Vice Admiral Quinn Reynolds - Follow the Wrong God Home, And We May Miss Our Star
Quinn Reynolds
((Time Index: A few hours earlier — Conference Room, USS Gorkon))
Andoria was already no more than a tiny point of light to the starship, warp engines humming as the Gorkon sped along to its next destination. Quinn had summoned her officers to the conference room, chatting with Sami and Jo until everyone had arrived, burying the apprehension she felt under a practised, cool, calm exterior. Once everyone was seated, and the inevitable catch-ups were more or less concluded, she addressed the room.
Reynold: I hope you’re all feeling well-rested after our stay on Andoria, but now it’s back to work.
With a tap of the controls on the conference table, a large screen on the wall blinked into life. A tapestry of stars filled the view, with a muddy olive dust cloud in the middle. It looked like something one would wipe off one’s boot after a wilderness hike, a far cry from the majestic tableaus of colour and shape they so often saw when observing the galaxy’s nebulae.
Reynolds: This is the imaginatively named Beta-15187 dust cloud, a thoroughly unremarkable nebula in the middle of nowhere, which no one pays any attention to. It’s also home to Depot 39, a highly classified Starfleet facility.
Another gentle tap of skinny fingers to the console, and the image zoomed in, rushing through the turbid clouds until a starbase appeared on screen. The station was a relatively small and squat affair, lacking any interesting external architecture. Nor was there any sign of the large docking doors which would accept a starship—it seemed any visitors had to park outside.
Reynolds: This facility is where Starfleet stores some of the technology and research considered a risk to the Federation’s security and safety. I’m not going to explain exactly what research and technology is in there, because I’m not allowed to. You will be read in if and only if it’s required to do our job. ::Her eyebrows lifted slightly.:: Consider everything and everyone you see in there classified up the wazoo, and grounds for spending the rest of your life in prison if you breathe a word about it, to anyone, ever.
Dire warnings, but accurate ones. Many items would be dangerous not just in the wrong hands, but in anything but incredibly cautious hands. And some of the items in the base may never see the light of day. Others might when other technologies and understandings evolved to the point they were safe—or safer—to be more widely known.
Reynolds: Now, with that out the way. The reason we’ve been sent here is they’ve experienced a theft. Station security believe it’s been months, if not years, in the planning and preparation—and that it was an inside job. All signs point to Commodore Daffyd Johnson, possibly assisted by the station’s commanding officer, Captain T’Veran.
The screen changed again, showing the personnel file images of the two officers. Daffyd Johnson: a pale and freckled human man somewhere either side of sixty, with grey consuming his auburn hair. Clearly, he was a man who’d kept in shape, but his shoulders were rounded and his blue gaze was hollow.
T’Veran: a Vulcan woman with a soft, round face, tawny skin, and kind eyes; lacking the sharp angles that often carved the faces of her people. Eschewing the usual short haircut, hers was long and tied back, her posture ramrod straight and perfect.
Reynolds: Captain T’Veran hasn’t been seen since her duty shift preceding the theft, and we have an eyewitness who placed Commodore Johnson on the base around the time of the theft, when he was supposed to be on leave. Neither one can be located, and we have a visual account of a ship leaving from inside of the base. That’s why we know there’s been a theft—there are no ships inside the base, except the ones being stored there.
But what ship? Was it a convenience, the right tools to help his escape, or the purpose of the theft? Had he taken anything else? There were so many questions, and of course, virtually no gift-wrapped answers.
Reynolds: In your shoes, I’d be asking why all this information is so vague. ::She pressed her lips together, and exhaled a breath through her nose.:: We have extraordinarily little to go on. Most of the internal sensors are offline or scrambled. The computer isn’t responding, and attempts to access the station’s databases and logs directly show they’ve been scrambled or deleted. Security has also reported booby traps, presumably designed to slow down any attempts to repair these issues or organise a pursuit. Quite frankly, it’s a mess.
If she were honest, Quinn was impressed. The planning and organisation required to pull off a heist like this was extraordinary. She agreed with the assessment Johnson had likely spent months, or longer, building up to the theft itself. Sliding logic bombs into the computer, concealing sabotage to the station’s systems, preparing his exit. If everything wasn’t so classified, it would make a fantastic case study for security and intelligence.
Reynolds: We’ve been asked to assist as a neutral, external party with experience in... unusual circumstances. With the station commander possibly involved, there’s a chance that several of the serving officers were involved in some way—or at the very least, will be sympathetic and uncooperative. We’re also fresh eyes, and we might be able to see the unusual when other people on the station have slowly got used to it.
