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  1. ((USS Thunder - Lounge)) :: The exact time was 0312 when she entered the Thunder’s lounge.:: :: Twenty minutes ago T’Lea had been shattered awake by another visceral sleep terror, the results of which had driven her out of her quarters in search of refuge someplace else. Her hunt for “someplace else” had left her drifting aimlessly through the slumbering halls of the ship until she’d wandered into the officer’s lounge.:: :: Deep down this was the last place she wanted to be, but crawling into Della’s arms was still not a risk she was willing to take, although the thought of it now didn’t *nearly* terrify her as much as it had in recent days. However, as much as she would have dearly loved to have drown herself in the warmth of the Trill’s embrace, and forget the foul dream that had broken her spirit yet again, it wasn’t going to happen.:: :: The lounge would have to do. After all, how crowded could it be at three in the morning. Not very by the looks of it.:: ((Tyr’s Quarters, USS Thunder)) ::Sleep eluded him. Even with the comfortable pillow which eased his pain, his back seemed content to let him sleep, but his mind did not. He was torn, whether he had made the right decision to stay, or go running home to Ba’ku. Either way, sleep was an impossibility. Pulling on his black t-shirt and a pair of jeans, he headed for the lounge.:: ((Lounge, USS Thunder)) ::There was no one there, and for that he was thankful. Most sane people would be asleep, and that was how he wanted it. The thought of drowning himself in another alcoholic bath was quickly dismissed, and instead he bellied up to the bar and eased his aching leg into one of the chairs.:: WALTAS: Ice water. ::A tall, ice-cold glass of water was placed in front of him and he took a long pull on it, closing his eyes and letting the cold liquid drift down his throat and into his tortured stomach. He sighed deeply. For a few moments, he had peace, until the doors slid open again.:: o O Oh hell. O o ::He quickly stared into his drink, and if there were shadows in the lounge he would’ve crawled into one. Given her reaction to him at the party, he was certain she didn’t want to see him as much as he didn’t want to see her. After all-how was their conversation to begin? “Hi, still not dead from your terrible experience? Retired yet? Thinking of going on any more out-of-control escapades?”. It was odd. The question applied to BOTH of them.:: :: T’Lea’s eyes scanned the room, finding one soul sitting at the counter, and another soul tending the bar. She thought about taking the corner table by the window, but opted for faster service at the counter.:: T’Lea: Vulcan Spice tea. Hot. :: The bar tender nodded, and then headed to the back to the kitchen to accommodate the order. T’Lea pulled over a napkin folding it meticulously in anticipation of the spoon that the server would bring along with her order.:: :: She heard the rustling of a body two seats down, and glanced over casually, only to stiffen up when she saw the other patron at the counter.:: :: Tyr.:: :: Of all people it had to be him, she thought grievously, and pulled her eyes away. She slid to the edge of the stool and set a foot down readying herself to leave.:: :: Should she say something, or continue to ignore him? Could she sit there and enjoy her tea without talking to him, or would it be better to leave?:: :: Before she could figure out what the appropriate etiquette was for somebody she’d tried to murder, her order was dropped off.:: :: An empty cup with a bag of tea placed inside, and a small pot of hot water accompanied by a spoon, which she placed on the perfectly folded napkin.:: :: She looked at Tyr again. If he’d seen her he was doing a good job of pretending that he hadn’t.:: T’Lea: Can’t sleep? :: On Counselor James’s suggestion, T’Lea followed the Doctor’s orders. Maybe it was time to talk. Maybe this was… what was it that Terran’s called this… fate?:: ::He blinked in surprise as she’d chosen to approach him. He didn’t know what to say, but the question was innocent enough. Perhaps that’s all it was-innocent conversation. Taking a long pull on the ice water, he paused for a moment and then spoke.:: WALTAS: My back will let me. My mind won’t. :: She poured the hot water into her cup and bounced the tea bag around by its string, watching intently as the dark color of the herbs swirled into the clear liquid. It was all she could do to *not* let her eyes wander toward Tyr’s spine – the one she’d snapped like a twig.:: :: The first part of her response was grunted with understanding.:: T’LEA: And even when the mind calms down, the dreams take