Fruits, Vegetables, And The Unasked For

Posted on Tue Apr 16th, 2019 @ 2:22pm by Captain Benjamin Ingram Dr

Mission: S1E3: Moments Of Consolidation
Location: Canopus Station, Pier 2 Egress
Timeline: MD6 1800

Expedition 3 arrived in Messier 4 half a day after the Phase Space Transceiver array came online. The tight spacing of the flotilla merged the radiant transit radiation into a single ghostly white starburst, rippling out from their point of entry in a diminishing halo of exotic particles.

The auto freighters were the first to jettison their shielded farings, the white carbon laminate shell’s and their special phase space absorbant coatings quickly being tractored back for recycling. The narrow bulk freighters were encrusted with cargo containers and locked onto the Canopus Station navigation beacon with eager abandon.

The second to be released into the Carpathia System were four Wallace class patrol ships. Though warp capable, the miniature starships were much better suited to system defence roles. Though nameless, the four craft formed up and on their thrusters began to move into lockstep behind the freighters.

And finally, throwing off and then gathering her skirts, the large fleet auxiliary ship USS Please Read The Instructions began to cross the light minutes of space towards Canopus Station. Her crew, sickened by phase space travel, took the transit sickness in stride. They had arrived, and their work had not yet begun.

+++

Benjamin Ingram looked out of the window as the tram ripped along the upper levels of the dock. His foot was tapping, a mix of anger and impatience powering the nervous tick. Beyond the armoured glass viewport of the tram, the docking hub was visible. Within its little niche rested the Resolute, but now two of the main docking Piers of the main tower were being occupied. One of them was now home to a pair of freighters, unloading supplies and equipment.

The other had a Curry class fleet tender grappled to the side. Ingram eyed it as the tram reached the Pier 2 track, slowed to a halt, and began to traverse downwards to the personnel pier side egress. It looked like an Excelsior class ship someone had assembled in the dark, mismatching where nacelle’s and saucer section should have gone. It soon vanished as the tram entered the airlock vestibule, and the door’s made a pleasant chiming sound to announce his arrival.

The scene beyond was chaotic. Canopus Station personnel in their black and colour coded uniforms mingled with their Fleet counterparts in white and coloured, giving the scene the look of a zebra let loose in a paint shop. Cargo litters floated and bobbed through openings in the crowds, pinging their warning buzzers every now and then as the very crude AI’s detected danger. Stepping out into the mass, as new arrivals were greeted by the ‘old guard’, he scanned the crowd of recently disembarked for a certain…

Ah. There he was.

Many things had been a source of consternation for Wolfgang Ritter on this journey. The inauspicious nature of a Curry class ship for his transit. The sheer remoteness of his destination. That his choice to wait in the lounge had seen his journey serenaded by a small contingent of exuberant junior science officers performing from a songbook of clichés, harmony exchanged for enthusiasm. But nothing was worse than that the crushing nausea wouldn't go away.

He had swallowed it down, because it simply didn't do for a ranking officer to bolt for the bathroom the moment they were through, shoving petty officers and ensigns out of the way. He'd steeled himself, calmly collected a glass of carbonised water from the replicator, used it to wash down the anti-nausea medication he'd originally scoffed at when offered upon embarkation. Then he'd sat in his chair by the window, the maneouvering of the ship's docking, forced his demeanour to remain controlled, mellow, and inside had quietly waited for death.

So by the time Ritter had dragged himself through the crowds disembarking onto the personnel pier, his expression of superior curiosity at the sights around him sat on a rather pale face, with just the faintest sheen of sweat on his brow. Thus it took him a few heartbeats more than he would have liked to spot the familiar face; the only one on board he would recognise at a glance, because Commander Ritter did not go to a new assignment without doing his homework.

He shouldered through the crowds towards the captain, using his superior height to navigate occasionally elbow-first if pips didn't do the trick. Normally he might have catapulted people back by sheer force of presence, but this willpower was currently focused on keeping his insides where they were. Still, he was relieved to find his voice clear and bright as he finally came to a halt. "Captain Ingram, sir; Commander Wolfgang Ritter, reporting." Best, he thought, to take a respectful stance on the more militarised end of Starfleet's spectrum. For now.

Ingram did a remarkably good job of keeping the sneer off of his face. It was there if you knew where to find it, but he had been schooled at his father's knee on how to present himself to the world. He allowed a thin smile to touch his lips, and he nodded.

"Commander Ritter," he said, mulling the word over as though sampling a glass of wine that was most assuredly streaming towards vinaigrette country. "I was of the opinion that one usually asked for permission to come on board, before stepping off the space frame."

Normally, Ritter might have rallied on this more quickly. It was a technical error of protocol, but not one always cared about in Starfleet - especially the science-oriented corners of the fleet such as he'd pigeon-holed Ingram into. But he'd been desperate for - well, not fresh air, there was no such thing out here, but the temperature shift out on the pier felt to his nauseated form like the next best thing.

