,000 species of animals and plants were instantly annihilated, as was 30% of Earth's population. Once things had calmed down and Earth began to rebuild, they looked once more to the biomes that had been sent in orbit. But over time they had grown so large that they would not be able to transplant them all down to Earth. So instead, they build Starfleet's first base around them. As the hopper closed the distance, the ships berthed around Starbase 1 came into focus. Zeke narrowed his eyes at a Miranda-class vessel in particular, just a single saucer shape with two warp nacelles mounted below it. Above the saucer jutted an almost handle-shaped section of hull, built to house and support a deflector dish.

The McKenzie was a step down from Constitution class of ships, but it was the result of an exhaustive war that had taken its toll on the Federation. These ships were smaller, and required much fewer resources to construct. Fewer crew to run them. And right now, the Federation just needed to churn out ships and personnel to replace what had been lost over the duration of the war. The McKenzie was the source of his foul mood on this particular evening. Zeke hadn't even finished the first of what was supposed to be his 5 year mission when their orders to be recalled came through. And then after that, his ship was towed off to god knows where. They wouldn't even tell him! They forced him and his bridge crew to take their leave much earlier than they planned, which was already enough of a reason to be furious in and of its self. But to slink off with his ship to some unknown place without even a placating lie for an explanation rankled him. He had pissed away 4 months of leave he hadn't even wanted to spend yet, and then just as abruptly he was being sent back up with no explanation at all. He glanced over at the quiet ensign, who still seemed to study the console and his controls a little too hard in order to avoid conversation with him. Zeke was pissed, alright. But he tried to soften his expression. He had no intentions of taking it out on the poor pilot. Zeke figured he must not have been very successful at cleaning his own scowl up, as the ensign continued to pilot them along with his eyes locked ahead, eyes unwilling to meet the Captain.

Zeke directed his attention back to the McKenzie. He squinted, trying to decide if anything about his ship looked different to him. They were no longer getting closer, however. Indeed, the field of stars through the viewport began to spiral and spin as the pilot changed course. Apparently their berthing was to be on the other side of the station. Soon the McKenzie was out of sight altogether, its field of view blocked by a particularly Amazonian looking biosphere. Zeke thought he glimpsed the form of a crouching panther for the barest of seconds prowling amid the vegetation below them, but he wasn't sure as they rapidly whipped past. The trajectory of the hopper shuttle brought them within mere meters of the edge of the dome's containment glass. He knew the material was really a construction of something immensely more durable than glass. Actual glass was rarely used in anything but the windows of ancient buildings and homes on Earth preserved from a time dating well before the Federation. Or else it was used in purely decorative, yet fragile things. But, that was the nuances of language for you. The top of all of the domes weren't really glass, but it was still referred to as such in casual conversation.

In a matter of minutes, the hopper shuttle glided along in its leisurely pace until it reached one of several large, rectangular openings that dotted the massive circumference of the station. The cylinder-shaped hull of the small conveyance craft pierced a hazy membrane; the energy field that kept the environment of the base at bay and inside where it belonged. The small craft eased its way across the bay, now under the control of an automated system that ensured they stayed clear of the comings and goings of the other small vessels that navigated the area. With a metallic sound, the hopper was set down in a marked spot in the far left corner of the bay. An entourage clad in a mix of gold and red uniformed shirts awaited him outside, 5 in all. Staring through the canopy of the hopper, Zeke recognized Commodore Cartwright, the ranking officer behind this all. He knew the dark skinned man had his home somewhere in Florida, and that he had a reputation for being a hard officer, grounded in shrewd pragmatism. The stoic, gold shirt officer with the Commodore insignia on his chest was hard to miss.

Zeke did not recognize any of the other gold shirts and red shirts standing with him. But one gentleman stood in stark contrast to the 5 Starfleet Officers. With long brown hair tied back in a bun, and a handful of datapads tucked under the crook of his arm, Zeke would recognize an egghead from the Daystrom Institute anywhere. He wore the white garb of their scientists, with a white lab coat worn over that. It contrasted starkly with blue eyes. His presence instantly raised Zeke's hackles, although he couldn't quite explain reasonably why. It wasn't his ridiculous man-bun, although that would certainly not earn him any points in Zeke's estimation either. But whatever was going on, Zeke got the distinct impression that this one here was behind it. Or else he was the lackey to those who were...

((To continue lol))

[ZekeRawlin]

Stardate 1001.59 {The Universal Translator determines the date to be September 10, 2265 at 19:51 shipboard time.}

Zeke found himself exiting the hopper and accepting a firm-gripped handshake from Commodore Cartwright, who got down to business without preamble.  He gestured first to Zeke, then to the white-clad scientist who stood out like a sore thumb apart from the Starfleet uniforms.  "Captain Zeke Rawlin, Franz Stigler.  The two of you will be working quite closely together aboard the McKenzie in the coming months.  Depending on how that goes, the assignment could be extended further."  Zeke noticed he didn't introduce anyone else present with them, and was left to wonder if they were just aides whose presence the Commodore was not acknowledging or whether any of them would have a significant role in whatever the hell this was. 