over… :: She said it more to herself than him.:: WALTAS::Nodding:: I suppose I can understand that. :: This was going to be more difficult than T’Lea had ever imagined. Talking to Tyr was like trying to make nice with one of her panic-inducing nightmares. What was she supposed to say to him? I’m sorry? That just didn’t seem like enough.:: :: She wrung the tea bag out on her spoon, and set it aside. The first sip was hot. Hot enough to burn her tongue on.:: T’LEA: So, what do you think about where we are headed? :: Honestly, she hadn’t been paying attention to the briefing and still didn’t know a whole lot about it. It would actually take a certain amount of *caring* on her part to learn the specifics of their objectives, and right now she didn’t care whole hell of a lot about anything.:: WALTAS::Shrugging:: Sounds like a run-of-the-mill mission. ::Pausing, awkwardly:: Run of the mill. What kind of bizarre phrase is that? Terrans can be odd at times. :: She almost managed a smile between stirring her tea and another sip, but failed when the cup touched her lips.:: T’LEA: Their idioms are more “idiot” than not most of the time. I quit trying to figure them out at the academy. WALTAS: True. :: Another stretch of silence wafted like an unmentionable stink between them, and T’Lea could feel herself starting to crawl out of her skin again.:: :: She pinched the bridge of her nose, and fought back the memories of Vetka – of Tyr slicing her open from hip to shoulder, of his foot collapsing the side of her knee, of his unwillingness to kill her when he had the chance. All those agonizing details came flooding back, but the only thing she could say to the man was, “hot tea,” while wincing between sips.:: WALTAS::Sighing, putting down his drink:: Look. Are we going to address, to use another Terran phrase, the 900-pound elephant in the room? :: That was one phrase T’Lea did understand the meaning of. She was pretty sure Tash had explained it to her at some point, but at *this* point the Romu-vulc was content to play dumb, and hopefully avoid the topic completely.:: T’LEA: What do you mean? :: Said casually as she took another sip from her tea cup.:: WALTAS: Me. You. The fact that I could’ve killed you. The fact that you nearly killed me. You know, the small stuff. Because I can sit and make small talk with the best of them, but I’d rather clear the air. :: And there it was, the obvious, as plain as day, undeniable, unavoidable, and unforgivable.:: :: Feeling something bubbling up inside her like a quiet lava geyser on Vulcan, T’Lea carefully returned her cup to its saucer with a soft “clink”, and shifted toward Tyr in her seat. What she was feeling inside was unidentifiable at the time, but would soon become clear as the words came out of her mouth.:: T’LEA: Very well. What would you like to discuss first? The fact that you should have killed me? Or the fact that you are a pathetic, coward and your non-action put everything I love in this world at risk? :: The words were a festering, weeping, infected wound so deep that T’Lea didn’t even realize that it was there until this very moment. And the venom she struck with was as quick as a cobra. She looked Tyr up and down where he sat, and in barely controlled anger spat her next words to him.:: T’Lea: You did this to yourself. ::The words were so heavy, so blatantly destructive and so utterly dismissive of the person they were directed at, he thought for a minute he’d misheard her.:: WALTAS::Visceral anger creeping into his voice:: Excuse me? T’LEA: You heard me. WALTAS::Turning to face her:: You mean by NOT killing you, by giving you a chance to be healed and returned to your family, and nearly being killed in the process, *I* am somehow a coward? :: She gave him a cold hard, arrogant stare, daring him to do more. Daring *herself* to do more.:: T’LEA: So you were listening. You didn’t have the balls to do what needed to be done, to finish it. Instead, you cowered behind your morals, your ethics, and your emotions, and as a result you put everyone in jeopardy everyone, including yourself, because you are weak. WALTAS::Hopping off his stool, ignoring the pain:: Who the frak do you think you are, daring to call ME a coward? The last I checked, spines don’t break themselves. You’re the one that’s hiding from everyone who cares about you. I see yours and Vetri’s body language. It’s obvious where you’re spending your nights, and where you’re NOT. At least I have the courage to FACE my challenges and overcome them. That’s why I’m still here. Because I have FRIENDS that care about me and wanted to see my get better. YOU, want to wallow in your fate and blame everyone else. ::Holding