Tales of Starfleet
Aurora
Part 1
by Phillip Barlow
(p.barlow@ic.ac.uk)

Aurora Part 1

Captain Rebecca White stood at the airlock, a forced smile on her face, as she watched the soldiers marching off her ship to the sound of bagpipes. The soldiers were an advanced party of 95 Brigade, 4th Division, part of the Eighth Army, which had been recalled from Cardassian space; they accompanied the division's commander, General Campbell MacDonald. MacDonald, being a Highlander, insisted that everyone under his command whether or not they were Scottish (or human come to that) wear the kilt as part of dress uniform, and always be accompanied on parade by pipes and drums, which invariably meant marching to the traditional 'Black Bear'.

"Captain White, I'm most grateful for your hospitality over the past few days," said MacDonald as the last man marched past and the pipes faded into the distance. 'Not grateful enough,' thought White.

"It's been a pleasure sir."

"Hopefully one day I can return the favour." 'In a pig's eye.'

"I look forward to it sir," said White as the General walked through the airlock. As he disappeared from sight, White turned to Lt Commander Bowman, her executive officer. "Get us out of here!"

Captain's Log: Stardate 55101.7: We have finally managed to get rid of General MacDonald and his incessant bagpipes. I have nothing against bagpipes per se, but I do object to them being played on my ship all day and half the night. He is now the problem of the staff of Deep Space Nine, and they're welcome to him. We are now ready to depart and head for home.

When the Mariner had secured from warp speed upon entering the Bajoran system, Commander Branix, the chief engineer, had shut down the warp drive in order to make an inspection of the field coils in the port nacelle, some of which were giving odd readings. White had expected Branix to be finished by the time they were ready to leave Deep Space Nine. Instead, Branix had told her that major cracks had appeared in five separate coils, which would have to be repaired before they left.

"Are you kidding?" said White to Branix, when he had told her. "You mean we can't go anywhere until this problem is fixed?"

"That is the essence of it Captain," replied Branix, taking a subtle step backwards. The colour of White's face had changed to a prominent pink - a sure sign that she would, given half a chance, string him from the highest yardarm she could find.

"How long?" she asked.

"Three days." White said nothing to this, merely nodding while at the same time clenching her teeth.

* * *

White was sat at her desk, rubbing her temples, the onset of a headache approaching. She had wanted to get away for two reasons; first, before General MacDonald could extend his offer of hospitality, but second, before the space around Deep Space Nine became too crowded. By the time the repairs to the engines were complete however, it was likely that the convoy containing the bulk of the Eighth Army would arrive here from Cardassia.

"Bridge to Captain."

"Go ahead."

"Several Romulan vessels have just decloaked off the station." At this, White sat up.

"I'm on my way." She got up from her desk and went onto the bridge. The viewscreen showed a dozen D'Deridex class warbirds, accompanied by half as many Valdore class vessels, plus at least twenty other ships, all of which were sat only a few kilometres from DS9. This was evidently the force that was to assume the occupation role from the Federation troops returning from Cardassia. White eyed the screen warily; in spite of their alliance against the Dominion, the end of the war had seen a return to the suspicion of before, when the Federation and the Romulan Empire were the two greatest powers in the Alpha Quadrant.

"Captain," said Lieutenant Burke, the ship's tactical officer, "the Romulans are launching their fighters." 'Great,' thought White. 'As if we didn't have enough troubles, now the Romulans are posturing at us.'

"Yellow alert," said White, aware of the fact that the Mariner couldn't do much if the Romulans decided to attack, and not just because of the engines being in pieces. The Mariner was, at the moment, the only Federation starship at Deep Space Nine, the Defiant having gone to join the convoy escort. This was going to be a long 48 hours.

The sight of Romulan interceptors conducting combat training within sight of the windows of the station's Promenade did little to ease the nerves of the crew and population. Neither was the presence of so many soldiers stalking the station's decks. The Romulan soldiers were bad enough, with their surly expression and seemingly minimal sense of humour. However, two-thirds of the occupying army were Reman troops, from Romulus' sister planet. Many commented that Remans made even Klingons look and act pleasant. It came as a relief then that, 45 hours after the Romulans, the starships Eagle and America arrived, immediately launching a squadron each of their Valkyrie interceptors. Three hours behind them came the bulk of the convoy, led by the massive troopship Coral Sea, which also launched its interceptors, this time Scimitars of the UFMC, and escorted by four more combat ready starships.

