Coming Soon: The Minoru receives a distress call from a Federation colony near the Romulan Neutral Zone. Upon arrival, they find that the claims of invasion have been slightly exaggerated, and unfortunately for them the real problems can't be easily solved even with fifteen torpedo launchers. Even as the crew deals with feuding civilians, a few other mysteries begin to crop up. Who created the old ruins on the planet, why is the central pyramid sending out a constant radio signal, and what else might be lurking beneath the surface?

[Landfall, New Haven Colony, 0320, MD-1]

The town of Landing was silent, its buildings dark, and its streets deserted. The only signs of life were the hoots of hunting owls and the occasional hiss and howl of prowling cats. The main streets were dimly lit by lamps, but for the most part the only light outside came from slightly yellowish full moon overhead.

It was through those unlit side streets that a pair of dark figures skulked, darting from shadow to shadow and pausing to check for any sign of watchers. Both were tall and reedy in build and they were dress in plain black clothing from head to toe. Eventually they came to the administration building at the center of town, where they used a sonic wrench to open a side window and slipped inside. They immediately headed for the basement and the equipment rooms found there.

“So far, so good,” said one of them, a young man named Samuel (NPC) as they entered a room full of humming computers.

“It would be unwise to assume success based solely on our current progress,” replied his companion T’kil. She sat down at a console and entered a few commands. “As we suspected, access to long-range communications is restricted even from this terminal. It is doubtful we could gain access without leaving traces that we had done so.”

“Right.” Samuel got down on the floor and opened up a panel beneath the console, revealing rows of isolinear chips. After a few moments he found the one he was searching for and replaced it with a new one he had brought. “Run the diagnostic and see if it accepts the change.”

“It worked,” T’kil (NPC) replied. “The message will be piggy-backed on this morning’s automated mail transmission.”

“Great. Hopefully Starfleet will show up and deal with things before they get any worse.”

They soon escaped back the way they had come. Their intrusion completely went completely undetected, even after the colony's subspace transmitter powered up and fired off its daily databurst toward the nearest Federation communications relay - with a second broadcast transmission going out at the same time.


[USS Minoru, 0745, MD-1]


As had become his habit, Ash had just finished up his breakfast and was reading reports in his ready room prior to the start of his bridge shift. Unlike some captains, he had yet to get tired of sitting in the center chair for most of the day and assigned the shift to another officer. Maybe someday that would change - maybe. At the moment he was reviewing efficiency reports from their latest set of drills. He was pretty pleased with the results - all of the departments were well past the minimal standards set by Starfleet and several had already met or surpassed the fleet averages. He has a feeling that it wouldn't be long before they were matching some of the best ships in the fleet.

Shortly before formal shift change, however, the computer chimed and the voice of the watch officer came over the comms. "Captain to the bridge."

Ash headed out to the bridge. "Report."

"Sir, we just received a what looks like a distress call from the New Haven colony," said Lieutenant Hanuel Namgung (NPC), the Gamma shift watch officer. She handed him a PADD. "It's text only and appears to have been embedded as part of a routine transmission."

Ash glanced it over. It was short and to the point: "To any Starfleet vessel or Federation outpost, this is the New Haven Colony. A horde of degenerate barbarians has descended upon our homes and set about destroying our way of life. We ask that you come and remove the invaders before they ruin our fair world."

"That's... odd," Ash said. Distress calls, in his experience, tended to be rather less flowery and more specific about the nature of the emergency. "There wasn't anything else?"

"We took a look at the rest of the transmission through the local subspace repeater network. It looks like regular traffic."

"Which could just be a ruse to make things appear normal." Ash sat down in the command chair and tapped a button to bring up the navigation display on the main screen. He'd tried to memorize all the colonies in their patrol zone, but New Haven was one of those names that seemed to be so generic that it was impossible to remember. The colony was somewhat out of the way and well off the normal shipping lanes. "I see we're headed that way already."

"I took the liberty of altering course upon receipt, sir," Namgung replied.

"Good work. Helm, increase speed to Warp 9.5." Ash held his finger above another set of keys, wavering between red and yellow alert, and after a moment he stabbed the latter. They were the better part of four hours out; he didn't think there was a need to immediately go to full alert status and it would give Gamma shift a chance to grab some rest.

ON: [[Mess Hall, USS Minoru, MD01, 0754]]

Mark looked down at his half-finished breakfast and sighed. He always seemed to have trouble convincing the replicator to process his order properly from time to time, which usually left him with a meal that didn't taste right. This morning, it had been the gravy on his biscuits. For some reason, the computer had thought it better to give him a gravy better suited to thanksgiving dinner rather than a breakfast of biscuits and gravy.

Shaking his head, Mark folded his napkin and set it on the table next to his plate. He often wondered if the problem wasn't the fact that the computer wasn't familiar with the dishes that were ordered, but if there were simply too many options available for people to request. More possible combination meant a greater likelihood of the computer mixing them up. Maybe he could find some time to swing down by engineering and talk to Lieutenant Ameen about the issue. It probably wouldn't be that high up on the priority list, but it was something that Mark wanted to at least bring to the chief engineer's attention.

He looked around the room, surveying the other occupants. Most of the people he saw there were probably due to go on duty in a few minutes, but some of them could have been from Beta Shift. They wouldn't be seeing anyone from Gamma Shift until after the shift change at 0800. It was good to see the different members of the crew interacting with one another. Mark couldn't attribute all of that to the drills he and the captain had been running, as he was sure that some of them had served with one another before, but he had definitely seen improvement in performance following the drills. Smiling, he lifted his mug from the table and took a sip. At least the coffee was still hot.

That's when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Lowering his mug to the table, Mark turned his head to see what had caught his attention. His eyes scanned the room again until he noticed the yellow glow outside the messhall doors. The smile faded slightly from his face as he realized that the ship had just gone to yellow alert. Already, the others in the messhall were starting to notice and he could hear a few people grumbling as their plans for the morning were changed for them.

Picking up his tray, Mark rose to his feet and started for the replicator. He deposited his unfinished breakfast into the slot, but did not wait for it to vanish. The change in alert status automatically ruled out his trip to engineering. Lieutenant Ameen and the engineering crew would be busy taking care of maintaining the readiness status that went with being at yellow alert. Besides, depending on the situation, he would be needed on the bridge.

OFF

[USS Minoru, 0645, MD-1]

"Sanderson!" Paran bellowed into his communicator, "My quarters, NOW!" Several seconds later, Paran heard the familiar thuds of heavy boots on thin carpet just before the chime to his door went off. "Enter," he said flatly. In walked 1st Lieutenant Darren Sanderson, though tall for a marine, he was not gangly. Paran had heard good things about his leadership skills, but at times he showed a reluctance to expose those in his command to harm, even if it was critical to the mission. Paran had decided that it was time to instill that particular lesson in the young man.

Paran was seated at a chair behind his small table, which was piled with numerous PADDs, each displaying the various metrics that were used to track performance in the drills. "Explain why your squad was 15 minutes late getting in position during the ship invasion drill." He stated flatly, his voice betraying only a hint of the anger he felt. Paran had spent the better portion of the morning going over the latest round of reports about his company's performance in the Captain's drills. He was not happy with what he saw. His marines were routinely late in achieving specified objectives and he was not pleased.

"Captain, we encountered unexpected resistance on deck 4," 1st Lieutenant Sanderson explained quickly, his eyes staring ahead, carefully avoiding Paran's piercing glare. "The Romulans had an ambush set up for us there. We didn't even know they were on that deck until Harmon was down. After that, we were pinned down until Gates managed to out-flank them."

"4 Romulans managed to pin your entire squad down in a trap that you blindly led them into, Lieutenant. I hope you understand how unacceptable that is." Paran said, with a surprising magnaminity.

"Yes, sir. I do." Sanderson replied.

"Good, and just to make sure that the point is understood. I have arranged for you and your squad to spend some extra time on the holodeck training." Paran had spent the better portion of the morning recreating part of the exercise on the holodeck. It differed slightly from the actual exercise in that Sanderson's mission could only be accomplished in the time he wanted if he made a hard decision and exposed some of his men to serious harm. It was not completable unless he did. "I have written a brief simulation of the training exercise. You are to run it until you and your squad can complete your assigned objectives in 30 minutes." At this, Sanderson blanched slightly and caught himself too late. Paran had seen it.

"Do you think," Paran howled, "that the Romulans will wait patiently for you to get into position, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir. But, we had 45 minutes during the exercise today. I don't think 30 minutes is possible." Sanderson managed to stammer out.

"I completed it with a simulated squad in 24 minutes this morning. And 45 minutes was the Captain's expectation, not mine. Marines hold themselves to a higher standard. Now, assemble your squad and get them to Holodeck 4. After our dismal performance, the Captain was only too glad to grant us extra time for training on the holodeck. I trust that I will not see you, or any member of your squad until you have completed the simulation in 30 minutes."

"I understand, sir," Sanderson replied, eyes still fixed forwards.

"Good. Dismissed." This simulation would teach Sanderson the value of risk as well as teach his squad to trust him when he put them into risk, or so Paran hoped. If not, it would break Sanderson and he would need a new squad commander. Either way, it was progress. Paran settled back down to his next round of evaluations. Despite his dissatisfaction, most of the squads had performed well for their first true test together, though most had consistently come in slow.

His brow furrowing and his antennae twitching noticeably, Paran moved down his list to the next unit that required his attention. 2nd Lieutenant Yang's unit had been entirely wiped out during the early phases of the assault. They had been assigned to dislodge boarders who had captured the hangar bay. In the assault, Yang led her unit into the hangar bay and had managed to get them pinned down in the wreckage of a shuttlecraft with no way out. Though Yang's unit managed to kill more than three times their number in Romulans before being killed, he could not allow his displeasure at the loss of the unit to go unspoken. Paran touched his communicator, "Yang! Report to my quarters immediately!"

