Covert Mission Briefing

[John Randall 0]

OFFICIAL LOG

LT. (J.G.) JOHN RANDALL

USS CHALLENGER

 

(Personal Log Stardate 11205.27)

 

 

John strode to the transporter room, a little excited and also a

little apprehensive about being chosen for a Starfleet Intelligence

covert mission. He walked up on the dais, and nodded to the transporter

chief, who said, "I have the coordinates from the party on Antares, Lt.

Good luck, sir." John nodded his thanks to the chief, and said, "Energize."

 

He materialized inside a large building; looking down, he saw he

was on a transporter pad. He stepped off the pad, looking around at his

surroundings. As far as he could tell, this building had once been used as

a warehouse of sorts. There were still racks inside the building, and some

loose paper was strewn here and there across the cement floor. He looked

around for a transporter operator, but, as far as he could tell, he was alone.

 

He continued looking around until he spotted a door to his left

along the wall. He strode over to it, and pulled on the handle. The door

creaked open, and he stepped outside where a blinding light was suddenly

shone in his eyes. He threw his hands up quickly, but he was already for

all intent purposes blinded. He felt hands grab him, and he was quickly

ushered to some kind of transport vehicle; he was bumped up against it

and then a cloth was thrown over his nose. The cloth smelled sickly-sweet,

and, just before he lost consciousness, recognized it as the smell of

chloroform.

 

When he came to, he was sitting in a chair at the end of a table. The

room was dimly lit, and there was a figure sitting at the other end of the table.

"Ah, Lieutenant, good to have you back with us," came an authoritative voice.

"No ill effects from your trip, I hope." John, by this time, was a little angry. "I

thought I was needed for a mission, not to be kidnapped!" The figure chuckled.

"I was told you would probably react that way. Lights full!" The room lit up more

brightly, and John stared down the table at a man with a Starfleet uniform on,

and on the collar were six pips. He knew right away the man was a Starfleet

Admiral. "I'm sorry, sir, but given the situation----", he began, but the admiral

stopped him. "Understandable reaction, Mr. Randall," he said. "It's clear you

have all your facilities about you. The way you were brought here was a little

test, and you passed with flying colors.

 

I am Admiral Jason Baldwin, Lieutenant, and you were selected for this

covert mission because of your rather startling capability to study and decipher

strange technology; strange to you, that is. Captain Creighton-Ward spoke

highly of your abilities while you were aboard the Altair; in her estimation, you

picked up the technology of the cloaking device in a very short span of time.

You were even able to find a couple of ways to incorporate the technology of

the device into the warp engines; thereby making the time the ship was cloaked

last longer. No small feat, Mr. Randall; and when this mission came up, and we

were selecting personnel, the captain suggested you.

 

"We did some digging into your file and your history, Mr. Randall, and I

myself found something quite amazing. I had no idea you were Marcus Randall's

son." At this, John's gaze sharpened on the admiral. "Did you know my father,

sir?" he asked. Baldwin got up, and walked down the table to take a chair where

he could face the lieutenant. "Yes, I did, John; may I call you John?" he asked,

and Randall nodded. "Your father and I came up through the academy together,

John," the admiral said in a strangely subdued voice. "I went through the command

school, but Marcus wanted to be in Intelligence, and I just couldn't see that. Your

father had something about him, John, that made everyone around him trust and

respect him." John nodded. "That's how he was at home too, sir." Baldwin nodded.

 

"I'm not surprised," said the admiral. "Your father was an honorable man, and

the way he was----" he suddenly broke off. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I can't say any more

than that." John's eyes narrowed, and Baldwin saw it. "Now, wait, young man, don't

go off on me here," he said. "The last mission your father was on is still highly classified.

I couldn't say anything about it even if I wanted to. I'm sorry, John, I really am." Randall

brought his fist up in the air, but, instead of hammering it on the table, brought it down

gently. "Sir, I need to know about my father. I know he was shot by the Romulans."

