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  1. ((Sick Bay, USS Garuda)) Core: I'll talk to her tonight, see if she's willing, and then if she agrees, we'll come here. Del Vedova: Good. Let me know when you're coming, and I'll set aside a private room. Core: You can do that? Del Vedova: It's one of the perks to being chief of a department. Core: I guess it is . . . but I can only ask. Del Vedova: Let me know, Commander. But don't wait too long. I'd like to know as quickly as possible, and it can only help whatever case we may build by hurrying. Core: I’ll ask her tonight then. Maybe I’ll actually have good luck for once. ((Roshanara Rahman’s quarters, later that evening)) Rahman: Are you $%@#-ing serious? ::Well, so much for good luck.:: Rahman: After everything that’s happened, you thought we’d still have a dinner date? You’re lucky I didn’t send a feedback pulse through the door lock -- which you *deserve*, by the way! Core: That wasn’t my intention. I’m here to make sure you were okay. ::The Kriosian gave another frustrated breath before turning away.:: Rahman: All right, you came and saw that I’m still alive and fine. I appreciate it. ::She turned back to him and pointed to the door.:: Rahman: Now *get out*. ::This was getting out of hand. He needed to actually talk to Roshanara, not be kicked out of her quarters. He couldn’t let this happen - not yet.:: Core: Roshanara- ::Her eyes narrowed, and her voice was firm.:: Rahman: That wasn’t a suggestion. Core: I don’t care. You know what? I outrank you now. And I’m not leaving. Rahman: ::scoffs:: Oh, so now you’re going to lecture me about respecting the chain of command? ::This was getting him nowhere, but he sure as hell was not leaving these quarters. It was now just a matter of making sure she knew that.:: Core: [...] straight. I am not leaving whether you like it or not. You want to be a &@$%#? Fine. Let’s go. ::He held his arms out.:: Have at it, Commander. ::She returned a look of disbelief.:: Rahman: *What* are you doing? Core: You obviously require stress relief. Rahman: You obviously require a mental check. Core: I could say the same for you. ::It was as if every sound in the room vanished at that moment. Roshanara gave a look that would have turned men twice Tristam’s size to stone.:: Rahman: *What* did you just say? Core: I talked to del Vedova. I know about your neurodegenerative disease. ::Well, so much for breaking it to her slowly. But in all honesty, the Rodulan didn’t see any other choice but to put it to her bluntly.:: ::The invitation he had given earlier for her to hit him was really tempting her now. She closed the distance between them into striking range. Her voice was raw with fury.:: Rahman: You don’t know *anything*! And you had no right to talk to him! Core: You’re right. I didn’t. But you gave me no *choice*, Roshanara! I’ll be [...]ed if someone hauls you away from this ship without trying to prevent it first! ::She looked up at him, and for a moment, it looked as if Tristam was going to get slapped. Instead, though, Roshanara abruptly turned away and headed for the door.:: Core: Where the hell do you think you’re going? ::She didn’t answer as she exited into the corridor.:: Core:::muttering.:: For f- ugh. ::He started to follow her.:: Rahman! Rahman: Leave me alone! Core: Not until you tell me what the hell is going on with you! And certainly not before I’m certain you remain aboard this ship! ::She made it to a Jefferies tube access hatch, but when she tried to pry it open, the computer answered with a resolute chirp of denial.:: Rahman: ::under her breath:: [...] it, you piece of #$*%! ::She pounded the side of her fist against the hatch.:: Core: You can’t hide from me, Roshanara. ::She turned back to see the Rodulan closing in on her. She hit her hand hard against the closed hatch again, the pain shooting across her knuckles.:: Rahman: Stop. Just stop already! What do you think you’re going to do? Come save the day? Go back in time and prevent what happened? Rescue me? Core: You and I both know that all of those things are impossible. I can’t change what happened, I know that. But at least I can prevent it from happening again! ::He gave a frustrated sigh, a hand flying up to scratch the back of his neck as he begun pacing again. But when he looked back at her, he saw now tears welling up in her eyes.:: Rahman: You *can’t*! All right? There’s nothing you, Del… nothing *anyone* can do to prevent it from happening again! Core: That’s not true. Rahman: I thought I had time. Captain Kells tried to warn me. But it’s too late now... ::Tristam frowned. Kells? The ex-Captain who hadn’t wanted to take a leadership role? Hadn’t there been *two* Kells?:: Core: You mean the Kells that disappeared, right? Not the one that I met on Bocasa? ::She nodded, wiping her eyes. She proceeded to tell him about the future that Aron Kells had remembered. A future where one year from now, Roshanara had been not only removed from her post but dismissed from Starfleet entirely before spending the next ten years in various medical and mental institutions. The last time he had seen her before he had returned to the past, she had apparently been living as an outcast on a desolate world.:: Rahman: You can’t prevent it from happening again, Tristam, because it’s *not* a disease! It’s who I am. Core: Roshanara Rahman. ::He shook his head, crouching down to be eye level with her.:: I thought you were better than this. ::She sniffed her runny nose.:: Rahman: Better? Core: It’s the *future*, Rahman! Nothing is ever *definite*. Every little decision, choice, comment, *anything*, changes what happens tomorrow, next year and even *ten years from now*. Sure, maybe you have this . . . thing that’s you, but you can’t believe in a future that you were told by a Kells that wasn’t even real, a future that - even if it was real once - has obviously changed from the moment he told you. Rahman: *Physiology* doesn’t change! ::She balled her hands into fists, but she let the anger subside into sadness and frustration. He didn’t get it. And so finally, she said aloud to Tristam what Aron Kells had said to her that night in sickbay that had changed everything.:: Rahman: Tristam, I’m a metamorph. ::Her voice trembled as she said the word, as if it were a shameful epithet.:: ::Tristam blinked. Having a father that was familiar with everything telepathic and empathic, Tristam found himself well-versed in other telepathic species - something that happens when your father calls you every morning with nothing but work to talk about.:: Core: A metamorph? But . . . ::he frowned again.:: On the Pioneer, you weren’t . . . Rahman: I know. ::She looked away, unable to face those dark eyes and their judgement.:: It’s called the Finiis'ral. Basically a stage of life where a metamorph prepares to imprint on someone for the rest of his or her life. ::Tristam nodded. He hadn’t known the specific term, but he was already familiar with the whole concept. Kriosians were an odd bunch. Spots like Trills. People that could become someones “perfect mate”. Sure, empathic abilities were a pain in the behind sometimes, but they could be quite useful at times, too. He