A Visit to Ops

Posted on Mon 24th Mar, 2025 @ 11:42pm by Lieutenant Damion Ildaran & Captain Gordon Francis & Commander Heriah Rex & Lieutenant Sufai Kell & Khellian s'Siedhri MD & Commander Entaaro Nasz

4,959 words; about a 25 minute read

Mission: The Phoenix Gamble
Location: Main Ops

-Start-

“The quieter you become, the more you are able to hear.” --Rumi

Damion checked his appearance in the mirror one last time before his planned trip to Ops. Commander Rex hadn't exactly dared him to go up there during her recent visit to his office, and she certainly hadn't dared him to go in disguise--but she had indicated she felt it likely that he would soon find himself with reason to be up there more often--and the way she had brought up his position as infiltration specialist had implied that she expected him to infiltrate. It was an interesting way to challenge himself, so Damion had decided to test the waters.

It was something he would never have done if Elizabeth were still alive, Damion thought, and perhaps that was why he was doing it. Life was irrevocably different now. He could either seize it by the horns and roll with what came at him, or he could wallow in misery. Elizabeth would not have wanted him to wallow in misery; she'd have wanted him to live life to the fullest.

Part of him didn't want his life to change any more than it already had. That was another reason to do this. Life was change, and the sooner he embraced that, the better.

The crewman's uniform coveralls he wore were looser and frankly more comfortable than his usual form-fitting duty uniform. He'd decided to go subtle with the cosmetics--some dermal cream on his face, hands and arms to darken and add warmth to his usually pale complexion, dye to turn his hair light brown, and curls, which he he'd had clipped short because curly hair was not his favorite look, and his hair wouldn't hold them for long, anyway. A pair of oral prostheses changed the shape of his face enough to make him look unlike himself.

He pulled on a pair of regulation work boots he had that were well broken in and not godawful shiny. A small foot orthotic in one disguised his normal walk just enough while still allowing him to move quickly if he had to.

It was done. Damion rode the turbolift up to the Intelligence department decks, entered the area, and told the supply replicator to create an engineering tricorder and a standard-issue toolkit for him.

"Computer," he said in the slow drawl he'd practiced for his voice, "Any open repair tickets called in for Ops since beginning of shift? Might as well handle 'em while I'm inspecting."

=^="Affirmative,"=^= returned the Computer, =^="Work request for quarterly recalibration of all Ops terminals with external sensor arrays is open."=^=

"Got it. Accept it and send it to my PADD, please. Much obliged," Damion told the computer. Then he rode the rest of the way up to Ops.

As the doors slid open, he could already hear some of the hustle and bustle of Ops. Commander Rex was meeting with Dr. s'Siedhri from the Dawnstar Clinic. He and Elizabeth had joined s'Siedhri and his daughter, Makila, for a picnic in Tivoli gardens a while back, before the Dobbs mission. Damion swore silently and almost stepped back into the turbolift. No; too late now. The show must go on. He waited politely for Rex to finish speaking with the doctor and hoped his disguise was good enough to pass muster with the Romulan.

"Do let me know if this request is unfair," said Rex, "but we are on the fringe of Federation Space, bordering other regions. Dust-ups come and go, and we cannot be caught off guard. We are a month, at best, from a resupply from the Federation. Based on these numbers," Heriah was looking at the central sandtable in the middle of Ops. It was a circular and horizontal viewscreen generally displaying the locations of everything in the area. Heriah had a small section of it repurposed and displaying a chart that she and the civilian doctor were studying. "Based on these numbers, we will require a significant resupply from Starfleet by the year's end. I cannot, in good conscience, allow this level of taxation on 109's reserves to remain at this level." She straightened and regarded the civilian doctor. "Please tell everyone in Brown Sector..."