At this, Baldwin's eyes grew wide. "How the hell did you find that out, Lieutenant?"

he barked. 'There were leaked pictures on the WorldNet, sir," replied John, and the

admiral's shoulders sagged. "Of course, I should have remembered that," he said

wearily. "We're still looking for the person that did that." "Well, I'm glad they leaked it,

sir," said John defiantly. "I won't apologize for that."

 

Baldwin gazed at him, and a slow, reluctant smile spread across his features.

"Dammed if you aren't just like him, John," he said. "Marcus could get that way, too.

He'd tell you what he thought, and he didn't care if you liked it or not. Well, anyway,

it's time to get down to business, Lieutenant. You ready?" "As I'll ever be, sir," said

Randall, and Baldwin nodded, smiling. "Good man. Your captain speaks highly of you,

also. Ja'lale said you were a smart young man and a damn fine engineer, and I'm

beginning to see why myself." John just nodded, waiting for the briefing to begin.

In fact, the lieutenant was secretly gratified that his captain had such a high opinion

of him. That alone gave him confidence for this mission.

 

Baldwin went over to a door, and knocked three times. He came back to the table,

accompanied by an aide, and a being clad all in jet black material from head to foot.

The being sat down on John's left, and the lieutenant felt he was being sized up. Randall

turned and looked directly at the being, but the black hood that covered the being's head

was deep, and John couldn't make out any facial features. He turned back to the table,

where he now saw a holo swim into life. It was the picture of a console with alien writing

on it. "This is the holo taken of a ship console found in the wreckage of a ship on Beta

Octavius IV," said Baldwin. "The ship was recently unearthed by an archelogical expedition.

It has been estimated that this wreckage is over 200 years old. Attempts to decipher the

writing on the console were unsuccessful at first, but, with the aid of a scientist from Taurus

II, we were able to crack the code, so to speak. The writing is Macedonian, Lieutenant."

 

Baldwin paused for a moment, and John turned his head slowly to look at him. "This

console was on a ship from Earth, sir?" he asked increduously. The admiral nodded. "I

couldn't believe it, either. So, the console turned out to be of a command panel that

regulated the engines. But, none of us could up with the way the panel regulated the engines;

am I making any sense here?" John nodded, stifling a smile. "Yes, sir, you are." "Well,

anyway," Baldwin said, "one of the reasons you were chosen for this project, Lieutenant,

is because I read in your file that you were pretty interested in alien languages as well, and,

to be blunt, a 200-year-old Earth language is alien to me, John." "I can see that, sir, and,

actually, the Macedonian language goes back before the time of Christ," said Randall.

 

"That's fascinating, Lieutenant, I didn't know that," said Baldwin. "Anyway, we are

going to fly you to Beta Octavius IV, and see if you can decipher any other parts of the ship

or the language of the ship that we find. You will be accompanied by this being here," and

the admiral gestured toward the black-clad figure. "This is an Argonian. The standard

of lighting that we are used to is nearly intolerable for them, so they wear these hooded

black garments whenever they travel away from their world. He is along strictly for

observational purposes; they rely heavily on technology on their world, and they are

always curious when something new appears. They have no vocal cords, so they cannot

speak aloud; they communicate by telepathy." Baldwin nodded to the figure, and John

instantly heard a voice in his head:

 

Can you understand me? Just nod your head.

 

John nodded.

 

Excellent. I will not overload your thoughts. I will try to be as careful as possible.

 

Again, John nodded. "Would you rather I vocalize my thoughts instead of trying to

send them to your mind, sir?"

 

Yes, and thank you. I have found humans do not possess much discipline when it

comes to their minds. I mean no offense.

 

John smiled. "None taken, sir. I look forward to comparing my findings with yours."

 

As do I, lieutenant. It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is unpronouncable for

your race, so please call me Dr. Jones.

 

John smiled. "Very well. Nice to meet you as well, Dr. Jones." Baldwin smiled and

nodded at the last bit, and said, "Well, gentlemen, I believe we have a mission to carry out.

Let's get started." The men headed toward the door, and climbed into a groundcar, where

they were whisked away to the Antares spaceport.

 

 

 

 

END LOG

 

TO BE CONTINUED

Personal Log.rtf