She paused for a moment. There wasn’t much more she could offer in the general brief; information was scarce on the ground. Given the circumstances they had to be wary about trusting the station personnel too much. Any number could be on Johnson’s side, from none to everyone. Likely it was somewhere closer to the middle, but one could never dismiss the power of a cult of personality. For all they knew, he’d slowly been stocking the station with his allies for years.
Reynolds: Commander Neathler, I’d like you to take Lieutenant Finch and Ensign Whitlock and try to find Captain T’Veran. She was last seen mid-way through her shift, about eight hours before the theft; it’s possible she left with Johnson, but with the internal sensors out of action, we just don’t know. She was good friends with Johnson, so naturally we’re suspicious she’s an accomplice. ::Quinn paused, briefly canting her head to the side.:: But it’s possible she’s a victim, either directly or indirectly.
Sami was a skilled investigator, and Quinn had every confidence that Finch and Whitlock could add their own unique skills to the task. With their briefing done, she looked toward the Bajoran science chief.
Reynolds: Lieutenant Commander Tahna, you’re going to take Lieutenant Commander Sevo, Lieutenant Gnaxac and Basilia. Part of unpicking this mess and finding Johnson is working out how he pulled this off. You’re going to investigate the how; how he managed to bypass the security systems and personnel in place.
Another wide spread of skills, but all valuable ones in determining the intricacies of how someone could steal from one of Starfleet’s most secure facilities. A group of sharp and intuitive minds, and she was confident if anyone could piece that puzzle together, it was Tahna and her team.
Reynolds: Lieutenant zh’Tisav, take Lieutenants Stoyer and Bowers. As I mentioned, the station is in a mess. We need you to get the damaged systems back online, and disable any lingering booby traps and sabotage. ::She paused, a small frown digging in between her brows.:: Please, be careful. Some of the station personnel have been hospitalised after encountering some of his... parting gifts, and we don’t know if Johnson intended for any of them to be lethal.
The stakes were high for all of them, but the personal stakes were perhaps the highest for the Andorian’s team. They were most at risk of harm, deliberately seeking out sabotage and hazards Johnson had left behind to slow down any pursuers. But they had Bower’s training, Stoyer’s experience, and zh’Tisav’s engineering know-how. It was a good group, and she had faith they’d keep one another safe.
Reynolds: Commander Marshall, Lieutenants Ferrucci and Dahlquist, we’re going to try to figure out the why; what’s Johnson’s up to. We don’t know exactly what he’s taken, where he’s planning to go, or what he’s intending to do with the stolen technology.
One of the crisis’ big questions. Just why had Johnson—an officer with a solid and well-regarded career—thrown it all away to steal classified technology? What could have possibly motivated him to do such a thing, and what was the end goal? They had to find out, and hopefully stop him before he reached that end goal.
But at least, for all his plans, he could not have accounted for the crew of the USS Gorkon becoming involved. A small advantage, certainly, but this was a crew experienced in taking even the smallest foothold and converting it to success.
((Time Index: The Present — VIP Quarters, Facility 39))
It was the usual Starfleet affair, beige and grey as far as the eye could see. The typical abstract art on the walls, geometric furniture—and luxurious, floor to ceiling windows. Of course, they offered little more than a view of swirling moss-brown, no stars visible from this deep inside the dust cloud. It was a depressing sight, or so Quinn thought. She looked away from the mud splatter masquerading as a nebula, and toward the team she had accompanied.
Reynolds: Johnson didn’t stay on the station permanently, but he was here often as part of his duties. They set aside these quarters for him—::she glanced around the quarters again::—though it doesn’t look like he did much to make them his own.
Marshall / Ferrucci / Dahlquist: Response=
Reynolds: =/\= I’ve sent a copy of his personnel file to your PADDs, as much of it as I can, anyway. ::She shook her head.:: Suffice to say, there’s nothing in it that would indicate he’d do something like this. He was trusted. Deeply. That’s why this facility was placed under his overall command. =/\=
Marshall / Ferrucci / Dahlquist: Response
Reynolds: =/\= Right. ::She nodded.:: We’ve got a lot to investigate, and this is an obvious place to start. Worse case scenario, it’s empty but at least we’ve got it out of the way. Best case, we find something useful to point where to look next. ::She flashed a small, thin smile at them all.:: So let’s get looking. =/\=
Marshall / Ferrucci / Dahlquist: Response
Commanding Officer
USS Gorkon
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