The Calypso Five
By Lloyd A. Green
Suddenly, the captain’s chair wasn’t as comfortable as a moment ago. His foremost obligation was to lead his squad to safety, but making the wrong decision could damage his career. The last thing he needed was to look foolish. Hopefully, his choices would be the right ones. Cadet Nicholas Locarno chose his words carefully as he spoke aloud so that the station recorder would pick him up.
“Cadet’s Log, Stardate 45416.43. The Nova Squadron mission was to test the performance of the prototype short-range ship, classified as the Captain’s Yacht named Calypso. Once approved for service, this updated craft would replace the yachts presently used in all Galaxy Class Starships.”
“The ship’s crew is comprised of Cadet second class Sito Jaxa, Cadet Second Class Jean Hajar, Cadet Third Class Wesley Crusher, Cadet Third class Joshua Albert and myself, Cadet First Class Nicholas Locarno.”
“Mission update: After lifting off from Starfleet in the Calypso, my team and I climbed to the upper thermosphere, as per our flight plan. We performed exercises to test the craft’s performance and then began our descent. At the altitude of 248.5 miles, the ship’s instruments detected an unregistered spatial anomaly. Compromise of all onboard ship systems occurred for nine seconds. We are exiting the anomaly and are attempting to establish our location. After making the necessary course corrections, we will return to the Academy in San Francisco. End log entry.”
Nicholas exhaled heavily. What he didn’t mention was that their being off course was an understatement. Fortunately, if anyone could get them back on the right path, and do it with the least amount of embarrassment, Jean could. Her pleasant but strong personality could charm a snake. He stared forward to where she sat at the navigational panel just right of the main viewing screen.
“Any sign of it yet, Jean?”
“No, Nick.” As she replied, her fingers continued to dance across the panel. “That sudden spatial disturbance is no longer showing up. The onboard computers of this vessel can read spatial anomalies in only a limited capacity. Doing my best.”
“Understood,” Nicholas said. “Keep trying.”
Nicholas then turned his attention to Jean’s left, where the pilot at the helm sat and spoke his command in that direction.
“Wesley. Let’s remain stationary for the time being and then place all non-essential parts of the ship in diagnostic mode.”
“Coming to a full stop at a 30 miles altitude,” Wesley quickly replied then turned his seat to face Nicholas.
“Nick, do you think it’s wise to go to diagnostic mode?”
Nicholas loosened his hands from the arms of his chair and then folded them in his lap. Wesley was the best pilot at the Academy, with the added experience of maneuvering ships as large as the Enterprise-D, but sometimes he missed the bigger picture. Nicholas decided it was best not to single him out directly.
“Well, team, you probably are all asking this question. Even though we’re obviously off course, luck might still be on our side. Doing a level-one check of onboard systems might not be standard, but we could use this function to gain time to figure out our situation without the usual data recording. In other words, there might still be a way to avoid a reprimand from Admiral Brand back at Starfleet Academy. Make sense?”
From behind Nicholas, a response came from Joshua.
“I’m in favor of anything that will safely get us back home and not interfere with the ski trip that Wesley and I have scheduled next week.”
Nicholas watched as Wesley lightly smiled in Joshua’s direction. Wesley shook his head and turned to continue monitoring his panel.
‘Joshua was a good cadet, but a few more years of maturity would make him the total package,’ Nicholas thought to himself. If nothing else, he as a follower was a given. What was most important was to keep the team’s reputation shining. This earned privilege was beginning to irritate him. The captain’s yacht was nothing more than a transporter substitute from the starship to the planet surface. He must fix these complications during this simple test as quickly as possible.
“Nick. We’ve got a problem.”
An excited shout suddenly came from Jean. The way she spoke sent a chill up Nicholas’ back. Before he could tell her to calm down, her tone lowered, and she continued her report.
“There are a total of eight ships flanking us, four on either side.”
“Yellow alert.” Nicholas blurted out. Where did they come from so suddenly? Could this be a test of some kind from Admiral Brand? “Evasive maneuver beta-four.”
Almost instantaneously, Wesley flipped the 10 x 18-meter yacht three times, quickly descended 25 miles, and came to an abrupt stop from their original location without faltering.
“Status and location of the other ships,” Nicholas shouted in Jean’s direction.
“At almost the same instant we began our maneuvers, each ship did the same,” she responded, sounding a bit frantic. “I’d swear that we were connected.”
