“There is no reason to fly through a thunderstorm in peacetime.”

Sign over squadron ops desk at Davis-Monthan AFB, Arizona, 1970

The Hand of God reached down from the cataclysmic heavens and gripped the striving shuttlecraft with its fragile occupants, conspiring to cast it vengefully from the raging sky into the sure destruction of the uncaring grey tundra of competing ocean waves, that heaved discordantly below.

“Hang on folks, we’re in for a ‘little – chop’ here…” Lieutenant Natalie Søgaard murmured unconcernedly as her fingers sought the controls for the inertial-dampeners and she strove to compensate for the worse of the nauseating turbulence that assailed the tiny craft as it fought to stay airborne as it made it’s difficult progress across the endless seas, seemingly the only object of intense focus in the eye of the raging Ion – storm.

Captain Monica McDowell, a seasoned pilot herself, was in equal parts amused and appalled by the diminishment of these truly atrocious flying conditions by her Security Chief to “a ‘little – chop”, in what was surely a masterstroke of gross understatement.

The CO of the USS Astute gripped the handrests of her own seat as the interior of the tiny type – 10 shuttlecraft fairly vibrated and oscillated to such a degree, that she genuinely entertained the possibility that the interior trim of the craft may actually shake itself loose, disgorging cabling and isolinear chips like the gruesome entrails of some technological seabird cut asunder to facilitate some primitive augury.

You didn’t need to scry the entrails of a seagull to appreciate that the storm was gathering in intensity, the further out they got from Mariner’s Deep and the scant protection that was afforded to the Genodyne Systems base-of-operations by the still-functional remnants of the weather control network.

It was a truly awesome display of meteorological wrath on planet – spanning proportions and even Monique found herself re-evaluating the prudence of this trip out beyond the functional boundary of the reach of the damaged artificial weather system.

“To think that this was always blue skies and calm seas as far as the eye could see, some short months ago.” Director Delain remarked dryly as the shuttle attempted to pierce a course through the deluge.

A particularly sickening lurch seemed to punctate Jenna’s remark, as the shuttle suddenly dropped hundreds of meters in a few short seconds as the storm had it’s way with the persistent interloper, so much so that event the native of Encedis# – 5 seemed momentarily taken aback and reminded of her own fragility against the storm.

“We replicated the type – 10 especially for this mission.” Captain McDowell assured the Director, correctly assuming that a change of subject was appropriate to draw attention away from the troublesome, turbulent flight. “This class of shuttlecraft has hardened systems that can withstand the worse effects of the ion – storm that has kept your own fleet grounded. Why don’t you tell us a little about the rig were are headed to? What can we expect?”

Jenna Delain’s complexion looked slightly waxy and pale when the staccato stabs of lightning from outside flashed and illuminated the interior of the shuttle in bright, flash – blub bright relief.

“Well,” The Director began a little queasily. “The rig is quite typical to the network that are situated roughly around the equatorial band of the planet. As we covered in the briefing, their main purpose is the ingestion of mass – quantities of seawater, which is then treated and seeded with elements to promote the healthy growth and multiplication of phytoplankton.”

The shuttle was thrown sideways and Jenna did her best to maintain her composure and continue, as Lieutenant Søgaard wrestled with the controls – reduced to instrument flying – blinded by the tempestuous storm outside.

“They rig itself is a proprietary system, largely independent in its operations with autonomous systems of control and monitoring. Genodyne does maintain a small, crewed element, normally a Crew – chief and a small 4 – man team of technicians to perform routine and unplanned maintenance, but that’s largely to satisfy our union obligations and maintain good relations really.”

Monique found that the distraction was working equally well for her own nerves and cursed again the fact that the severity of Ionic – interference from the perennial solar – storms that wracked the planet also made resort to Transporter – technology so precarious as to totally preclude beaming anywhere as a safe and sensible form of travel.

It was either fly or swim.

“Do they also farm the krill at the rig?” McDowell asked as the interior of the shuttle was again starkly contrasted by a stab of jagged lightning from without.

Jenna shook her head.

“No, the Euphausiacea are spawned in a sterile lab – environment where they are broadcast – spawned into a breeding tank where they are genetically screened for abnormalities and exposed to nutrients and natural antibiotics until the hatch in the nauplius 1 stage.” Director Delian explained the base – science behind the impressive aquaculture operation.

“After an overall inter-moult period of two to seven days the juvenile larvae are the transferred to seeding units that are dispatched to targeted arctic and Antarctic zones where the sea temperature is typically between 30 and 39 °F. Its in these temperature zones that the Krill grow to maturity and are then harvested by our automated trawler units. High-latitude species of krill can live for more than six years, whereas mid – latitude species only for two years and subtropical and tropical species even less.”

Monique nodded, the environmental factors seemed well thought – out. She could see how the rapid acidification caused by the uncontrolled progress of the returned Ion – storms could seriously upset the delicate balance of the fragile food – chain that started here and ended with the hungry mouths of Billions of colonists throughout this system in the former Demilitarized Zone.

“We should be coming up on the rig shortly.” Chief Søgaard confirmed in her smooth, unhurried Danish tone. Monique wondered what it would take for her Security Chief to actually lose her cool – demeanor. In the short time she had known Nat Søgaard since assuming command of the Echelon – class light cruiser, Monique had yet to encounter such a situation.

Greatly relieved, Director Delain unbuckled her seat restraints and tentatively made her way towards the spare seat next to the pilot as Nat confirmed.

“That’s it. Getting a handshake from the outer nav – beacon. Range and heading confirmed.”

From the small oblong of viewscreen that slanted forward, sheeted with a steady slipstream – flecked deluge, all that could be seen was the roiling obscurement of the confounding storm.