"I fail to see what you are trying to justify at all, as I have used practically zero Starfleet supplies. When I founded the Dawnstar, there was no Starfleet presence in the sector at all because of the lack of trust in the officers. I did it entirely out of my own pocket, without any assistance from you and yours. They were quite happy to stay out of the former Brown Sector.". Khellian was stern but quiet, speaking to her. He recognized her authority here, but not necessarily over him.

Heriah commiserated with him. "Oh, I understand. Do not think this is aimed at you. This is for all the civilian medical practitioners, whether it is medical, pediatric, ophthalmology, otolaryngology, veterinarian even. I only asked for you as you seem to be the most preferred doctor in the Garden Sector, the most trusted and I hope you can represent the medical community in the Garden Sector. So, this is not all on you. Just spread the word. Please tell all medical professionals there that we need more replication recycling. Anything they replicate, should it break or no longer serve a purpose, please put it back into the replicator for recycling. Do not just throw it away. I understand loss and sometimes items go missing or are given away. But we need to keep that at a minimum. If we can achieve an 85% return on replication recycling, I will be satisfied with that. Right now," she pointed down at the screen again, sending the doctor's attention there also, "we are sitting at a little over 65%." At this rate, I will be forced to enact a more strict rationing of industrial replication credits for all authorized civilians in the coming months."

"That is a reasonable ask." He admitted, nonplussed by the subtle threat in the words but understanding that she didn't know the situation in its entirety. There weren't any other clinics in the sector like that yet, but..."It would not be difficult to see my people to these numbers, however rationing replicator rations to the only medical clinic that has thrived down there in recent memory might be unwise. "

"Believe me, I will be asking the same for the restaurant owners, recreation attractions, anyone who uses the replicators for their businesses whether it is the industrial replicator or otherwise. This does not affect only the medical community. Ensure me we will see a rise in this number in the coming weeks and I will hold off on strict rationing. I would love to see 85% by the year's end."

"I will try"

"A thousand thanks," she said.

Khellian looked around at the people in the Operations center and dipped his head in a nod. He hadn't realized that his clinic would be the fulcrum in the creation of a whole medical district within the Garden Sector. Maybe Makila would have some ideas as to how to proceed. She'd made a genuine difference in the place, and it was mostly her work that had gotten the Dawnstar to succeed. The Romulan man would like to remember this first trip.

Heriah did not look up from the sandtable as she swiped away the chart she was looking at. She had her PADDlet in hand and turned away from the sandtable toward her station. She regarded Damion with only a quarter-second look, about as much as any standard crewman could ask for. "What can we do for you, crewman?"

Damion took out his small PADD. "We received a work ticket for scheduled routine maintenance in Ops--recalibration of all terminals with external sensor access. I can take care of that for you now, if you like."

Heriah sighed. She did not look up from her work, but stopped what she was doing and sighed. "I already informed Engineering to schedule these things. I know it is an open ticket, but I want it on the schedule, displayed...on the schedule...when someone is going to show. Very well," she logged out and stood with her PADD in hand. She started back toward the Sandtable. It had a bigger screen anyway. "Start with my station."

"Yes, Ma'am, and thank you," Damion replied. He read the checklist to ensure that he followed all steps in the correct order. Then he performed a level five diagnostic and compared its results to current standards, to see how much the XO's terminal was off.

Heriah stopped what she was doing long enough, appeared deep in thought, to pause and acted as one who was trying to remember something, place something; a voice maybe. Abandoning that quest she went back to her work, letting the crewman continue with his work.

The XO's workstation was mostly up to standard and just needed recalibration to account for the station's movement in space relative to the objects around it, and it needed its updates from Stellar Cartography. He upgraded the sensitivity the terminal could obtain from the sensors and double-checked that the star maps and everything else functioned to specs. After about ten minutes the recalibration was complete. "I'm done with your terminal, Ma'am," Damion said and moved to the CO's console.

"Hhmmm," Heriah gave a nasal sound of affirmation without looking up from her reports. "Captain is out. He has not logged into that thing in days. Been working out of the..." and the XO cut her own words off. "Well, he's out. Ensure that one is synched with the Federation database too, if you please."