So he flushed a hint before he could clamp down on it, and made a snap decision on how to handle this. He clasped his hands behind his back and squared his shoulders, an even more formal stance. "My apologies, sir. With all the new arrivals, it's such a chaotic operation up here I hadn't spotted you. I thought you might have been diverted elsewhere." He let his voice drop to the lower octaves, an officious drawl.

"Well if this is what you feel chaos looks like, I'll be sure to find you a nice sedate administrative post somewhere on the Station. I'm sure Commander Jiang could use an assistant in her Cultural Outreach Program with the Xilosian's and the Rish. Canopus Station is the cornerstone of Starfleet's explorative and protectorate programs in Messier 4, this..." Ingram gestured to the crowds of station and ship personnel going about their work. "...will look like a quiet Sunday afternoon by comparison when the companion Phase Space Accelerator is constructed on our side."

For a moment, Ritter's mind raced through his options. Something about standards slipping on the frontier? But then the next, more treacherous thought crept in. Lucy was right about this fellow. He'd dismissed his fiancée's assessment of Ingram, and now here he was, on the back foot from the start. Pride demanded he press through this, and Ritter was a big fan of pride. But pride could also be practical, and he'd let himself blunder into unknown territory with his new CO. Enduring now could have a hidden, deeper cost.

Besides. He had an idea. Relaxing his stance an iota, Ritter inclined his head in a manner supposed to infer acquiescence. "I've been unclear, sir. I look forward to the challenge. I'm sure there's a lot to learn and for me to catch up on." The facade of humility tried to stick in his throat as it slithered out.

"Yes there is a great deal for you to learn," Ingram said somewhat icily. He held up a hand, forming it into a gestured command to the station's computer interface. A holographic pane appeared under his hand, and he quickly typed in a set of commands before swiping it away. "Your security clearance has been approved, and a number of files earmarked for immediate informational assimilation. What we know of a sociopolitical entity called The Concordance. Most of its anecdotal from the Xiolosians, but better to know a little than a lot when the fodder is so feeble. I am also lead to believe your career path through Starfleet has been more martial than my own?"

He turned, and began to walk away towards the tram station, assured Ritter would follow.

Ritter did take a moment to watch the back of Ingram's head and try to murder him with his eyes, but it passed and his expression became studied as he fell into step. "By circumstance rather than choice, sir. I've served on ships engaged in both Gorn conflicts, the C'hakilian War, and was on Starbase 10 during the Hobus Incident. You anticipate possible hostilities with this Concordance?"

"And you do not?" Ingram asked, turning to look over his shoulder at Ritter. They arrived at the tram station, and with one look from Ingram the trio of JayGee Lueteant's fresh from the Milky Way decided it would be best to wait for the next car. Stepped into the still mint condition transit pod, Ingram waited a moment before typing in a destination and allowed the car to begin moving.

"We are a fort on the very edge of an empire and a very distant edge at that. The transit from SB72 to Canopus Station took you all of thirty seconds, but there is no quick way back. Not through the Galactic Barrier at any rate, until a companion accelerator can be constructed on our side. And given it takes no less than a week to recharge and service the Accelerator safely, reinforcements are not a subspace call away. Thus far we have encountered the Myriad, whose affinity for infiltrating complex computer systems puts us at a severe disadvantage. We've implemented a number of air gapping and manual processes for key systems, I'll forward you the reports."

The car had risen on its tracks now, crawling up the side of the docking tower at the heart of Canopus Station, revealing the entire interior volume in a scene best described as cinematic.

"Canopus Station is just the beginning," Ingram intoned with a sly smile on his face. "It's our toe hold out here, our ante if you like to the Great Game. And people are not going to like it. Look at the Concordance: they sterilised an entire planet, knowingly leaving survivors to rot in bunkers under the surface. We've rescued them, that's already added a good deal of stock to our portfolio. When the Concordance finds out we're here, and they will, I have no doubt they will come to make us accountable for our interference," he shook his head. "Had I been part of the surface team...maybe things would have been different, but time is not on our side. We must be ready for when the lightning comes for us. Canopus, and by extension the Carpathian colony of Landersfell, are now in peril. And so we are in command of a fixed point in space that must be defended at all costs because there is no higher ground for us to fall back on."

Ritter tried to keep his seething internal at Ingram giving him only the name of the Concordance before testing his military opinion. It included a lot of teeth grinding, though he had to admit, watching the view from the tram as it made its way through the network of the station's metallic internal organs made for a useful distraction. It impressed and humbled him in turn, transforming them from masters of this vast, voidborne titan of technological achievement to cells in the blood pumping through the construct's veins.

"I'll appraise myself of our full tactical and strategic situation, even if the information gathered so far has been scarce," he said, looking back at Ingram. "I would rather not engage in too much game theory or concoct strategic scenarios if the intel isn't solid, but I'll see. That is, if that's what you need of me, sir. After all." He tilted his jaw up a half-inch. "I would presume it's why I'm here. Who's been putting together such strategic analysis so far?"