"This is interesting," said White as she looked at the tactical display - around Deep Space Nine were nearly 90 ships of various sizes. "I really think that this isn't a particularly healthy place to be right now." She turned to Burke. "Please go down to engineering and see how long Mr Branix is going to take before we have warp drive."

"Aye captain." As Burke moved towards the turbolift however, Branix's voice came over the comm system.

"Engineering to bridge."

"Go ahead Mr Branix."

"I've begun the warp core start up sequence. We should have warp drive available within the hour."

"Perfect timing commander. Space just got a little crowded."

"There is one thing captain," said Branix. "I wouldn't recommend anything faster than warp 2 for the moment. I want to make sure that the repairs hold up."

"Not a problem. I'm only in a hurry to get away from here. White out."

Captain's log: Supplemental; Mr Branix is as good as his word - the warp drive is back on line, and we can get out of here. Ironically, the Romulans are now on their way too.

"Seal the airlock; release docking clamps." The clamps that were holding the bow of the starship Mariner retracted, leaving the Sequoia class vessel floating free, nestled against the docking ring of Deep Space Nine. "Aft thrusters 1/3." The ship's RCS thrusters gently pushed it away from the station, opening the distance. At between two and three ship lengths distance, the Mariner swung around 180 degrees. "Lieutenant Spearritt, one quarter impulse power."

"Aye captain." The ship's impulse engines engaged, taking it clear of Deep Space Nine. "We are clear and free to navigate."

"Very well. Full impulse power. Set course for Sector 001, warp 2."

"Ready captain," said Spearritt.

"Engage."

White sat on the sofa in her ready room, a book sitting unread on her lap. The remnants of grilled chicken and mashed potatoes with a green salad sat on a plate on her desk, together with several PADDs. On the small coffee table in front of her were several more PADDs, a cup of raktajino and a half finished model of an Apollo CSM. Once it was finished, it would join several other models of pioneering Earth spacecraft that White kept in a display case along one bulkhead.

Along the other three sides of the room stared down the faces of the pioneers - Gagarin, Richey and Archer amongst others. White had long been fascinated with the idea of manned space flight, especially in the days before warp drive, so much so that she had used the twelve months of convoy duty to which the Mariner had been assigned to complete a PhD on manned space flight in the 20th century, something she had planned to do before she had joined Starfleet. She had decided though that history probably wouldn't be of much use, and had majored in engineering at the Academy. Now though, she had done her PhD; her plan was to complete one more tour as a starship captain, following which she would take up Professor Gilbert's offer of a teaching post at the Academy. This last tour would be as the captain of the brand new starship Aquarius, the final construction of which she would oversee. In the meantime, the Mariner would undergo a twelve-month refit, after which she would receive a new captain and crew.

However, one thought was going through her mind; after what she had seen at DS9, a return to the bad old days of Starfleet and the Romulans squaring up to each other, she had gotten to think 'was it worth it'. She hadn't joined up to escort convoys or fight Romulans, although she accepted that as part of the job. What she had joined up for was to be an explorer, to follow in the footsteps of all those pioneers who looked down on her now, to prove that all those who gave their lives in the pursuit of the endeavour hadn't done so in vain. This caused her to look at one in particular.

"Bridge to Captain White." It was Burke.

"Go ahead."

"We've detected a signal ahead."

"What kind of signal?"

"A simple repeating broad band radio wave. It could be an automated distress beacon, although I've never seen this kind before."

"Very well. I'm on my way."

* * *

"Analysis."

"It seems to be some kind of buoy, although I don't recognise the type," said Burke. White got up from the captain's chair and went to the science station, where Burke stood with Bowman.

"I recognise that," said White as she looked at the image on the monitor. "It looks like the log recorder buoy of an NX class starship." She leaned in closer. "Can you determine what ship it came from?"

"Negative," said Burke. "The signal appears to be generic, based on what the library computer is telling me."

"Then we'll have to bring it aboard," said White. "Transporter Room, lock on to the object ahead of us and beam it aboard."

* * *

White entered the Transporter Room to find Yeoman Heaton, the transporter operator, and Yeoman Taylor, the security chief for the deck, crouched over the object examining it. White stepped onto the platform to look at the device.

"Well son of a gun," she said as she read the legend on its casing. Aurora, NX-08.