Moments later, he heard lighter, though no less unmistakeable footfalls as Yang ran to his quarters. Almost before the door chimed, Paran said "Enter." 2nd Lieutenant Yang stepped through the door and stood at stiff attention. Paran stared at her and, to her credit, she stared right back, matching his gaze with no hint of unease. "You lost your entire unit in the drill today," Paran began perfunctorily. Yang knew what this was about. "Can you explain to me why you allowed your unit to become pinned down in the cargo bay?"

"I allowed nothing of the sort. I had nearly secured the bay when reinforcements arrived. If Rowan's company hadn't collapsed, I would have secured my objective, sir." Yang's eyes clearly displayed the fire that only barely showed in her voice. She was angry, though not at Paran. She was angry because she lost. That was good.

"So, it's Rowan's fault," Paran asked bluntly, "that you failed to secure a line of retreat? Always remember, Lieutenant, that it's your job to make sure that all your marines have a way out, when the unexpected happens. To reinforce this, I have arranged for you and your squad to spend some time on the holodeck practicing assaulting an entrenched enemy. Gather your squad and be at holodeck 4 in 20 minutes. Sanderson is in there now. Once his squad finishes their simulation, I would like you to run the program that I've designed for you." This program would test Yang's ability to adapt. Her courage was never in question, but she could develop a single-minded intensity that could, at times, blind her to the larger picture. In this simulation, most of her enemy would be wiped out by a crash-landing Mustang. She would be immediately assigned to rescue the pilot and bring him to sickbay and he had a few surprises for her along the way. Yang needed to learn to adapt, he was confident that this simulation would impart that lesson.

I've been given marines I can work with, Paran thought, putting down his PADD and rubbing his eyes. His antennae drooped noticeably as he crawled to bed to try and get an hour of sleep before he checked on the progress in the holodeck. "No more all-nighters," Paran mumbled to himself as he pulled the blanket over himself, "not as young as I used to be."

[USS Minoru, Ship's Counselor's Office, 0200 MD-1]

Minerva gently ushered the Security crewman apprentice with arachnophobia out of her office, and cracked her knuckles. Another day over with. She'd been glad to finally set up a workable schedule, even if it did involve taking half of her off-hours in the middle of her "day". It had taken almost a Standard Week to find a way she could see everyone and still obey her circadian rhythms. Luckily, she'd always been a natural night owl- staying up to the wee hours was never much of a struggle for her. Getting up, of course, was a different thing, but with enough coffee she could usually manage it. Eventually.

And there was still something delightfully luxurious about sleeping until noon, ship's time, even if she didn't get to bed until four in the morning.

[Minerva's Schedule:
Appointments: 1400-1800 (Gamma and Alpha shifts)
Off (due to split-shift): 1800-2200
"Paper"-work/Research: 2200-2400
Appointments: 2400-0200 (Beta shift)
Off: 0200-1400 (sleeping 0400-1200)]

And she was proud of what she'd accomplished so far. She'd almost succeeded in introducing herself to the whole crew- she'd only met a small handful of the Marines, but they seemed to be keeping to themselves. She hadn't quite met all the people on her "touch base" lists yet- the XO had slipped out of the mess hall before she could introduce herself twice now, but she was fairly certain that wasn't intentional. And she seemed to arrive wherever LtCmdr Niveda had been, just after he left, which was frustrating in a different way, but she'd find him eventually. Her appointments so far had gone very well- she hadn't had to go fetch any of the crew undergoing required counseling yet, and the only time one of her appointments had gotten mad at her, they'd thrown the PADD they were holding harmlessly at the viewport, and not at her head.

Time to go grab a relaxing cup of tea in the mess, see what Crewman Dentrassi (PNPC) could tell her, and then go to bed. She picked up her favorite PADD and flipped the display to the next novel in the series she was adapting into children's holonovels. The series, written in the early twenty-first century about a magical educational institution, was surprisingly compelling for a children's series. It would make good reading over her tea.

[Mess Hall, 0210 MD-1]

Minerva fetched herself a cup of tea and sat down near a viewport- she had yet to tire of the view. The Mess was practically deserted now- Beta shift had finished their meal an hour ago, and the ship was always quieter at this time of the "morning". She found it very calming and rejuvenating.

It also made an excellent time to catch up on the ship's gossip. Crewman Dentrassi, a Tellarite working in Food Services, was usually on Gamma shift. Minerva would never dream of interrupting her work, but she always had something she could do sitting at a table for half an hour about this time. And the advantage of being the lowest-ranking member of Food Services- and, frankly, a good deal shorter than most of the crew- was that people tended to overlook her when they talked. She was the best source of information for the Minoru's "unofficial" ship's news that Minerva had found, and frankly, she didn't expect to find one better. People talked about everything in the Mess. The Food Services people heard it all and shared select bits and pieces with each other and others onboard. And Crewman Dentrassi, who only seemed to be noticed when she chose to argue with people, overheard all of it.

Crewman Dentrassi passed through the other side of the mess, apparently carrying a crate of cookware, and nodded to Minerva on her way. She'd be over in a minute. Minerva continued to sip her tea and pretend to read her novel.

Minerva loved the Tellarite attention to detail- it made her job so much easier. Thanks to Dentrassi, she knew about all the failed shipboard romances that gummed up departmental politics, and all the departmental politics that gummed up the ship's drills, and all the (generally pretty wacky) ship's drills that (hilariously, on at least three occasions thus far) gummed up shipboard romances. And when people came to her seeking advice in their personal or professional lives, she already knew three other sides of the story. It kept her from having to take shots in the dark very often during appointments.

Dentrassi finally came over, carrying a PADD. When she sat down, Minerva saw it was a projected meal plan for the Marine's Mess for the next week. Dentrassi seemed to be making lists of supplies needed.

"Crewman Dentrassi, good morning."

"Don't see what's so good about it." Dentrassi huffed her herself and poked, annoyed, at the PADD. It had clearly not been designed for someone with her hand (or hoof) structure- Minerva couldn't imagine why Starfleet hadn't made PADDs designed for races with less delicate hands.

"Beta shift in a bad mood this morning?" Minerva put down her own PADD and concentrated on listening to Dentrassi, as she explained how half the shift had come in still smelling of hydraulic fluid, thanks to a containment mishap that had happened mid-shift. Nothing dangerous, just annoying. Apparently a few of the upwardly-mobile-minded Science crew had tried to improve the containment efficiency, and failed miserably. Minerva filed this under her mental category of "departmental politics" and expected to hear all about it in her various appointments.

"That's too bad. What else have you heard today?" Minerva listened carefully, and gave silent thanks for the Tellarite ability to multitask, as Dentrassi continued to attend to her list making as she informed Minerva of all the necessary ship's gossip.

ON: [Bridge, USS Minoru, 0800 MD-1]

Within a few minutes of the change in alert status, new bridge officers had quickly begun filtering in to relieve those already there. Ash was pleased with the response times both there and elsewhere on the shift; already many departments were reporting they'd completely the changeover. The timing and choice of yellow alert made things both faster, due to fact that people were already preparing to come on duty, and more confusing, as it wasn't always clear who was supposed to be were due to that. Certainly everything would be at full readiness by the time they reached New Haven.

Mark had been the first of the senior staff to arrive on the bridge. He immediately moved to his position on the captain's right and took a seat. On the main viewscreen, he could still see stars rushing past, which confirmed that they did not appear to be in any immediate danger at the moment. "What seems to be the trouble," he asked, bringing up a status report on his console.

Ash gestured to the small console by Anderson's chair, to which a copy of the distress call had been sent. "There was a strange emergency message embedded in the regular mail transmission of the New Haven colony. That's about all I can tell you - there's nothing on long-range sensors yet and we haven't received any additional messages from them or from Starfleet. I've notified Fleet command that we're moving to investigate."

"I see," Mark said, looking down at the information the captain had just provided him. Sure enough, it was the transcribed text of the transmission. Mark read it through twice, just to be sure he had understood every word of the message. "Seems a bit formal for a distress call," he observed.

"I know. I thought it might be a translation issue, but it was sent in plain English. It could be a local dialect or something." Ash sighed. "We could just ask, of course, but since it seems to have been sent under the cover of a normal transmission, I don't want to risk alerting any hostile forces that the colonists have gotten a message out. We'll just have to see what's there when we arrive."

Marcus listened to the Command officer's talk as he monitored his console, the whole situation put him on edge but mostly the fact that they were going in blindly with no real idea of the situation. As he continued to monitor his console, as the distance between the Minoru and the colony closed, he felt his fear- ever present begin to ebb a little and a sort of stillness take its place. Perhaps, he thought, it all wasn't going to be so bad after all.

Mark called up any information he could about the New Haven colony from the Starfleet database. There were a few things that caught his eye in the colony's basic description. New Haven was located in what the database referred to as System KC-4829, which was only about twenty lightyears from the Romulan Neutral Zone. Was it possible that, with all the turmoil currently taking place within the empire, that the colony had become victim to one of the Romulan factions?

"Any signs of Romulan activity in the area, Mister Niveda," Mark asked, looking toward the operations officer.

"No apparent signs sir," Marcus replied. It didn't mean much of course, Romulans were rarely detected before they wanted to be. "No foreign warp signatures or evidence of a battle. If anything is out there they are being very sneaky."

