Starbase North Star Sixty

[Crash Calestorm 0]

Starbase North Star

Conference Room B

 

A lot can change in sixty minutes.

 

As soon as the docking clamps and umbilical chutes attached to the ‘Creek green lined, Captain Calestorm was ordered to report to the base commandants office with no negotiation on the matter. She hastily left her in progress appointment with Doctor TAral and informed Commander Wesley that she’d be off ship for at least a couple hours.

 

Commodore Lance introduced her to the Starfleet Intelligence operative dispatched to the starbase for the follow-ups and debriefings with the crew.

 

Special Agent Harmon proceeded to inform Calestorm of the current situational details; she was not happy with him, he was not amused with her.

 

She’d been escorted by two security guards to a conference room for a debriefing session with two of Harmon’s agents. And she’d been waiting for twenty minutes.

 

She mostly knew how to play the SI game from her stint as a field agent. What made this situation different was that she wasn’t a lone wolf this time around and was well beyond her purview as an ORP* agent; she had an entire crew to protect.

 

A yeoman had brought a tray of coffee and tea selections, leaving it in the middle of the faux wood conference table. So far, Cale hadn’t passed out, so she figured the drink wasn’t spiked. She settled in one of the chairs and reviewed the 2387 mission logs and crew shift update logs on her personal data slate.

 

Her crew hadn’t done anything wrong, she hadn’t done anything wrong: Calestorm kept repeating this mantra mentally. The circumstances that landed them in 2387 were crazy, something completely out of her control, something that none of them could have avoided. And they’d made it back alive to tell the tale.

 

That was unofficially, of course. Officially, the Comanche Creek crew would be under classified orders regarding the time incident for the duration of their careers.

 

It didn’t help that Shauna was in hack with the main offices; as such, Wile E and Crash were to have limited contact pending the final review by Starfleet Intelligence. Granted, that hadn’t stopped the two from getting creative and working around the regs as they’d done in the past, thank you very much. Coyote was pretty confident all this would all blow over, that SanFran Command and SI were just being cautious with the time travel situation.

 

Crash took a sip of her tea and glanced out the large portal window; Starbase North Star was a busy port of call, catering to both civilian and Starfleet traffic. Full repair, entertainment and living facilities were available. The crew would be temporarily moved off the crippled ‘Creek - with the exception of any Engineering, Damage Control and volunteer personnel assigned to assist with the repairs - while the SCRAMed engines and compromised internal systems were overhauled by the North Star engineering department.

 

Two officers, one a dark skinned Vulcan female and the other officer an older, ginger furred male Caitian, suddenly breezed into the conference room. They wore uniforms of the same cut as the regular Starfleet ground uniforms, though the color was jet black instead of charcoal. Briefcases in hand (or paw), data slates gripped in the other; the two fairly projected an aura of ‘administrative commandos’.

 

The elder felinoid spoke, all business and smooth. “Captain Calestorm. I’m Commander Mallar and this is my partner, Commander Zivad. We’re agents with the Office of Temporal Investigations, Starfleet Intelligence.”

 

Crash stood out of respect, but what she said was, “…never heard of ya.”

 

“The office was implemented after the Nero Incident.”

 

“So, do you guys have an ultra secret Bat Cave with the latest computer equipment that can track personnel and time arcs?”

 

The Cait smiled, showing fangs. “Please have a seat. Actually, they have the entire department squeezed into a converted storage closet.”

 

Cale reseated herself as they took two chairs directly across from her. “I’d like to know where Admiral Coyote is.”

 

“The Admiral is being questioned separately per her command decisions in the field after your disappearance.”

 

“I’m sorry, that isn’t satisfactory enough. She’s my commanding officer, and per regulations she should be present at this informal inquiry for her lead line officer.”

 

“Those regulations are not our concern here.”

 

“Oh, so the Office of Temporal Investigations has their own regulations?”

 

“As a matter of fact, we do.”

