It was a 60 year old station that hadn’t been occupied in over a decade. That is what they were asked to come help fix. It was relatively small, being roughly analogous to an slightly upsized Regula class stations in size and role.

“This’ll be fun.” Traan said, not knowing he would soon regret uttering those words.

After restoring atmosphere and making sure their wasn’t any hull breaches the occupants of the 2 runabout met near a doorway leading to the central concourse of the station. It was dark. Really dark. And the only source of illumination was the flashlights and head lamps of the 6 of them.

Anderson cradled a type-3 phaser rifle, its flashlight switched on in addition to his headlamp; a bulge under his battered jacket suggested the presence of at least one more phaser, in a holster under his left arm.  “Keep your eyes open,” he said.  “Just because the station’s listed as unoccupied, doesn’t mean it actually is.  So, no wandering off, and everyone keep each other covered.”

“Tarsin, why don’t you go with Nico to the command deck and see if you can comms and the main computer up and running. Alonzo and Kip see what you can do about the main reactor. Lirpa, you stay on the Langley at the transporter controls and start beaming equipment and gear where we need it.” Vertical wiggling of light beams indicated everyone understood.

“On it boss” Lirpa said as he headed back to the runabout.

“Sir? Why don’t you and I do an initial survey?” Traan said to Anderson. At 5 decks and only 28 metres tall, the pressurized section of the station wasn’t that large. Just big enough for a crew of 40 to live and work in by gone days. Now the Pyrithian’s wanted Starfleet to help them get it running again to serve as the HQ of their planetary security operations.

“Actually I checked the schematics, and it turns out that their comms array is through one of their Cargo Bays. If you want to split off and ahead to the command deck Mister…. I will start there.” Nico smiled innocently.

“Uh, Tarsin sir. Ensign Gall Tarsin. Lead the way.” The young Grazerite replied as he grabbed a case of tools and a few portable power packs and followed Nico on the first leg of the trip.

“Tarsin, head up to ops now, restore the internal communications through the 700 series consoles located to the left of the turbolift, I will head to the Cargo bay and work my magic down there. I’ve re-routed our comms channels through the runabouts so we can communicate as long as we are in the coverage. There is a blindspot in the Reactor core, at the top and bottom. be careful.” Nico said as they go to a junction that split.

Tarsin wasn’t too keen on the idea of going alone, but he did as his superior officer ordered.

Anderson watched Lirpa go, then turned back around.  “I’ll go in first, high; you follow, low,” he said to Traan.  “Keep an eye on your tricorder, but trust your eyes; scanners are useful, but they can be beaten.”  He shouldered his phaser rifle.  “Move out.”  With that, Anderson began moving forward.

Traan had his type 2 phaser in hand and followed the Commander out into the central section and split off to the left toward the section of the station that had the housing and offices.

“So, I noticed on the orders you’re the mission commander, but it didn’t mention your primary role. You got a day job on Bravo?” Traan asked.

“Security,” Anderson replied as he stacked up on a door, then paused for a moment before wheeling in, quickly sweeping the room with his lights, finding nothing.  “Clear,” he said, then returned to the hallway.  “Both patrolling and training.  What about you?”

“Shipyard Operations officer…though I’m a Tactical Systems Technician by trade.” He checked around a corner.

“Clear….main lounge where we want to set up is just this way sir.”

Anderson nodded to Traan.  “Good to know.  But we’re not going to leave uncleared rooms behind us; I don’t fancy being ambushed.”  As he spoke, he moved down the hallway towards the main lounge, systemically clearing each room on his way.

“Roger that sir.” Traan answered, and followed Anderson’s lead, covering him as he cleared each room. Traan thought at one point he saw some movement out of the corner of his eye, but after looking that way and scanning the area with his tricorder and finding nothing, he dismissed it as nerves.

Several tense minutes later, Anderson reached the door to the main lounge.  He stacked up on one side, took a breath, nodded to Traan, then swung around and entered, phaser rifle raised and sweeping the room.  “Clear,” he said, before a muffled sound caused him to spin around.

Bathed in the glow of his rifle’s flashlight was a cup, lying on the ground.  It was slowly rocking, as though it had been bumped by something.  He raised a hand, forming a clenched fist, to signal to Traan to stop moving, then pointed at the cup.  “Any readings?” he asked in a low whisper.

“Nope…but thats because my tricorder is being jammed.” He whispered and then closed the now useless device and placed it in his holster. He then tapped his comm badge and got the worrisome muted sound that signified it could not ‘make a call’.

“Thought so….safe to say we’re not alone though…” Traan said.