"Romulans were my first guess, too, although it brings up the question of why there and not someplace more valuable. It's possible they know something we don't about the planet, although it'd have to be pretty valuable to risk angering the Federation given the station of the Romulan nation. Then again, this could be a genuinely independent operation instead of the usual 'rogue' warship." Ash shook his head. He'd always been fascinated by Romulan culture and history - the increased academic and social openness with the Federation had been one of the more pleasant surprises after his displacement - but that didn't mean he could easily decipher their more elaborate plots in real-time and with no data to work with. "Cloaked ships are definitely one of my bigger concerns. Commander Niveda, I'd like your department to fit as many probe casings as they can with tachyon emitters and scanners, so we can deploy a makeshift detection grid on arrival. If you can make them do anti-proton sweeps as well, so much the better."

"Yes sir," Marcus replied with enthusiasm, excited to be relieved to a more engaging task. He stood and nodded to Ensign McCaffery(NPC) to take his place. "I'll have a team assembled and get started on that immediately."

At this point, the best that any of them could do was to speculate about what had prompted the distress call in the first place. It was one of those situations where one hoped for the best, but prepared for the worst. Mark was already going over several of the procedures for the possible situations they might encounter, many of which they had already practiced during the shipwide drills.

"What is our ETA," Mark asked, looking up from his console.

"About three hours," Ash replied. "It's amazing how slow Warp 9.5 is where you actually want to get somewhere in a hurry."

Three hours wouldn't be enough time for them to prepare for every possibility they might encounter, but it would be enough for them to anticipate the most likely ones. Mark knew that trying to be ready for everything was just as bad as putting one's eggs all in one basket. It was important to strike a balance between the two extremes so that they would be in the best position to address the situation when they arrived. "It's possible that we'll encounter wounded or injured colonists," he said to Griffith, "I will alert Sickbay to be ready."

"We'll need all our transporters and small craft ready to go as well, either to bring people aboard or land marines and rescue parties. Or do both at once, if we're unlucky." There was nothing like a mass casualty situation combined with a hostile drop under fire to make a day fun and exciting. On the plus side, Ash supposed it was better than doing that with escape pods. "Since we have the time, I want you to check in with the other departments and make sure we're prepare to handle that or anything else that might come up with. I'm sure we'll be ready, but this is our first time at the rodeo, so I'd rather be a safe than sorry."

"Understood, sir," Mark replied, inputting a quick set of commands into his console. There were still several things that he still needed to see to before they arrived. He'd be able to accomplish most of what he had to do from his place on the bridge, but there were a few things that he would feel a lot better about if he saw to them personally. Afterall, they didn't want to stumble coming out of the gate.

OFF:
A JP with
Lt Commander Mark Anderson
XO, USS Minoru

Lt Commander Marcus Niveda
Chief Ops Officer, USS Minoru

[Turbolift, USS Minoru, 0759 MD-1]

Minerva, in some part of her brain that would, ordinarily, care about such things, did realize that she was radiating annoyance and frustration. Vehemently. And ordinarily, given her ship's duties and her usually-meticulous nature about them, she would have tried to hide that, and she would have been pretty good at it. Someone who can't help but absorb the emotions of others does learn to be pretty sparing about sharing their own, after all.

At the moment, however, she was somewhere between not having enough time to care and just actually not caring at all. She'd gone to bed a little early that- er, morning- as appointments with the arachnophobic Security crewman apprentice did tire her out. But she was still running on less than five hours sleep. Clutching the medkit she had grabbed on her way out of her quarters (always kept ready near the door, in case just this sort of thing happened- there was another under her desk in her office) in one hand, she was trying to drink down a large container of replicated South American mate with the other. The caffeine wouldn't kick in for at least another half hour, but the adrenaline she was running on would almost certainly last that long, and the uppers that Starfleet approved for official use made her jittery. Not enough to mean she couldn't administer first aid, but enough to make it markedly more unpleasant for the person on the other end. Also, the tea had a handy side effect of warming her up, as she tended to feel a little cold just after rising.

She should have figured that arguing against the officer in charge of initial scheduling back at the base would come back to bite her later on. He had wanted to put her shift assignment down as "pending" and let her figure out what she should be assigned to later. But she'd heard from all of her former classmates that, while Alpha shift always had the worst time reserving holodeck time, they did always get served the best food in the mess. And she'd known where her priorities lay.

She was paying for it now. When a Yellow Alert came on during Gamma shift, it was Alpha to the rescue- which, in her case, meant taking her medkit down to Engineering and trying to avoid having to resort to triage, or getting blown up, should the worst happen- no matter what her sleep schedule had been like. The scheduling officer at the base had at least twenty years of shipboard experience on her, and the Academy hadn't had Alerts very often. Her schedule didn't really allow her to on the same sleep schedule as anyone else, but she was going to have to think very hard about getting assigned to Beta shift. Or asking Sickbay if they had any unauthorized sleep aids.

Her eyes widened, and she nearly choked on her tea. No, that probably wasn't a good idea. The last thing she needed was to be the new, untried Counselor taking off-label drugs.

Finally, the turbolift stopped next to the entrance of Main Engineering, just as she finished her tea. She took a deep breath as she exited the lift, and if she was imagining that the caffeine was already hitting her bloodstream, well, that could only help, at this point.

ON: [Torpedo Maintenance and Assembly, USS Minoru, 0900 MD-1]

Marcus waved for a crewman to stop as the torpedo-like probe settled onto the work table. As the mechanical arm that had moved it into place detached, he quickly got to work. He removed the outer plating that covered the probes delicate inner workings, setting it aside he produced his hyperspanner and began to loosen the fittings to the unit's secondary thrusters. As he pulled the tightly bundled equipment from the probes casing he leaned over it surveying the tight confines inside.

"Not much room to work with," he sighed and looked up to Ensign Egerts (NPC). "We'll have to get rid of every non essential system. Any ideas?"

Ron peered into the inner workings of the probe on the table before him as he considered the question posed by his superior. “It depends on how much we’re planning to add and whether or not we can modify some of the probe’s existing components,” he said slowly, “I think we could safely take out some of the extra modular units to make some room.” He glanced over at Niveda to see if he was on the right track or not. Sometimes it was hard to tell if what his suggestions were in line with what others were looking for.

Handing Egerts the tool kit Marcus nodded, "very good, lets start with those modular cells."

Ron accepted the toolkit that Niveda was offering him and set it on the service tray next to the probe casing they were working on. Selecting one of the tools that would be most appropriate for tinkering around inside the probe, Ron stuck his hands inside the casing again and began to feel for the first removable module.

Marcus pivoted and removed one of the freshly replicated Tachyon emitters from its case and holding the softball sized unit up with one hand he began to calibrate its dispersal matrix. With the captain intending to use the probes essentially as a trawling net he reasoned that the Tachyon beams would need to be optimized for range and accuracy as opposed to a broader dispersal pattern. A few minutes later he was satisfied with the settings and set the unit aside, looking over his shoulder to the dozen other cases he nodded to his team.

"We'll need to calibrate the rest to match the settings of the first," he said as he double checked the units settings with his tricorder. "Daniels, Mitchell and Fields, go ahead and get started on that. Juron, Williams and Korsk, help Egerts get the rest of the probe casings down and emptied. The rest of you, follow me."

Marcus lead his four remaining team members across the assembly bay to the equipment locker and after entering his pass code walked in. The narrow room was a dozen meters long running the span of the bays rear wall and inside lockers lining the rooms walls additional components were stored.

"Alright, Vedra- lets take a look at your inventory of our spare sensor modules and figure out whats likely going to fit," Marcus paused to study the Quarter masters assistant. "Once you've narrowed the list down by size we'll have to make a decision on which units will accompany the probes on board sensor package the best. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Vedra replied, consulting the PADD that she held in her hand. It would take her a little while to narrow things down, but knowing the inventory as she did gave her a head start in the project.

Turning to face his two remaining team members, Ensigns Flain and Jennings, Marcus smiled and gestured toward a work bench with a few PADDs laying out. "Gentlemen, we have the pleasure of writing a dedicated subroutine that will allow for faster data relay times between the probe net and the Minoru. After we have the framework laid out I'll leave it to you two to iron out the code, we'll need to have this ready to implement within the next few hours."

"Aye sir," the two ensigns replied in unison. One of them stood ready at the workstation to actually input the framework and coding that they would be working on while the other stood opposite the console with a PADD in hand. Both looked to Niveda for their first instructions.

Marcus began to relay the data he had assembled on his PADD, the latest in data compression techniques and software architecture. The coding would allow the probes to send more data back to the Minoru while using no more bandwidth on the ships communications systems than they normally would. This would facilitate the increased amount of sensor data that the probes would be collecting and allow the computer time to analyze it all.

"Alright gentlemen," Marcus sighed as he turned his PADD off. "I think you have what you need, I'm going to help team one get the rest of these probes modified, let me know if you run into any walls."

A chorus of "aye, sir" echoed from around the room as each of the individual team members acknowledged their task. They would have quite a bit of work ahead of them, but if they all worked together, they'd certainly be able to have it finished on time and in good quality.

Approaching Ensign Egerts, Marcus looked over what he and his team had accomplished, "How's it coming Ensign?"

Ron withdrew one of the modular units from the probe he was working on and set it aside. "To be honest, sir, it's a little tedious," he admitted, "but you do what you gotta do, right?" He smiled and reached his hand into the probe's interior again, fumbling around for the next modular unit.