didn’t see why this was such a bad thing in Rahman’s eyes. . . ::Oh . . . no. Now he kind of understood.:: Core: Ross . . . He wasn’t . . . right? You two weren’t . . . ::This was going to be an awfully awkward conversation if he *was*.:: ::She returned an indignant look.:: Rahman: No! Absolute not! Core: Then . . . You’re going to have to explain this to me. I only know so much about metamorphs, and I honestly don’t know what the problem is here. Rahman: The problem is I tried to fix something when I didn’t know what was really going on. ::Tristam’s eyebrows shot up. That was basically breaking one of the main rules in the book! As an Engineer, you don’t go poking something that just *acted* broken - you had to get a good look at it first, determine if it was still doing its job, and just make sure it didn’t need a little oiling instead of a replacement. ::This is what happens when you’re a propulsionist.:: Rahman: Two years ago, when the changes first started, I was scared. Del and the other doctors didn’t know what to make of me, and then when one of the neurosurgeons onboard offered a chance at an experimental procedure that could solve everything, I took it. ::Gamighan Core would have tied her to a chair, rattling off all the risks and consequences that may occur before he’d let her go through that procedure. Tristam pinched the bridge of his nose, already hearing his father’s possible reaction to all this..:: Core: Well it’s obviously too late to scold you. Rahman: I know. I knew the risks, and I know it’s my own fault now what’s happened. ::But what had happened? She still hadn’t said it yet.:: Rahman: Dr. Ven had hoped the use of specialized nanites would help strengthen the neurons that appeared to have been weakened by that unknown “neurodegenerative disease” you mentioned. Core: And? Rahman: Well, the procedure worked. Except, strengthening the neurons of a metamorph meant that the neuroplasticity was reinforced. In other words, Tristam, I’ll *never* finalize on someone. I’ll always change based on those around me, and what Captain Kells saw in the future--what he had warned me about--was that eventually, I had become unable to live with the stimulus of those around me. Unable to lead, unable to serve in Starfleet. Unable to function in daily life. ::The Rodulan took a solid seat on the deck in front of her, running his hands through his hair.:: Core: . . . that’s how Ross got you to disable the security feeds. He found out you’re a metamorph and used that to help him sabotage the ship. ::Now Tristam *really* wanted to punch him when and if the Rodulan ever saw him again.:: Rahman: Do you have any idea how humiliating it is? To know that you can become so vulnerable to someone else’s whims? That it is only days later that you wonder why you did something, and yet another part of you still feels there was nothing wrong about it? That you’d do it again in a heart beat because of how good it made you feel? Core: No . . . ::She wiped her eyes again.:: Rahman: [...] it, Tristam, I’m the chief engineer of a starship in the Federation Starfleet! ::Or, she *was*.:: Rahman: But none of that mattered when he came to me. I was just a simple cog in the system he found useful to manipulate. And I did so. *Willingly*. ::Tristam sighed again. She’d admitted to doing it, yes, but Tristam could still see a part of her fighting.: Core: Don’t think for one minute that you did what you did *willingly*. ::She looked down at him, sitting in front of her, doubtful about how true that was, but she *wanted* to believe him. Maybe it was true? She listened earnestly as he explained.:: Core: When I watched that tape, the angle you came in, your hesitation, every little action you took *before* you disabled the systems? Maybe you did them subconsciously, I don’t know. But it looked to me like you were deliberately trying to get caught. That you *knew* it was wrong. ::He wasn’t going to accept the possibility that Ross had completely gotten into her head.:: Rahman: ...I hope you’re right. Core: I’m always right. ::For the first time in the night, Roshanara let out a small smile. Somehow, Tristam had managed to surprise her.:: ::And then, it was at that moment, alone in the small corridor of Deck 35, that Roshanara realized how clearly she felt here just with Tristam and her. It made sense, though, didn't he? With that four-lobed Rodulan brain of his, it meant that Tristam was immune to the prying minds of telepaths and empaths, including Kriosian metamorphs.:: ::She sat down next to him and wrapped her arms around him in a hug, resting her head on his shoulder.:: Rahman: God, you are unbearable, you know that? Core: Nothing I haven’t heard before. ::he chuckled:: ::As surprised as he was from this strange act from Rahman, he pulled her into a proper hug. They could get through this. Even if your physiology was making it difficult, or even if a strange man from the future said things would end badly - there was always a way.:: --- Lt. Commander Tristam Core Acting Chief Engineer USS Garuda & Lt. Commander Roshanara Rahman Under Investigation Awaiting Transfer into Custody of StarBase 118 JAG
  2. ((USS Garuda, R'raika Voss quarters)) :: Voss considered her quarters- Starfleet had years to perfect the sterile environment they expected their crews to live in, and in Voss's estimation they had done a brilliant job. It was cold, harsh- 'neutral'- and almost certainly maddening. She had succeeded at getting them to set the gravity of her quarters to something much closer to that of Vulcan. She had only ever set foot on Vulcan once, as a small child- and with luck she would never need get close to her home world again. Still, the higher gravity was comfortable, like a soft blanket- and it left her feeling more at ease. She'd even shifted the environmental controls so that the very air in the room was like Vulcan- thin and reedy when compared to the rest of the ship. If this was to be her sanctuary- she should make the most of it. :: Voss:: Computer, set the temperature to forty-three degrees Celsius. :: Voss paced through the room, as the computer adjusted the temperature she looked over the piles of rugs she had purchased from the Ferengi Mjort, he had been a very bad tongo player- but his selections of cloth, tapestries, and other creature comforts had been “Second to none!” in his own words- he had been more than glad to end his debts to the Vulcan with a selection from his storerooms, a small dose of oo-mox had gotten her a good deal on the rest- the sheets of Andorian silk for her bed were one of the better prizes. :: Voss: Computer, lower the humidity in this room- no more than ten percent at any time. :: Voss counted out the rugs, six were fairly large and would served to cover up the functional if ugly carpet they had installed- she rolled each one out and set to work, making sure each overlapped in the best way- after a short moment her floor was covered, and cushier. She gave a little bounce and felt the soft fibers nuzzle the soles of her bare feet. This was perfect, soft, wonderful, perfection. True- the rugs clashed with each other- and if you looked at the floor too long you might suffer from