48 hours before Zero Hour

Captain’s Log: Captain William Harris, Eos Station

“Eos remains in low operational status following the ion storm that swept through the sector. The storm battered us for nearly three days, and that was all it took. The aftermath has left some serious problems across the entire station. Life support, sensors, and communications were all heavily damaged. Environmental controls are still on the outs. It’s a freak jungle in here.

Engineering teams are combing through every deck, but progress is slow. Power allocation is unstable, and internal sensors are spotty at best. It’s been 10 hours since the storm moved on, and we are still flying half blind. Thompson has assured me that all repairs are proceeding on schedule, but the results have yet to be seen.”

 

Gab looked up from the padd in his hand as Malik seemed to be lost in thought, “Where’s Thompson?”

The XO started to speak but was instantly cut off.

“We still have no communications, and warp fields are sporadic at best. If we don’t get something fixed soon, these ships,” he pointed out the window, “are going to riot.”

“Thompson,” Gab shouted as he looked around Ops. “He left again, didn’t he?”

“Am I allowed to speak?” Malik questioned.

“Speak,” Gab folded his arms. It had been a long couple of days, and Gab was reaching his limit.

“This station is like Starfleet’s version of a retirement home,” the XO started. “Sorry, Captain, but it’s true. We babysit Romulans, wave at the smugglers from Freecloud, and tell ghost stories to the Junior Officers who still think this is the Frontier.”

Gab walked over to Malik and, with a swift move of his leg, knocked the chair out from under the Commander. “Any other comments?” He looked at the man who was now on the floor. “Maybe we are babysitters, but when things break,” He stopped looking around the room, “we fix it!”

“He’s still gone, Sir.” Malik pulled himself to a standing position.

“Out,” Gab pointed to the nearest lift.

From the other side of the room, a quiet Security Officer looked up from his station, “Sir?” Ensign Rowan “Milo” Henderson looked at the station Commander. “We’re getting some odd readings over here, Captain.”

“Odd?” Gab asked.

“They could be sensor echoes, but the readings are off,” Milo replied.

“We’ve got relaying popping all over the station. Hell, deck 12 has circuits popping like popcorn,” Gab added. “Flag it and move on.”

“Yes, Captain,” Milo replied. He sat there for a moment. “Orders were orders,” he whispered. Something didn’t feel right. He filed his report and sent it to Engineering for further review.

Meanwhile, down in the docking bay, Lieutenant Prad had her hands full with a civilian ship that had limped its way back to Eos. They were leaking a trail of plasma from one of their nacelles, and the hull was scarred. “That’s a lot of damage for a simple freighter,” Prad noted.

Their Captain, a Ferengi named Korda, looked at the Security Officer. “Defective nav buoy gave us corrupted information,” he hissed with a toothy grin.

“Don’t know too many Captains who would be willing to fly into that mess.” Prad looked past the Ferengi at his crew.

Korda stepped into Prad’s view, blocking the Trill. “Anything for a profile,” he smiled, “rule 62, the riskier the road…”

Prad cut him off, “Look, I don’t need a Ferengi lesson right now.” Prad watched as several of the crew departed from their ship. “Please, keep your crew in check and be careful. The storm has caused a few problems here as well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Lieutenant,” the Ferengi noticeably lied as he attempted to move Prad away from his crew. “We won’t be here long, we have cargo to deliver.” Korda snapped a finger at one of his crew, “Move, now.”

“Just be careful,” she logged the ship in and turned to face Ensign Lara. “Odd, but aren’t all Ferengi.”

“You trust them, Lieutenant?” Lara asked. “He seems nervous.”

“Ferengi and their profit,” Prad blew it off. “They don’t appear hostile, and everything else seems to line up. File a report, see about getting a maintenance crew over here to assist them in repairs.”

Lara nodded. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

While the crew was distracted, no one noticed a handful of passengers who had slipped away from the group. Their movements practiced and exact. Disguised as technicians, they blended into the station. Making use of rarely-used corridors and stolen access codes, they moved through the station. Making their way to their destination, they arrived in Cargo Bay Three.

The bay seemed like a forgotten relic, long abandoned. She was lined with dusty crates and old equipment. Months earlier, an unstable underspace aperture had been logged here, but it was too small to matter. It was written off and, like the Cargo Bay, forgotten.

One of the figures, Lieutenant Relik, placed a small object in the middle of the room. With a press of a button, a pulse swept through the open space, disabling sensors and power. The room was secured, masked as another affected system.

In Ops, it would be noticed, and someone would cuss that it was Cargo Bay Three again. A work order would be placed, and that would be the end of it.

Relik reviewed a station schematic. In the center of the display, the Promenade blinked in red. He tapped a button on his wrist communicator. “Ready to start Phase One.”