OFF

A JP by:

Lieutenant Commander Marcus Niveda
Chief of Operations
USS Minoru NCC-64306

and

Various Operations NPC's
USS Minoru
Played by: LtCmdr Anderson

IC: [Bridge, USS Minoru, 1120 MD-1]

Tension hung in the air as Minoru and its crew sped toward their destination, approaching New Haven at maximum warp and on an arc from off the ecliptic in the hopes of achieving some small measure of surprise. Ash knew he and his crew were ready for combat - had been ready for some time, in fact - but no amount of readiness could completely dampen pre-battle nerves. The several hours between receiving the distress call and arriving hadn't helped much, giving time to prepare but also too much time to think. It was all too typical in Starfleet, really - to paraphrase the ancient saying, a case of "Hurry up and wait."

Marcus chewed at his lip as his eyes remained glued to his console, the brief excursion to the torpedo bay had helped calm him but since returning to the bridge his anxiety had returned in full. So far nothing had seemed as bad as he had imagined it would be but as the ship raced toward its destination he couldn't stop his mind from wandering into grim places. Its a false alarm, he told himself in his silent mantra, nothing to worry about...

The time was drawing near when they would soon have a better idea of what they would be dealing with. Mark had done his best to coordinate as many possible responses as he could, but there came a time when it came down to choosing one response over another based on available resources and the likelihood of such an outcome. "All decks report ready," Mark reported, looking up from the console on his right.

"Commander Niveda," Ash said as they neared the planet, "are our sensors still clear?"

Marcus didn't respond at first, the Captains voice seemed to be another of those that taunted him within but after a few seconds something clicked within, causing him to realize that he had indeed been addressed.

"Uh, yes sir," he stammered. "Just a lot of empty space out there sir."

"If there's an invasion, where's the invasion force?" Ash said, nervously tapping his fingers on this armrest. He had a vague feeling that it was wrong to be sitting there instead of running around engineering making sure the ship was working, which only added to his annoyance and worry with this increasingly odd situation. "It could be a raid... or they could be cloaked. Begin deploying your probes at your discretion and let me know if anything so much as twitches out there."

Marcus turned his attention to Lieutenant(JG) Borkalan(NPC), the Tactical officer on duty and nodded, "Bursts of three, a few seconds apart Lieutenant. As we discussed."

"Probes away," the Tactical officer informed half a minute later.

Marcus guided the swarm of probes into position remotely and began the activation protocols a few second later, "Tachyon grid activated sir. Receiving telemetry now, unless 'they' are using something new in the area of cloaking technology, we should be able to find them."

"Good work," Ash said. "Helm, take us out of warp when we hit one hundred thousand kilometers and do a high-v orbit of the planet before slowing over the colony."

The ship dropped out of warp thirty seconds later and swept through the space between New Haven and its moon while still traveling at a substantial percentage of light-speed, only slowing after completing a circle around the planet. Nothing shot at them. Nothing decloaked. Nothing tried to flee the planet. In fact, nothing happened at all.

"Tactical?" Ash said after a minute.

"Still nothing," the lieutenant said. "No signs of any ships in orbit, nothing out of the ordinary on the surface except a single civilian transport near one of the towns."

"Curiouser and curiouser. Hail the colony."

A moment later a young man appeared on the main screen. "Commissioner Godwinsdottir's office, this is James speaking. How can I help you?"

"This is Commander Ashton Griffith of the Federation starship Minoru. We're responding to the distress you sent about an attack."

"Distress call?" The man shook his head. "We didn't send a distress call." Before Ash could point out that this wasn't true, he went on, "I'll transfer you to the commission. One moment please."

Ash stared for a moment at the Federation seal, which had appeared on the screen along with a soothing piano piece. "Am I hallucinating," he asked his crew, "or did I just get put on hold?"

"It would appear so," Mark replied, looking at the emblem on the viewscreen with a hint of disbelief. He was just as confused by the seemingly routine manner in which they had been greeted, especially in light of having received a distress call. Clearly, there was something more to this situation than met the eye.

A new person appeared on the the screen, this time a middle-aged woman with dark red hair. "Good morning, Commander. I'm Miriam Godwinsdottir, chairwoman of the colony's Board of Commissioners," she said. "My secretary said that you're here because of some sort of distress call. Is there something we can do to help whoever is in trouble?"

"The distress call came from New Haven early this morning," Ash replied. "It clearly stated that there was some sort of invasion."

"There must be some mistake," Godwinsdottir replied with a deep frown. "We haven't sent out anything except the morning mail transmission."

"We've verified the message's source and it specifically mentioned the colony."

"How very strange," she said, spreading her hands. "We have a few unruly visitors, but certainly no invasion. I'm sorry that you've wasted your time."

"I see," Ash said, trying to keep his frustration from showing and not entirely succeeding. "I'm sure you can understand that we have to send an away team to investigate regardless."

"Of course. I'll be waiting for them in person."

"They'll be down shortly. Minoru out." Ash looked at Niveda. "Have you picked up anything unusual at all, either in space or on the surface?"

"Actually sir, yes," Marcus stated with a tinge of surprise. "As we came out of warp the sensors were temporarily flooded with ionic radiation, the result of a brief scan maybe? After the radiation burst cleared I managed to isolate the source on the surface. It appears to be some sort of structure located a short distance from the colony, a large structure, composed of a crystalline material that the computer can't identify."

The readouts on Mark's own console confirmed Niveda's assessment. There seemed to be no sign of any cloaked vessels, hostile invasion force, or recent assault. Aside from this unusual structure, everything appeared to be quite normal for an outlying colony of this type. So what had prompted them to send a distress call that they didn't have any record of sending? The answers were down on the surface and it would be the job of the away team to find them.

Ash looked at Anderson. "I'm guessing that if I try to lead the away team, you'll start telling me what a horrible idea that is, so I won't bother. Take an escort and make sure no one's holding a disruptor to her head." He thought for a moment, then added, "I believe Lieutenant Conway has empathic abilities. She might be useful for determining if there's some sort of mind control at work - parasites, drugs, that sort of thing."

"Aye, sir," Mark said, securing his console and rising to his feet. Several thoughts ran through his mind as he made his way onto the upper deck of the bridge and toward the turbolift door. Hopefully, they would find the answers they were seeking on the planet's surface. "Transporter room one," he ordered as he entered the lift. A moment later, the doors closed and he disappeared from view.

"Commander Niveda, coordinate with the transporter room on dropping a shield facing when they need it. I don't want it down a millisecond longer than necessary," Ash ordered. "And keep an eye on that pyramid." He gave a few other orders to the other bridge crew, then settled back to see what happened.

----

Off: a JP with -

Lt Commander Mark Anderson
Executive Officer

Lt Commander Marcus Niveda
Chief Operations Officer

ON: [[Transporter Room 1, USS Minoru, Mission Day 01, 1140]]

Mark had been the first person to arrive in the transporter room and he took advantage of the few extra minutes while he waited for the other members of the away team. He had been in complete agreement with the captain about including Lieutenant Conway because of the value of her empathic abilities, which would certainly help to determine if the colonists were under duress or suffering from mind-altering effects.

The remaining three members of the away team had been selected from the Minoru's marine detachment. Mark had toyed with the idea of including someone from the ship's security department, but ultimately rejected the idea. He wanted to maintain a limited away team but still have the ability to react to whatever situation they might encounter once they beamed down to the surface.

Minerva didn't enter the transporter room as early as she would have liked to have been, if still a little early. The first tricorder she'd intended to bring along had shown some small faults when she'd run an initial diagnostic on it, and switching it out for one that was in full working order had been an unexpected hassle. She gave a brief nod to the transporter tech as she entered- there was something she was supposed to know about her... ah, yes, she was an old friend of the arachnophobic crewman apprentice in Security. She seemed awfully nervous- was this her first shift on her own, or was she just naturally high strung?

Minerva immediately approached the Minoru's XO. "Sir. Any new information about the situation on the planet?"

It was a perfectly valid question for the counselor to ask. Mark was just about to reply when he heard the sound of the marine commanding officer's voice. Quirking an eyebrow, he turned to face the doorway that separated the transporter room from the corridor.

"Come on you piles of tribble fur! The captain ordered us there five minutes ago," Paran bellowed as he ran down the corridor. Yang and Hollister followed closely behind, moving in the wake of startled crew that Paran left behind him. As they ran to their destination, Paran took a brief moment to run his mental checklist. He and the other marines were armed sufficiently, standard issue phaser rifles strapped to their backs and phaser pistols in holsters.

As they reached the XO, Paran broke from his jog and stopped, slightly surprised to see the ship's councilor was both present and armed. He eyed her warily, his antennae moving in slightly nervous circles.

"If your going to plan on using that," he said levelly, "I hope you've spent time at the range." As he said this, the other two marines entered the room at a dead run, though quickly straightened to presentation. "You'll have to pardon my marines, they've grown a bit soft lately. We were attending to that in the holodeck when the call came in."

Minerva raised an eyebrow slightly, but otherwise remained impassive. "I assure you, Captain, that I would not endanger the mission by carrying a weapon I could not use." She then turned her attention to Anderson, who continued.

"Now that we're all here...We've made contact with the chairwoman of the colony's Board of Commissioners, Miriam Godwinsdottir (NPC), and she has assured us that they never sent a distress call nor did they ever have reason to," Mark explained as he checked the settings on his type-II phaser before slipping it back into its holster, "Considering the circumstances, the captain wants to make sure that everything is okay down there...make sure that there really isn't anything going on. It will be our job to assess the situation and report back on the condition of the colony."

"Understood," Paran said formally. "Neither my marines nor I will shoot anyone or anything of value until ordered. I just really hope this isn't another Jarthusian Mind Worm infestation. I got shot in the back twice the last time I ran across those." Paran's eyes unfocused for a moment, recalling the memory.

