Operation Error
Posted on Sat Jul 11th, 2026 @ 1:31am by Petty Officer 2nd Class Keith Potter & Ensign Emilynn Dove & Ensign Nevin Brax
2,693 words; about a 13 minute read
Mission:
Flashbacks and Side Quests
Location: USS Firebird
[ON]
The door chime outside Ensign Nevin Brax’s quarters sounded for the third time before the door finally slid open.
Nevin took one look at the visitor standing in the corridor and froze, blinking several times as a faint blue glow illuminated the doorway.
Suddenly, he broke into a doubled-over, full-bodied bout of laughter, and it took him several moments to catch his breath before speaking.
"Computer, reduce corridor illumination by twenty-five percent. We appear to have our own light source,” he managed, barely getting the words out.
<=>Unable to comply. Corridor illumination is locked at standard levels per ship-wide safety protocols. Level 5 authorization required. <=>
Nevin grabbed the doorframe for support, still laughing.
Emilynn Dove stood in the corridor with her arms crossed, expression flat.
A bright blue biofilter gel coated her face and uniform, shimmering softly under the corridor lighting.
“Are you quite finished?” she asked.
“No.” Nevin pointed at her. “The last time I saw something this bright, I thought we’d flown into a star.”
He laughed again.
“You look like a navigational hazard beacon.”
“I know.”
“You’re practically visible through bulkheads at this point.”
“I know.”
“You came here like this on purpose?”
“I came here for help.”
Nevin stepped aside, still shaking with laughter.
“Come in, Glowstick.”
Emilynn’s glare sharpened.
“Really? In my time of need, you’re going to mock me? Some friend you are.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”
She entered.
The doors slid shut behind her.
Nevin collapsed onto the sofa, still grinning.
“All right. Explain. This is going to be good,” he said, rubbing his hands together, anticipating her every word.
Emilynn dropped into the chair opposite him, unamused.
“Look at me. I can’t believe I have to walk around like this,” she said, clearly hoping for sympathy, but what she got was something far less.
“Yeah, I thought everyone at the Academy wa—”
“Nevin!” she snapped.
“Sorry. Go on.”
“So we were doing transporter maintenance.”
Nevin nodded, still smiling. “Uh-huh. Figured as much.”
“Keith Potter.”
That got a reaction. His grin didn’t fade—it widened as the situation clicked into place.
“Ah,” he said, quickly trying and failing to keep a straight face.
“He was recalibrating biofilter systems. I was assigned to assist him.”
Nevin leaned back. “I see.” He chuckled, already anticipating where this was going.
“I was given a diagnostic scanner.”
“And let me guess,” Nevin said. “He told you to monitor pressure readings.”
Emilynn’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“Then he opened a maintenance line.”
“Yes.”
“Then it suddenly vented,” Nevin said, gesturing at her face.
“Yes… into my face.”
Nevin lost control again, dropping forward with laughter.
“Nevin! Stop! I can’t believe you’re laughing at my expense. You’re enjoying this,” she said flatly.
“I am not enjoying this,” he managed between breaths. “I’m appreciating it. There’s a difference.”
When he finally recovered, Emilynn continued.
“It’s harmless biofilter gel. He said the luminescent adhesion is only temporary.”
“Temporary?” Nevin repeated, still amused. “If you consider a few days temporary.”
“Days? Are you kidding?” she practically yelled.
“I’m afraid not,” he said, studying her condition with new respect. “You’re going to be a walking safety beacon for the next two or three days at least.”
“I suspect this was not an accident,” Emilynn said.
“You think?” Nevin laughed softly through his nose. “I don’t know if I should pity you or scold you. Seriously, Emilynn, didn’t you ever hear the stories at the Academy?”
“Nevin!” she warned, lightly striking his leg.
He leaned forward. “And you came here because…?”
Her expression shifted. “Because I want your help.”
“I’m not sure how I can help you, Glowstick,” he said with a grin. “This seems more like a problem for the doctor, or maybe a science officer.”
“Not help with this,” she said, pointing at her face.
“Then what, exactly?” he asked carefully.
She held his gaze.
“Let’s just say I want Potter to realize he messed with the wrong woman.”
“And how exactly do you expect me to help you with that?” Nevin asked.
“Nothing dangerous. Just something inconvenient for him.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t know. I don’t have ideas. That’s why I’m here. Help me figure this out.”
Silence passed as they sat staring at each other.
“Look what he did to me!” she prodded.
“Are you sure he did it on purpose?”
“What do you think?” she asked sarcastically.
“Yeah, okay.” Nevin leaned back, studying her and thinking for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers.
“You’re thinking retaliation. I’m thinking composition.”
He stood and moved toward his desk console.
“Composition?” Emilynn asked, standing and following him.
“Yes. A structured arrangement of small effects. A series of non-critical minor system variances so the end result feels consistent—but not intentional.”
