Captain's Log Stardate 74827.43:
December 31st, 2399. 0300 hours
In a few hours we will enter a new century and a new era. Since the discovery of the rift 25 years ago, we have been at the mercy of its fluctuations to send travelers back to their dimensions. At 0200 hours this morning, the G.D.S. Dreamcatcher came through the rift, representing The Grand Duchy of Pikeland. They are intentional travelers of the rift with technology that assists in controlling which dimension the "jump rifts" open up to.
They are currently just a few ships capable of travelling through the rift from a distant dimension, not too much unlike our own, as seems to be the case with many travelers. They are seeking others from their dimension that have gotten lost in the rift, so that they can bring them home. Their crew was visibly fatigued. Some were experiencing hallucinations which required medical attention. Our Chief Medical officer spoke in depth with their "Health and Safety" officer about the effects of travelling the rift. Apparently, it takes a physical and emotional toll on travelers that they are only allowed a set number of jumps per trip and so many trips per lifetime before they end up committed to a "jump asylum" or dead. This new information explains many previous encounters of travelers through the rift. An information exchange on "rift psychosis" will be happening over the next several days that they are here before continuing on their journey. We have granted their crew "Public Access" for Shore Leave, during this time.
Their Chief Science Officer has provided us with the temporal markers that will identify their people in our galaxy. It will take time to scan nearby planets, and further, for them, as the marker would be faint. By their calculations, we are looking for descendants of 100 plus generations. Nearly 10,000 Earth Standard years ago, based on their lifespans.
In exchange for being a safe haven for their fleet, they are sharing their technology with Space Station Requiem and the Confederation. This is going to be a game changer. Our Chief Engineer Matthew Frazier is already looking at a way to reverse engineer the technology so we can essentially block the more troublesome realms from coming through. SCPO Christopher Van Cleave is pouring over the data, in hopes that he can isolate the temporal frequency of when his father, Admiral James van Cleave, his brother, 1LT Alexander Kearney, and former CO Rebecca Harris, disappeared along with 20 other crew members seven years ago. We may have more questions than answers now, but we can start working towards solutions on why it helps to be a certain kind of crazy before coming to this space station. The 2 million souls sent to live here are counting on it to be able to return to the "normal society. "
Something about the rift is all that keeps us sane...
Ambassador/Fleet Captain Anna Tor
Captain's Log Stardate 74827.43:
December 31st, 2399. 0400 hours
It has been just two hours since the G.D.S. Dreamcatcher came through the rift. The medical data alone has been worth meeting them, though I am beginning to suspect that it wasn't by chance they arrived today. They have with them a Temporal Historian that has done more than 1000 rift jumps, with no apparent side effects. This Montolongue claims that his race was the ones who created the rift, due to a slight miscalculation on an Engineer's part. His appearance is reptilian humanoid, but his mannerisms leave a lot to be desired. Even our guests are unnerved by his presence on this trip.
Montolongue stood gazing out the Captain's Office window. "Time and time again, she falls. One day soon, she will kill us all." He mutters to himself.
"Pardon me, Montolongue. Is that from a poem?" Fleet Captain Tor asked.
He looked startled, and paled slightly, as if we had brought him back from some strange nightmare. "Oh, no, Anna... uh, Amba... um, Fleet Captain. It's from one of my history books. It's about you and it's about today." That wasn't the first time he acted as if we were on familiar terms. He looked down at the floor and a tear came to his eye. "I'm sorry, Captain. Today you will lose a lot of your friends and there is no stopping it."
Anna stood from her chaise, steeling herself up to her full regal height that left many shivering in fear. Her eyes turned cold steel blue as she addressed Montolongue, "Then perhaps today is a good day for me to be an Ambassador," she stated in icy tones. "There is one thing you don't do and that is threaten my family, or anyone else on this Space Station. You have two options: tell me what is going to happen today or die while still telling me what is going to happen today."
Montolongue paled even further as Anna stepped towards him, a dagger suddenly in her hand and to his throat. Swift and cat-like, just like the history books said she was. He swallowed nervously, as he saw from the corner of his eye the door open and two guards enter, with Lieutenant Hammock on their heels, their weapons drawn. "Oh dear, perhaps I shouldn't have said anything."
As the Security staff moved towards where their Captain was standing with a knife to Montolongue's throat, the Ready Room lit up in the familiar red crackling glow that indicated that something had just came through the rift.
"Oh dear," sighed Montolongue again. "I am afraid it is already beginning, Captain."
Fleet Captain Anna Tor sheathed her dagger in her duty belt. "Bring him." She commanded as she quickly strode in the Command Center of Space Station Requiem. "Report." Her suddenly sharp voice commanded. The crew looked at each other uneasy at the harshness of her tone.
"A ship has come through the rift, Captain." Specialist Lester stated. "It's the U.S.S. Masamune..." He paled as he looked at the view screen. "But, Captain, they were destroyed 25 years ago!"