"Come to think of it, the doc did mention that Jenkins didn't seem to be infected when I dragged him to sickbay." Paran let out a guttural laugh. "Well, I'll give the boy credit for seizing the moment." At the end of his reverie, Paran looked up to find everyone else staring at him. He quickly straightened his uniform and performed a quick check on his gear. "All ready to go, Sir!"

"Good," Mark said with some finality, "Take your positions." He led the way up onto the transporter pad, assuming a position near the front of the group. It was typical for the team leader to be in front, especially in situations such as these, so as to be able to serve as representation for the away team and the ship.

As Minerva moved to take her place behind the XO, she finally noticed what had the transporter tech so anxious. A hairpin was stuck in her cuff, just showing, and one side of her bun was looking a little lopsided. The pin must have fallen out, perhaps just before Anderson had come in. The crew was still getting used to each other, and the XO had a bit of a reputation among the lower ranks for being a real stickler for the regs. If they beamed down in the next minute or two, though, she'd be able to fix it with no one else the wiser. Minerva hid a smile.

Paran, Yang, and Hollister stepped onto the transporter pad behind the XO, their weapons not drawn, but readily accessable. Paran performed a surreptitious final check on his biosynthetic limbs under the guise of stretching his real arm and straightening his uniform. Comfortable that everything was working as it should, he stood and faced forwards and quietly muttered a quick prayer to Torshal th'Daras, the ancient progenitor of his family.

Mark waited until everyone was in place on the pad before turning his attention forward. He made eye contact with the transporter chief, saying, "Energize." A moment later, the cool wash of the transporter effect swept over them and the interior of the Minoru's transporter room faded away into nothingness.

[Landfall, New Haven, 1145 MD-01]

The away team materialized at the edge of a riverside plaza in the heart of the colony's capital city, Landfall. The sun was high in the sky and the temperature was already creeping towards thirty degrees, promising a sweltering afternoon. On the side opposite the river, the plaza was fronted with a road, and beyond that in turn were two- or three-story buildings filled with shops, restaurants, businesses, and homes. There were also a few open-air stalls across the plaza selling fresh fruits and vegetables. Numerous people were going about their daily business, wearing light short-sleeved shirts and pants suitable for the weather. For the most part they ignored the team, save for a few curious glances and some excited pointing from a some passing children.

Really, it could have been a small town on most any Federation world, although there was a distinct lack of vehicular traffic beyond bicycles and a few rowboats, with no sign of the usual mass-transit systems such as tube trains or transporter booths.

It took only a few moments for a woman near the edge of the plaza to spot the team and start walking their way. She was wearing a simple blue blouse and trousers, not all that different from casual business wear on most human worlds, and her red hair was pulled back in a bun.

"Good morning," she said with a broad smile as she reached them. "I'm Reverend Miriam Godwinsdottir, chairwoman of the Board of Commissioners. Welcome to Landfall and New Haven."

"Lieutenant Commander Mark Anderson of the starship Minoru," Mark replied, motioning to the other senior members of the away team, "This is Lieutenant Minerva Conway and Marine Captain Paran th'Daras." He glanced around briefly at his surroundings before returning his attention to the chairwoman with a smile. It didn't look like there was anything out of the ordinary, but looks could often be deceiving.

Minerva stood just behind and off to the side of Anderson, and focused her attention on the Chairwoman as she and Anderson made introductions. The woman practically radiated competence and earnestness, and she very obviously bore the landing party no particular ill will. She also had a certain air of, 'this, to, shall pass' in her manner that Minerva tended to find in leaders of a certain age.

They had nothing to worry about from her. Though... the Marines did seem to make her a bit nervous, or, more specifically, their phaser rifles. The first time she noticed the rilfes, when Anderson introduced th'Daras, she glanced reflexively towards a few of the children in the plaza. And as she did so, Minerva felt a strong spike of protective feelings roll over her. The Charwoman obviously had strong personal connections with each of the people in the settlement- a good quality in a leader, though it could make diplomatic relations more difficult. Or maybe Minerva was overthinking things again.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all, Commander," Miriam said, still smiling. "I fear that you've wasted your time in coming here, although it's gratifying to know that we can expect such excellent response times from Starfleet's patrols. We may have chosen to settle here to get some privacy, but we're under no illusions about the potential dangers for any border colony."

Mark considered the situation for a moment. This didn't really seem to be the kind of conversation he wanted to be having in the middle of the market square. There was no denying that someone had sent the distress signal and there had to be some motive behind their decision to do so. Yet Mark could see with his own eyes that nothing appeared to be amiss; the chairwoman had offered up her assurances that they were in no danger. Still, he didn't want to leave anything to doubt.

"Perhaps we could discuss the matter further," he suggested, leaving it open to the chairwoman to decide the appropriate place and time.

"Of course. Our administration building is across the street," Miriam replied. She lead them there, through a lobby, and upstairs to the office level of the building. Just before they could reach her own office, however, the secretary sitting at the desk by the door waved urgently for them to stop.

"Yes, Franz?" Miram said.

"Um, ma'am?" Franz (NPC) said, pensively wringing his hands. "I, um, looked into the comms system like you asked, and, well... I think someone hacked into it and sent that message."

Like someone had flipped a switch, Miriam's smile was instantly replaced with a frown. "Oh, dear."

"Is there a problem, reverend," Mark asked, looking from the secretary to the chairwoman. It seemed like there was some concern over the fact that someone had taken the time and effort to hack into the colony's communication system in order to send a distress call. Was it possible that she knew more than she had been letting on?

"It's possible this is someone's idea of a prank," Miriam said. "The computer students are always up to no good..."

"It was those damnfool outsiders if you ask me," Franz (NPC) grumbled.

"Yes, of course. It'd be just like them to try to humiliate us in front of Starfleet," Miriam replied with a nod and an expression like an oncoming thunderstorm. "Disrupting the peace, public drunkenness, assault - why not add trespassing and misuse of public equipment while they're at it?"

Mark exchanged a brief glance with Lieutenant Conway. This seemed like quite a departure from the calm, reassuring image the chairwoman had been presenting only a few moments ago. It certainly could be indicative of something suspicious.

Minerva had some skill in focusing her empathic ability on a single person for a short period of time, but it took a certain amount of effort. So when they had entered the office, she'd dropped that focus in order to get a feel for the other office workers. Which was fine, when she got a strong double dose of the mostly-affectionate annoyance the Chairwoman and her secretary felt toward the computer students. But the amount of anger, distrust, and flat out xenophobia they felt toward the "outsiders" was a surprise.

Minerva abruptly decided she had been around Starfleet personnel too long. All Starfleet officers and crew received at least a little psi training, mostly how not to broadcast one's thoughts and emotions at top "volume", in order to allow the telepathic and empathic races of the Federation some peace. The last eight years among them had spoiled her, apparently. She'd only been on this planet about ten minutes, and already she could tell it would be a strain to maintain her own equilibrium among these people, with strong emotions and no training in how to control them.

In any case, the emotions these two felt toward the "outsiders" were likely a clue that they were more the "usual suspects" than actually likely to have sent the fake distress signal. (And those computer students might bear thinking about later.) But it was obvious that they mattered, somehow, in the situation on this planet, so now was as good a time as any to ask. Minerva took a breath and donned an inquisitive smile. "Outsiders, Chairwoman? I hope you don't really have a horde of invading barbarians around?"

"That would actually be an excellent description, Lieutenant," Miriam said. "Almost a week ago, a large archaeological expedition descended on us to study some local ruins. They have permits from the Federation Archaeological Commission and normally we wouldn't have a problem with playing host, but their behavior started off bad and has moved past atrocious. Their leaders disrespect our customs and treat us like idiots, and their students make bar-crawling marines and drunken Klingons look well-behaved."

In his mind, Paran made a mental checklist of things that could be happening. It could be nothing, a comforting thought, but unlikely. They could have left the distress signal to lure them here, capture the ship and kill them all, or sell them into slavery. This seemed unlikely too. If everyone present went missing, there'd be 200 marines down here searching in a couple hours. The locals didn't look like they could stand up to that.

They could be possessed by some entity controlling their minds. This seemed unlikely as well, as Miranda would have almost certainly picked up on this. Unless it had already taken control of everyone else. Paran's antennae straightened, then moved in concentric circles as he furrowed his brow. He acted calm, made a slow circle while standing in place. The office was defensible. He could take out Yang and Hollister first, just to be safe. Then get everyone else before in the confusion before they could react. He'd then push the desk up against the door and hold out until Minoru could send down reinforcements.

Paran then discounted all of this as premature. There's no evidence of it yet. He'd see how the rest of this conversation went before putting his plan into action.

"Captain," Mark repeated, giving the Andorian a look of slight concern when he didn't respond right the first time.

Paran broke from his reverie and immediately performed a half turn and snapped to attention as the XO addressed him.

"Would it be possible for some of our marine compliment to assist the local security forces in keeping an eye on the colony's guests for the time being," Mark asked. While the question was directed at the marine captain, he also intended it as an offer of assistance to the chairwoman...that is, if she was interested in such assistance.

"I'm sure the sheriff would be thrilled to have any help you can give, captain," Miriam said, turning a hopeful gaze on the marine. "With any luck the situation can be... resolved soon, but in the meantime even a few extra hands might calm things down."

"Excellent," Paran said, his antennae moving excitedly at the thought of doing something other than standing around. "I'd like to meet with your sheriff to discuss security arrangements as soon as possible." He continued in a matter of fact manner. "Also, I would like to offer my personal assurances that when my marines go into bars, they are always courteous and polite, and they are under orders to never, under any circumstances, crawl while entering, exiting, or conducting business in a bar. We make it a policy to always walk in a professional manner as crawling has an overall detriment to both individual and unit combat-readiness."