The console lit under his fingers.
“Nothing obvious enough to scream sabotage—that wouldn’t be any fun,” he continued. “Just some subtle deviations. The kind that feel like operator error, lagging interfaces, or the ship simply being slightly less cooperative, like he’s having an off day.”
Emilynn stepped closer. “What kind of deviations?”
Nevin smiled faintly.
“Nothing huge, just something to slow his day down.”
He began listing adjustments as he worked.
“Transporter interface occasionally requires a second confirmation on routine sequences. Not every time, just often enough that he starts second-guessing himself.”
“Command inputs that don’t always register cleanly on the first attempt. No errors, just silent re-prompts.”
“Diagnostic logs that don’t fail, but occasionally don’t fully save. Nothing lost—just enough incomplete entries that he has to rerun them.”
His fingers moved steadily across the console.
Emilynn frowned. “So everything just… slows down.”
“Exactly.”
Nevin glanced back at her.
“And we can go a step further. He runs a lot of diagnostics, so we can modify calibration settings for all non-urgent diagnostic routines. That will extend diagnostic cycle durations. We’ll set it so it doesn’t interface with any critical systems—he’ll be hard-pressed to notice.”
Emilynn studied him. “So there’ll be no way for him to trace it?”
Nevin’s expression turned satisfied.
“No. It’ll register as standard system variance. He’s a smart guy, so he’ll probably catch on eventually, but my guess is it’ll take a few days.”
He glanced at her glowing complexion again.
“About as long as it’ll take for your glowing luminescence to dissipate.”
Emilynn nodded.
“I like it. Do it.”
Nevin turned back to the console.
“With pleasure.”
Keith Potter was feeling very satisfied with himself. He'd managed to pull the old biofilter gag on Ensign Dove. She was a good kid, but very gullible. He couldn't understand how someone who came from a Starfleet background could be so clueless sometimes. Then again, she came from an officer family.
Even better, he only had to do a final systems check on the transporter, and he would be on a three-day pass. He was heading to Mars to visit an old friend, and the two of them were going to eat, drink, and be merry. Hopefully enough to get into a little trouble.
He tapped the initiation sequence on the transporter control console until he reached the maintenance display. He then entered the admin role and started the scan. It should only take a few minutes.
Fifteen minutes later, the scan was still running, far longer than a normal one should have taken.
"Computer, determine the cause of the delay in the transporter systems check process," he said.
<=>The transporter system check is being delayed by multiple system variances<=>
Keith frowned. The system had been nearly perfect the last couple of days. "Display variances," he said.
The computer produced a schematic of the transporter systems. Four were flagged yellow, indicating a serious variance. As Keith looked further into the problem, he realized that whatever had happened was going to take a very long time to fix.
"So much for leave," he said and let out a long sigh. Old Potter would have blown it off and gone to Mars. But the new Potter, after meeting with Lieutenant Woodhouse, was trying to be better at his job.
Three Days Later
Keith crawled out from under the transporter pad, his face marred with lubrication putty. His face was haggard after working so many hours in such a short period of time. He'd replaced three transporter relays, updated one firmware system, and run a level three diagnostic.
"Computer, please display the results of the diagnostic," he said, getting to his feet.
<=>One variance remains<=>
He sighed. "What is the variance?"
<=>Transporter pad four is out of alignment by one hundred seventy-three microns<=>
Keith frowned and ran a hand through his hair. How was that possible? He'd had an emergency beam out yesterday, and it had worked perfectly. He moved to the console and began digging. He compared the function report from the rescue of a dockyard worker with the current setting, and... something was off.
One hour later
Keith was impressed. Angry but impressed. After an hour of digging, using systems that only the transporter chief or chief engineer had access to, he knew he'd been had. He stepped to the transporter, found his target, made sure that she wasn't in a meeting, on duty, or using a facility that would cause extreme embarrassment, and then energized.
Emilynn had been enjoying a rare moment of peace in her quarters with a good book. Not an operations report or a technical manual. Not even the latest scientific journal she so often found herself reading. But a real book. A mystery.
She was just reaching the good part, the moment where she was finally going to find out who the perpetrator was, with a small bowl of ice cream beside her and absolutely nothing requiring her attention.
For once, she was simply relaxing.
She had just taken another spoonful, with the perfect amount of fudge mixed in, when the world changed.
The transporter shimmer faded.
Emilynn stood perfectly still, the spoon still in her hand.
She blinked once, twice.
A moment ago, she had been sitting comfortably in the familiar lighting of her quarters.
Now she was standing in darkness.
She waited for the computer to announce her location and for the lights to turn on. When neither happened, that was the first indication something was wrong.
The second was the silence.
Not the normal quiet that the ship settled into during a night shift.
No, this was different. Almost unsettling.
"Computer, lights." She ordered.
A few dim emergency strips flickered on, nothing more.
Emilynn looked around.
