Mini Mission - Genesis
Posted on Wed Sep 2nd, 2026 @ 11:17pm by Captain Rhenora Kaylen & Lieutenant Commander Bonnie "Bon-Bon" Durnell
585 words; about a 3 minute read
Mission:
September
Location: DS9
Timeline: Current
Deep Space Nine - Ops
Captain Kira ran her hand over the red stitching on the white baseball Sisko had left on his desk, wishing he were here to help solve this latest mystery. The station computer, albeit old and decrepit and a hangover from the old Cardassian days was having issues. It had started with little things, hot beverages instead of cold from the replicator, lifts going up not down, or internal transporters going to the wrong location. Kira could feel this was the beginning though, she wished for Miles, he had a knack of wrangling the ancient computer into submission, but he was on Earth, teaching at the Academy.
Then, the lights in the office went out, and the door could be heard clicking as it locked. She stood, moving towards the door with a stride that screamed of a bad mood. The doors refused to part at her approach, also ignoring the keypad on the right hand side.
"Kira to Ops"
Silence.
"Kira to security"
Silence again.
She banged on the door and saw the Ops team dealing with some crisis at the centre console. No one could hear her.
Deep Space Nine had survived worse things than a malfunctioning computer. That was what most people told themselves. The station had been occupied, damaged, rebuilt, invaded, evacuated, reclaimed, and patched together often enough that an errant turbolift or a stubborn replicator barely qualified as an inconvenience. The station had a talent for continuing to function long after normal engineering practices suggested otherwise.
So when the turbolift on Promenade Level Three opened onto an empty maintenance alcove instead of the docking control office, the two technicians inside exchanged a glance, stepped back into the lift, and tried again. The doors closed, the lift hummed and the doors opened again, onto the same alcove. The display insisted they had arrived exactly where they had requested. One tapped the panel again and this time when the doors opened, they were back on the Promenade.
Around them, the station carried on. Vendors called to passing customers. Children moved between the kiosks while their parents attempted to keep up. A cargo team pushed an antigrav pallet toward the habitat ring, complaining loudly about a delivery authorization that had somehow been approved three times and then revoked twice.
A few minutes later, one of the Promenade vendors discovered that her replicator had begun producing coffee whenever she ordered tea. She tried tea again, coffee. She tried water, coffee. The third attempt produced a bowl of steaming jumja pudding. The station's replicator gave a cheerful confirmation tone. Across the Promenade, another replicator produced the same bowl.
Then, the problem spread beyond the Promenade.
A cargo transporter on the habitat ring sent a shipment of medical supplies to the upper pylons. A lighting circuit on the upper promenade dimmed every time someone walked beneath it, then returned to full illumination when they stopped. A security sensor briefly identified a passing Bolian as a Cardassian. Then as a Klingon. Then as a chair. At the time, it looked like just another malfunction. Deep Space Nine had plenty of those. Yet the station continued to operate.
Ships came and went through the docking ports. Cargo moved through the habitat ring. Visitors complained about the wait at the replimat. Merchants argued over docking fees. Engineers crawled through access conduits and cursed Cardassian design philosophy.
Above them all, buried deep within the station's ancient architecture, something continued to make decisions.
TBC
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