Minerva, noticing a slight widening of the Chairwoman's eyes, decided to jump in. If she could fake the right kind of nervousness, she might be able to come off as young and earnest enough to save the moment. "Of course, Captain, we have the utmost faith in your unit's professionalism. Sir," she added, turning towards Anderson, "if it's all right with you, and the Chairwoman, of course, I'd like to talk to some of these archaeologists." She turned back to the Chairwoman. "I have some experience in community conflict mediation, Chairwoman, and perhaps, as an uninterested third party, I could be of some help?"

"I have no objections," Mark replied, thinking that it might be a good idea for the counselor to get a feel for the other side of the story, "Reverend?"

"If you think you can help, by all means try," Miriam replied, although her dubious expression made it clear she didn't think Conway would have much luck. "And of course anyone else on your crew who wishes to visit is more than welcome."

Minerva nodded her thanks to the chairwoman, and moved off to the side to get directions to where the archaeologists were working from Franz. They spoke quietly together for a minute.

"Thank you, reverend," Mark replied, "I will be sure to pass your offer on to our commanding officer." Mark knew that it would be best for them to report back to the Minoru as soon as possible. The atmosphere within the colony seemed tense, but it was nowhere near a level that would have necessitated a priority distress call being transmitted. It was entirely possible that this was nothing more than a minor dispute that may require the mediation of Starfleet officers, but it was just as possible that things were not as clear-cut as they appeared. Either way, the Minoru had responded and, now that they were here, they would do their best to get to the bottom of whatever it was that was going on.

OFF

A JP by:

Lieutenant Minerva Conway
Chief Counselor
USS Minoru

Marine Captain Paran th'Daras
Marine Commanding Officer
USS Minoru

Reverend Miriam Godwinsdottir
Chairwoman of the Board of Commissioners
New Haven Colony
Played by: Cmdr Griffith

and

ON: [[Anderson Quarters, USS Minoru, Mission Day 01, 1152]]

James (PNPC) looked up from the PADD he had been reading and surveyed the empty room around him. According to shipboard procedure, he was required to remain in his quarters while the Minoru was on alert. He had gotten used to that fact after spending most of his life aboard ship. Despite the fact that he could not hang out in the mess hall or spend time on the holodeck, James still managed to find something to occupy his time.

Outside the viewport, he could see the sparkling blue-green orb that was New Haven rotating slowly as the Minoru orbited around it. It didn't really seem all that different than many of the other Minshara-class planets James had been to, at least, not at first glance. Part of him wondered whether he might be allowed to visit the colony once his father's away team had a chance to look around. He'd recently overheard some members of the crew talking about having received a distress call, but there didn't seem to be anything wrong from what he could see. At the same time, he'd been around Starfleet long enough to know that things weren't always what they seemed. Just because everything looked okay from up here didn't mean that it was all ship-shape on the surface. That's why his father was down there with the away team in the first place...to find out what was really going on.

He turned his attention away from the planet and looked down at the lesson he had been studying. The rumbling of his stomach suggested to him that it was time to start thinking about food and not about homework. Setting aside the PADD, he pushed himself out of the chair and made his way over to the wall-mounted replicator terminal.

"Peking Duck," James said, having a sudden craving for something oriental. A moment later, the warm aroma of seasoned duck wafted into the room as the order materialized on a metallic plate. James lifted the tray containing the plate, utensils, and napkin from the replicator slot before making his way back over to his chair.

Replicated dining was another aspect of shipboard life that James was all too used to. It had taken him a little while to get used to the idea of actually ordering food and waiting for it to be prepared. During his father's brief assignment on Earth, it seemed like he'd eaten more non-replicated food than during most of the rest of his life. When it came down to it, however, he must have had a much higher tolerance for replicated food than most Starfleet personnel. He could never really understand what it was that they were complaining about. At least it wasn't rations...

OFF

A post by

James Anderson (PNPC)
Crew Family Member
USS Minoru
Played by: LtCmdr Anderson

ON: [[Landfall, New Haven, Mission Day 01, 1203]]

Minerva finished getting the coordinates of the ruins where the archaeologists were working from Franz, and thanked him for his help. When she looked up from the padd they'd been working over, her eyes met with Commander Anderson's.

"Counselor, a moment if you please," Mark said, motioning for Conway to walk with him. He wanted to hear about her assessment of the chairwoman before she departed to learn more about these archaeologists that the colonists were complaining about. It didn't seem like something that had been worth sending a planetary distress call over but someone else had clearly thought that it was.

Minerva followed Anderson away from the others. Once a certain distance away, she spoke in a carefully lowered voice. "Sir?"

"What is your impression of the situation," Mark asked in an equally subdued voice. His eyes made a swift survey of the room to see if anyone was really paying any attention to their little conversation. When he was certain that they were not, he turned his full attention on the counselor.

"I don't believe the Chairwoman is hiding anything from us, sir. In fact, the people we've encountered seem particularly unsuited for deception- I haven't noticed anyone bothering to hide their emotions at all, really. The only odd things I've noticed so far concern their attitude toward the archaeologists."

Mark nodded slowly to show that he understood what the counselor was saying and that he agreed with her assessment so far. He had not really seen anything that would have indicated to him that the colonists were making any overt effort to deceive the away team. "What sort of things," he asked.

"When the Chairwoman mentioned them, both she and her secretary had a strong spike of emotion- and it wasn't just annoyance, it was real anger, and some xenophobia. They aren't quite to genuine hatred yet, but they're on the way. Also, I was surprised that the secretary's emotions were as strong as the Chairwoman's. Surely he wouldn't interact with them as often? And why accuse the archaeologists of sending a fake distress call about themselves?"

"You've got a point there, counselor," Mark replied, considering what they knew about the situation so far, "It doesn't make any sense that the archaeologists would send a fake distress call about themselves, though I could see where the Chairwoman's secretary might pick up on the general frustrations around him and follow along. We could be looking at a sort of group or cultural response here."

"Yes, actually that is what I got from them when they were speaking about the computer students- that is, a general frustration towards a group. What they feel towards the archaeologists, though, seems more personal, and almost violent. More of a grudge than a prejudice."

"Hmm," Mark mused to himself. He glanced over at the others again to see if they had attracted any attention with their conversation. It seemed like no one else had noticed yet, so he turned back to the counselor. "Keep an eye out for anything unusual when you're at the dig site," he told her, "and let me know if you find anything."

"Yes, sir. If there isn't anything else, I'll transport over there now." Minerva noticed the younger Marines were starting to fidget; which probably meant it was time to get moving.

Nodding again, Mark said, "Yes. Carry on." He turned and started back toward where the Chairwoman was in conversation with her secretary. With the marines heading over to a meeting with colonial security and the counselor beaming over to the dig site, that left him to make the report to the captain before looking into the sabotage of the transceiver. Perhaps one of them would be lucky enough to find some answers.

OFF: A Joint Post by

Lieutenant Commander Mark Anderson
Executive Officer
USS Minoru

and

ON: [[Communications Annex, New Haven Colony, Mission Day 01, 1243]]

Having received directions to the location of the colony's subspace transceiver, Mark had wasted little time in making his way there from the main administrative center. Any answers as to the nature of the distress call the Minoru had received were going to be at the transceiver itself. It was possible that the Chairwoman was telling the truth and that the colonists knew nothing of the transmission until the Minoru had arrived at the colony, but someone did send that transmission. It was going to be his job to figure out who it was and what their motivation had been.

The doors to the communications annex parted at his approach and he stepped into what appeared to be another administrative center, presumably one that oversaw the colony's communications network. His gaze swept the room briefly before coming to rest on a younger man seated at the main desk. Mark waited a moment to be acknowledged and, when that did not happen, he cleared his throat slightly to get the younger man's attention.

Said young man, Hans Anselm (NPC) looked up from the terminal he was intently staring at and all but jumped out of his chair with a strangled noise. "I'm sorry, sir... ah, Commander? I didn't notice you coming in. Hans Anselm, city technical administrator. How can I help you?"

"I am looking for the colony communications annex," Mark replied in a kind tone, observing Anselm's reactions without comment.

"Oh. That," Anselm said with a grimace. "I knew someone was going to show up asking about the comms systems after the admin office called me shouting about distress calls. That's when I noticed the discrepancy in the logs. Follow me." He got up from his desk and led Anderson into the rear of the building, down a flight of stairs, and into a room full of computer equipment. There were dozens of freestanding racks of isolinear chips and processor cores, with several large terminals set against the nearest wall. "I don't know if you could really call this an annex so much as the basement where we keep all the main government computers. Communications, weather tracking, central records, emergency services - it all runs through here."

Mark surveyed the equipment in the room around him, noting that it wouldn't have been very difficult for someone who knew what they were doing to transmit a false distress call without being detected. His gaze came to rest on a few windows that ran along the outer walls at ground level. "Do you have any security on this facility," he asked.

Anselm shrugged. "We lock the doors when we close at night, but honestly, it's never been a big concern. There's nothing worth stealing in here. The computers themselves log all access and have different user permission levels. That's one of the odd things I noticed when I looked into this distress call thing. Our routine communications all get bundled into a daily mail burst because we don't have the power to sustain a constant link to the nearest relay station. Thing is, we've got a record of the broadcast you picked up being sent out, but no record of it being inserted into the transmission package." He shook his head and scowled. "I still haven't figured out how those jerks did it."

The colonists' lack of security did seem a little unusual to Mark. Even if they did not expect their to be any trouble, it was customary for most communications facilities to be secured with more than a simple lock and an access log. One could never be sure when someone might decide that they were interested in the available hardware for one reason or another.