“She’s right,” Wesley suddenly chimed in. “They’ve matched us like mirror images.”
“This can’t be right,” exclaimed Sito Jaxa. “All eight ships have the same signatures as we do. If I can trust these instruments, each one of those ships is a replica of ours. And Nicholas. There are five humanoid life signs aboard each one.”
Nicholas attempted to present as calm a front as possible. He looked over his left shoulder to address Joshua, who was seated at the communications console. ”Open a channel to the nearest vessel on our starboard.”
Nicholas picked up on the slight unsteadiness of Joshua’s hand as he reached to make the ship-to-ship link. After the cadet made the connection, he nodded at Nicholas.
“This is Cadet First Class Nicholas Locarno of the Mark 1 Captain’s Yacht Calypso. Please identify yourself.” Before Nicholas could finish his question, eight video displays along with an echo of his exact words barked back at him, lagging by only microseconds. The lagged message sounded seven more times until there was finally silence. Suddenly the eight video displays melted into a single image, and the leader of the contacted ship staring back at him on the forward monitor was Nicholas.
“Joshua,” Nicholas stated, feeling confused. “Break communication.”
After doing so, Nicholas left his center seat and moved behind him, toward Joshua and Sito.
“What I just saw, did that come from that other ship, or was it a communication malfunction?”
It was apparent to everyone that Nicholas should direct this question toward Joshua at the communications panel, but instead, Nicholas was directly facing Sito Jaxa. Regardless, she had anticipated his question.
Sito paused before responding. As standard with most Bajorans, she took her science responsibilities as seriously as she did her religion, regardless of the crisis. Her answers were always careful and precise.
“My hypothesis for our present situation is two-fold, Nick. A Kemocite-plasma explosion in space somehow caused the spatial anomaly. As we descended toward Earth through the anomaly, it altered our position in space and time. As the time-line attempted to correct itself, a new Calypso appeared a micro-second behind us. This disruption occurred to each new Calypso that came out of that cloud a total of eight times. I don’t have an answer for why it stopped after eight. Our conversations are occurring on the bridge of each of the other ships, with a slight lag. These repeat conversations are what we are hearing.”
“You said your hypothesis had a second part?” asked Nicholas.
“I know the answer to that,” said Joshua interrupting abruptly.
Nicholas glanced at Joshua and then back to Sito. Now wasn’t the time for Joshua to grandstand or trying to impress. Instead of continuing her theory, Sito gave a quick nod, indicating that it was okay for Joshua to continue.
“Go ahead, Jos,” Nicholas stated flatly, giving in.
“Scans of the immediate and not-so-local area don’t indicate the existence of Starfleet Command or any similar institutions. Also, the only interstellar crafts are our group of nine. After a check of local transmissions, we appear to be in the late twentieth century, Stardate -375521.57. But since this period was before the recording of stardates, I should say June 24, 1947.
“Are you certain of this?” Nicholas asked.
“He’s right,” Sito stated. “There’s no doubt. And as a matter of historical fact, this date is when the first sightings of unidentified flying objects began. Witnesses called them flying discs or flying saucers. According to the database, there were numerous sightings of ships, similar to our oval-shaped style craft. Even the multiple ships, flying in a v-formation, matches this era’s recorded accounts.”
“Drop yellow alert,” Joshua stated as he plopped into his chair. “Jean. What’s our present position?”
“We’re departing the western side of the state of Idaho and approaching the eastern border of the state of Washington. We’ll soon be passing between the landmarks, Mt. Rainier and Mt. Adams. Our altitude is 10,000 feet, and our present groundspeed is 1257 mph.”
“Nicholas,” Wesley said abruptly. “I’m picking up two aerial craft. One’s a four-engine passenger propeller-driven airplane called a DC-4, which is about 20 miles north of our location. But the single-engine ship identified as a CallAir airplane is closer. That craft’s approach is eastward at a velocity of 105 miles per hour.
“I imagine it’s moving too slow to be hostile?” Nicholas asked sarcastically.
“Affirmative,” Jean replied. “No signatures of weapons of any kind. The craft is 30 miles ahead. His heading is shifting a few degrees, so it’s now moving in our direction.”
“Wes. Get us out of here toward the ceiling.”
Within the cabin, the squad could hardly feel the smooth raise to the clouds, and then it leveled off.