a sudden onset of vertigo, or seizures. Thankfully, Voss found the disharmony charming- she quickly unrolled the seventh rug, it was the smallest of the bunch, but the most import- traditionally it would go outside her front door, but exceptions had to be made. She set the mat in front of her door, the Terran words, “WELCOME” challenging anyone who entered. :: :: The curtains were an easy affair to set up, she only had a few windows in this room of hers, but it was nice to be able to block out the void of space when she wanted to. She stretched and took a time out, sitting down on her bed and letting her fingers run across the new sheets- for a moment her thoughts went back to that last fight, the person she fought- she blushed slightly and stood up, running her fingers through her hair and crossing over to her desk. There sat a dozen or more crumpled bits of paper- each baring her scrawled handwriting. They were supposed to be apologies, but each had come out sounding more like a love letter than the last. She thought of destroying them, better no evidence existed, but each crumpled paper was a thought, and it gave her desk a used, messy feel. The desire for a cluttered existence won out and she let them lie where they were. :: Voss: Computer, dim lights to seventy percent. :: The rest of the setup went fairly easily- Voss had a preference for floor cushions over chairs and now she had quite a few piles of them- not that she actually expected any guests. The largest were more suitable for lounging full body in, the smaller were scattered around the small table she'd found. It's edging was Terran oak, but the center piece was an inlay of various hard woods from around the galaxy- it's very disorder was order. She set her kal-toh board on one corner, wondering if she could get speed kal-toh to do better on this ship than she had at the academy. The final moments of decoration were placing her weapons in the most practical spots- not so much for display but functional and rapid defense. The wall hangings were the last things to go up- almost all of them were oil based paintings, the largest was a cityscape of the First City- that she paced on the wall beside her bed- so that when ever she woke up, she could look out and see her home. :: :: Voss looked the room over, the heat had finally seemed to hit the desired peak and she felt more alive in it. Part of her considered working on a set of mok'bara movements- but in the end, even on shore-leave she couldn't forget there was work to do. Instead of moving, she grabbed her PADD and accessed the crew files, deciding to commit each name and face to memory. :: Ensign R'raika voss Intelligence Officer USS Garuda
  3. ((Warehouse District)) ::Sakorra knew the precise moment something broke through her consciousness as being completely wrong that Solok wasn’t ok, and perhaps it had been seeping through before she realized this with sudden clarity. She had been such a bad wife that she had fallen back into a familiar pattern of sensing nothing or letting only a partial sense of him break through that it wasn’t until the group was deciding between the Countess and the Warehouse that a black foreboding settled in her bones, and it wasn’t until they were on their way to some address that she realized she hadn’t been feeling him because she did finally feel him. She felt a darkness, a knowledge of utter, total darkness.:: Pandora: I am detecting no life signs in the warehouse, nor any signs of active security measures. Rogers: No security measures sounds too good to be true. Reed: It is too good to be true in a place like this. Pandora: Interestingly, my scans suggest that the systems currently in place have been deliberately compromised. Rogers: Are you sure ? If that is true then either this is a trap or someone wants us to find something. In either case… Wait.. Reed: Your objective may be an unwise idea, Pandora. Pandora: We are under a certain degree of time pressure, are we not? :: Pandora twisted the handle before an answer could be provided, producing a loud crack of breaking metal as the lock gave way. Pushing the door open, she walked inside. Rogers chose to utter a few choice words. It was her experience that some humans generally felt better when vocally blaspheming. She might have done so herself, if such a thing were her practice. While she knew that they weren’t running as Starfleet on this mission, it seemed that the crew had welcomed the pirate personas perhaps a little too easily. And Juhani…. Sakorra had wanted to wrap her hands around that furry neck when she’d seen those two dead guards. Two lives gone. It didn’t matter for whom they were working or what they were doing. They were still two lives. Did they have families? Children? What if they had been undercover? Unlikely, but always possible. Juhani definitely had her own agenda, and whatever it was, it did not align with anything or anybody that had one counter to her own. It might be so simple as a desire to rule the roost, but Sakorra wouldn’t be a security officer if she believed only in such easy possibilities. She focused and tried to calm down, control her breathing. With Starfleet’s current practices, she could hardly blame Tomic. Shame flickered against her consciousness at that thought, but didn't intrude as far or as effectively as it should have. Rogers motioned them forward as he brought his disrupter rifle up to his shoulder and advanced to the door.:: Pandora: There appears to be little here but the remains of some sort of technical work. ::Sakorra let the discussion flow around her. There was no point to speaking or adding input. This was not her area of expertise. And Sakorra felt oddly removed suddenly, those emotions thick with annoyance and anger and despair gone. She was remarkably calm, and felt very little emotion in regards to anybody … save one.:: ROGERS: That is one of my strengths. Restating the obvious. Pandora, Sakorra and Juhani check out those offices there may be some useful information left behind. PANDORA: One moment. REED: Aye, sir. ::Sakorra moved to one area of offices. A gentle hum emanated from sleeping equipment. Her skin tingled with positive ions. The door to the back office opened easily, large computer equipment clashed discordantly, like a bad children’s choir. Chaos, like the group out there. Right now, she’d rather be in the dark with Solok. A prisoner. He had been imprisoned. She needed to get to him, but first, she had to report it to Rogers so he … chaos exploded. She came out of the offices to complete cacophony. Pandora had taken out someone’s kneecaps, and it sounded like some sort of animal or mutant creature had tried to take out Rogers and Krogg.:: :: Sakorra heard it perhaps at the same time Juhani did. :: JUHANI: :: whispering :: Shiong mao niao! We've been followed. ::Normally, Sakorra would have said something sarcastic, but she felt strangely subdued. Solok’s control had wrapped her in its embrace, and she welcomed it. They headed towards a sewer grating. Krogg and Juhani had somehow taken control. This, she did not like. Normally, she would have argued with Krogg over his idea to be a diversion without deferring to