What caught Mark's attention more than the lack of security, however, was the younger man's response. Anselm's verbal and non-verbal reactions seemed to indicate that he already had some sort of preconceived notion as to who might have been responsible for the false transmission. "Sound's like you think you know who did it, Mister Anselm," Mark said slowly, waiting to see the younger man's reaction.

"Well, it's obviously those offworlders," Anselm said, all but rolling his eyes. "They've been roughing our boys and girls up out around Shilo, so why not add some sabotage? I wouldn't be surprised if that professor of theirs told 'em to do it, so that when they file that lawsuit they've been yelling about we'll look bad. They probably just replicated some kind of cracking tool and beamed in and out."

"By offworlders, I assume you are referring to the archaeology team," Mark surmised as he began to walk along one wall of the room, studying the windows for any sign of forced entry, "What makes you believe that they were the ones to do it?"

"They have the means, they have the motive, and they don't care about breaking the law or hurting people," Anselm replied slowly, like he was explaining it to a child. "I may not be a fancy Starfleet officer, but I've read enough mystery novels to know that's usually a good sign that someone's the one who did it."

Slightly confused by the younger man's sudden resistance to his questioning, Mark took a mental step back and decided to give the situation a moment to cool off as he finished visually assessing the windows. There seemed to be no overt indication that any along the wall he had just passed were forced open to gain entry, but that still did not rule out the possibility.

"They may have the means, but I'm a little curious as to their motive," Mark asked after a few moments of silence, "You mentioned a lawsuit...could you tell me a little more about that?"

"Rumor has it they're taking us to court because we're not letting them dig up the ruins out near Shiloh the way they want," Anselm said. "After they arrived the commissioners passed a few environmental protection and labor laws, just some common sense stuff that we'd never needed to spell out but had to make clear so the archaeologists couldn't ruin our planet by disrupting the ecosystem or crashing the economy. Apparently that's "restricting" their work and violating their rights or something. It's a bunch of nonsense, of course."

"Why don't we take a look at the communications system itself," Mark suggested, taking mental note of what he was hearing, "any thoughts as to how they might have bypassed your access level lockouts?"

"Well, my guess is that they probably directly access the control hardware," Anselm said. He walked over to one of the wall consoles and knelt down beside it so he could remove a panel. He gestured at the array of isolinear chips inside. "They might have hacked into this data port here and uploaded new instructions. Either that, or they removed one of these control chips and either rewrote the program on it or replaced it entirely. I haven't had a chance to really examine any of it and compare it to what it should be."

Mark knelt down next to Anselm and pulled out his tricorder. In one smooth motion, he flipped open the device and began to run a brief initial scan of the access panel before him. He may not have had any base of reference to go on as far as how it should have been set up, but the scans might tell him whether any of the chips had been tampered with.

The computer systems were all fairly standard Federation technology, but subtly bulkier than it should have been, comparably to the technology of fifty or sixty years prior. It wasn't just a matter of being more rugged than usual, like Starfleet devices were bulkier than their civilian equivalents, but rather that they'd been deliberately designed to use modern innovations in a larger albeit simpler fashion. Fortunately it wasn't different enough to confuse the tricorder, and soon it pointed out an inconsistency. One of the control chips showed far less wear and tear than the rest - in fact, it had probably been in use less than a day, compared to several months to years for the rest.

Reaching out, Mark carefully removed the out-of-place isolinear chip and held it up so that he could look at it more closely. "I believe I have found out how someone managed to circumvent the lock-out system," he said, showing the chip to Anselm, "It would appear you were correct to suspect a replaced chip."

"Well, it's got the right label..." Anselm took the chip and inserted it into a reader slot on top of the console. A few moments later he was scrolling through lines of code. "Hmm. No, that's not it... not that either... oh, hello. That's clever. They basically inserted a new subroutine to automatically insert a small message at the end of the normal queue, switch the transciever into broadcast mode, and then reset everything and erase the altered commands from active memory. All they would have had to do was trigger a Level 5 diagnostic and the comms system would have automatically included the new code into the program." He looked at Anderson again. "But there's still the question of who did it.. There's dozens of people in the colony with the skill to pull it off, and probably plenty with the archaeologists."

"That is a very good question," Mark said, closing his tricorder and returning it to his belt, "If you don't mind, I would like to take this chip back to the Minoru for further analysis."

"Go right ahead," Anselm said. "The system's redundant enough that we won't miss it until I can plug in a spare. I'll have to program in new safeguards anyway." He grimaced. "And get some new locks while I'm at it."

Taking one more brief look around the room, Mark nodded once in the direction of Anselm before turning and heading out the way he had come. He would have to see if any of the other members of the away team were ready to return to the ship yet or if he would be returning alone. Either way, they were one step closer to determining what was actually going on.

OFF

A JP by:

Hans Anselm
City Technical Administrator
New Haven Colony
Played by: Cmdr Griffith

and

[Bridge, USS Minoru, 1240 MD-1]

Ash shifted restlessly in his command chair. He had vague, unlocalized itch that seemed to move around his spine no matter what he tried to do to relieve it. It was a familiar feeling, one that seemed to always accompany trouble. There didn't seem to be any reason for it; indeed, every passing minute made danger less and less likely. No Romulan warships had turned up, no space amoebas had tried to consume the ship, and the initial reports from the landing party were positive. Unless they turned up something dire in their further investigations, it was looking to be some kind of prank or misunderstanding at worst.

Still, the last time he had felt that itch, the Mariner had been caught in a time dilation field, and before that there'd been pretty much the entire Kzintosh-infested months of August and September '72, and before that the incident with the Klingon cruiser in the Triangle, and before that... well, a rather long list of occurrences. It was a less that promising omen.

But then, his rational side said, correlation does not imply causation, and basic human psychology was such that it sought out patterns, remembering incidents that fit and forgetting false alarms. For that matter, his psi score was well within a standard deviation of human norm, which was to say, practically zero.

Nothing much for it, he supposed, except to maintain constant vigilance. Fortunately the last few years of his life had left him with a not-unreasonable inclination toward professional paranoia when it came to strange events in deep space, and so it didn't exactly require a change in attitude. No doubt the counselor could say something interesting about that - unless his itch was right and she got infected, shot at, or otherwise left with slightly less academic view on such things.

[[Archaeologist Camp, New Haven, Mission Day 01, 1230]]

Minerva coughed slightly as she materialized at the dig site- lesson #435 that sedentary work at the Academy didn't drill far enough into your brain, breathing in just as the transporter energizes is uncomfortable. There was a bit of commotion going on, it looked like. She squared her shoulders and walked up to the nearest person who looked like they had any idea what was going on. "Hello, I'm Lieutenant Minerva Conway of the Federation Starship Minoru. I'd like to speak to the person in charge of liaising with the settlers?"

The person in question, a young man in his early twenties, looked up from the box of tools he was sorting. "Starfleet's here? That's the best news I've heard all week. Someone needs to put those idiots in their place." He waved toward the Sydney-class transport that dominated one end of wide field they were in. "I don't know that we have a liasion, but you can probably find Professor Prokhor up on the Mital's observation deck. Last I heard he was trying to talk to our lawyers and get more added to the lawsuit."

Minerva blinked. Lawyers. Great, exactly what this day needed. She thanked the- grad student, probably, only form of indentured servitude still legal in the Federation- and started walking towards the ship. As she walked, she took in her surroundings and the general attitude of the archaeologists. There certainly were plenty of them.

The camp itself filled most of what had been a large grassy field several hundred meters on a side. The ship sat at one end and the rest of the space filled with neat rows of open-framed tents and the beige pre-fabricated structures used by almost every Federation group in need of instant housing. Most of the people - easily five hundred or so - seemed to be fairly young, and split more or less evenly between humans and Tellarites. Most seemed to be working on equipment or studying PADDs, but a sizeable portion seemed entertaining themselves and there was even an impromptu football game going on in one of the remaining open spaces.

The ship's main access ramp was open and it was a simple matter to just stroll in and take a turbolift up to the observation deck. The interior was silent and the constant engine hum found on any ship was missing, with only the whisper of the air circulation indicating there was activity at all. That just made the noise coming from the open door to the observation deck all the louder.

"I ask you, what kind of half-rate colony doesn't even real-time communications with the rest of the sector?" a man with a low, gravely voice was asking. "An hour to get a reply! It's madness!"

"It's hardly the first time we've been out of contact," someone else said.

"Not on a supposedly-inhabited Federation world! There's no reason but pure obstinacy for them not to place a relay station and connect to the rest of the comms grid!"

Minerva walked into the observation deck, and in the ensuing pause while several people turned around to see who she was, said, "Hello, I'm looking for Professor Prokhor." She was already pretty sure who the Professor was- the emotions regarding authority in this room were almost all pointed in the same direction- but no harm in asking.

A burly Tellarite stood up from the table he and several colleagues were sitting around. "I am Professor-Doctor Prokhor," he stated. "Who are you, and are you simply playing dress-up or has Starfleet lowered it's minimum physical standards again?"

Minerva considered responding to the jab- most likely it was an invitation to argument, which was a friendly enough greeting from a Tellarite- but discarded the idea. It would take to long, and besides, her mission here was one of diplomacy. Not to mention that inviting them to state their arguments against the colonists was just as friendly a gesture.

"I am Lieutenant Minerva Conway, Ship's Counselor of the Federation Starship Minoru." And no, that hadn't gotten old yet. "We are here on an unrelated matter," or, at least, probably unrelated, close enough, "and I happened to hear that there's been some discord between you and the colonists. It sounded like a disinterested third party might be able to help keep the peace, so I volunteered. I'm here to help, if you'd like me to, and to listen to your side of things." She made a slight sweeping motion with one hand, indicating the group and the crowds outside the viewports.

