“Holding position one light minute out from anomaly, captain.”

Captain Beardsly acknowledged the report from helm with a nod that the helmsman couldn’t see. He waited patiently for an update from ops.

“Getting better sensor readings now. Life signs are… Klingon, sir. They are now hailing us.” Bishop announced.

“Klingon scientists, in a repurposed freighter, eh? Something is not as it seems here. Stay on your toes everyone, on screen.” Beardsly sat up a little straighter in his chair and prepared himself.

The image of a battered old freighter in front of him was replaced with a snarling Klingon face.

“This is captain Klarn! What do you want, Starfleet?”

Marcus Beardsly raised an eyebrow. “This is Captain Beardsly and the USS Truckee. We got your distress call… did you not want any assistance?”

The Klingon commander snorted and waived a hand dismissively. “That was sent by my former first officer. He is… feeding the targs now.” The Klingon chuckled at his own joke, then continued. “We found this anomaly first, and claim its secrets.”

Commander Aldiib met eyes with Marcus and furrowed his brow, as if to say claiming scientific analysis?

Marcus stood and took a few steps towards the viewscreen. “Ah, hm.” Not very professional, but the Klingon’s response had stumped him. “We have no interest in stopping your scientific research. But our sensors show you’re in a bit of a bind… We just came to help you break free. We can tractor onto you and pull you out…?”

Klarn scowled at Marcus. He looked about to dismiss him entirely, but then turned his head, as if listening to someone off screen. Turning back towards the viewscreen, Klarn’s expression had softened slightly. “My engineer tells me this useless bucket of bolts will become two buckets of bolts if I don’t accept…”

Marcus waited patiently, working to keep a smirk off his face.

“…I accept, damn it! Pull us out of here before we’re crushed. I still expect you to keep your sensors on passive only. No interrogative! This is OUR anomaly.” Klarn practically spit the last words.

Wasting no time, Marcus began issuing orders. “Helm, bring us in close. Slowly. I want to maximize distance. Engineering, see what kind of boost you can provide to the tractor beam. I need range. Ops, keep an eye on the gravimetric distortions. Eyes open, people. There won’t be another ship coming to the rescue if we get pulled in.”

Orders acknowledged, the bridge crew flew into action. The ship’s impulse engines flared to life, pushing the little California-class ship in towards the trapped freighter. A keen observer would notice the deflector dish started to glow a little brighter, right before a translucent, blue-green tractor beam lunged out and grabbed hold of the freighter.

“Captain, tractor beam locked. We have them.” Lieutenant Commander Bishop reported. “Distortions are getting worse. Shields are unable to completely protect us.”

As if to punctuate his warning, the ship rocked suddenly. Hands gripped armrests and panels as the bridge crew struggled to keep their feet.

Marcus glanced quickly at Klarn on the viewscreen. “We’ve got you.” Then, he sat back down in his seat and braced himself. “Helm, get us out of here. Full reverse.”

The Truckee began to back away. Marcus allowed himself a breath, realizing he’d been holding it. The ship had almost stopped shuddering when he saw Klarn’s eyes grow wide with rage on the viewscreen.

“What are you doing?! We told you this data was ours! I will not allow you to possess it.” The transmission ended, replaced with an image of the freighter and the heart of the anomaly in the backdrop.

“Captain, they’re charging weapons! They’re firing!” The tactical officer sputtered in disbelief. Suddenly, a green disruptor beam lanced out from the freighter’s bow. Whether through shear tactical genius or pure luck, the disruptor beam passed straight through the Truckee‘s shields, which were barely holding on against the anomaly’s effects. Striking the port nacelle, the disruptor carved a jagged path along the ship’s plating and into the delicate warp coils.

Lights on the bridge flickered. The ship lurched, and this time Marcus couldn’t keep his balance. He tumbled out of his chair, only to be caught by his XO before bashing his face into the floor.

“Report.” commanded Peldun Aldiib, in a calm but serious tone.

“Main power at 66%. Our port warp coil overloaded. Tractor beam is out… The Klingon vessel is falling into the anomaly. We are falling into the anomaly!” Bishop announced with alarm. This little ‘adventure’ was a far cry from the type of duty he craved. Nothing beat an empty duty shift, with nothing to do but science.

Marcus watched in horror as the anomaly grew on their screen.

In the astrometrics lab, Lieutenant Frank Levine pulled a data chip from the console and slipped it into his pocket. He’d collected all the information he needed. Mission accomplished. He deleted his tracks in the computer, then exited the electronic backdoor he’d used to access the ship’s sensor array. There’d be no trace of his work here, and he’d left his badge in a corner of Engineering so he couldn’t be tracked.

Slipping into the jeffries tube, Frank closed the wall panel behind him and made his way back to Engineering.

0800 next day, Briefing Room

“I’ve done a full sweep of the area, sir. There’s no sign of the freighter. By that I mean no ship, no debris, no energy signatures. According to my sensors, they were pulled into the anomaly, but after that, I have no data.” Bishop finished his report, shaking his head. He had no idea what the fate of that ship was. He’d watched it disappear right before his eyes. At the time, he’d been more concerned with his imminent demise, but since that clearly hadn’t happened… The mystery bothered him.

“…and what about us, Mr. Bishop? Why are we still here?” Marcus prompted his head of science department.

Bishop awkwardly pushed himself back to his feet. “Ah, apologies sir. The anomaly appeared to simply cease to exist. Sensors show it disappeared the precise moment the freighter reached the center, but I have no explanation as to why. I was not” he emphasized, “utilizing active sensors, but even passively-collected data should show some sort of radiation surge or gravimetric pulse from an anomaly of that kind. Instead, we picked up nothing.”

Marcus turned his head to stare out the viewport. This had been a disaster. There was no other way to describe it. They’d botched a rescue attempt, apparently provoked an attack, and almost lost their own ship because of it. They were only alive due to circumstances they couldn’t even explain! Marcus lightly tapped the table with his closed fist, managing to contain the majority of his frustration.

“Very well. I expect full departmental reports by end of day. Dismissed.” As the senior staff shuffled out, Marcus began mentally drafting his own report. Probably my last report as captain, he thought.

Frank Levine sat at his desk in his quarters. The lights were off, and his face was only barely lit by the glow of his console. The private theatrics were the one whim he allowed himself. He was alone, out of danger, not even suspected. There was no need to be secretive at this point.

He keyed up a transmission to his mission handler, who was manning a desk at spacedock for appearances’ sake. Frank sighed when the call didn’t connect. Was the man asleep? He was about to try again, when he realized… the problem wasn’t a lack of response. The transmission wasn’t going through. In fact, the ship wasn’t even connecting to the communication relay in the next sector.

Frank logged into the ship’s sensor grid. Checking long range logs, Frank narrowed his eyes. There was nothing. Past their immediate sector… sensors were reading nothing at all.