Star Trek: Vanguard: Declassified

by Dayton Ward

  Terrell replied, “Copy that, Skipper.” Then, with a small smile, he added, “You sure you don’t want to go?”

  “I’m absolutely certain I do want to go,” the captain said, “but I figure that’ll only raise questions among the crew.”

  Theriault nodded in agreement. “So, what do we do in the meantime, sir?”

  Shrugging, Nassir offered a whimsical smile. “The first thing we need to do is call home. Commodore Reyes is going to love this.”

  2

  The doors to Diego Reyes’s office parted, allowing the commodore to enter his private sanctuary without breaking his brisk, determined stride.

  That was what was supposed to happen. Instead, only the left door slid aside while the right door maintained its position, the result being that the entire right side of Reyes’s body from his forehead to his boot slammed full speed into the barrier.

  “What the hell?” Reyes snapped, feeling the sting where his nose and right cheek had caught the edge of the door and trying to avoid stumbling as he maneuvered his body through the blocked threshold leading to his office. Attempting to affect a demeanor communicating that he had with singular purpose intended to walk headlong into the door, the commodore directed his gaze out across the main deck of Starbase 47’s operations center. He noted that every member of the operations staff within his field of vision seemed to be concentrating with unwavering intensity at workstations, viewing screens, data slates, or even the walls or the deck—anywhere but the entrance to his office.

  Yeah, it’s going to be one of those days.

  “Where is Lieutenant Ballard?” he called out, referring to the station’s chief engineer.

  From where he stood on the operation center’s raised supervisor’s deck, Lieutenant Commander Raymond Cannella, Starbase 47’s fleet operations manager, replied, “At last report, he was down in sensor control, sir.” Cannella was a burly man, with dark, thinning hair swept back from his forehead and a neck so thick it seemed on the verge of bursting through the ribbed collar of his gold tunic. He spoke with a pronounced accent that betrayed his New Jersey heritage and made his every word sound as though he were issuing a challenge. “You need him up here, sir?”

  Reyes considered the question, reasoning that the length of time required for Ballard to make the transit from sensor control to the ops center might just be sufficient for the commodore to reassess his current desire to reassign the engineer to the station’s waste reclamation center. “No, that’s all right, Commander. I’ll just call him.” Crossing to the desk positioned outside his office and intended to be occupied by his yeoman—should one ever arrive from Starfleet—the commodore reached for the computer terminal positioned near its left edge and thumbed the intercom control. “Reyes to Ballard.”

  There was a brief pause as the request was routed through the communications system before the lieutenant’s voice replied through the panel’s speaker grille, “Ballard here, sir. What can I do for you, Commodore?”

  “Mister Ballard,” Reyes said, “I was just body-blocked by my own office door. You wouldn’t by chance happen to know anything about that?”

  Ballard replied, “That’s probably my fault, sir. I had to take some of the internal sensor hubs off line to make some modifications. Very sensitive components, you know.”

  “So is my nose, Lieutenant,” Reyes said. “How long before systems are back up?”

  “Half an hour or so, sir,” Ballard said. “It’s just settling in adjustments more than anything else—the same kinds of things we’ve been dealing with for a while now.”

  Sighing, Reyes nodded even though the chief engineer could not see him. Ballard’s report about the internal sensors was but a variation of status updates Reyes had been hearing for more than a month. Ballard and his people had been fighting a rash of minor, annoying glitches and other assorted anomalies while working to bring Starbase 47’s formidable array of internal computer and control systems on line and get them working in concert. All of this, in addition to the already rather long list of tasks to be completed before the station could be declared fully operational.

  “Understood, Mister Ballard,” Reyes said after a moment. “I don’t suppose you have any good news for me?”

  “You’ll be happy to know we fixed that bug in the food replication systems for the officers’ quarters,” the engineer replied. “Now when you order dinner, you won’t be getting anything from Ambassador Jetanien’s personal menu.”

  Reyes chuckled at that. “Okay, you’re forgiven for the sensors.” A Rigellian Chelon, Jetanien had special dietary requirements, most of which were incompatible with human digestive systems. Some of the diplomat’s favorite dishes had emerged from the food slot in Reyes’s quarters, in response to the commodore’s request for a simple steak with steamed rice and vegetables. As for the noxious liquid that had substituted for the iced tea he had wanted, it remained as yet unidentified. “I won’t keep you from your duties any longer, Lieutenant. Keep Commander Cannella apprised of your progress.”

  “Will do, Commodore. Ballard out.”

  As the connection was severed, Reyes turned back toward his office, noting that the door remained open even though no one was in proximity to register with its sensor. He eyed the door as he entered his office, half expecting it to attempt cutting him in half as he passed through the entrance. When that did not happen, Reyes shook his head in mild irritation.

  It’s always something.