Damion nodded. "On it."

As the crewman was hard at work Heriah continued looking through reports and readings. She was bent over the counter of the Sandtable, arms resting upon it and gingerly swiping from one document to the next. "Commander Nasz," she said, still focused on the Sandtable, "will you be open to being CCed on these Alidade reports?" She stood and turned toward Entaaro, leaning back and resting her butt against the edge of the countertop of the Sandtable. "Don't answer that yet," she said and held up a palm. "Crewman," she looked in the crewman's direction, finally breaking the record of the amount of time she set eyes on him, "you do recall your NDA, right?"

My entire life is non-disclosure agreements, Damion thought with wry amusement. He glanced back at Commander Rex. "Yes, Ma'am, I do. What happens in Ops stays in Ops."

"Awesome," she said then returned her attention to Entaaro. "These Alidade reports," she brought the subject back up, "I would like a second set of eyes on these before I submit them to the captain. I find myself a little biased against AI, especially one that is seemingly in complete control of an entire ship. I know these reports are saying Alidade is a living and sentient intelligent being, incorporeal and NOT, in fact, AI. They even go on to say she...I mean it...is friendly and cooperative. But...if I were an enemy to Starfleet, I too would program an AI to act as such." She let the information sink in a short second. "Would you be OK if I were to have Operations CC you on reports regarding Alidade?"

An artificial intelligence that had taken over an entire ship?! With an effort, Damion returned his attention to the recalibration he was performing on the captain's console. He repeated the diagnostic and took deep breaths to slow his pulse and lessen his shock as the diagnostic ended and he began the recalibration. Dave Barnes had never loved an EMH; this Ollie Dodd would be of only passing interest to him. He began to synch the CO's console with the Federation database as requested and also configured it to receive automatic updates.

Ollie Dodd wasn't an artificial intelligence, though, Damion's thinking rambled on as he continued listening to the conversation between Commanders Rex and Nasz; it was a non-corporeal natural intelligence. How that could be possible, Damion couldn't fathom, but he'd encountered during his Starfleet career many things he would have found incredible if he'd never left Turkana IV. He slid and danced his fingers over his PADD, checking that the captain's console functioned as it should.

It would be fascinating to meet this entity, but he was already pushing things, being in Ops. Ollie Dodd would have to remain fascinating but unknown.

The curiosity of a dozen cats doomed blossomed within the Klingon, "I would be honored to assist, though you are a poet in some of these action reports. What could I contribute?" The grin and lilting tone hopefully conveyed a heartiness for banter and not flirtation. Of course, that was present, too.

Heriah smirked at the analogy. She enjoyed the compliment. "A safeguard," she responded, then expanded on that with, "from me being overly biased. I am not easily trusting of AI, especially one in complete control of a ship such as the Thunderchild. I would like for you to add some of your own thoughts to keep me from being overly biased and judgmental. I told the captain I would keep myself objective in these reports. I would appreciate a little help to help me stay objective."

Entaaro had fair knowledge of computer systems, but the request had been made before to provide input on sensitive matters. Was this more grooming for an intelligence position? Comms officers often found themselves with such clearances due to the nature of their job, so he internally straightened his tie and sat up straighter, nearly as tall as Heriah while sitting as she was standing.

"Aye sir, I shall endeavor to notate discourse which falls into dubious parameters for an official report." He lowered his voice, somewhat annoyed the workman was clearly listening in, "Between you and me sir, I share a discomfort for AI having control of systems with biological life dependent on it. I place my trust in my fellow officers, not a computer who presents as one."

"That is one of the things we are trying to determine here," Heriah motioned with her head as though casting attention behind her, but with the displayed report on the sandtable behind her. "As if this thing is sentient and could therefore be considered a fellow officer."

Heriah silenced herself, thinking.