someone who actually was in charge . She was the security officer here and Rogers was the captain and in charge overall. But they did need a diversion, and it would be best to have someone non-Starfleet be that diversion.:: REED: Krogg… Krogg: No time for ranks here Reed..Go now.. ::There it was, a slight bristling inside at being ordered by her prisoner, but it was almost immediately soothed. This would, of course, be sorted out later. Her own feelings aside, or lack thereof, Starfleet directives had effectively been tossed out the window. Once again, she didn’t feel like she was even in Starfleet.:: REED: Disable only, Krogg. That is an order. ::Sakorra slid easily into the sewer system and landed on her feet. Sakorra activated a light panel on her disruptor to aid the others. A question had risen in her mind. What need had a place like this for a sewer system? They were advanced enough, after all. As the light shined and bounced off of the narrow walls, she realized that the sewer system had been left in place for a very specific purpose, likely to add to the discomfort of those kept down here. They were in a prison. It was a convenient setup made to capture those who tried to use it as a means of escape. Just ahead, and hanging from the overhead ceiling, was a man in a just barely recognizable Starfleet uniform. The pips had been ripped from his uniform collar, and a noose had been tightened around his clearly broken neck. His skin had mottled and bruised. He looked uncomfortably bloated. Also around his neck hung a sign, printed in Federation standard. It read: Last stop. Escape is Futile. :: Tbc LCMD ReedCOSUSS Drake
  4. OT: A sim that was sent in several parts, so I put them together because I thought it was really awesome. I hope what I did was okay. ((Major Settlement, 83 Leonis)) ::He materialised in what was definitely an agricultural area, adjacent to a significant settlement, larger than the village overlooked by the Observation Post. Plants of different types were arrayed in geometrical patterns, spiney leaves of green-brown next to broad crimson ones, a brown grass with purple flower-heads nearby. Neat, tended and largely deserted.:: ::Largely but not entirely. The erupting volcano dominated the skyline but did not overwhelm it as it had at the now distant Observation Post, yet no one could have missed its presence. Clearly the small group of beings huddled together near a hut that bordered the field had not. There were three individuals that Saveron judged to be fully grown, and five juveniles of the same apparent stage of development. A litter perhaps?:: ::The beings had six long limbs each ending in a structure not dissimilar to his own hand. As he approached it was apparent that the knuckles of the hands were covered in hard keratin, and for locomotion the hand was rolled into a fist and knuckles contacted the ground. The juveniles locomoted rapidly on all six limbs, milling about the adults’ feet. Two of the adults stood on four limbs with their backs curved and forward section of their bodies raised, front two limbs touching each other or the wall of the hut. The third had risen up entirely on its two hind limbs, middle right hand holding the wall of the hut for support as it shaded two dark, bulbous eyes with its foremost left hand and sought a better view.:: ::They did not appear to be insectoid; Saveron could discern no obvious exoskeleton, but plainly their DNA had not been seeded with that of the humanoid species.:: ::One of the juveniles uttered a high-pitched alert tone and the three adults turned to look at him, twisting their flexible spines through angles uncomfortable for most Federation species. They made no sudden movement towards or away from him, and the Vulcan wondered whether perhaps they were not as surprised to see him as they should have been. One of them made a short, sharp sound.:: Alien: Who/what/why? ::The Universal Translator rendered.:: ::There was, of course, no guarantee that any language would be analogous.:: Saveron: I am Saveron, I have travelled a long way. I intent no harm. ::He endeavoured to assure them.:: ::His words were met with unblinking, stoic silence. Uncertain reception or a failure of the translator?:: Saveron: I have a gift for you. ::The was a frozen moment, then the individual who had stood on two limbs dropped down onto four, took a step closer and [...]ed it’s head.:: ::Moving slowly, Saveron unpinned the IDIC symbol that served as his communicator and carefully laid it on the ground before taking several slow steps backward.:: ::The alien ambulated forward and unfurled its middle right hand to pick up the pin, passing it up to its forward right hand for examination by those large, dark eyes. The pin was shiney and set with a sparkling crystal; if these beings had a sense of aesthetic that was in any way comparable to his own, they might find it appealing.:: ::Saveron bowed politely to the little group and stepped further back to take his leave. As he turned away the being that had collected the IDIC pin was affixing it to the garment that it wore. Satisfied, Saveron headed away across the fields in the direction of the settlement. He was of course now without a universal translator but it was a calculated risk. If anyone tried to beam him out they were going to get a surprise. They would have to use the Mercury’s sensors to search for a Vulcan life signature from orbit – no mean feat – before they could pull him out.:: ::That too was a calculated risk; he didn’t want to be interrupted before he’d had a chance to do what needed to be done. Commander Ross was correct in that there was a far firmer case for intervention, but it was not guaranteed. Captain Kells had been adamant about their not interfering; it was always possible that he would not be swayed.:: ::He judged that the Aron he had known would be compassionate, but the older Kells personality was an unknown, and what he had seen of it seemed uncompromising. It was a difficult thought, the idea that one no longer knew one’s friend. When time permitted he would meditate on it, and on the personal difficulty in going against his friend’s request. Aron had asked him, as a measure of his respect for him, not to counteract his orders. And Saveron had evaded the request, asked in turn what, exactly, one man could do?:: ::Quite a lot, if that man was determined, and he had known that then. So he had refrained from giving Aron the promise that he had sought. He spoke the truth but he lied by omission, and that was a heavy burden. But be that as it may, if Captain Kells stood by his earlier decision to refrain from interfering then those on the planet were doomed to die, their species with them. Saveron could not stand by and permit that. Not even he had that much self control, not when everything he stood for said that lives must be saved.:: ::And if Captain Kells changed his mind, then what he did would only assist their efforts. So he saw the situation. So he tested and checked and reconfirmed his logic as he approached his desination.:: ::The settlement was much larger than the collection of grass huts near the Observation Post. Many of the outlying buildings