Then Cartwright's words caught up to him.  Depending on how that goes, the assignment could be extended further.  What was he leading up to?  The Federation was war-weary.  They had finally wound down from a years long war with the Klingons.  Zeke had somehow survived serving aboard two of the old Crossfield class ships, both of which had been destroyed in this war.  He hadn't even been part of the bridge crew on his last posting, but found himself on a fast track towards Captaincy merely because the entire bridge had been blown out and Zeke was simply in the right place at the right time to take charge and get a makeshift bridge set up inside Engineering.  They lost the ship, but because of the quick thinking they managed to buy some extra time limping away from the fight.  A little over 62% of the crew died that day.  But 51 out of 135 found themselves still around for the aftermath of that shit-show thanks to their initiative.  They managed to get out on shuttles and pods, and once they were clear Zeke and his makeshift "bridge crew" put the ship on a course back towards the Klingons before they made their way to the escape pods as well, with the warp core set to overload once it got close enough to do harm.  That particular gambit failed.  As his escape pod shot out into the void, Zeke had looked on as his ship barreled towards the two Klingon cruisers it faced down.  A well placed torpedo salvo finished her off before she could hit her mark. 

But the attempt had still impressed the Admiralty.  After the war was over and the new Miranda-class was being churned out as a less costly ship of exploration, they had promoted him to Captain and gave him the McKenzie. There were a lot of Captains lately who had found themselves fast-tracked to a position that before now, had been much harder to obtain. But that was a by-product of war. People died, and then roles had to be filled.  At least with the war at an end, it was time to get back into the swing of Starfleet's primary mission; exploration.  Zeke was tired of war.  He had expected to spend 5 years out there in deep space, exploring and conducting scientific pursuits.  He knew their guard couldn't be let down, they needed to be watching their border.  Zeke understood the importance of vigilance, but he and much of his crew had already sacrificed enough.  Fuck, some are no longer capable of sacrificing a god damned thing at all anymore. 

His mind's eye conjured up the memory of rows and rows of gloss-black standard Federation-issue torpedoes.  There were so many of them, they were all lined up in one of the several cavernous docking bays of this very starbase.  Each torpedo carried either the remains of those who had died, or else they merely contained the memory of an unrecoverable corpse.  There were way more of those ones than the others, god damn it. But then again, did it matter when dead was dead?  The empty casings were often filled with keepsakes, or things that might represent the deceased that were placed by those who cared.  In short, every single one of those gloss black torpedo casings were a casket.  One by one they were beamed off the flight deck and loaded into a torpedo tube to be shot towards the sun.  In a steady cadence, the goldish glow of the transporter would envelop one of the caskets.  Rows of the enlisted who had survived them stood at attention as a quartet of bagpipes belted out Amazing Grace.  The chime-like sound of the transporters taking another casket would overlap the sad dirge every few beats, and then after a few more moments a red streak would shoot off from a point somewhere above the cavernous opening of the flight deck. One by one they departed in this manner, until the flight deck was left just as empty as those who stood there to bear witness. Their journey towards the sun would take decades at the sublight speeds, but the vacuum of space would preserve the remains of their comrades until they finally reached the ultimate of crematoriums in the center of the Sol system. Those caskets were still making that journey now, a year later.

It was an image that haunted him often. He had spent his four month leave trying to wash the memory of the war away at the family distillery, deep in the Great Smoky Mountains that bordered Tennessee. His family had been making bourbon whiskey in those mountains and hills ever since the Americana days of prohibition. It had helped, reconnecting with relatives and loved ones. And drinking all that bourbon. But Zeke was still salty about his forced leave. That five year mission aboard the McKenzie had been the best distraction of all. Getting back to Starfleet's main purpose of exploration and the pursuit of science had been a breath of fresh air for all of those aboard McKenzie who had fought. They had needed it. It had kept their minds away from the war's horrors. And then they had ripped that away from them. Where had they taken the McKenzie? What did they do during the last four months? Zeke wasn't stupid. With all the secrecy, they had to have decided to use McKenzie to test something. Were they fielding some new weapon? It rankled him fiercely. Zeke was done with all that, and even if it lost him his command then he vowed that is how it would be. He would fight if backed into a corner. But he was tired of it. He would be damned they were going to send him out there looking for it.

His gaze settled back to the Daystrom egghead with his man-bun. His expression must have betrayed him, as Franz Stigler met Zeke's scrutiny with what almost seemed like a challenge. Open defiance. But before Zeke could ask a single thing, Commodore Cartwright cut him off with an upheld hand. "I can already hear your protests, Captain. But this is happening. You don't have a choice in the matter."

"What did you do to her?" Zeke demanded crossly.

