Tension | thhaer
/ˈtɛnʃn/ - noun | taekhos
- the state of being stretched tight.
- mental or emotional strain.
That was a pretty apt descriptor of the corridors aboard the Atlantis. The bulkheads shallow, constricted, while the duty officers scuttled from section to section. Not a silence by any means, in fact the opposite, but the underlying tones certainly didn’t shy away from the gravity of the vessel’s destination.
Cutting through the soundscape Morton’s tunic zipper snapped sharply upwards as he exited the observation lounge, his eyes lingered on the Federation delegates until the entrance sealed him out into the small corridor leading to the bridge. Any thoughts on the matter found themselves boxed up and filed under unimportant now, yet there was a small comfort brought about in thanks to the however-temporary white shoulders that adorned his uniform for the assignment. Perhaps a required sense of familiarity.
“Captain on the bridge.” The operations officer rose from the center chair and resumed her seat at the rear of the bridge consoles. “USS Reyga on short range sensors, sir.”
Coby had already taken to the command chair, “Helm, drop us to impulse speed on Reyga’s rendezvous coordinates. Send standby alert on update from Captain Kermit’s observation to task force vessels.”
“Aye sir, dropping from warp.” The Bolian helmsman called aft.
A bleep here and a bloop there came from the operations console, “Task force vessels confirm copy, Captain. All ships reporting in.”
A subtle nod was all that was sent to the bridge officers of the Atlantis as the Reyga’s skipper came over the bridge speakers. Morton hadn’t heard that voice for a while, even now it felt somewhat of a strange sensation, but still one with a modicum of warmth.
“Dragon here. Under cloak, no doubt, but we are travelling their space, no surprises there.”
“Copy that.” The human began, shaking off the thought he’d just gotten lost in and activating the task force communications net. "Atlantis to task force, maintain vigilance and monitor all systems for anomalous and radiological sensor spikes. Remember while we’re to be on alert, we’re still just here to transport a diplomatic delegation. Fly casual.”
“Ranger copies. Standing by.”
"Sentinel copies all, we’ll periodically run some scans see if we can’t find something in the ambiance.”
"Heimdall copies. Sensors are dialed in and pinging.”
“Resume heading for the Rator System.” came the order from the Atlantis, her communications officer was prompt in reporting to Morton the task force’s acknowledgment and the pensioner Excelsior class leapt back into the stars.
With the warp field initialised and the steady stream of stars, reduced to blurs, scrawling past the view screen the bridge held a momentary quiet. There was nothing to discuss that couldn’t be pinged from console to console, so the Captain pushed himself from the seat and gave a nod towards the Operation’s officer.
“You have the Conn Lieutenant Commander, I’ll be in the ready room. Alert me once we’re closing in on orbit of Rator III.”
The woman nodded, making her way over towards the center seat once again. As Morton turned back towards the entrance of the ready room he stopped briefly as his ears tuned in to listen to the idle comm traffic still being transmitted across the bridge’s speaker system.
“Pegasus here; recommend vessels run three same pattern scans and then do a 180 on the pattern in reverse, they won’t expect it.”
His tongue ran along the back of his lower lip before sucking in a lungful of air, departing into the small ready room adjoining the bridge module straight for the chair behind the desk.
–
“Computer; begin recording, authorisation MORTON-43-Alpha.” The computer replied with an awkwardly cheerful chirp of acknowledgement, “- Captain’s Log, Stardate: 100374.9. The Atlantis is currently en-route to Rator III heading a task force in support of Federation Ambassador Neema Perim, she’s due to speak before the Star Empire’s Imperial Senate. Over the last ten years I’ve had much opportunity to understand further the complexities of Romulan politics, specifically the Republic, yet throughout the last 72 hours I’ve shamefully not given a single thought to how our allies within said Republic must be feeling. If somehow the Federation’s involvement in the inevitable conflict were to be limited outside of active hostility, I can only fear for the strain this will undoubtedly place upon our relationship. As for the Star Empire there’s a lot of trepidation surrounding our transit, I’ve had to remind myself more than once that they would have to be insane to pull off something which would lead to a direct open conflict with the Federation, especially at this stage in their campaign.” There’s a brief pause as Coby stares idly out of the office’s porthole, “Computer; save and end recording.”
Perhaps the uncertainty within the coming day, let alone weeks, is what caused the seated human’s mind to wander as he inspected the walls of the ready room shared by countless Starfleet officers over the years. Coby’s hand traced over towards the desk-mounted computer console, drawing up the Atlantis’ service history. He’d never quite understood the affection placed upon the ship itself by a large number of Deep Space Thirteen’s crew, yet sat here reading confined in what to him was a rather rudimentary office he’d already gotten his own picture of her.
That occupied him for at least an hour, roughly, until a short chime came through to the overhead speakers. "Bridge to Captain Morton; We’re entering the Rator system, we should be within orbital distance of Rator III in a few moments."
“Thank you 'Commander, Yellow Alert, I’ll join you on the bridge momentarily. Have us drop from warp and hold position, inform Ambassador Perim’s delegation that she will be disembarking Atlantis shortly.” Morton returned, straightening out his tunic as he stood and began to close down the computer terminal on his desk.
The USS Atlantis spurted into the outer edge of Rator III meeting the Dragon, Heimdall, Pegasus, Ranger, Reyga and the Sentinel. Good, no one managed to get lost. In local stood a starbase accompanied with several vessels appearing under standard patrol, though it was a decloaking warbird that made initial contact with the task force.