"Ah yes, the strange mystery of your appointment as my Executive Officer," Ingram said, not turning to look at Ritter. "It is not a position I flagged as needing immediate fulfilment, but I can see one of the nanny's back in San Francisco decided it was of some pressing concern. Bureaucratic ass-covering of the first order, but you're here now Mr Ritter and by Blue Fire I'll make use of you. And I have been preforming my own strategic analysis so far. Our Security Chief has enough on his plate with a gaggle of Rish stowaway's, and LtCol Sytex is currently indisposed due to a psychological disorder. Along with half of his company. The other half are currently under the command of a Marine Captain, so depleted are their ranks."

"So you would say we're somewhat tactically vulnerable at present," said Ritter, keeping his expression flat even if Ingram wasn't looking at him, before pasting a smile and adopting more enthusiasm. "I'd be delighted to see your appraisals so far, sir. I prefer to not question Command's choices," he lied shamelessly, "so I'm happy to be put to work. Even by going back to these Xiolosians for further reports if needed. What happened to the Marines?"

"Medical contamination, it's in your file queue," Ingram said with a disdainful sniff. "But from what the medic's tell me from the few scans and blood work they've done so far, the Marines of the engineering module who ventured to the surface were exposed to a fungal infection. It's rapid infection got it to the brain in short order before the host immune system could kill it. During that time the infected becomes irrational, violent, but as the immune system clears it out that aspect subsides. But its what the fungus leaves behind in the brain that's troubling. Carbon nanotube, a whole network of them wiring together parts of the fore and midbrain in ways we're still trying to fully understand."

He looked at Ritter out of the corner of his eye.

"The implant networks the parts of the brain responsible for religious fixation and pattern match, along with the areas associated with tribal hierarchy. The current theory is the fungus is a designed organism set up to create the implant in a suitable host organism, one that will after a short bout of madness awaken to realise it's no longer part of its original 'tribe'. Other infected seem to cluster together into groups, which explains the mutiny. And the murders. According to the Xilosian's, it was a subtle take over mechanism used by the Concordance, damn clever of them. Why invade with a large land army, when you can make the population into your army? A mastery of the biosciences like that leaves me with certain concerns for the station and Carpathia.""

If Ritter had gaps in his expertise, it was definitely in bioscience. Hard sciences in general were not his forte, but strategy and tactics as a space-faring officer required at least a rudimentary grasp of astrophysics on those occasions where the terrain of the stars might be relevant. But he was damned if he was going to show his soft underbelly even more. "Brilliant and ruthless," he observed, "though there are interesting implications if the Concordance are prepared to consider the behaviours and physiologies of other species - even if only to turn such against them. Some aggressive powers have been too xenophobic to engage that much."

"The fact of the matter is we know too little to act with purpose. So we are left planning for the worst, and hoping for the best. I despise that sort of maudlin sentiment," Ingram muttered. "Speaking of which, you might want to talk to Formation Leader Kle. She's the leader of the Xilosian military, and of the lot of them has a great deal of experience fighting the Concordance. A ground pounder, I think is the term. Do you some good to get to know the locals, press the flesh as it were. She also seems to think her primitive slug thrower military is a good fit for slotting into station defence. That idea I am less enthusiastic for. But a drowning man grabs ahold of what is available."

The tram vanished out of the open area of the station, and into the vacuum sealed tunnels that wormed through the vast structure.

"We have a lot of work to do, and not a great deal of time Mr Ritter. Is there anything you think has been improperly addressed by myself?"

Ritter clicked his tongue, turning his eyes skywards as he considered the situation. "Only the question of what your next move is, Captain. There are a lot of pieces on this board; do you have designs in any direction or are we still figuring out the lay of the land? Else I'll get to work acquainting myself and make my recommendations accordingly." He made sure his smile to his new CO was nothing but polite, helpful, and hopefully irritatingly so.

"Station defence is key, but becoming informed of what our situation entails is paramount. Spend the evening going over the data set's I've assigned to you. In the morning we can begin to go over some of the tactical projections I've come up with. I'd appreciate a critical eye from a man who understands the art of conflict better than I," Ingram said. He held out a hand preemptively as the trams inertial compensator reduced, but did not remove all of the sudden deceleration. The door to the tram open and Ingram stepped out into the corridor beyond.

"0700 Station Operations. Oh and Mr Ritter?" Ingram smiled as the door began to close on the tram. "There will be a test on your homework."

Ritter was immediately grateful he'd spent years on stations and so could similarly anticipate the tram's deceleration. He had no desire to punctuate this meeting by planting his face in a bulkhead. He was still a little weak on his feet, though, so staying upright took enough of his focus that he definitely had no chance to respond to his new CO before the doors slid shut behind him, leaving him alone at last.

He glowered at the doors, even as the tram began to hum back to life to cart him along. In a moment he'd have to check his PADDs to be sure of where he was actually going, but for now he allowed himself a moment to think. And seethe.

And plan.