up a hand as she tried to interrupt:: I’M NOT FINISHED! :: The mention of her tattered relationship with Vetri, had T’Lea frothing with anger. She jumped off her stool, and then knocked it out of her way. Had she known about his break-up with Hella, or his drunken escapade with Irina, she would have thrown that back in his face, but alas, she was clueless to it all.:: T’LEA: Yes, you frelling are! You have no idea… NO IDEA what I was programmed to do, do you? You think it was some sort of unconscious joy-ride? Let me clue you in, sweetheart, I was fully aware. I felt and saw everything. You, and Toni, and anybody else that got in my way, were expendable meaningless sacks of flesh. But you weren’t the objective. You were *nothing*. I was going to kill my entire family, you stupid son of a [...]! Everyone, even T’Sara if you didn’t stop me! And you DIDN’T! You’d rather sacrifice yourself and everyone else than make the hard choice, the RIGHT choice. WALTAS: Oh, don’t EVEN go there. I KNOW what it’s like to be turned into an uncontrollable killing machine and turned against the people I love. Don’t preach to me like you’re the only one ever to be wounded in a place that doesn’t heal! ::Showing his forearm, carrying a long, discolored scar:: I had Borg nanites crawling through my veins and nearly killed my Captain AND my crew, and they risked EVERYTHING to save me and pull me back! But I guess the “logical” thing to do would have been to just kill me, right?! T’LEA: YES! I would have. In a heartbeat. WALTAS::Eyes narrowing:: You ungrateful [...]. :: Steeling her eyes right back at him, she leaned in, luckily there were two stool dividing their company, otherwise they would have been in each other’s faces.:: T’LEA: It’s called having a *spine*. WALTAS: If it weren't for that mercy you’d be cold and dead in the grave and I’d still be able to defend myself. And trust me, right now that’s the ONLY thing keeping me from KNOCKING YOU ON YOUR HALF-BREED [...]! T’LEA: You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, Tyr. The truth is that the only reason you’re still standing here is because my WIFE had the guts to shoot me in the face at point blank range, and save your sorry, worthless [...]! :: And that was his fault too! If he had just killed her like she had been begging him to do in her mind, while she was under control of the malicious program, then Vetri would have never had to make the horrible decision to shoot T’Lea.:: :: At the end of her outburst she knocked over one of the stools sending it toppling in his direction. It didn't hit him, and that wasn't her purpose anyway, the act was simply to punctuate her departure.:: WALTAS::Calling after her:: You may have a spine but you [...] sure don’t have a heart! Be sure not to break an ankle when you dismount from that high horse, you self-righteous [...]! :: With her back to him she made it through the door way, and gave him the one-fingered universal sign to go frak himself.:: Lt. Commander T’Lea Chief Science Officer Duronis II Embassy / USS Thunder -and- Colonel Tyr Waltas Marine CO Duronis II Embassy / USS Thunder
  2. ((Maximum Security Holding – Brig – Starbase 118)) ::With the argon pumped from his system, Ry’Van Alstred was ungraciously dumped in a high security holding cell. Starfleet had taken all they needed to take. They stripped him of his signal enhancer vest, taken complete medical scans as well as blood samples – which quickly affirmed that he was not, in fact, Arkarian as his identification card and merchant’s permit indicated. Problematically the ID card and merchant’s permit were quite valid and had been entered some seven years ago. That begged the question: where was the real Ry’van Alstred, and who was this man? Considering his nasty attacks on the crew of StarBase 118, the answer to the first question looked pretty bleak. The blood sample quickly turned up a discouraging truth. Whoever this was, they were Romulan. However Romulans were not much in the habit of sharing their DNA records with the Federation, and whoever this man was he was not in any Federation databases or anything shared from the Romulan Star Empire. Ending up in one big ‘John Doe’ or more precisely ‘Not-Ry’van-Alstred-Doe’ For the guards stationed outside his holding cell, he was an uninteresting prisoner to watch. They were pretty sure he was awake, or at least had been awake for a portion of the time. And yet he hadn’t moved from the spot where he was dumped on a cot some hours ago. He seemed to be glaring at the wall with an unhidden fury and loathing towards anything that wasn’t part of his tiny worldview. Which was, in fact, quite true. Alstred had little