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New Orders

Posted on Wed Jun 23rd, 2021 @ 12:36pm by Lieutenant Commander Amaya Capac
Edited on on Fri Jun 25th, 2021 @ 4:26am

Mission: Mission 8 - A Blast from the Past
Location: Nemora III
Timeline: 2296/03/11 1615

ON

Amaya sent her report on the most recent findings and stretched. After six months of sifting through sand and rock, they’d found enough potsherds and broken sculptures for her to match this site to another on a planet in the system. The markings and style of pots were similar enough to have come from the same people. The question still unanswered was how they got here. That, fortunately or unfortunately, was not her job. Her job was to archive the findings and to identify any drawings or symbols that would indicate a language and translate it. Now that she’d been able to link it to the other site, one part of her job was over. That is, unless they found something anomalous, which was always possible.

She went over to the small refrigeration unit in her office and took out a bottle of orange juice. Just then her computer chimed an incoming message. Expecting a question about her report, she went back to her console and sat down, pulling up the message. She took a long swallow of her drink while it loaded.

It was to her, but from Starfleet, not Federation Sciences. She entered her authorization and took another drink. Then she slowly put down the bottle to read the first line a second time.

Lieutenant Commander Amaya Capac.
Effective immediately, you are being transferred to the USS America to serve as Chief Communications Officer.


That wasn’t so bad. She had only been assigned here for six months, and that was up tomorrow. She’d hoped to stay a bit longer, but the timing was good. Then she saw the next line.

You will also take the position of First Officer to Captain Kelly O’Connor. A shuttle will pick you up in two days’ time.

Below the message was a list of details of the time the shuttle would arrive and the approximate location of the America. Maya picked up her drink again. Not just a new assignment, but First Officer. She’d passed her Command training two years ago, at the request of her former CO, but she didn’t expect to actually become a Commander herself. Still, it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

The computer chimed, reminding her that she needed to respond to the message. Only then did she notice the message was sent two days ago. She had two hours before it was due to arrive.

Maya replied in the affirmative. Then she finished her juice and threw the empty bottle in the recycle bin. Replicators were a luxury out here. There was one in the mess hut. Once a week she took her recycle bin in to process. She’d have to do that on her way out.

She grabbed an empty box and began to fill it with her personal items. Here she kept the things she used for work, including a small database of alien languages and ancient migrations. She also had a database of pottery and textile patters from the known sites in the Federation. It was massive and one she referred to often. Fortunately, she’d become quite familiar with the relics here. She tossed several PADDs and data rods into the box, then added a small statue of a monolith from Tiahuanaco near her home. A small hat from Sucre, an Agway in case she worked late and it got chilly. She checked the room again, then logged out of her computer for the last time and erased her profile from this station so whoever replaced her could set up a new profile. Then, satisfied she’d left nothing behind, she hurried to her small room.

She paused by the main office on her way to the sleeping area. “Pete!” She called. “

“I know,” an older man with gray hair said as he walked out of a back room. “I just got the message, too. At least you have a little time. Did you send your report?”

“Yes. You should have it. I verified the findings. There are twenty-two unique matches. Everything now should just be archiving,” she said, balancing the box on her hip.

“Good. We’ll miss you, but I’d been told a transfer was coming through,” he said. “Just not when. Tarik will take over when you leave.”

She liked Tarik. “He’ll do a good job. My notes are in the database if he needs to refer to them.”

“Good,” Pete said. “I hope we’ll work together again. There’s a conference in eleven months. Come if you can.”

“I’ll try. Thanks, Pete! Let me know how things go. Especially if you find an intact room somewhere,” she said. They’d joked about that from time to time. Both of them hoped there’d be an intact room with tile and wall art, or a complete tapestry. Finds like that were rare, but hoping didn’t hurt anything.

“I will. Now, get going. The shuttle will be here before you know it.”

She gave him a one-arm hug. “Thanks again, Pete. Take care!” Then she hurried out.

Her room contained a cot, a table and a chair. Her clothes were kept in a small locked box that slid under the bed. She didn’t spend much time here when she wasn’t sleeping. Maya put the box on the cot to free her hands before pulling out the box, thumbing the lock open. She piled her clothes in a neatly on the cot, make sure the box was empty, then put it back for the next person.

Her duffle hung in the closet with her four cotton blouses. She didn’t even have a Starfleet uniform. That she’d have to requisition when she got to the ship. She quickly packed her extra pair of boots, her clothes, her personal items, and finally, her musical instruments, in her bag. She checked the chronometer on the small console. Thirty minutes. Good. She had time for a quick bite before she left.

She hurried back to her office to get the recycle can on the way to the mess tent and set it next to the replicator before grabbing a sandwich and bottle of water. The tent was mostly empty, which was good. She was sad she wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to her friends, but Pete would let them know about her transfer, and she could send messages later.

She’d taken one bite when a younger man joined her. “Hey, Capac, Pete says you verified the potsherds as being identical to the ones on Nemora II. I looked them over, and there are several key factors that say you’re wrong.”

That began a lengthy discussion about the specific identifying marks and the reason for her conclusions. Jimmer was looking to make a name for himself. He’d sent her five different theories about the origin of the sites on Nemora II and III, believing them to be settled a thousand years apart by two different species. Each time she and Pete had proven him wrong. She almost felt sorry for the person taking her place. But she knew Pete would back up her research as long as nothing truly unique was uncovered. She ate her sandwich while he once again countered her conclusions. Then she looked at the chronometer on the wall. “Sorry, Jimmer. My shuttle was due five minutes ago. Bring it up with Pete. He certified my conclusions. I gotta go.” She finished the last of her water, threw her garbage away, and hurried out the door.

She heard the shuttle land before she got back to her room, making her pick up her pace through the buildings, away from the dig, and out to the shuttle pad.

She walked quickly onto the shuttle. "Sorry I'm late," she said, stowing her bag in a compartment before looking for an empty seat.

____
OFF

Lieutenant Commander Amaya Capac
First Officer & Chief Communications Officer
USS America

 

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