"Ensign Arizmendi, what is their temporal signature? Is she ours?" Anna asked of her Science Officer on the bridge. Her tone was hushed. She, herself was unsure how she should feel if it did belong to her dimension. The Crew of the U.S.S. Masamune had fought valiantly that day during the Dominion War. Only minor debris was found after the initial incident and seven minutes of hell when the rift first opened so many years ago.
"Scanning now, Captain. Yes sir, the ship is ours, but most of the crew isn't
. She has United Federation of Planets markings and she's taken damage."
Specialist Lester interrupted, "Captain, we are being hailed."
"On view screen!"
"Audio only, Sir. They are still in the rift, Captain, and it's starting to close"
"This is the U.S.S. Masamune. We need help. Heavy damage, causalities, and injuries. Request immediate assistance."
"Lester, open frequency. Masamune, this is..." Anna paused briefly, torn as to whether or not she should identify herself and if it would have any meaning to the crew on that ship. "This is Space Station Requiem of the United Confederation of Planets. Are you able to maneuver out of your current position towards us?"
A relieved female voice replied, "Thank the great Bird of the Galaxy! We are home! Negative. All navigation is offline. Our Engineering room is non-responsive."
"Stand by for assistance." A quick turn of the head towards Admiral Wolberg. Both women nodded heads in understanding as the Admiral, and her crew, disappeared in a sparkling of lights. "The G.D.S. Dream Catcher is coming to get you. Have all hands hold on, it's about to get bumpy... again."
A brief moment later the GDS Dream Catcher began to maneuver towards the rift and the drifting starship. A tractor beam locked on. The Dream Catcher's audio of their crew working in practiced harmony, could be heard.
"Steady you don't lose that nacelle, Lieutenant."
"Aye Aye, Admiral."
"Harris, adjust the Temporal Flux to seven point three two eight nine mark six niner point zero one. Let's bring them fully into phase with us."
The light of a tractor beam that engulfed that Masamune began to resonate in different colors. For a brief moment, both ships disappeared and then reappeared next to the Space Station.
"Captain Tor, requesting permission to deposit the Masamune into docking bay seven for repairs." Admiral Wolberg's alto voice asked.
Sighing with relief, "Permission granted." With a quick glance at a display screen, Anna continued. "Docking Port 13 is available and will adequately hold her." A brief shimmer of light filled the view screen as the Masamune once again disappeared then reappeared on the view monitor, sitting pretty as a picture in the docking port.
"We've gotta get one of those." Lt. Hammock breathed in awe. Anna looked at him briefly, closed her eyes, and shook her head slightly in a disapproving manner. Having a crew with child-like awe and wonder at everything, was proving to be a challenge, especially with protocol.
"Lt Hammock, you're with me. Van Cleave, you have the command center." She straightened her uniform, glared at the sole remaining visitor from the Grand Duchy of Pikeland on her station. "Montolongue, walk with us."
Van Cleave looked at his mother's back as she left the bridge, once more, without him. "Yes, Sir." He muttered through clenched teeth and turned to see the rest of the Command Center Crew watching him. "Did she stutter?" He shot dirty looks at many. "We have work to do and a ship to repair. Get the Search and Rescue Crews moving along with repair teams."
Captain's Log Stardate 74827.43:
December 31st, 2399. Time: 0500 hours.
The last time I slept was more than 36 Earth Standard hours ago. I should have been able to get a “catnap” in the past four hours like I normally do. We should have been preparing for a new century to begin, with parties and celebrations. As I listened to Montolongue tell me about “all of the todays”, in the past tense, my heart was already grieving.
“And just how many times have you lived today, Montolongue?” Lt. Hammock asked in disbelief.
Montolongue’s slitted golden eyes looked out towards the heavily damaged U.S.S. Masamune. His inner and outer eyelids closed and opened slowly, in time with breathing gills on the side of his neck. The leathery reptilian skin was oscillating between blue, green, and hints of purples as Montolongue appeared to be lost deep in thought, his fingers absently ticking away at all three of them on one hand multiple times. He turned his head, cocked it slightly, “My friend, more times than I can calculate.”
Robert Hammock turned his focus to the Masamune outside the viewport. Repeating days in history. Temporal Timelock. His mind drifted back to the last time it had happened. The Space Station relived the day Admiral Van Cleave and Captain Harris were lost, along with his stepson and several other crew members for a year before a temporal explosion knocked them out of the loop.
He dared a glance at the almost legendary Ambassador and Fleet Captain,
Anna Leigh K’tee Tor. She was as tall as the lower deck tales made her out to be. Streaks of purest white were starting in her fire red hair. Her chameleon like eyes that would change colors with her mood was a fascination to many. She stood there in her crisp black Starfleet Uniform, adorned with a duty belt, and “ceremonial dagger” she was allowed to possess. She was so regal and stoic in her stance making it so easy to believe all of the stories about her. Her face was emotionless, not a sign to give him a clue what she was thinking, only her white knuckled grasp of crossed arms in front of her betrayed her current emotional state.