regard for anything outside the culture he decided to so fiercely defend. He hadn’t always been that way, but he was quite literally a man with nothing left to lose save his own life. And considering he had buried his entire family and watch the colony he lived in fall to ruin, death was sounding more like a pleasant reunion with lost loved ones rather than an event to fear. And yet, somewhere in his mind, a warped patriotism mingled with the ingrained vicious emotions of his people and his heart embraced a dark desire to bring down as many Federation citizens as he possibly could before he took that blissful release. So when he opened his eyes to see the harsh sterile glare of a Federation security bulkhead, he felt a deeply depressing fog come over him. If he survived, they had survived, too. So no blissful release and his mission had not been as fruitful as he had hoped. Still, he wouldn’t give them the pleasure of seeing him grovel. In fact he was more than content to sit and stare at the wall, fading in and out of the heady haze of aching semi-consciousness, taking tiny nuggets of bitter enjoyment from listening to the security guards wonder if he was asleep or not. Alive or not. Listening or not. He was already concocting a grand lie to tell the Federation if they questioned him. He didn’t like being a rat in a cage, but if he was pressed, he would tell them a tale that would make their heads spin. Alstred knew he was but one small part of a much bigger scheme, one that would move against the Federation again. And again. And again. He didn’t fear death or incarceration. He had already lived through hell. Now he just had to suffer through indignity. It was a small price to pay to be able to watch the Federation crumble from the inside. Ry’van Alstred closed his eyes and once again fell back into a listless sleep.:: ~*~ MSNPC Ry’van Alstred (Rhansu Lloran) Arkarian Merchant (Romulan Terrorist) Simmed by: Sal Taybrim
  3. ((Commonwealth Holodeck)) Blair: =/\= Blair to Warwick and Braddock, will you gentlemen please join us in the Captain’s Dining room?=/\= Warwick: =/\= Acknowledged. I'll be with you shortly =/\= ::He arrived at the room at the same time as Braddock and gestured for the man to enter first..:: Braddock: You wanted to see us captain? Blair: West: And so have I. There strong. I can taste, and smell and feel things. Braddock: Yeah I have two conflicting thoughts. One says Leah and Michael died on the Tiger and somewhere in the back of my mind I know their still alive. Blair: Warwick: I'm got two thoughts too, SIr. On the one had I remeber everything you do - the Tiger being destroyed I mean but, it almost sounds too stupid to vocalise. Blair: West: I can remember the Tiger being destroyed as well, but its a different type of memory. Braddock: RESPONSES Warwick: I don't remember even stepping foot on her. It's all just hazy, glimpses of hulls and pictures. I couldn't even tell you who this Leah and Michael were...or are as it may be. Blair: West: It is just odd feelings. Braddock: RESPONSES Warwick: So, why the difference? Blair/Braddock: RESPONSES Warwick: That's not really my area of medical expertise. Blair/Braddock: RESPONSES ::Ian got an Idea, not wanting to share it with the others. He got up and walked out the Captains Dinning room and made his way to main engineering. Walking into the room. He looked around and saw the crew hard at work.:: West: Clear the room, I need a moment to my self please. ::Ian watched as the Engineering detail walked out the room. Once they were gone, He sealed off Main Engineering and locked out the main controls. Walking over to the Security Locker he Opened it and pulled out the newest in Star Fleet Phaser Rifles. Knowing that as soon as he pulled it Lt. Commander Braddock would be notified. Pulling back the charge plate and holding it for three seconds and letting it go to [...] the weapon for firing. Pressing a few keys and powered it up to full. Walking over to the warp core and taking aim, Ian lined up the main chamber and Fired. Holding the beam on the warp core for four seconds and the chamber blew!!! The Ship was engulfed in the explosion. Ian looked up from his paper. He was sitting in his office on the 5th floor of City hall. Taking a moment to look around. Ian stood up and walked over the windows and opened the them wide. Stepping up on the ledge He crossed him self with his right hand and jumped. ((Deep Space 17)) ::The Alt West, Held his chest with one hand and his head with the other. He feel against the wall. Picking him self up he moved quickly to the Bridge of the Tiger A. He found his self there before anyone got there. He pulled open the