were grass but there were sturdier ones of mud daub further in, structures intended to last. The irony was not lost on him.:: ::Saveron passed amongst the outer buildings, sighting the hexapodal aliens here and there but avoiding them as much as possible; those that saw him seemed disinclined to approach, preferring to move away or ignore him in favour of watching their impending doom as the volcano began to spew hot magma and clouds of ash.:: ::One he was satisfied that he was well within the township Saveron set the sampling case that he’d carried with him the entire time onto the ground. Unlatched, the open lid revealed not the usual samplers, vials and preservatives, but a cache of Transport Signal Boosters. Removing the first one he set it carefully on the ground. It wasn’t active yet, he had no desire to give himself away. According to the Mercury’s sensors which would be tracking his comm. badge, he was still out in the field. Presumably collecting the samples he had wanted, so he hoped they would assume.:: ::Removing several more, he shouldered the box again and moved on, describing a circuit around the inside of the perimeter of the settlement, pausing at regular intervals to deposit another signal booster.:: ::He trusted that Crewman Leana would be ready to prove that her transporters were up to her quoted figures.:: ::The aliens were watching him but keeping out of his way as he worked, dividing their attention between his activities and the growing eruption on the horizon. As he moved on from his latest deposit he glanced back and saw one gently touching the Transport Signal Booster he’d set up, but it did not seem intent on disturbing the device. They were robust items, even if the alien knocked it over it would still function.:: ::He worked quickly and with an economy of movement, knowing that as soon as those aboard the Mercury realised that he was still down on the planet they would likely attempt to contact him, if not beam him aboard outright. And when they tried that they would realise his ruse and his time would become very limited indeed. So he had to move rapidly.:: ::The boom of a distant explosion rolled over the land as the volcano belched another great cloud of ash and rocks glowing cherry-red began to rise from its maw to spread out across the land in a rain of destruction. The settlement was distant enough that it wasn’t in imminent danger of impact, but there was no indication as to how violent the eruption would become.:: ::His long legs covering ground rapidly, Saveron found himself in sight of the first signal booster he’d set up, having completed the circuit of the settlement. Turning then he headed inwards towards the centre of the settlement, where he found a dirt square, an open space perhaps used for gatherings or some such. There were more of the aliens here and they watched him with an unreadable air; he knew too little about them and there was too little analogous with humanoid species for him to judge their thoughts. They were, at least, not attempting to interrupt him.:: ::There were two Transport Signal Boosters left in the case that he carried. He set one up at either side of the square, pausing in his step as a juvenile scurried out of his path. Ignoring the looks that he was getting he made his way to the exact centre of the square and paused to look over at the volcano. As if on cue there was a particularly violent explosion from it and another cloud of ejecta – ash, rocks and magma – filled the air. Some of the rocks landed rather closer to the settlement this time. Looking away he took the last object, the emergency beacon, from the case and keyed it’s activation.:: ::As the Transport Signal Boosters received the emergency signal they activated, lighting up and generating the signal boost field that would encompass the entirety of the settlement and be easily locked onto from orbit, allowing the mass capture and evacuation of life form signals. Meanwhile the emergency beacon sent out it’s distress call on all available frequencies, as powerfully as it’s battery pack could manage.:: ::There was the option with these devices to include a voice message and Saveron took that option, button firmly depressed beneath his thumb.:: SAVERON: =/\= MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY! To all Federation vessels, this is a sentient settlement on 83 Leonis II. Destruction due to eruption of supervolcano is imminent, mass endangerment of sentient life. Immediate evacuation required. MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY! =/\= ::He keyed the message to repeat, betting his life and those of the sentients around him on the fact that while the Prime Directive was a Starfleet regulation, the right to call for emergency rescue was enshrined in Federation law. The signal from that beacon wouldn’t stop at this system; it would continue out across subspace, eventually reaching Federation outposts. Any Federation ship within range that failed to answer such a call would have to answer for their actions in a Federation court. Thus he hoped to override any other considerations going on above him.:: ::If he was wrong, he could die for his cause, along with the aliens around him.:: ::It was an archaic law, yet one which had parallels in the history of almost every Federation species; that right to call for assistance in emergency situations. The term used – chosen for its ease of pronounciation - was drawn from Terran history; an ancient language called ‘French’. ‘Mayday’ derived from the term ‘m’aider’ which meant, quite simply, ‘help me’.:: ::The emergency transponder in Saveron’s hands showed a steady indicator light; it was repeating his message over and over, along with its powerful sub-space emergency signal. It would reach Mercury and the Aquitania within moments, and travel beyond them to Federation space.:: ::Every so often the aliens peered at him and at the devices he had placed in the square, their powerful field just waiting to be tapped into. The Transport Signal Boosters would cause the life forms within their field to light up like a Terran Christmas Tree to the sensors of the ships above, enabling them to rapidly extract them in large numbers. That was their design and his intent.:: ::The first whine of a transporter beam-out seemed to confirm that his plan had indeed come to fruition, until he realised that the only thing affected by the beam was the emergency transponder that he held. He started to release his grip as it shimmered, but rather than disappear it suffered a critical dissolution, a contained explosion that badly burned the sensitive palms of his hands and scorched the front of his blue tunic.:: ::Not even his Vulcan mental control was prepared for the agony of burns to his highly enervated hands and the doctor dropped like a stone, severe shock momentarily turning his joints to jelly. He lay curled on his side, injured hands tucked against his chest, his shoulders curved to shield them.:: ::Even as he registered the damage he fought for the physiological control that he had wielded over a lifetime, shutting down the pain signals and the false sensations from the complex network of nerves that gave