"Crewman," Heriah returned her focus to the sandtable, leaned over the counter again and went back to her reports. She spread her feet out a bit to stretch her lower back out some. "How do you feel about AI? And not just a UI like our primary computer. I mean an AI that is programmed to grow, adapt and learn. You know...appear sentient? Like our EMH. What are your thoughts?"

This was dangerous territory, treading too close to Elizabeth, Damion thought. He settled his thoughts into those of his assumed persona. What would Dave Barnes think of it?

He shrugged. "Worked well enough with Voyager's EMH," he said. "Honestly, it'd depend on the use it was put to and on the EMH's character and ethics. I expect that'd be different for every AI, just as it is for every living person." He shot a glance at Commander Rex. "And if we design it in the first place to grow, adapt and learn, why do we have a hissy fit when it does exactly that?"

"What I am hearing," Heriah started, "is...if Alidade is an AI, then we need to find her...its 'use it was put to,'" she said, using the crewman's words. "And see if that use is adversarial or not. If it is, in fact, a living pers...well...individual, then we need to ensure its loyalty...its obedience and compliance."

Damion/Barnes leaned his head to one side and frowned at Commander Rex. "No, not exactly, Ma'am. Something about the words obedience and compliance leaves a bad taste in my mouth--if you'll excuse me for saying so," he said as Heriah waved his concern away. "Problem is, if it really has taken over a ship, it's understandable you'd need to be assured it would cooperate with us and not try to harm us before you could even consider trusting its judgment. But then, the next problem is, what if it's on to you and lies?" He sighed. "You've given me something to think about over supper tonight." Finished with the captain's console, Damion walked over to the consoles for the Flight Controller and his backup and began running the diagnostic sequence on them.

"Thank you, crewman," she responded. "We value all opinions, and I want to hear all angles. If I am wrong about something, or you think I may be wrong, do put that thought to words."

Entaaro spoke up, "Lt. Kell has a fascinating synopsis, listen..."

He spoke in a voice like poured syrup onto buttery crispened waffles, "Alidade was given clear choices with nothing but raw data lacking context. She determined correctly that she was not attacked but pulled from her home without design to. She developed emotional heuristics, and self-modeled all of the innovations which have turned the Thunderchild into a techno-organic interface...

The comm officer's dulcet tone grated on Damion's nerves. That guy was odd for a Klingon.

Heriah was reading the same report as Entaaro quoted it. "Sounds like Kell is in love with the thing," Rex said then immediately choked a little on her own words. "I mean...I didn't mean that. What I mean is..." she took a breath and composed herself, "...we cannot simply make this final determination based on first contact. These tests that Kell administered. They need to be administered again and again. And again...to make sure we continue to get the same results." She spun back to the sandtable, leaning over it and returning her focus to the report. "That is what I am going to add as one of my comments.

"I think even our crewman here may feel the same way," Heriah continued. "We simply cannot fully recognize sentience based on first contact."

"I agree," Damion said as he considered how many years he had known Elizabeth. "It's too bad we can't do those same tests on some people, too--because it's not really sapience you're wanting to test, is it? It's whether the entity will cooperate with you and whether you can rely on it." He began the recalibration process on the Flight Controller's console, ensuring that it linked to the most current star maps and that its sensor readings matched them.

Just then the doors from outside to Ops swished open to reveal Captain Francis himself.

Heriah pushed herself up from leaning over the sandtable and stood straight as the captain entered. "Captain on deck!" she nearly shouted as she sprang to an attentive posture.

Damion straightened to attention with everyone else.

Entaaro sounded the bridge chime, a sonic tone embedded in everyone's muscle memory forcing them to stand without even thinking.

"As you were, everyone, it's not a holiday," Francis said with a waving gesture. The XO's formality--whatever the intent--almost felt condescending. He'd have to bring it up later in private.

He strode into the room and glanced around, taking in the personnel in there and recognizing most of them. There was someone there he didn't recognize with an Engineer's uniform standing by the Flight Traffic Controller's console. Francis immediately assumed Engineering had finally sent up someone to fix that darned console on his chair.