"Captain?"

"This is the log recorder from the starship Aurora," White replied. Her two companions looked at her blankly. "The Aurora, missing for over two centuries."

* * *

Captain's Log: Supplemental: The Aurora; a name as famous as the Marie Celeste and now we have a chance to perhaps find out what happened. We've managed to download the data from the recorder buoy into the main computer. Hopefully, it will be able to give us some idea of what happened to the Aurora, all those years ago.

White was seated at her desk, watching her monitor as it displayed the progress of the download from the main computer. It was taking longer than anticipated - not only were there log entries, but also large amounts of sensor data that had evidently been dumped into the recorder when it had been ejected. All of that would have to be processed by the computer, to translate it into something readable by current technology. The logs though were simple audio files, and could thus be accessed immediately. At last, the computer beeped, indicating that it had finished its task.

"Computer, begin playback of personal log entries." The monitor flashed on - there was no visual, so instead the time index counter began running in the centre of the screen. Then, as White settled back in her chair, a voice came over the speakers...

Captain's Personal Log, Captain Aaron Sinclair, starship Aurora, June 19 2154: We have finally reached our destination - unexplored space. Once the last members of the Vulcan science team are aboard, we will leave the company of the Enterprise and the T'Vashik and depart, going where no man has gone before.

Captain Aaron Sinclair sat in the captain's chair of the brand new starship Aurora, drumming his fingers against the armrest as he watched the shuttlepod dock with the Vulcan cruiser T'Vashik. The Aurora was the fourth of the second batch of NX class vessels, and would be the first to venture into completely unexplored territory since the first mission of the starship Enterprise under Captain Jonathan Archer, three years earlier; the same Enterprise that was now cruising alongside the Aurora. Archer's vessel had delivered the human members of the science team assigned to the mission. However, because the ship was to go beyond even where the Vulcans had explored, they insisted on having a significant presence aboard. So, in addition to his own crew of 83, plus the 15 human scientists, he had a further 10 Vulcans coming aboard.

"Captain," said Lt Zoë Tyler, the Aurora's communications officer. "The Enterprise has signalled that they're about to break formation."

"Very well," replied Sinclair. "Send to commander, Enterprise - 'see you on the flip side'." He then settled back into his chair, watching the screen as the Enterprise banked away. Sinclair knew that Archer was as mad as hell that this first mission into completely unexplored space had not be given to his ship. But, no matter how much he bitched about it, the fact was that the Enterprise was not fitted for that kind of mission - although they appeared identical externally, the Enterprise and the Aurora were a generation apart in terms of equipment. Even the Aurora's three predecessors, the Freedom, the Liberty Bell and the Friendship, were merely improved versions of the Enterprise. The Aurora was fitted with all new systems that had been developed by Earth in collaboration with her allies; equipment that would allow Earth ships to gain parity with their allies. She had a superior warp drive, producing twice the power in half the space, improved sensors, superior weapons and, in addition to the polarised hull plating, had an elementary forcefield. This, in Starfleet's opinion, made her the only vessel suitable for a voyage into the complete unknown; her two sisters were still months from completion, while the Daedalus class was still on the drawing board.

"Sir," said Tyler. "We're being hailed by the T'Vashik."

"On main viewer." The image changed to show a stern looking Vulcan with silver hair. But then, how many Vulcans didn't look stern?

"Captain Sinclair," he said.

"Captain Stovak," replied Sinclair.

"The last of the assigned science team has now boarded your shuttle and departed our vessel. We will take our leave of you."

"Thank you for all of your assistance," said Sinclair

"I and my crew wish you success in your coming mission." Stovak raised his hand in the traditional Vulcan way that was both greeting and farewell. "Live Long and Prosper," he said, before cutting the transmission.

The Aurora had been on station for 30 hours, awaiting the ship's final mission plan and orders to be transmitted from Starfleet. Ordinarily, this would have put Sinclair in a foul mood; he hated to be kept waiting at the start of a mission. However, this time would allow his almost totally brand new crew a chance to get to know each other and their totally brand new ship. As far as he knew, none of them had served on a ship this advanced before. Even the senior staff (most of whom had served under him aboard the Thunderchief) still seemed to be walking the decks with open mouths.

