Personal Log, August 3, 2154

[Commodore Moose 0]

Personal Log, August 3, 2154

 

Fitzgerald M. "Bull" Moose greeted the dawn in his usual way: 200 sit-ups, 200 push-ups, and a five mile run through the Martian landscape. It wasn't really the Martian landscape, but the 360 degree surround projections were close enough. They would not have fooled anyone standing still with time to scrutinize, but they were enough to convey a sense of openness and freedom to runners in the orbital station's gym. No matter how many times he circled the track, he never passed the same rock twice. Someday, he thought, this technology was really going to be something. Still, he was getting tired of Argyre Planitia and resolved to try the Tithonius Chasma next time.

 

Moose felt exhilarated. His muscles were sore in that "Wow, they're doing what they're supposed to" way instead of that "Lord, what was I thinking?" way. His body fat was down to 8.9%, which it hadn't been since basic training. If it dropped any more, they'd be calling him "deer" instead of "bull" because of his density. He attributed this rush of health to the extra g's on the station. Artificial gravity was not an exact science, and the rotation was clocking it at 1.1 times Earth normal. It wasn't much, but enough to require a little bit of effort. Some of the "Earthlings," as the Martians were fond of calling them, still hadn't adjusted and were tired and achy all the time. But to Moose, it was the Fountain of Youth. He planned to keep the same gravity on Challenger. The Earthlings would just have to cope. Provided, of course, they were able to launch.

 

The Klingon terrorist attack had been barely averted, thanks to a hunch by the Vulcans. The Vulcan Ambassador Tovek claimed it was due to superior logic, but luck had been Moose's friend for far too long for him not to recognize it in any form it chose. The bungled vandalism could have ended the Challenger project there and then. But the Martians have picked up the construction and they're back on schedule. Luck again.

 

Next, there was the blockade. The destruction of the Vulcan ship t'Kel caused the Andorians and the Vulcans to face off in one of the deadliest hockey games in recorded history, with Earth between them as the puck. Both sides hissed and spat profusely, until the Vulcans demonstrated their full support of Earth by withdrawing completely. This dominance through total submission made Moose wonder if the Vulcans had been studying French erotic fiction on the side. Their surprise withdrawal knocked the fight right out of the Andorian strike force, which has been unusually docile since then. As with the Klingons, a great deal of luck was in play here, skillfully manipulated by Ambassador Rex.

 

Classified intelligence reports claimed that the incident was engineered by another space faring race called the Romulan Star Empire. They were hoping to ignite the already volatile relationship between Andoria and Vulcan. Instead, it brought the two planets closer together. Moose hoped the irony was not lost any of them.

 

Little was known about these Romulans. Enterprise had suffered some damage at their hand, but that was in response to their entering a Romulan minefield. This was an outward act of aggression. When asked, the Vulcans were quick to resurrect the, "We'll tell you when you're ready," choir. The other races known to Starfleet were singing the same tune. To Moose's knowledge, no human had ever even seen a Romulan. Were they really so insidious that they would sacrifice billions of people in an attempt to start a border war? If so, they were as dangerous as any threat encountered in space so far, the Xindi included.

 

But the Romulans were a post-launch concern. The more immediate problem was the computer system. A ship as complex as Challenger couldn't exist without complex computer controls. Yet the programmer in charge of the system was beginning his third re-write. The status reports coming from this Henry Rawel were disjointed and guarded, as if information was being hidden. The entire programming team was working hard, but their hours were unpredictable, their output was disjoined and random. Even the Vulcans, logical as they were, could not infer the methodology being applied to the system design.

 

Something was going on with the systems staff. And if Challenger were to succeed, then someone had to unravel that mystery while there was still time.

[Tachyon 0]

The more immediate problem was the computer system. A ship as complex as Challenger couldn't exist without complex computer controls. Yet the programmer in charge of the system was beginning his third re-write. The status reports coming from this Henry Rawel were disjointed and guarded, as if information was being hidden. The entire programming team was working hard, but their hours were unpredictable, their output was disjoined and random. Even the Vulcans, logical as they were, could not infer the methodology being applied to the system design.

 

Something was going on with the systems staff. And if Challenger were to succeed, then someone had to unravel that mystery while there was still time.

Methodology? We were supposed to have a methodology?

 

Heh heh . . . I just thought you wanted a computer system. Please hold while your new design specifications are input.

 

::starts thumbing through the manual::

 

Third? I thought this was the fourth . . .

 

::thumbing becomes more frantic::

 

Uh-huh . . . the last time we applied logic, the computer started to calculate pi . . . I've suspended all logic from the program until its completion. Please hold.

 

::the manual spontaneously combusts from the rapid turning of pages::