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FredM

10 years, 1 month, 2 days, 19 hours, 15 minutes

10 years, 1 month, 2 days, 19 hours, 15 minutes - Stardate 1304.04

 

Nearly 3,700 days had passed. 121 months. In the giant scheme of the universe, not even the blink of an eye. Yet for a person, significant. For someone still missing the comfort of a loved one, torture. For far too many, a wound that simply would not heal.

 

As listed in official and classified reports, an Intrepid Class starship departure Starbase 345 bound for the planet New Rigel. Their mission was to deliver several replacement antimatter storage pods during a routine supply mission. Empty during transport, they contained a non combustible chemical compound to ensure secure transport. A ship being used routinely for supply runs to distant Federation outposts, the mission itself was slated to last no more than two weeks.

 

Official records still listed the names of those aboard. Captain S’erio, a veteran Caitian officer who had requested a transition to routine following the end of the Dominion War. Commander Jonston, an Andorian Commander, served as the ship’s Executive Officer. At the time of departure, a Alpha Centurion named Terio was assigned Operations duties, something quite familiar to the Lieutenant Junior Grade. Navigation was reportedly being operated by Ensign Gusman, one of the newer additions to a crew that had been relatively stable since being commissioned near the start of the Dominion War.

 

In most cases.

 

Prior to departure from Starbase 345, the Chief Engineer of the Intrepid Class starship had been diagnosed with Quilick Syndrome, the first reported in the sector in over fifteen years. It was attributed to the slow but steady increase in commercial traffic to the region as economies transitioned back to a peacetime configuration. First Lieutenant Facon would eventually be released following a week of treatment on the base.

 

Yet given delays and the short nature of the mission, this illness failed to have any major impact on scheduled operations. The Intrepid Class ship was scheduled to depart at 23:00 hours local that day, following a departure of the U.S.S. Akagi at 22:00 and the U.S.S. Reaent at 23:30.

 

To fill the void, the only available body had been a Lieutenant Richard Drew. On shore leave during the revelation of Facon’s illness, the Lieutenant’s normal posting included the Williamsburg Center. Then, as it remains today, the a prestigious posting for someone in engineering, it was one of two think-tank operations within Starfleet determining starship refit cycles, decommission schedules, potential upgrades and more.

 

And yet the public record of the day would end with a notation of a detected explosion at 23:05 hours near the edge of Starbase 345’s sensor grid. Publically, the ship had suffered from some type of mechanical failure leading to a loss of all hands.

 

But like many things, then there was the rest of the story.

 

The story of how after reportedly detecting a leak from a non-combustible container, the ship had beamed it off for later recovery. The story of how upon entering warp, a series of mystifying acts had in seconds vaporized almost every interior space of the ship. How the New Rigel colony had reported the Starfleet transponder and the ship arriving several hours later, then themselves to never be heard from again.

 

The story of how DNA records confirmed that Lieutenant Richard Drew who boarded the doomed vessel was not in fact Richard Drew. The story of how records had someone been adjusted, how evidence would surface showing the ill Chief Engineer had purposefully been infected with the rare Quilick Syndrome.

 

The story of how the U.S.S. Exeter and U.S.S. Drake had also nearly met similar fates, with impersonated officers, to be saved by happenstance. Again, records and confidential information changed without a trace. The story of a mysterious signal sent during the encounter to a mysterious figure on Alpha Centuri.

 

When completed, only two leads remained. What had happened to the real Richard Drew and did anyone know the whereabouts of a Muy Xiera?

 

As Fleet Admiral Salvar had stated at the time, “Since all those involved in the situation have conveniently either perished or killed themselves…”

 

And so time had marched on. Life had moved on, for some anyway.

 

Yet the memory of the horror, the memory of the devastation, would always remain. It was accepted that resolution into the tragedy would likely never come, a clarity so sought would simply never been realized.

 

Until five hours ago when a part-time customs agent, who bored one night shift had actually read how to utilize the software at his spaceport terminal, made a shocking discovery.

 

It would prompt an alert that was immediately sent to the head of Starfleet Command.

 

It would prompt an alert that was immediately sent to the head of Starfleet Intelligence.

 

A man had landed on Risa. He held credentials claiming he was departing the planet to join up with his next assignment.

 

A man who’s documents said he was heading to the U.S.S. Cairo, NCC-42136-A.

 

A man…named Richard Drew.

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