  Moving toward his desk, the commodore took stock of the image on the viewscreen built into the wall to his right. At present it was programmed to provide him with constant, real-time updates as to the status of Starbase 47’s construction as well as progress being made on the installation of numerous internal components. Most of the station’s exterior was in place, along with essential onboard systems as well as ship maintenance facilities, cargo storage, and crew living areas. While the main civilian residential complex also was completed, many of the aesthetic features, such as the “terrestrial enclosure,” were still under construction. A massive domed area within Starbase 47’s primary hull, the enclosure formed a “habitat shell” designed to mimic Earth-based exteriors, complete with an extensive park and even an artificial sky that could be programmed to simulate day or night. Once finished, the enclosure also would be home to Stars Landing, a commercial and residential district intended to offer a wide variety of shopping, dining, and entertainment options to the station’s crew, civilian merchants and travelers, and other visitors. The initiative was unique to Watchtower-class space stations such as Starbase 47, and unlike anything currently available to Starfleet personnel not assigned to a planet-based starbase.

  Along with the status updates was a view of the station’s exterior, generated by sensor imagery and illustrating where several sections of the starbase’s internal skeletal structure remained visible as final outfitting tasks continued unabated. Much like Vanguard itself, the crew who soon would call this installation home also was incomplete. At the moment, the station’s complement consisted of construction teams and engineers, with approximately one-third of the starbase’s actual crew also on hand, though a report Reyes had read while eating breakfast informed him that a capable young man, Commander Jon Cooper, was en route and due to arrive within two weeks. The new second-in-command was being ferried by the U.S.S. Endeavour, the third of three Starfleet vessels permanently assigned to Starbase 47 under Reyes’s overall command. Despite the seemingly unending stream of irksome problems to be dealt with when undertaking a project of this magnitude, he knew that things were shaping up in fine fashion.

  “Commodore Reyes?”

  The soft voice made him turn from the viewscreen to see a female officer standing in his half-open doorway. She wore a gold tunic with captain’s stripes on her sleeves and carried a data slate in her left hand. Her hair, darker than even her uniform trousers, was styled in a short, feminine bob that—in Reyes’s opinion, at least—did an admirable job of framing her
gentle, slightly rounded features. He guessed from her appearance that she was of Indian descent and was perhaps in her mid to late thirties, and quite attractive, he decided.

  Stow it, Commodore.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  Stepping into the office, the woman said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, but there was no one at your assistant’s desk. We’ve not yet had the chance to meet, but I’m Captain Rana Desai, from the Judge Advocate General. Starfleet’s assigned me to this station’s JAG office, and I only just arrived yesterday morning.” She spoke with a crisp London accent possessing an almost lyrical quality Reyes found soothing, though he noted that the captain radiated the proper bearing and confidence of a seasoned, accomplished officer. Of course, he knew Desai was such an officer, having reviewed her personnel record—and apparently forgotten about reading it—upon learning she would be serving aboard the station.

  Reyes nodded in recognition. “Of course, Captain. I’m sorry for not putting two and two together, and for not meeting you when you came aboard. One of the many reasons I’m supposed to have an assistant is because I’m lousy at remembering those sorts of things.” He gestured toward the pair of chairs positioned before his desk as he made his way to his own seat. “Please, sit down. You were previously at the JAG office at Starbase 11, weren’t you?”

  “That’s correct, sir,” Desai said, taking one of the proffered chairs. “I was only there a year, but it was good duty.” She glanced around the office before adding, “It was a planet, after all.”

  Dropping into his own thickly padded chair, Reyes chuckled as he leaned forward and rested his elbows atop his desk. “Fair enough, but I think you’ll find some of the amenities here will help compensate for not being able to breathe fresh air. As for the work you’ll be doing, this station’s at the edge of Federation territory. New colonies, new trade routes, new friends and new enemies. You’ll have your hands full from both the Starfleet and the civilian side of things.”

  And that’s just the regular, everyday stuff.

  Desai cleared her throat. “Actually, sir, it’s something along those lines that’s brought me to see you this morning.” She paused, using a stylus to tap the data slate that now rested in her lap. “My office has received a few complaints from some of the station’s civilian merchants who will be operating retail venues in Stars Landing. It seems you reassigned several cargo and administration areas that had been designated for them and reallocated them for Starfleet use.”

  “That’s correct,” Reyes replied, offering a single nod, “though substitute facilities were allocated elsewhere in the station.”

  “Smaller facilities,” Desai countered, “and located farther away from Stars Landing.”

  Reyes shrugged. “The larger facilities they originally had were deemed necessary for security reasons.”

  “May I ask what those reasons might be, sir?” Desai asked.

  “You may ask to your heart’s content, Captain,” the commodore said, “but I’m afraid the answers involve classified security matters.” The areas in question, located within the station’s secondary hull, had been reclassified as administrative and support spaces, at least according to the internal schematics and other unclassified records. In truth, that entire section was in the process of being reconfigured to serve as a secure research facility in which a team of specialists would operate in secret. Each member of the team would be listed on the starbase crew roster as serving in a variety of roles and responsibilities throughout the station. In truth, they would be working almost exclusively to study the Taurus Meta-Genome, as well as examining and testing any data or other materials that might be acquired during their investigation of the mysterious and highly complex strain of artificially engineered DNA. Indeed, Reyes had already received and approved a request by the captain of the U.S.S. Sagittarius— another of the vessels attached to the station to provide ship-based support—to conduct a survey mission on the second planet in the distant Traelus system, which apparently was home to newly discovered samples of the meta-genome.