"A counselor?" Prokhor said. "We don't need a counselor! We need security forces and federal marshals!"

"I'm sure once she hears our side of the story she can arrange some of those," a human woman beside him said. "Doctor Carani Darisipudi, assistant expedition director. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant. Your arrival is very fortuitous. You could not possibly believe the kind of trouble that we've experienced since we arrived."

"Thank you, Doctor. I do hope we can *talk* through this, Dr. Prokhor." Minerva gestured towards the table, questioningly, and was allowed to sit down opposite Dr. Darisipudi. "You understand, I'm not here in a legal or military capacity, I'm here to talk. Could we start at the beginning? What was it about the ruins that brought you here?" When in doubt, let a professor talk about their field. Easiest way in the known universes to bring down the tension in this kind of room. And the tension was stronger than she'd expected, even with what the Chairwoman had said.

Prokhor began to explain. "They're the better part of fifty thousand years old and possibly the largest collection of Preserver-"

"Possibly Preserver," one of the other Tellarites said, only to wilt under his leader's immediate death glare. "Very likely Preserver."

"Largest collection of ancient structures found. The fact that they've been ignored since the planet was discovered is a disgrace. It's a miracle the local amateurs haven't destroyed priceless information." There was a general murmur of agreement. "When I discovered a reference to the find and went over the survey ship's log, I immediately realized it could be one of the most important finds since the first T'kon ruins were unearthed. We came here expecting to begin a major excavation. Instead we sit here twiddling our pinchers!"

"I want to make it clear that we're not just claim-jumpers," Darisipudi said. "We're currently operating as a joint mission sponsored by the Academy of Ancient History on Tellar and the University of Mumbai on Earth. We have all the appropriate paperwork filed and approval from the Federation Archaeological Commission to conduct. This was actually meant to be just the first wave to begin initial surveys, with more people to come. Since arriving, though, things have stalled. We were hoping for some local support, since we'd clearly be a major boon to the colony's standing and intellectual resource base, but they've been... uncooperative."

"Uncooperative?" Prokhor repeated loudly. "They're a bunch of illiterate deep-swamp idiots!"

"Violent neobarbarians is more like it," a human agreed. "They're throwbacks to the twenty-first century."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. This was a level of anger she hadn't been expecting. Her mother had worked on digs like this- there was always some friction between the academics and the locals. And the Chairwoman's attitude had lead her to think this case was worse than usual, but this was not what she had expected.

Well- the emotions behind the words weren't. The words were normal enough, actually Prokhor and company were being downright civil compared to what some of her mother's friends might have said in their place. The annoyance in the tones of their voices was normal. But the emotions backing all that up- it was just like in the Chairwoman's office, a wall of anger washing up against her, except stronger and from several sources all around her, instead of just the Chairwoman and her secretary. Minerva blinked quickly three times, a physical tic she used to trigger a back-burner mental check of her empathic boundaries. She wasn't in any kind of danger here, or anywhere near losing control, but if this kept up it was going to be a *very* long day and, it being her first away mission and all, safe was better than sorry.

"Let's start at the beginning, shall we? When did you first have contact with the colony here? Did you contact them before arriving?'

"Of course we let them know we were coming!"

According to Prokhor and Darisipudi, the very first thing they had done while organizing the expedition was making sure the correct paperwork was filled out with all the relevant agencies, the most important of which was the Federation Archaeological Commission, which oversaw most Federation-wide archaeology work. They'd also investigated whether permits from local authorities were needed and determined it wasn't the case. Like many small independent colonies, New Haven had gotten support from Starfleet's colonial division while getting started, and so its charter included a standard clause allowing the establishment of a starbase and guaranteeing scientists could study local phenomena.

"And really," Prokhor said, "if they didn't want to be bothered, they should have chosen a different planet!"

"Or at least settled on another part of this one," Darisipudi said. "They chose this area because they thought the ruins were scenic. Scenic!"

They had sent a message ahead upon departing from Tellar, giving the colony more than two weeks' notice of their arrival. The colony's reply had been tentatively welcoming, stating that of course the expedition could come but there might need to be discussions about how to best accommodate them. That hadn't seemed odd, as any place had local quirks and rules - don't cut down the sacred grove, look out for the wildlife, avoid landing in flood plains, so on and so forth. Still, it was a Federation colony made almost entirely of humans, so there shouldn't have been major problems. The expedition had also expected a certain degree of local infrastructure and industry to support it. They'd provide compensation, of course, and clearly hosting such a prestigious archaeological site would do wonders for attracting new colonists and getting more resources to help the colony grow.

Those assumptions had been slightly wrong.

"Their civil infrastructure is non-existent," Darisipudi complained, "and what they laughingly call industry can barely support the colony as it is! Would you believe they don't have any replicators! No industrial replicators, no home replicators, not even food replicators! They make most of their belongings by hand!"

"They even complain that we use the ones we brought!" Prokhor rumbled. "What's worse is their behavior. The adults are the most haughty collections of anti-intellectual slime-wallowers I have ever encountered and they're doing everything they can to obstruct our work. Meanwhile, their young ruffians have taken to attacking our students with the slightest provocation."

"It started two days after we arrived, right after we finished setting up our temporary structures," Darisipudi explained. "There's a town not far from here and several of our students went to the local tavern for a few drinks and to meet natives their age. However, many of said were well on their way to being falling-down drunk when our students arrived, and when one of our young men expressed interest in getting to know one of the girls there, a fight broke out. I assure you, he's a perfect gentleman, but apparently simply saying hello the wrong way is reason to punch someone. Since then a day hasn't gone by without a scuffle or two, and I'm worried someone will get seriously hurt."

"All right, so if I've heard you correctly, your major concern is regarding the colony's level of infrastructure and how that effects your work here. I believe you were talking about the comms grid as I walked in, it sounds like that's related. Secondly, you're also worried about the expedition's relationship with the locals. I'm glad that creating and maintaining a good working relationship with the colony is so important to you, all too often that can fall by the wayside. Though I'm sure, Doctor-Professor," she said, with a nod to Prokhor, "that the Academy of Ancient History would send their best people for a dig like this, so you must already know how essential that relationship is to any successful dig. You said something about the adults of the colony and how they've reacted to your presence here, could you elaborate on that?"

"At first, they were a bit stand-offish and insular," Darispudi said. "I suppose that's not unusual for a border colony - they do tend to attract the anti-social and the marginally sane. But within a few days, it was as if they couldn't have even the simplest conversation without putting us down."

"Anyone who uses replicators is lazy," Prokhor said. "People from core worlds are brainless drones. Mass-produced objects are soulless and those who own them are boorish slobs. We're all godless heathens. They can't even be bothered to come up with halfway-decent insults!"

"Would it help your situation at all to simply cut off contact with the colony? If they aren't giving you any supplies, there may be no need for contact," Minerva suggested.

"This is a Federation world, not Cardassia!" Prokhor proclaimed. "We have the right to go where we want, without being subjected to harassment!"

"Besides, even if they don't provide us anything, it's not like we could avoid them," Darispudi said. "Yesterday a bunch of them organized a picket line around the site. Not to mention their government - they've passed a dozen new laws since we arrived, all of them aimed at stopping our work. Just as an example, the environmental impact study they're suddenly demanding would probably take years if we tried to do it in the detail they want."

"Ah, well, that would present problems. All right, unless there's anything else, thank you for your time. Doctor-Professor Prokhor, I believe the next useful step, after I speak with the leaders of the colony, would be to set up a meeting between representatives of this expedition and the colony. Are there one or two people who you would like to represent your people in such a meeting?"

"Are you implying that I'm unfit to represent my own expedition?" Prokhor said. "Who do you think I should send, you sorry excuse for a counselor? A post-doc? One of these mush-brained ninnies?"

"What Prokhor is trying to say is that we would welcome Starfleet mediation, if you can get the other side to agree," Darispudi said. "Certainly it would be better than waiting for this matter to wind its way through court."

"I meant what I said, mealy-mouthed fool!" Prokhor shouted.

"I'm trying not to offend the closest thing to law enforcement in twenty light-years, you obstinate twit!"

Minerva, through years of experience at beating the pants off her colleagues at poker, did not grin. It was a close thing, though. Earning the friendly ire of a Tellarite was a carefully-done trick, and she still felt a sense of accomplishment at it. "Oh, we would be only too honored by your presence, Doctor-Professor. Indeed, I'm glad that a good relationship with the colony is so important to you. My mother often ran digs like this, and I am all too aware of how precious your time must be. Would you like to represent the expedition on your own, or would you like to have someone accompany you?"

Minerva glanced slightly at Dr. Darispudi, as the woman had already proved capable of calming Prokhor and was, as far as Minerva could tell from how the meeting had gone so far, a high ranking member of the expedition from the University of Mumbai faction. Best to have as many groups represented in as few people possible, at a meeting like this was sure to be.

"I may bring Doctor Darispudi, if only because she is less likely to upset the easily offended," Prokhor said magnanimously. "Contact us when you have the meeting set up - assuming you can get our so-called hosts to be reasonable enough to have one. I wish you luck in arranging that."

"I will get back to you as soon as I can." Minerva rose from her seat as she spoke, "and I appreciate the good wishes." She let enough sarcasm into her tone for her last phrase to show she understood how Tellarite diplomacy worked, but not enough to offend.

"Good day, lieutenant," Darispudi said. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"For dramatically limited meanings of pleasure," Prokhor added.

Minerva nodded and left the room before calling the ship for a beam-out.

---
a JP between:

Lt Minerva Conway
Ship's Counselor

and

Drs Prokhor and Darispudi
played by Commander Griffith