She was standing in a narrow maintenance corridor surrounded by conduits, access panels, and systems she had never touched before. It was immediately clear to her that she had never been here before.
She tapped her comm badge.
"Computer, location."
<=>Deck Seven. Section Four. Subsection C. Auxiliary Maintenance Access.<=>
Emilynn frowned.
She searched her memory, trying to place the location. Nothing came to her.
She knew the Firebird layout, or at least the important systems, the crew areas, the places people actually used. But this section was unfamiliar. Not because it wasn’t on the schematics, but because it wasn’t somewhere anyone normally went.
This was the kind of access area used during major repairs, refits, or shipyard inspections.
Not a place you ended up while enjoying ice cream.
She looked down at the spoon still in her hand, the ice cream slowly dripping to the floor.
She sighed and set it aside.
"Computer, how far am I from normal crew areas?"
The computer chirped.
<=>Nearest crew-accessible corridor: 103 meters. Current location has minimal access junctions.<= >
Emilynn stared down the corridor. The long stretch of emergency lighting, exposed conduits, and unfamiliar access panels disappeared into the darkness.
"Potter."
Apparently, he had figured out the modifications she and Nevin had made.
She opened the only access panel she found. The smallest Jefferies tube she had ever seen stared back at her.
Emilynn shook her head.
"No. Computer, initiate site-to-site transport to my previous location."
<=>Unable to comply. Transporter operations have been suspended<=>
"Suspended?"
<=>Affirmative.<=>
She folded her arms.
"By who?" She asked but already knew the answer.
<=>Transporter operations have been suspended by Petty Officer Second Class Keith Potter.<=>
There was a long silence.
Emilynn looked at the Jefferies tube again.
"Really?"
<=>Affirmative.<=>
"I wasn’t talking to you."
The computer did not respond.
She climbed inside. Ten minutes later, she realized several things.
One: These Jefferies tubes were much smaller than they looked on the schematics. Even for her small frame, it was a tight fit, leaving her wondering how any normal-sized engineer did their job.
Two: This tube covered a considerable distance.
Three: Potter had absolutely chosen this route, the one that required the most crawling.
"Computer, add a note to my personal log."
<=>Please specify note<=>
She looked down the endlessly dark maintenance tube.
"Never prank someone with transporter authorization."
<=>Note added<=>
Emilynn sighed and continued crawling. Eventually, she reached the end of the tube.
She released the access handle and climbed out into the well-lit corridor.
And there stood none other than Petty Officer Second Class Keith Potter with the biggest, most satisfied grin on his face.
Keith had tracked Ensign Dove's progress in the Jeffries tube and then transported himself to the exit a moment before she arrived.
“Well, well, well. What have we here? An ensign crawling through the tubes? Sir, don’t you know that us enlisted types are supposed to do the dirty work for you smarter, more capable officers?” he asked.
“Ha. Real funny.”
Emilynn brushed the dust from her uniform and ran a hand through her disheveled hair, only to make it worse with her sticky fingers.
“Fine. You got me. But let’s not forget how this started, Potter. The biofilter gel was your idea.”
A faint smile crossed her face.
“I can think of a few ways to return this favor.” She glanced back at the hatch. “But I think we’ve both made our point. For both our sakes, I’m offering a truce.”
She held out her sticky hand.
“Truce?”
She tilted her head and watched him.
“Or would you rather explain to the captain how the ship’s transporter systems became part of a prank war?”
Potter pursed his lips and nodded. "You make a strong argument, Ensign Dove," he said. "However, there's one remaining piece of business. I traced the point of origin for the commands that changed the transporter operations code. It didn't lead to your quarters. It led to Ensign Brax's quarters. So, I think it is only fair if he also makes the crawl through the Jeffries tubes like you just did."
Emilynn was quiet for a moment.
"To be fair, Nevin only got involved because I asked him to."
She considered it a moment longer.
"Well... he did laugh at me. Far longer than any good friend should."
A devious smile slowly crept across her face.
"I think you're right. He should."
A soft laugh escaped her lips.
"You really do commit to a prank, don't you?"
"I really do," Keith said with a wide grin and shook her hand. "It's the only way to do it." He tapped his combadge. "Computer, locate Ensign Brax."
<=>Ensign Brax is on deck three, main corridor moving aft<=>
"Initiate point-to-point transport from Ensign Brax's current position to location Potter seven-two." Keith winked at Emilynn.
<=>Transport confirmed<=>
A scream echoed down the Jeffries tube.
[OFF]
Ensign Emilynn Dove
Operations Officer
USS Firebird NCC-88298
Ensign Nevin Brax (NPC by Dove)
Matter/Energy Systems Specialist
USS Firebird NCC-88298
Petty Officer 2nd Class Keith Potter (NPC by Llwyedd)
Transporter Specialist
USS Firebird NCC-88298
RSS Feed