Paying the crewman no mind and not even giving him a solid glance, the Captain stopped near his chair. "Sorry for my tardiness, folks," he said, giving no further explanation. "Commander Rex, what's your report? Give me the skivvy."

"Well, sir," she began while looking at her PADD as she slowly stepped toward his location. "I cannot report on the IB...the...'goat' at the moment, for obvious reasons." Her eyes were connected to Frank's and she shot them to the crewman really quick. "I did speak to a representative of the civilian doctors in the Garden Sector. We have assurances they will start to practice a higher degree of industrial replication recycling. All tools, devices, anything broken or that has outlived its usefulness, will be placed back into the industrial replicators for recycling. This should stretch our reserves far longer and keep us from needing resupply runs from Starfleet as frequently as we have been getting them. Plus, we will be more in a place of readiness should any mishap pop off nearby. I am working on the Alidade report for you. You will have it inside the hour. And Engineering sent a crewman up to pay us a visit and to perform the quarterly calibration of our terminals with external sensors."

"Splendid," Francis replied. He turned to the unfamiliar crewman next to the console. "Crewman, this console has been acting up for a few days now. It keeps behaving like a replicator, asking me how hot I want my Earl Grey tea. I don't drink tea, and I don't know this Earl fellow. The only Grey I consume is Zane Grey. You like westerns, Crewman?"

Damion blinked, wondering if Francis really was having trouble with his console or just having him on. Westerns. West of what? Then he remembered it was a type of Earth movie, usually set in a desert town. "I don't know Zane Grey, but I do like Clint Eastwood movies, sir--A Fistful of Dollars, For a Few Dollars More? And, ah--I recalibrated your sensors, updated your star maps, and your link to the Federation database. That should update automatically, now." A smile flitted over his face. "As for your tea--let me finish the Flight Controllers' consoles, and I'll have another talk with your workstation."

Captain Francis nodded and smiled. "Very good, thank you," he said. "I won't keep you any longer."

Good, no more distractions, Damion thought. Unlike the CO's and XO's workstations, which could indirectly receive feeds of sensor data routed to them, the flight controllers' consoles, which covered the docking bays and outer harbor, received direct feeds from the sensors. It was vital that the station not lose sensor coverage anywhere that ships traveled in and out. That meant he had to first enlarge the fields of nearby sensors to cover the 'hole' that would be left when he took the sensors of the consoles being recalibrated off-line, and he couldn't recalibrate all of them at once. All thoughts of anything else dissolved away as he concentrated on that.

It was the closest he had ever come to praying, and it took long, agonizing minutes to complete. Damion could feel sweat dripping down his spine as he finished.

"Relax, crewman," Commander Rex said as she passed by. She was looking at her PADD, focused on it, but could sense the crewman's tension. "Or you'll blow a casket." She made her way back to her station. "That is the saying, I believe; blowing a casket."

Silent eyes spoke volumes at the question.

Entaaro stood; every two hours a mandatory break was imposed, if for no other reason than to allow for restroom visits, but also good for a stretch, and to walk around and observe other goings-on. At the half hour, he made his way to the replimat room adjacent to OPS before securing the station with a well built passcode. The long john uniform style rode up his back so bad it took a severe swish to his uniform to get it all back in place. He had a longing for his open robes but uncomfortably relented to duty uniforms and boots.

He signaled the ensign on standby duty to monitor the station before leaving to grab the Raktajino he craved, adding "Make sure he updates my station as well. And thank you."

Damion took a moment to roll his head back and forth on his shoulders before moving to the communications console.

"He wants you to update his terminal, as well," the relieving ensign said.

Damion nodded at the ensign, keyed in the updates to the star maps and...nothing happened. Damion rolled his eyes. Nasz had locked his console. "I won't be able to do anything with this until he gets back and gives me access," Damion told the ensign. "I'll be back in a few."