“All of the alternate yachts are moving in unison with us,” said Wesley.
“Do you think there’s a chance the guy flying that thing didn’t see us?” Nicholas asked.
“Not likely,” Jean replied. “He’s probably seeing the group of us flying together. According to my last scans, his heading is also shifting by a few degrees. He’s moving in our direction. And if you’re interested, he’s a male, about 35 years old and has thick brown hair.”
“How would your instruments be able to tell you that?” Nicholas asked.
“Believe it or not, when he lowered his window, probably to get a better look at us, I got a clear picture of him.”
“We need to move out of this area before we’re seen by anyone else,” Jonathan stated. “We’ve broken too many prime directive rules already.” Before he could say another word, Jean shouted aloud.
“The spatial anomaly has been located 2,119.5 miles to the west of our location.
“Take us there, full impulse power, or should I say, take all of us there.”
“On our way,” Wesley stated, “Traveling just under Mach 20. It’ll take us about 10 minutes to get there. “Wait. Scratch that estimate. Residential effects of the anomaly are carrying our ship forward in time. The anomaly is appearing three miles off the starboard bow, at 4,000 feet altitude. We’ll have to slow to less than Mach 2, so we don’t overshoot it.”
Wesley veered the yacht into the distortion, but before the ships were halfway through, the cloudy effect began to dissipate.
“The waves of time are receding,” Sito stated. “We’ve moved forward through time, but only by a few days.”
“So, when are we?” Jonathan asked anxiously.
“July 2, 1947, and a second anomaly is forming just over 1,349 miles south of our present location. That places it between Albuquerque and Roswell, New Mexico.”
“Get us there, Wesley. Best speed.”
“Excuse me, Nick.” Jean interrupted. “As we cross the country, sensors have been picking up several airplanes trying to follow us, and historical reports state there were hundreds of watchers at ground level. The stories range from circular objects moving at great speeds to the military, stating they were optical illusions or jet engine blasts. And since we’ve been traveling for days, that amounts to quite an audience.”
“At this point, it doesn’t matter,” Nicholas replied. “It seems that we had something to do with those long-ago sightings.”
“That rip in the sky is just ahead,” Wesley stated. “It seems like we’re going to make it this time.”
It shocked Nicholas to hear Wesley make a joke about the anomaly. It was apparent that even Wes could be shook up.
“Take us dead center to give us space,” Nicholas stated. “Let’s ensure that our sister ships have the clearance they need so we can all move through together.”
As the craft passed the rim of the anomaly, proximity alarms sounded on Jean’s board.
“My scans are picking up a smaller ship entering from the opposite side. It registers as a Ferengi shuttle vessel.”
The ship passed over the yacht and sped earthbound.
“It’s going down near Roswell,” Jean continued. “I’m detecting minor wreckage. Should we assist?”
“Negative,” Nicholas replied without hesitation. “We have no idea what they’re doing here. For all we know, they might be the ones that caused the initial spatial distortion. If we miss this opportunity to leave, I’m not sure if we’ll ever get back to our own time. Plot a course and get us home. We’ll let Admiral Brand know about the Ferengi ship when we hopefully get back to Starfleet.”
Silence bounced off the walls of the cabin as the entire crew watched the view screen in cold anticipation. Nicholas was bathed in perspiration as the ship cleared the distortion. Anticipating the worst, he asked the obvious question.
“What’s our status?”
“Presently, it’s Stardate 45416.43,” replied Sito. “It’s been one hour since we left the Academy even though we’ve been away for more than two. We’re about five minutes away from San Francisco, and lastly, we’ve lost our sister ships.”
“Great,” Nicholas stated and breathed a sigh of relief. He finally noticed the familiar stars winking back at him. “I couldn’t be more proud of you all. Let’s bring this ship home.”
“Nick,” Joshua blurted out. “We’re being hailed. Superintendent Brand is asking how we were able to complete the mission so early. Should I begin sending her an update of what happened to us?”
A minor chuckle rang out throughout the cabin. Nicholas stood up and gripped Joshua’s shoulder tighter than he should have.
“You should live so long, Jos,” Nicholas finally responded. “I’ll handle the debriefing.”
The bright glare of sunlight bathed the Calypso’s shiny surfaces as it descended in the direction of San Francisco toward the landing area of the Academy.