“May I?” Jenna Delain enquired, indicating the comms panel.

Not taking her eyes of the instruments for even a moment, Natalie nodded.

“Be my guest.”

Director Delain smiled and opened up a channel to the rig.

“Delta – Three – One approach, this is Director Jenna Delain aboard the Starfleet Shuttle “Sounion”, requesting clearance for landing approach with VIPs onboard.” Jenna sent.

A fizzing static haze was her only greeting.

A frown of consternation began to form on the Director’s face as she re-sent her message.

“Delta – Three – One approach, I say again, this is Director Jenna Delain aboard the Starfleet Shuttle “Sounion”, requesting clearance for landing approach to the pad.”

Still the airwaves refused to offer back confirmation and welcome from the tiny caretaker staff of the mammoth industrial processing platform.

“Maybe the storm is interfering with the signal?” Monique commented and unbuckled herself and came forward, taking hold of the back of Delain’s seat to steady herself and indicated the comms board. “Not unexpected with this level of ionic interference. Nat – try boosting the signal – gain on the secondary antennae array – see if that cleans things up?”

“Aye Captain.” Søgaard nodded and did as she was bidden. She nodded to Jenna, who attempted to raise the rig again.

“Rig Delta – Three – One. Delta – Three – One. Do you copy? Over.”

Nothing.

“Maybe the storm has taken out their transponder?” Natalie ventured as, intent on her instrumentation, she navigated blind  towards the towering aquaculture processing – rig that remained enshrouded in the mystery of the pervading storm.

The Director shook her head, a note of concern suffusing her voice.

“That shouldn’t make any difference. All the systems aboard the rigs are hardened against ionic activity, most with triple redundancies.” The administrator worried aloud.

Just then, the enshroudment of the view forward receded like the raising of a grand drape of a theatre proscenium of storm clouds and the gargantuan – bulk of the massive rig hoved into view, it’s night – black heft suggesting it’s immense scope and size against the dull grey valance of the storm.

“I have visual, on approach.” Søgaard muttered confidently as she brought the tiny shuttle out of the embrace of the lightning – torn clouds and pushed on through the obscuring lashing scythe of persistent and heavy rain.

“Give us a positive – racetrack. Vector & hold at 1000 meters equidistant. Altitude 900.” Captain McDowell commanded the pilot as she took a firm grip of the other seat and, so braced she continued, “Let’s see what there is to see?”

As Nat took the shuttle and gently eased it into an angular vector clockwise to port, beginning a long racetrack – orbit of the mighty rig, Director Delain was able to gain a more advantageous view of the rig and its infrastructure.

“No obvious signs of damage.” Jenna observed. “Everything looks locked down, but that’s standard protocol during a storm.”

In the relatively calmer air around the footprint of the rig, the “Sounion” described its gentle arc around the bewilderingly complex assemblage of industrial machinery – a veritable fly against the elephant’s flank.

“External lighting is operable and the nav – beacon is obviously functioning.” The Director sounded puzzled. “Wait! That’s odd…?” She murmured almost to herself.

Monique craned over Jenna’s seat, her lush afro brushing & flattening slightly against the cramped cockpit – roof.

“What is?”

She followed the director’s finger, as she pressed it up against the side viewport, the line indicating to the vast bundle of immense pipes that issued forth from the base of the platform and disappeared into the smash of ocean many hundreds of feet below.

“The intake and outlet manifolds aren’t operating.” Director Delain sounded intensely concerned.

Monique could see where the mammoth pipes met the ocean.

“Is that unusual?” She asked.

Jenna Delain turned back to the Captain, her grey eyes serious.

“It’s not unusual – it’s impossible! These facilities are designed to operate almost in perpetuity. They never supposed to stop processing! Even in the event of a catastrophic breakdown, there are secondary systems that should come online to ensure that the rig never ceases round-the-clock function. Something is very wrong, Captain McDowell. Very wrong indeed!”

Monique frowned as she took a few moments to evaluate the unfolding situation.

“Very well.” McDowell decided and spoke to Nat. “Lieutenant, can you make a landing?”

Lieutenant Søgaard broke the  “Sounion” from its racetrack orbit and made a pass over the rig proper.

“Affirmative Ma’am.”” Nat nodded confidently. “Pad looks clear on visual; instruments read a hell of a crosswind that’ll make things interesting. I’d advise you hang on to your hats if you intend on going out there.”

“Understood.” The CO confirmed. “Open a channel to the Astute. Let Commander Kottu know that we have lost contact with the rig and are going to attempt a landing in an effort to re-stablish communication with her crew and assess the operational  – capability of the facility.”

“Aye Captain.” Nat began and then countered. “Wait one. Negative Ma’am. The ionic interference localized in the volume is also preventing surface to orbital communication too. I can take us up above the storm to squirt the message. The effect might be lesser up there?”

Monique pursed her lips.

“And it may not.” She shook her head. “It’s probably nothing, but let’s work on the assumption that something is wrong aboard the platform. There are people down there and they may be in need of our immediate assistance. Encode the message into a message buoy and launch where ready, the Astute will be able to track and receive our message from the transponder once in orbit.”

“Aye Captain. Downloading.”

Captain Monique McDowell turned back to a now visibly – nervous Director Delain.

“Director, we’re going to establish contact and get to the bottom of this, I assure you.” Monique smiled reassuringly.

“Thank you Captain.” Jenna smiled wanly.

McDowell turned to retake her seat and strap herself in for a bumpy landing.

“All part of the job, Director.” Monique smiled, then ordered.

“Lieutenant. Take us in.”