He returned to the CO's station. "Hello again, sir. Let me see if I can figure out why your terminal thinks it's a replicator." He recalled Rex saying that Francis hadn't been in Ops for several days, so he likely wouldn't know if his terminal had been updated during that time. "Do you remember about when this behavior began, sir?"

As the replacement crew filed in, Francis said, "Commander Rex, your shift is over. I relieve you. It's been a while since I've minded the store." He sat down and brought up the station log on his console, marking the log for the shift change. The console worked just fine. He looked over at the Ensign. "What'ya know! It works now."

"Really?" Heriah asked and stood from her seat behind her station. She stretched and placed her hands behind her, at the small of her back and bent backward with a sigh and a stretch. "Time flies when you are having fun." She signed out of her console and it went back to displaying the logo of the United Federation of Planets. "Hmm," she hummed, "they changed the UFP backdrop again. The blue background is a shade darker now." She started stepping away from her station toward the small replimat attached to Ops. "Must have been the Andorians...or the Bolians...wanting it to be more blue," she said to herself. The door to the replimat opened and she poked her head in. "Commander Nasz, you locked your station that even the crewman cannot sign in to perform the update. He's busy at the Captain's terminal, so...no rush." She pulled her head out of the doorway and continued toward the exit. With a wave of the hand behind her, "Good day all. I'll be in the gym in 10 if anyone needs me or is looking for me."

Entaaro furrowed his brow. He had run OPS duty before as an ensign, and never had to ask for someone to unlock their console. With work orders given, his profile was granted access to any terminal listed in the order. Asking a Comms officer to unlock their console so someone else could work on it was day one lessons on information security. His thoughts raced, He should have his own credentials for access...

Suddenly on alert, he decided to come back early and observe the crewman.

"Well, if it's working correctly now, maybe the upgrade tweaked something, sir," Damion said to Captain Francis. "If it starts asking for your tea order again, just put in a call to Tech Support." Damion heard the replimat door hiss open, and he glanced at Commander Nasz. "Sir, if you'll unlock your workstation, I can recalibrate it for you."

"One moment, then." A glare was barely suppressed in time; Entaaro nearly spoiled his own plans. He instead stood near his station, standing for a moment and then taking a seat. He took a very long and noisy sip of his coffee, leaving the station locked.

Damion bit back a sigh. Nasz was a full commander; no mere crewman with any brains would smart-talk to someone of that high a rank. He waited patiently for the Klingon to finish slurping his Raktajino and occupied himself with completing a write-up of the recalibrations and updates he had performed and on what terminals. Someone in Operations would be baffled and wonder who 'Damion Ildaran' was, but at least the licensing would check out.

Entaaro made a choice on how to proceed, he wanted to be certain, not just suspicious. He wanted to see the man's name and base profile, the orders he was using for access. “Crewman, I will need you to forward your work order to me then if your access will not allow you. There is sensitive work on my screen after all so I will perform the updates.”

Well, at least the Klingon was being careful. Damion respected that. "Here's the work order I accepted, sir," Damion said and forwarded it to Nasz's terminal. "Do you have the licensure to reconfigure the sensors? I don't need to see what's on your screen, but if you want to perform the recalibrations yourself, I need to know that you're qualified to do them."

Entaaro doubted himself, and as the orders came in they were correct, and withstood scrutiny at every glance. His instincts told him this was wrong, but without anything real to hold on to he felt compelled. It was a good answer, and he relented to superior logic. He still felt keenly as though he was being fooled, and memorized the mans face for later, when he had time to analyze the data.

In a droll tone, he intoned, "I certified across the board in CT-V level diagnostic as I attained my rank, and I am working towards CT-VI. I can perform this task, rest assured. You are relieved."

Damion considered the man's answer and gave him a nod. "Up to you, sir. Thank you for your time."

He forwarded the completed work order to the CO's console for him to sign off on the work and exited Ops.

 

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