Ambassador and Fleet Captain Tor had been present that day 25 years ago when the rift opened. “Seven minutes of temporal chaos” was what the reports said. Every conceivable and inconceivable time, dimension, and reality existed in this one bubble in the furthest reaches of Alpha Quadrant, near her home planet of Elas and sister planet Troy, placing Space Station Requiem in their eminent domain. Some theorize the Dominion was the cause of the rift as they attempted to create their own worm holes between the two quadrants in attempts to flank the Confederation. The U.S.S. Joan of Arc, U.S.S. Battleborn, and U.S.S. Masamune were on patrol at the time when it happened.
Lt. Hammock clenched his jaw in remembrance of that day when the Starfleet Officers arrived to tell him his father had died on the U.S.S. Joan of Arc, during a battle with the Dominion and everything that had come through the rift that day. His mother had been aboard the U.S.S. Masamune when it disappeared, only bits and pieces remained. The officers had no information on her other than the U.S.S. Masamune was classified as “missing in action.” His grandmother, and only known remaining family member, passed shortly after from grief. “Missing in Action” was the most information he could ever get about the Masamune. No matter his rank, clearance, or the diplomatic connections he made as he advanced through Starfleet. He even joined Section 31 to be met with constant dead ends. He had hopes that joining the Temporal Marine Corps would shed some light on the whereabouts of his mother and the Masamune. Twenty-five years living the life of an orphan, and an unknown benefactor, was all he knew after that. The best schools and guaranteed admittance to Starfleet Academy was what they told him. “You’re special, Son. Don’t forget that. You have a purpose, and the Ambassador intends to see that you fulfill it.”
“Which ambassador?” He snarled to himself. A faceless, nameless entity that controlled him, and his destiny since he was 10. He struggled through his academy years and his first duty station, waiting for the promised transfer to Space Station Requiem where he had hopes of finding answers. The Ambassador would send him cryptic messages and correspondences. Every advantage he needed to succeed and keep his secret.
Eight years ago, his Marine Unit was finally transferred to Space Station Requiem and the area of space known as “The Rift” for their two-year tour of duty on the edge of the Draconis Nebula. Admiral James Van Cleave and Captain Rebecca Harris were in charge of this monstrosity back then, with Lieutenant Alexander Tor, the Admiral’s stepson in charge of the Search and Rescue Teams. All of them apparently unaffected, along with the Admiral’s son Christopher Van Cleave. Fleet Captain Anna Tor was on Elas, at that time, fulfilling her birth-right role as an Ambassador to her people and the Confederation of Planets. A brief moment of compassion towards his new commanding officer flashed across his mind. There was a woman with a colorful past and a destiny also not of her controlling.
When Hammock had arrived on Space Station Requiem, it had been seventeen years since the initial rift incident. Seventeen years of construction and there were still large areas incomplete as the population grew beyond anticipated numbers. A monstrosity of an organic looking space station, seemingly cobbled together, to house millions from different planets, galaxies, and dimensions. She suffered from frequent hull breeches and equipment failure as Engineers continued to try and decipher all of the data from that first day when the plans of the completed space station had mysteriously been uploaded into the U.S.S. Battleborn’s databanks. Plans that engineers apparently forgot to follow. The people working on the station breaking out in mass riots and fighting from “Rift Psychosis.” A smug snarl came to his face, unbeknownst to him, as he remembered when he realized the rift did not affect him. He was “a special kind of crazy” after all.
“Is there something amusing, Lieutenant?” Anna Tor’s sharp tones brought him back to the moment. Montolongue looked at him intently, appeared to smile and possibly wink at him. Hammock always struggled to read reptilian species.
“No, Sir. Just lost in a thought. My mother was serving aboard the U.S.S. Masamune when she disappeared.” Hammock’s blue eyes turned into pools of sadness.
For a moment, all of Anna’s features softened. “Yes, I know. I was here.” She looked down at the deck, absently toed the grey carpet with her shoe for a time. When she looked up, her eyes were pools of pristine blue water that mimicked his own. “I had to write the report as,” her words caught in her throat, “as one of the remaining senior officers and ambassador to this region. Your father was a fine officer on the U.S.S. Joan of Arc. My only regret is I didn’t get down to engineering that often to have gotten to know him better.”
Hammock paled. He had forgotten that for some unknown reason several of the crew members from the U.S.S. Joan of Arc were not on board when she blew up from the first blast of an unknown and hostile vessel that came through the rift that day. He also had forgotten that it meant his commanding officer was several years his senior. It was rumored that “The Great and Powerful Anna Tor” was already around 70 plus Earth years back then, but since most of her records were classified no one really knew except maybe her doctor. The vision of a woman standing in front of him could not possibly be that old, he thought to himself, slowly losing himself in her eyes. A random thought crossed into his head that he would gladly die in a glorious battle for her, just to see those eyes smile at least once, at him. Only him...
The sound of someone clearing their throat ended the mutual moment of silence. They both looked as Yeoman Gordon was standing nervously by, a PADD being held in his hooved hands and his Tellarite features harshly highlighted by the glow of the space dock.<