him extremely detailed touch perception, and also facilitated his touch telepathy. Gradually the pain receded and he was slowly able to assess the damage and direct his body to begin healing; without a dermal regenerator it would be a slow and painful process. Instinctively his mind sank into the deep healing trance that his people used to focus and direct their body’s healing; largely oblivious to all else around him.:: ::On one level he micromanaged his body’s response to the damage, but on another he attempted to determine what, exactly had happened. The transport had initiated, but it had failed. And it had failed to lock onto him. That was illogical. Federation transporters were very precise, and with the Transport Signal Boosters active they should easily be able to lock into every life-signal within the field. No, the transporters had specifically locked onto the emergency signal transponder. And like a flash of light in the darkness he suddenly knew.:: Saveron: oO Code 14. Oo ::It was a cold light, and a harsh one. He knew with a sudden certainty that the transponder had been deliberately destroyed; no accident could be so precise. And as he accessed his external senses for a moment he perceived that he still lay within the square of the settlement, volcanic ash beginning to settle on his prone form, soft and suffocating.:: ::The message had gone out, the beacon’s powerful subspace signal had already been sent, and there was no way of stopping it. It would reach Federation space. The Federation would know of the emergency, and if the ships above failed to act to save the lives that were subject to the emergency, her legal entities would want to know why. That was the bind that Saveron had deliberately sought to put the Captains into; failing to respond to an emergency beacon when one was within range was a Federation offence.:: ::Yet the signaller had been destroyed, and the transport had not commenced. The only logical conclusion was that his gambit had failed; that Captain Kells, regardless of the situation, had ordered that there be no intervention. The aliens of 83 Leonis II were to be allowed to die, and he would die with them. If that was what Starfleet had come to, if it valued secrecy over life, then he wanted no part of it. The Federation’s courts would deal with those responsible.:: ::There seemed little point in observing his own death, so he dove deeper into the trance, slowing his metabolism and focusing on his thoughts. He still believed in his cause, could find no fault in his logic. He held only one regret; Saavok:: Saveron: oO Forgive me, my son. Oo ***** ::Sensation disturbed his healing trance and Saveron bestirred his consciousness enough to receive external input and determine what, at their hour of doom, was touching him. He was being shifted and then lifted, and he opened grey eyes to a far closer view of a alien visage than many might wish. Middle arms held him whilst upper arms dusted a thick layer of ash off him and the being walked deliberately on it's hind legs towards one of the mud-walled buildings. He was acutely aware of the heavy irony of the situation; he had come to rescue them, and one of them in turn was rescuing him.:: ::But only for the moment. Everything on this world was doomed, whilst the ships hung above as silent witness, refusing to act. The alien tried to lie him down in the lee of the builing but he made an effort to get his feet under himself, careful not to use his blackened and blistered palms, the burnt skin cracked and oozing green blood. He managed to stand and received a look from large, dark eyes as the alien who'd moved him made a series of piping whistles and low, moaning sounds. Talking, he knew, but without his universal translator he had no idea what it was saying. Maybe it was asking what was happening, or what he was doing. Perhaps it was demanding to know who he was, or why he was here. It could even be acusing him of creating their current strife, he had no way of knowing.:: ::That wasn't entirely true. He had no way of knowing what it was saying, but he could know what it was thinking. Reaching out he carefully laid a burned palm on a bare alien forearm as the being steadied him, activating the nerves again and suppressing a sense of relief as, through the pain, he sensed the thoughts of the other. Surface thoughts only, he sought no deeper connection with so different a mind, but it was more than enough. Concern, fear, hope, desparation; nothing unexpected. Sudden surprise, but that too was expected. Saveron wanted to project reassurance but it would be a lie; he could give the creature only gratitude, and grief. They shared a fate, and there was nothing further that he could do about it.:: ::Convinced that they had been abandoned, he was unaware of the activites aboard the USS Mercury; the DNA matching, the dithering over transport, the rescue of Commander Rahman. He couldn't know about conversations between senior personnel aboard both ships, about changing of plans and minds. He was deaf and blind on the surface to what went on up above. Not to what went on on the surface however. There was a louder, ominous booming from the direction of the volcano, as the destructive processes underway there ramped up. A whistling noise and a sudden whump as a building across the square was demolished by a hot boulder, spraying the surrounding buildings with fragments of baked mud. Around them there were high-pitched shrieks of what he could only assume was terror.:: ::This was it. Some of the planet's inhabitants would last until the atmosphere began to cool, but not them. They were too close to the volcano's fury.:: ::He looked into the unfathomable eyes of the alien who'd carried him from the ash.:: oO I am sorry; I tried. Oo ::More rocks landed, stirring up the fallen ash into great billowing, choking clouds that made breathing impossible. He started to cough, and heard sounds around him that could only be the alien equivalent. He might last longer than most, he was adapted to low-oxygen environments, but it would not be a pleasant survival. He was condering whether to opt for a trance, unobserving of his own end, when he heard a familiar whine, felt the familiar tingle. Transporters! Someone, up there, chose to put lives first. The alien before him glowed blue in the transporter's beam, and there was the familiar moment of disorientation, before everything changed.:: ((USS Aquitania )) ::The air was clear, the ground was stable, bright lights illuminated them. The decor however was pastel, soothing and eerily unfamiliar. It took a moment to come to the logical conclusion: they were aboard the Aquitania. He didn't get any further in his observations as the need to breath bent him double in a fit of coughing. Around him he could hear people of varying descriptions moving, and a sudden voice.:: Crewman: Sir! One of them's not an alien! Officer: What do you mean Crewman? Crewman: We've got a Vulcan, or ::taking a second look:: could be a Romulan. ::Saveron was busy coughing ash from his lungs, but he straightened part-way up and found his voice, however croaky.:: Saveron: Vulcan. ::Cough.:: Doctor Saveron, USS Mercury.
