The 4th Messier 4 Expedition Group

Posted on Sun Feb 9th, 2020 @ 10:46am by Captain Benjamin Ingram Dr & Lieutenant Commander Meilin Jiang

Mission: S2:1: Into The Drowning Deeps
Location: Canopus Station, Station Operations
Timeline: MD3: 11.30

"Infrared spike has peaked...transition confirmed forty thousand kilometres from the aim point. The 4th Expedition has arrived."

A round of applause rolled through Station Operations as the space traffic controller monitoring the event narrated for the record. Throughout the Station, the careful tones of the controller rolled like waves, and similar cheers and black slaps echoed through the Starfleet personnel. Ingram was reminded of an old digital video stream he'd watched as a child, of the control room in Bejing in 2025 as the Chinese astronaut stepped off the lander's ladder and set foot on Mars.

Same energy, the same sense of pride at defying God and all the odds laid against them. He couldn't help himself but look somewhat smug as he gave a polite clap.

"That was nicely done," Ingram commented as he stepped closer to the command dais and looked at the controller. "Have we got a signal from all inbound transits?"

"Yes, Sir...er...yes we have confirmation on forty transponder signals that match our expected arrival quota."

That got silence.

"Forty?" Ingram said sounding somewhat affronted. "We're meant to be getting a few mining ships, some engineers and Romulan colonists. You don't need forty Phase Space shielded shells to transport that much surely?"

"Forty one now confirmed. Transit occurred in the trailing trojan point of Tangerine Dream," the controller reported. "We're detecting multiple neutrino emissions from antimatter reactors powering up. Starfleet and Federation signatures. Their ours."

"But forty-one?" Ingram said with a doubting tone in his voice.

Meilin stepped away from supervising the main sensor array and joined Ingram on the command platform. "Is that number substantially different from the scheduled itinerary?"

"Substantially. We were meant to be receiving the SS Conestoga carrying the Romulan colonists, along with two transport's carrying their volunteer Starfleet Starfighter Command squadron. Then the USS Wisdom Like Silence from the SCE to help begin spinning up the farming orbitals, with materials generated by two refinery and mining ships from the Space Mining Guild. Not to mention the three Sabres being added to our guard fleet." As Ingram said that he'd summoned a holo slate into the air and was going through his personal files. "10 ships in all, maybe three transport's with supplies and replacements. So a theoretical max of thirteen ships. So the other 31 are..."

"We have transponder beacons incoming from the expedition flotilla. SS Conestoga signals all green, along with the transport's USS Great Lakes and Ural," the controller reports. "IFF tag reported in for the USS Nike and the USS Necromancer. Harrington and Victory also lighting their beacons."

"Necromancer?" Ingram blinked. "That's Captain Benning, an acquaintance from my time in the OSI. That's a Steamrunner class gunboat. He was assigned to the Romulan Free State border last year."

That news made Meilin grimace. "If Starfleet has supplemented the expeditionary force with escort vessels associated with the Office of Special Investigations, then it is likely that Command has not been forthright about their intentions for Messier 4." That was an understatement. OSI was a directorate which combined Starfleet Science, Security, and Intelligence assets for rapid response operations. But it was not proper for Meilin to overstate her concerns in the middle of Ops. "The registry absences from the scheduled itinerary would support that."

Ingram placed the holoslate away and stepped closer, looking at the main sensor plot as more Starfleet IFF codes popped into existence.

"I'm more concerned the more I see. Nike and Harrington are both Century class starships. They're not supplementary to anything but themselves," Ingram pointed out. He picked out a few more light codes appearing on the plot. "SFMCS Normandy is a planetary assault ship. Those trailing behind her are probably troops ships. And...no that can't be right."

He reached into the plot, plucking out a bead of holographic light and throwing it up into the air. It expanded out into a rotating diagram of a streamlined starship. Sleek, smooth-edged, with a look to her that screamed an ancestry that began in the oceans.

"USS Palatine." Ingram breathed gently.

"Palatine," Meilin whispered as well. A far-ranging exploratory vessel with multiple dedicated research and development teams -- particularly Tactical research and development. It had been Meilin's bridge that allowed her to return from Security & Tactical back to the teal uniform and her first love of Science. Seeing its registry scroll across the readout was bittersweet in many ways. Looking to Ingram, she said, "If the admiralty states these ships are for defense, I do not think I would believe them."

“Nor I,” Ingram said darkly. “A Vesta class starship in this context is a fleet command vessel. We’re looking at a major fleet deployment with no warning.”

As if I’m cue one of the techs manning the comma section looked up.

“Incoming hail from the Palatine,” the tech reported. Ingram made a throwing gesture, and a wall display flickered to become a view screen.

The bridge was familiar, and even some of the faces manning the bridge stations rang bells. He did not recognise the Captain sitting in the centre chair. Though, to be fair, the man standing beside them stood out as a much more dynamic threat. A square jaw, silver hair and sharp blue eyes and the slightest hint of a smile riding above the brass enclosed pip of a Starfleet Commodore.

“Canopus Station, this is Commodore Grissom. Sorry for the unannounced arrival, but we’re travelling under sealed orders. Once we’re in transporter range I’ll beam over and transfer my flag staff to Canopus Station. Have your senior staff on hand for a Priority One tactical briefing. Grissom clear.”

The view screen went dead.

There was a degree of silence that filled the Operations room in the aftermath of that call. This spell was broken by a single utterance.

"Fuck." Ingram breathed.