Sept. 12, 2300 AD – Stardate 4109.12
It was conventional wisdom that the old moon base at Earth was full of old antiques and was the winding down place of careers. Lieutenant Joseph Lohman looked around in resignation as the transporter finished beaming him into the old moonbase. Yeah, straight out of 2000s technology, he thought. No doubt this place has a working Pentium computer somewhere. Disheveled in appearance, his uniform as abused as his brief career.
Lohman fit right in.
He looked at the transporter technician, prepared to ask him the customary permission to come aboard. The tech checked to make sure the equipment didn’t mangle someone. Satisfied, he walked away without a word.
Lohman sighed again. He examined the old style schematic printed on old, cracking vinyl to see where he had to go.
Vinyl. He’d seen it in a museum once.
Museum. That’s where I am, he thought. And my career is over at 26. Part of a museum. He stepped through the door, relieved it opened at his approach. He followed the blue lines on the floor. The lines followed the old Moonbase color scheme of directing people. He followed the downhill corridor, knowing it was taking him below the surface of Earth’s tired old moon. Lohman followed the lines. He paused at the plaque…
Moonbase Alpha. Est. Sept. 13, 1999 – John Koenig, Captain
Lohman sighed. Three hundred years ago. Right after Earth’s Eugenics wars. He wondered if Koenig had been one of the genetically changed, keeping a low profile. Lohman walked the last sixty feet, arriving at a sign that read, “Base Commander.” He touched the annunciator.
A bell chimed, and the door opened. Lohman entered the room, a man in Admiral’s stars sitting at a modern desk amid this museum.
“Lieutenant Joseph Lohman, reporting for duty.”
The Admiral glanced at the chair in front of the desk. Lohman took the seat, waiting. The Admiral pulled out a personnel jacket. He flipped a page, looking at it, shaking his head. Lohman studied the desk name plate – Neale “Vance” Davidson. Lohman swallowed. This was the man responsible for many of the design elements of the new Constitution-A Class, and the newer designs coming out of the Stardock now.
He turned a page without a word. Several pages turned in silence as Lohman fidgeted and grew nauseous. The room was hot and stifling, and his tunic collar seemed to strangle him. Lohman looked around in vain for a button or switch that would make his chair descend under the floor and out of sight.
Davidson slapped the folder shut, folding his hands. “So. Written up for insubordination.”
“Yes, sir.” He said. “Captain Barrett on the Polaris did it.”
The Admiral’s eyes snapped onto Lohman. “I know.” He pushed the jacket to the side. “Son, you know how it is. Patronage carries you only so far. Earn your way. Get the lucky break and work your tail off. How many write-ups do you have for practical jokes gone wrong?”
“Six, sir.” Lohman’s stomach turned. He wanted to go lie on a cold floor next to a toilet.
“And that wasn’t a clue? Mister, they have ended careers over less write ups than that! Your patron pulls strings to get on a Constitution-A class Heavy Cruiser. Son, I never ranked a Heavy Cruiser. Not once in my career. I’d trade my Admiral’s stars to pilot a heavy cruiser. Explore, seek new life and new civilizations, boldly go where no man has gone before. You told Academy you wanted to be the next Jim Kirk, isn’t that right? You joined the Glory Boys, you have it MADE, and then you saw fit to argue with the Captain. Before you’d even left orbit.”
“Yes, sir.” Lohman nodded. “I did. When I screw up, sir, I screw up big.”
The Admiral leaned in, looking at Lohman. “All right.” He said, steepling his hands. “It’s like this. I want complete honesty, Lohman. If you hold back or play politics, your career is over, and you’ll be polishing meteor dust off of old Transport Tugs at the edge of the galaxy until you retire.”
“Yes, sir.” Lohman tried not to swallow. Buck up, and show them what you’re made of, he thought.
“WHY did you act insubordinate to a captain of a Heavy Cruiser?”
“Sir, if I answer that, I might as well get on the next ship heading out to the rim!”
“This is your one chance, Lieutenant. You’ve never held your tongue before. Don’t start now! Why were you insubordinate?”
“Because she’s an idiot.” The room threatened to spin. Lohman wasn’t sure what was worse, the dizziness or the queasiness.
The Admiral regarded him for another minute. He turned and opened the cabinet, tossing the file into it. He shut the door.
“That the answer I was looking for.” The Admiral said.
“Sir?”
“Lohman, I’ve had my eye on you for a while.” The Admiral turned. “Computer.” The Computer answered him with the usual Starfleet monotone response.
“Working.”
“Activate security measures.”
“Activated. This room cannot be monitored.”
The Admiral turned back to Lohman. “All right, Lieutenant. You were correct. Elaine Barrett is an idiot.” He tapped his desk display, and the wall monitors showed a schematic of a ship. “Ever seen that before?”
“Yes, sir. We learned about it in Academy. It was a failed attempt at a political coup by a Starfleet Admiral. That’s the Star Empire. Bigger, more powerful version of the old Constitution class.” Lohman recited. He could remember the lecture. The design had captivated him. Massive, built for strength, and firepower. The perfect war weapon.
“Right you are.” The Admiral said. “Go on.”
“Uh… yes, sir. I drafted a modern-day version.” Lohman remembered. “The professor was so arrogant. Kept knocking the thing. Said Rittenhouse designed it poorly and a Scout ship could knock it out of the sky. So I drafted a design, updated, got my roommate from the Academy to help me with the graphics part… and I loaded it into his display for the next day.”
“Why?”
“Because he kept mocking it. I wanted to show him how powerful it could be if we built it with A Class technology.”
“That was Professor Barrett, wasn’t it?” The Admiral prodded.
“Yes, sir.”
“You wanted to fling that right in his teeth.” Admiral Davidson said.
“Yes sir. I started that night, got excited about it, kept adding detail, and finished it right before the class. Loaded it onto his projector so that when he cued up the class that day, it would project it right in the spot behind him.”
“And that was write-up number one.” The Admiral said.
“Yes, sir. The entire class laughed. It made such a commotion that other instructors entered the classroom, and they laughed, too.”
The admiral hit a key. The display changed.
Lohman’s design projected on the wall monitors. “Lohman, I’ll lay it on the line. You’re bored. Bored because you’re smart. You’re like the people Starfleet first hired, long before I was born. Too smart. You get plum assignments that other Starfleet officers would die to have, and you’re bored with them. Too smart, too little patience with stupidity. That’s why you get into trouble.”
“Yes sir. That, and idiot commanders.” He said and wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
“If it makes you feel better, I filed a protest over her appointment to the command of a Heavy Cruiser, but they overruled me. I transferred out here.”
“Moon Base Alpha?” Lohman asked.
“Nobody’s called it that in over 300 years, son.” The Admiral smiled. “No, son, this base looks like a museum, a relic… on purpose. It hides something we want hidden.”
“What’s that, sir?”
The Admiral decided. “A part of Starfleet we didn’t want certain races to discover.” He hit the screen again, and the display changed. It had the Starfleet logo, the legend “Star Fleet Military Command Fleet Defense – Project Vengeance.”
Superimposed over it was Lohman’s design of the Dreadnought.