  5. Voting closes Sunday, November 11th, 2012 at 23:59 PM. This round of voting only qualifies one sim to move on to the next round of judging. REMEMBER: This is NOT a popularity contest. Vote based on MERIT, not the fact that someone is your crewmate. Any crews found “stuffing the ballots” or ratings, will be disqualified PERMANENTLY. Yes, that means the whole crew!
  6. ((Deck 7 -- Holodeck 3)) ::Atimen kept his head down, eyes focused on his PADD. He was trying to find just the right set of catastrophes to prepare for, and had just settled on the one that caused him to wind up in sickbay during the last war: a hostile incursion. The door slid open and Atimen simply walked in, the ring of metal against stone causing him to look up. There was someone standing in a kimono, a bright ribbon of blood on the snow by them.:: Mannin: Wha... ::Her knees gave out and she fell to the ground in a heap, ending up on her side in the snow, still conscious but obviously in shock. The deep wound quickly turned the brown of her kimono black and her breath came in quickening gasps. As she fell, time seemed to freeze.:: Atimen: Oh god. ::He dropped his tablet and ran to her side.:: Mannin: It was all so... ::Her voice trailed off for a moment, her eyes blinking with just an edge of tears.:: Mannin: …so clear. ::Atimen was many things, but a doctor was not one of them. Machines were easy to fix. People though... they were fragile, and he was never good with that. The wound was too deep, and he needed to get her to sickbay fast.:: Atimen: =/\= Atimen to Sickbay, medical emergency in holodeck 3. =/\= Sickbay: =/\= Transporters are offline. We can get a team up there shortly, what is the emergency? =/\= ::He remembered... he took the transporters down for repairs. Who would need them during warp? He looked down at the Lieutenant, and the spread of blood onto the ground.:: Atimen: =/\= Lieutenant Mannin was injured in a holodeck accident. She has a deep cut on her hip and is bleeding, but still conscious. =/\= Sickbay: =/\= We’ll have a team there in five minutes. Apply pressure and keep calm. =/\= ::Chloe listened to the man’s voice in a detached way, knowing from the heat and wetness spreading down her side that the sword had cut deeply into her hip. If it had been the inside of her leg instead, she’d likely have been dead already, bleeding out from the femoral artery. The things that spring unbidden into your mind are odd at times like this. The commander looked really worried though, so she tried to comfort him. One blood-soaked hand moved from her wound to his arm, leaving a smear on his sleeve.:: Mannin: It wasn’t your... it was... ::She paused and took a deep breath, trying to focus her spiraling thoughts for a moment. Why did she seem to be so out of breath all of sudden?:: Mannin: I wasn’t concentrating. Blades make horrible... ::She took another ragged breath. Atimen applied more force against the wound, blood seeping between his fingers.:: Mannin: ...dance partners. ::He knew, regardless of what she said, that it was his fault. Just like her near assimilation, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and a simple mistake caused horrible consequences. He forced the guilt down with all his might.:: Atimen: Just hold on, sickbay will be here soon. ::He bunched up more cloth and continued to press.:: And then we’ll find you a safer dance partner. Hell, I volunteer. ::She took another breath and nodded.:: Mannin: You know... that kinda hurts now. Atimen: I’m sorry, I can’t let you lose anymore blood... ::The pain came flooding again, in all of a sudden, making her back arch as she clenched her teeth.:: Atimen: Hey, hey. Focus on me. ::He wanted her mind away from the pain.:: What were you doing up here? ::The pain itself was bringing a sense of clarity to the woman’s thoughts.:: Mannin: Trying to... to think. ::She was having a harder time catching her breath and tried to push up to a sitting position.:: Atimen: Don’t move, stay still! ::He gently pushed her back down.:: So you were trying to think with a sword? Mannin: No... I was trying... ::She struggled against him, but his weight and position won out and she gave up. It hurt too much to push against him more.:: Mannin: …trying to clear my mind. Atimen: With... a sword? And the safeties off? ::She shook her head.:: Mannin: Safeties don’t... don’t work with real items... the sword’s mine. ::He nodded, glancing at the elegant weapon glittering like an icicle in the simulated moonlight.:: Atimen: So how does it work? ::For some reason the only thing that the security officer could think that he was asking was how the sword worked, but that didn’t seem right, so her face got this really puzzled look on it.:: Mannin: The sword? Atimen: No, no... I mean how do you clear your mind with a sword? Mannin: Oh... ::She closed her eyes, trying to think about something she had done without thinking for years. The pounding of her heartbeat in her head wasn’t helping her concentrate, either, so she answered his question with a question.:: Mannin: How do you breathe? ::It was a logical enough way to answer it. It wasn’t something she really could explain... she just did. He gave a slight vulcan-like eyebrow raise.:: Atimen: With my lungs. ::He smiled, glancing quickly toward where the arch used to be..:: ::She coughed, sending a new shiver of pain down her leg.:: Mannin: Right... but *how* do you do it? Atimen: Automatically... Until I think about it. ::He paused.:: Then each breath needs force. Mannin: It becomes... harder to do when you... when you think about it. The blade for me... it’s like breathing. But not... ugh. ::She closed her eyes again. This wasn’t working. She felt like she was drifting in a warm water bath, melting into the water. Her voice took almost a dreamy tone.:: Mannin: ...but not like that... I have to... have to... Atimen: Hey, focus! Look at me! :: He waited for her eyes to open again. :: Will you teach me? ::For some reason that stuck the young woman as hilarious.:: Mannin: Really? Considering... I just sliced myself open and am bleeding... bleeding all over you... think that’s such a good idea? ::He chuckled lightly, but her laugh turned into a groan from the pain.:: Atimen: Well, I guess you’re right. ::The medical team appeared through the doors at that very moment.:: Medic: Out of the way, Commander. ::The medics pushed their way in and started working on the security officer, focusing on stopping the blood loss and getting her stable enough for the move back up to Sickbay. As they asked her questions, she looked over at Atimen and smiled weakly. He returned it, keeping his distance as the medics did their job.:: ::As the medics began moving to leave, Atimen remembered the sword. Still lying discarded on the soft snow, he reached down to grab it. A strong, sleek, and elegant blade, its beauty was undeniable. Yet as he looked toward Mannin, he could see its power just as clearly. He sheathed it in a nearby scabbard, left on the steps of the quiet temple, and followed the medics out to sickbay.:: -- Lt. Cmdr Atimen Chief Engineer USS Tiger and Lt. (jg) Chloe Mannin Security USS Tiger