 

“….so, what now? Use a phonebook if I don’t answer your questions properly about any possible time line contamination?”

 

The silent partner finally spoke. “Phonebooks are an illogical practice from misguided 20^th century Earth law enforcement personnel. If you do choose to be recalcitrant, we were going to strike you across the face with our digital slates. It is more efficient and the impact will be that much more motivational with the hard plastic.”

 

Calestorm looked at the Vulcan woman askance, not expecting anyone to pick up on the obscure historical reference to early 20^th century interrogation tactics, let alone the joking sarcasm; she was given a small smirk in return.

 

“My apologies for the raw humor,” the captain gave a nod towards the Vulcan, and then took in both of the agents with her gaze, “but I’ve been a bit concerned regarding the events of this last hour. I’d like to know why my people are being isolated on the USS Comanche Creek; armed marine guards at the airlocks ain’t very nice. What, yer afraid we’re all gonna take over the space station because of some weird future mind wipe plot?”

 

Commander Mallar gently waved a paw, forestalling any more complaints on her part. “Captain Calestorm, I assure you that your crew will be free to enjoy the station facilities, assuming our questions are answered satisfactorily.”

 

“And what questions would those be?”

 

“Do you feel as if your perception is altered? Do the people around you appear changed in any way?”

 

“Uh, no.”

 

“Do you still prefer to eat the same foods prior to your time travel?”

 

She eyed the Cait. “Commander Mallar, if you start askin’ me that time travel psycho-babble bullsh*t – do I still like my parents, am I still happy with myself, do ah consider the Turtle Heads my friends now, what color is yer fur, who is our current Commander in Chief – ah will hop over this table and scruff you by the back of yer neck.”

 

A pregnant pause. The Vulcan smirked. Mallar cleared his throat in a purring trill. “Very well, moving on. Next item…did any of your crew have a particularly hard time with the time displacement?”

 

“We were only there seventy two hours, that really isn’t a long enough period for—“

 

Zivad interrupted her, “—answer the question, Captain.”

 

“…not that I’m aware of.” Cale winged a look at the Vulcan that she usually reserved for junior officers who had just done something *really stupid*.

 

The male felinoid continued with the questioning. “Did any of your crew express a desire to stay?”

 

“No.” Crash lied.

 

Commander Zivad handed a data slate to her. “Our technicians pulled this encrypted file. Specifically, a ghost trace of the file was left on your hard drive system."

 

“I just got here. When the hell did your techs have time to access our computer systems?!”

 

Her complaint cut off abruptly as she glanced down at the device; a sharp intake of breath through her nose was the only outward showing of a reaction as Calestorm read the contents of the device.

 

“Would you care to expand on that item, Captain?” Mallard pointed a paw towards the digital slate that she held.

 

“...yes, it is a file, and yes, the contents are interesting. But, there is no classified information here. Time is conjecture and this matter - and the file itself - can’t be proved or disproved at this time.”

 

The Vulcan and the Caitian looked at one another, and then turned their attention back on Calestorm. The male feline spoke, purring as he did so. “So, you are not going to explore the matter further?”

 

“Ignorance is bliss, Commander Mallar.”

 

“I see. While I admit that the possibility is interesting, we will not pursue the matter.”

 

“Good. Not that ah’m complainin’, but may I ask why not?”

 

“No, you may not. If circumstances change, we will let you know…”

 

The conversation continued, breezing by the topic as if it didn’t exist. Then again, maybe the file really didn’t exist….

 

Commander Zivad interjected, “Captain, is there any anything else you’d like to inform us of?”

 

Crash was very aware of the Starfleet Intelligence Division 5 Challenge Coin in her trouser pocket as she replied, “No, that’s all the information I have and that I’m aware at this time, pardon the pun…”

 

(To be continued in Sim…)

 

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ORP -the Officer Recovery Program, implemented by Starfleet Intelligence to extract operatives from deep cover assignments.