  How about that, the commodore mused.

  As for the team’s true purpose and even the existence of the clandestine facility, already dubbed “the Vault” by the officer overseeing its construction, those would remain closely guarded secrets, hidden from anyone without a direct “need-to-know.” This included Captain Rana Desai.

  “A few of the merchants said you were rude,” Desai said.

  Frowning, Reyes replied, “I told them that I realized this reshuffling of assignments might be an inconvenience to them, and thanked them for their cooperation.”

  Desai’s eyes narrowed. “Did you say it nicely, or how you just said it to me?”

  “That was me saying it nicely,” Reyes replied.

  As if in response to his question, the door to his office chose that moment to slide shut, its pneumatic hiss causing both Reyes and Desai to look in its direction. Reyes was sure his befuddled expression matched the one clouding the JAG officer’s features.

  “Does that happen a lot?” she asked.

  “It’s moody,” Reyes said. Feeling his patience with the larger topic beginning to ebb, he leaned back in his chair. “They came to you because they didn’t think I was nice?”

  Shaking her head, Desai said, “They came to my office because they feel you didn’t listen to them or take their concerns seriously.”

  “Captain, I did listen to them,” Reyes countered, his interest in continuing this conversation now at an end. “I then balanced their concerns against this station’s operational needs, and made a decision. They came to you because they didn’t get what they wanted.” Before Desai could respond to that, he tapped a finger on his desk and indicated the computer terminal positioned to his left. “All of this is in my report, so why are we here?”

  Desai’s expression hardened. “Sir, one of my jobs is to address grievances put forth by any member of the station’s complement, Starfleet or civilian. I’m just following up on the report they filed and making certain their complaints are given their due diligence. You’ll find I can be quite thorough in that regard.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Captain,” Reyes said. “You wouldn’t be doing your job if you did anything less. I can respect that, even if you and I disagree on a particular point, which I imagine we’ll do from time to time. I’m funny, that way.”

  Pausing a moment, Desai regarded him in silence, as though weighing the virtue of saying whatever else might be on her mind.

  Sensing her hesitation, Reyes said, “Say what you want to say, Captain. I promise I won’t bark.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Desai replied. “Are you always this way? This direct, I mean.”

  Reyes nodded. “I am when I’m in charge, which I am a lot these days.” Then, feeling the need to lighten the mood, he smiled. “But, I’m really quite pleasant when everybody just does what I want them to do.”

  Despite her composed demeanor, Desai released a small laugh before shaking her head. “Commodore, it’s not my intent to tell you how to run this station, at least so long as all applicable laws and regulations are being followed, of course. But as Starfleet’s senior representative to what looks to be a large number of civilian residents and visitors, I might suggest exercising a bit more diplomacy when dealing with such matters.”

  Shrugging again, Reyes replied, “That’s why I have you, Captain: to take care of these things for me. You get to be polite, so I don’t have to.” Though he kept his tone light, he forced himself not to smile again. For reasons he could not quite understand— or, more likely, was unwilling to admit even to himself—he was enjoying the banter with Desai. The captain obviously took her job seriously, and he knew from her service record that she was not above mixing it up with superior officers if she thought she had the facts, truth, and justice on her side and with no apparent regard for any potential consequences. Reyes could definitely respect such an attitude.

  This could be fun, he decided
.

  As though weighing the ramifications of what her new duty assignment would mean for her, Desai sighed. “It’s going to be a long tour, isn’t it, sir?”

  “Not at all, Captain,” the commodore replied. “Any tour’s what you make of it.” Tapping his desk again, he asked, “So, are we done here?”

  “I suppose we are,” Desai said, rising from her chair. “We’re going to be having a lot of conversations like this, aren’t we?”

  Reyes nodded. “I expect they’ll be the highlight of my day.” Though he intended the remark to be sarcastic, he could not deny that there was more than a grain of truth behind the words.

  Eyeing him with a quizzical expression, Desai finally said, “Thank you for your time, Commodore,” before moving toward the door.

  The door did not open at her approach.

  Desai turned to look back at Reyes, who still sat behind his desk. “Still moody?”

  Damn you, Ballard. Reaching for his desktop intercom panel, Reyes thumbed the activation switch. “Reyes to Ballard.”

  “Ballard here, sir,” replied the chief engineer.

  “My office door won’t open, Lieutenant.”

  “Sorry about that, sir,” Ballard replied. “It’s tied in with the problems we’re having with the internal sensors. I should have it working in half an hour or so, sir.”

  Without bothering to reply to the report, Reyes severed the comm link and drew what he hoped was a calming breath before returning his attention to Desai. “Well, Captain, it looks like we’re stuck with each other for a little while longer.” Rising from his chair, he started moving toward the food slot at the rear of his office. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “Yes, thank you, sir,” the JAG lawyer replied as she made her way back to her seat.