  7. ((USS Mercury - Sickbay)) ::Isaac stood in the doorway to Sickbay watching Velana work. He shouldn't be wasting time... he still had to brief D'ciq and her Marines... but Velana hadn't noticed him yet, and he couldn't help just standing there taking in the sight of her. He knew better than anyone else alive what was waiting for them on Vathor 3. He knew he may never get the chance to see Velana again. Perhaps it was better that his actions with the Cardassians had pushed them apart. It might be easier for Velana when the day finally came that he didn't return from a mission. He stood watching her for a few long moments before she lifted her head and froze, her back still towards the door. Isaac could have disappeared... could have been gone before she turned around... but for some reason, he still stood there staring.:: ::The tiny hairs on the back of Velana's neck stood at full attention. She was being watched; every instinct told her so. She glanced around, but it wasn't until she turned towards the main entrance that she found what she was looking for.:: ::Isaac Bale stood in the doorway, his intense eyes fixed on her. Her back straightened; the last time he'd seen her she'd been at her most vulnerable. She'd judged him, perhaps too harshly, and he'd walked away angry. But now he was back...and maybe she was being given a second chance.:: Velana: Lieutenant. ::She approached him cautiously, unsure of what to say.:: I hope we haven't kept you waiting. Bale: Not long. ::he lied:: I just came to brief you. We'll be arriving at the Vathor system within a few hours, and once there I will be joining Captain D'ciq and her Marines on a rescue mission to retrieve our missing crew. Velana: ::frowning:: That's...admirable, but it sounds dangerous. Bale: I have to go. I've been there before, and I'm the only one who can lead D'ciq through the tunnels. ::pausing:: And if we plan on retrieving our Captain and crew, we have only two choices... kill or be killed. They're going to need my particular skills set. ::She glanced away, drawing in a deep, but silent breath. When she looked back at him, his expression had gone cold. Velana folded her arms over her tender stomach like a shield.:: ::Isaac noticed her look away and take a steadying breath. He was a trained operative. He knew how to read people, and he didn't need telepathy to know that she was being defensive. She felt vulnerable. In spite of everything... in spite of the fact that they were completely wrong for each other, Isaac wanted to wrap his arms around the woman in front of him to make her feel safe. And in spite of himself, he knew that he couldn't. By the time Velana looked back up to him, Isaac had wiped all traces of emotion from his face. When Velana wrapped her arms around her abdomen, she confirmed that he'd been correct in his reading.:: Velana: What are you trying to say to me? Bale: We don't know how many enemies we might be facing when we get there. The planet itself will try to kill us, let alone the Klingons we find there. I wanted to let you know to prepare for wounded. Velana: We'll be prepared. We were already prepared to help the colonists. ::A moment passed.:: Is that the only reason you came here? ::There it was... a direct question that left him little choice. Was she trying to figure out how he felt, or did she already know and she was only trying to get him to admit it? Had she been more awake than he'd realized when he carried her in his arms to Sickbay? Could she hear him growling away anyone who came near as he'd watched over her in her semi-conscious state. Isaac was hard pressed to hold his neutral expression, but there were too many questions that he couldn't address right now. They had missing crew members to rescue, and he needed his head in the game. Isaac defensively deflected her question with one of his own.:: Bale: What other reason would there be? Velana: I don't know. I thought perhaps you might be... ::She shook her head.:: I'm sorry. That would be presumptuous, if not inappropriate. Bale: ::lowering his voice:: Go on... Velana: To think that you might have wanted to see me. ::Smiling briefly before rushing on to hide the bronze flush in her cheeks.:: Thank you for stopping by, Lieutenant. Good luck on your mission and please...come back safe and... ::Isaac's expression softened as she spoke. She blushed at the thought of him coming to see her. She felt... more. She was worried about him, and it was more than a professional concern for a crew member under her care. She cared about him, even after her realization that his was a life full of death. The emotions he felt radiating from her as she continued were powerful. She wanted him to come back and...:: ::She stopped when he cut her off.:: Bale: Velana... ::He took a step forward, well within her personal space. She froze, but didn't flinch. She didn't back away as he reached up toward her face. He stopped his hand just millimeters from her soft skin, and held that pose for a few very long heartbeats before pulling his hand back down to his side.:: ::She wanted to know what his hand felt like against her cheek, but he drew back, leaving her wanting. Velana could only hope that he wasn't aware of it, that her face or eyes didn't betray her longing for that contact.:: Bale: I will come back... ::Velana nodded tightly.::. ::Isaac turned and walked out of Sickbay without finishing the rest of his statement. "For her." He would come back for her. He had a very powerful motivation now for coming back from this mission, and woe to any who stood in his way.:: Velana: ::letting out her breath after he was gone:: I'm going to hold you to that, Isaac. TBC... Lt. Commander Velana Chief Medical Officer USS Mercury & Lt.(j.g.) Isaac Bale Starfleet Intelligence USS Mercury NCC-99812
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