The Commodore scowled, but let the tone of the question slide. "That is a discussion I would rather have in a more secure area aboard the McKenzie. But trust me, Rawlin. Hear it out, and you just might be surprised to be on board with it..." The Commodore turned and headed towards the closest exit, his staff following behind. With another uneasy glance at the Daystrom scientist, Zeke figured that was their cue to follow.

[ZekeRawlin]

Stardate 1001.7 {The Universal Translator determines the date to be September 10, 2265 at 20:14 shipboard time.}

"This is absurd! How do I run this ship when you've gutted my entire engineering staff!?" An exasperated Zeke stabbed his finger down on the desk in cadence to punctute the last few words. He, Commodore Cartwright, and Franz Stigler sat together at the far end of a conference room aboard the McKenzie. Cartwright had just begun to detail out what this was all about. And with the wisdom to just rip the bandage right off, he had led with the thing he knew would piss off Zeke in order to just get it out of the way. He thought the Daystrom scientist looked a little too smug at the announcement, but at least Franz Stigler had the sense to stay out of it and let the Commodore storm this particular beach.

And storm it, he did. "Look, Franz and his team worked on figuring out how to re-engineer this thing and interface it with the McKenzie. They know their way around the engineering bay."

"They're not Starfleet crew." Zeke countered.

"No, Captain. They are not." Cartwright agreed sternly. "But they do know this thing inside and out. They spent a year perfecting it before they even came aboard and began installing it."

"Okay, but the whole engineering department? Why? Why aren't they working with Hemmer and his team on this instead?" As Zeke looked between the two, he could tell he finally struck some sort of nerve with the egghead.

"No! Absolutely not!" It was the first time Franz had spoken up since Zeke had stepped off that hopper craft. The mention of Hemmer's name appeared to have set him off. "That man was absolutely-"

Cartwright held up a hand to interrupt. "Both of you, tone it down." His gaze settled to each of them in turn, locking eyes and fixing his stare to them both one by one. First directed at the Daystrom scientist, then at the Captain. He didn't relent with each of them until he was satisfied they had taken themselves down a notch, although Zeke felt that his withering glare had settled on him a little longer than Franz. "Hemmer proved difficult to work with. So it was ultimately decided that a Daystrom team would supplant the engineering crew for the duration of this assignment. They understand the project, and it's delicate enough that we can't afford the two teams stepping on each other's toes. Hemmer is a damn good engineer, but he was definitely stepping on some toes. Stomping on them, more like."

Zeke smirked despite himself. Good, I hope you gave em' hell, Hemmer. The gaunt-looking Andorian was actually an Aenar, an off-shoot of the blue-skinned antennae'd people. The Aenar lived deep in the ice of Andoria and for generations had been believed to be a myth. Because they had dwelled under the ground for so long, their skin was a very pale white imitation of their blue-skinned cousins. They were also blind, although to compensate for this they had quite a strong telepathic ability. The lack of visual acuity in no way hampered Zeke's Chief Engineer, he was one of the best Zeke knew even if he was being biased because the man was one of his. Hemmer was also very passionate, very possessive over the McKenzie. Especially when it came to his engineering bay. Yeah, Zeke did not doubt Hemmer had all sorts of issues with Daystrom tearing up his domain to install whatever the hell this was. Cartwright hadn't even gotten to that yet. But it was clear that they were willing to steamroll through whomever they needed to in order to make these experiments happen. Would they be willing to do the same with Mckenzie's Captain? Zeke was beginning to think so. Perhaps before he kept all phasers blasting and blasted himself right out of a ship, he should at least hear this out. Fuck it though. If they think they're putting our asses back out there to get shot up, they won't have to kick me out. I'll see myself out. He let out a defeated sigh. "Look, if we get into trouble out there I need to know I can count on these guys like I could mine. What exactly is it we're going to be doing?"

Cartwright nodded, his stern expression softening ever so slightly. He seemed to pick up that Zeke was at least willing to be more open about hearing the rest first. "Look, I understand. And I won't lie, I've given you quite enough leeway on your tone because if I was in your shoes, I would be absolutely pissed right now as well." He leveled a look at Franz sitting across the table from him, and Zeke wondered what that was about. An "I told you so" sort of look? No, more as if to imply that the scientist had gotten what he wanted but needed to better understand and appreciate the gravity of it.

He leveled his gaze back at Zeke. "Look, I know you weren't given the courtesy of being involved in the decision. If this were any other circumstance I never would have made such a major alteration to your personnel without your input first. But once you see what this is about, I think you'll have a better understanding of our position. To be frank, the less people that are involved the better." Without any further ado and before Zeke could even stumble into a response, the Commodore was pulling out a datachip and inserting it into the computer console in the middle of the conference desk. Now that he had some semblance of Zeke's cooperation, he was dead set on getting right down to business. The lights dimmed, and a display quietly shone to life against the wall at the end of the table...