As soon as the last shuttlepod had docked, Sinclair had decamped to his ready room to study the records of his new arrivals. Due to the size of the ship, the distance they would be from any kind of immediate help, and the length of time they would be away, Sinclair had decided that the scientists could take on other, more general duties involved in ship operations. This was partly to give keep them occupied, but also to avoid resentment among the regular crew about carrying 'passengers'. He noted that most of the humans had little in the way of additional formal skills, although he did notice that quite a few had interests that could be more formalised. The Vulcans on the other hand all appeared to be multi-skilled - some were engineers, others were proficient in armed and unarmed combat. Yes, he thought to himself, this shouldn't be too hard. He smiled to himself as he noted his ideas down, before calling the senior members of each team.

* * *

Rebas Con secured the leaver and sat down. It was still hard for him to take in just where he was. Him, a simple farmer from the Dahkur Province, navigating a ship among the stars, taking him and his family to another world. Looking out of the window, he saw a dozen other solar sailing vessels, each containing a young Bajoran family heading for a new life on planet light years from their homeworld.

"Con!" came the startled voice of his wife, Lara. He turned to see the tiny form of his infant son, Tyla, floating towards him, evidently loving the freedom that came from being in zero gravity, judging by the grin on his face. Con couldn't help but laugh as he plucked the pudgy form out of free-fall.

"Perhaps we should stay up here," he said as he gave Tyla a rubber ball to play with.

"Don't even think that," said Lara. "This baby is not going to be born in space."

"Yes dear," replied Con, as he looked at his wife. But Lara wasn't listening. Instead she was looking out of the forward window. Con turned to see the four ships ahead of them bucking around like angry tamas beasts. Eyes wide in alarm, he turned to Lara. "Get strapped in now!"

* * *

Sinclair sat behind his desk, rubbing his temples. The meeting had started well; Dr Liebermann, the head of the human science team, had taken to the idea of his people taking on other duties. He seemed to accept that it was a small ship and everyone had to pitch in, so he had offered his people as medics, fire fighters, and mess and galley staff. Sub-Commander T'Var was a different proposition. She had spent the last ten minutes going through various logical reasons why her Vulcans should not undertake any additional duties, which was causing Sinclair's head to start pounding.

"ENOUGH!!" he thundered suddenly, slamming his fist down on the desk. "Computer," he said, activating his console. "Display current tactical situation in Sector 017."

The monitor brought up an image of the sector - it contained, amongst other things, three star systems, the Shark Nebula, three newly placed subspace amplifiers and a number of dots, representing Earth and Allied starships. "Hmm, the Enterprise is still closest, but they're making a survey of the nebula. Ah, perfect. The 5th Flotilla is out here and nearby. They're testing engine upgrades, but they've just about finished." Sinclair turned to T'Var. "The captain of the Columbia is a friend of mine. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to swing by and pick you up, and the Columbia is the fastest fusion powered ship in the fleet."

This caused T'Var to raise an eyebrow.

* * *

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Simple. This is a small ship, and we're going to be gone a long time, which means we'll have to fend for ourselves. Anybody who doesn't feel they want to pitch in and help the group can get off right here."

"But you have orders..."

"Starfleet will deal with the High Command, because I know they'll agree with me. In the end Sub-Commander, I'm the captain, and if you want to stay on board, you'll follow my orders. Now, do I need to have Lieutenant Tyler signal the Columbia?"

"No captain."

"In that case, as there is a sizeable minority of Vulcans aboard, as the most senior of their number, I invite you to serve as my first officer. Please let me know your answer before we leave."

"That won't be necessary," said T'Var. "I accept."

"Good," replied Sinclair, before he was interrupted by the comm.

"Bridge to Captain Sinclair." Sinclair tabbed open the channel.

"Go ahead Lieutenant."

"We've just received a priority message from Admiral Forrest at Starfleet sir. We're cleared for departure." A smile spread across Sinclair's face.

"Thank you. I'm on my way." He got up and, followed by T'Var, went out onto the bridge. Walking up to the captain's chair, he paused, looking at each face staring at him. This was the point where he had to say something inspirational. "First," he began, "I'd like to introduce you to our new first officer, Sub-Commander T'Var." He watched as she took her seat at the science station. "Now that we're setting off," he continued, "you're probably all expecting me to say something stirring." He sat down, leaning forward. "All there is to say is, Mr Travis, lay in a course, warp 5."

"Course captain?"

"Out there," replied Sinclair, waving his hand in the general direction of unexplored space. "Thattaway."