computer wall bulk head and started removing hardware. ((Commonwealth Holodeck)) Pick up and Drill, Ian pressed the screw into the spin on the female laying on his table and stated placing the pins in place to finish up his last TLIFT of the day. Pulling over the Xray he had the tech shoot a few images and as he looked, Memory's started flowing in. Picking up and 10 blade Ian held it to his neck and pulled it across quickly. He gasped and feel back to floor of the OR, looking up at the bright White Light, he new it was not heaven it was the OR light. it grew dark and became faint. Look back up from his station he armed the phasers and fired on the ship behind the Avenger. The Phaser just bounced off its hull. She came around with full powered up weapons. He heard Captain Braddock yelling in the background. As the Romulans began to fire. Ian dropped the shields and the Bridge was blown to bits. ((USS Tiger Bridge)) :: The Alt West feel to the floor holding his chest, his mind was spinning. Get his balance he stood up and and pulled his phaser out as he did the turbo lift doors opened and he watched as Riley and Clack and a few other officers walked on to the Bridge. He held up the phaser at them. He was having a hard time breathing and covered in sweat.:: Alt-West: Don't move. Stay right there. Riley/Clack/Anyone: ((Commonwealth HoloDeck)) Looking into his scoop at the German army.:: West: Looks like Death Sweepers. :: Ian stood up and yelled and waved his arms. It was not long and he hit the floor. The holodeck started flickering and the room started shifting from life to life so quickly that you could barley make anything out. The real West in the Holodeck Control Lab woke up laying on the table. He could not breath. He pulled his self up from the bed and the probe that was placed in back of his scull pulled lose. As this happened Ian feel to the floor convulsing and going into cardiac failure. He saw Blair, Braddock and Warwick start to wake up. He had done it. But was he going to die?:: ((Bridge USS Tiger A)) ::The Link to the real west was lost. The Alt West feel to his knees panting. He kept the phaser pointing at the Tigers Crew. As the connection was fully lost. The Alt West shifted and turned a light blue and a white glowing hair with cat like eyes. He stood up standing a almost 7 foot tall.:: Alt West: The Commonwealth will not give up captain. Riley/Clack/Anyone: Alt West: You have been warned. We are here!!! Among you! ::He raised the phaser and fired it at the wall of computer hard ware and turned his head and actived his death trigger. A second later the Alt-Weat turned to Pink and Blue Mist as he exploded on the bridge. Chunks of the Commonwealth Officer landed all over the bridge and walls.:: TAG/TBC Wishing you Fair Winds and following Seas... Lt. Commander Ian Lane West, D.A.S. Mission Specialist & Strategic Operations Star Fleet 118th Fleet, Ithassa Region USS Tiger NCC-52199-A
  4. (( Marine Holodeck - USS Thunder-A )) :: T'Ana sat on the floor cross legged watching the ship's company of marines practice their combat skills in the holodeck training program, sweat dripping off her face and her careful posed expression of neutral disinterest visible to her six guards. They stood in the corners and center of a rectangular part of the holodeck cordoning her off from the rest of the crew here. :: :: Being a prisoner as long as she had been, certain things had to be taken care of. They were not allowed to keep her in solitary confinement forever and so she was given one hour every two days to exercise on the holodeck. It was always with a the main component of marines so there was no chance of an escape. T'Ana would never attempt such a brash act, but already had figured her best options, if she so chose, was transport between her cell and the holodeck. Whoever was planning her security arrangement had experience dealing with high profile people. The person, whoever it was, made sure she was always escorted with six at a distance, no transporter was ever used in case of an interception, and her ability to move undetected was impossible thanks to so many eyes. :: T'Ana: oO I do love a puzzle, nameless. Oo :: Focusing ahead, she saw a young marine in hand to hand combat with another, more seasoned. It was the knife fight drill and the poor kid kept getting put down each time. :: T'Ana: :: muttering :: You're extending your arm to far. :: Her voice must have been louder than she planned or his hearing was much better than she anticipated. :: Conner: ::anry:: What was that? :: The marines in the general area stopped what they were doing, but T'Ana did not rise to the bait. She remained seated. :: T'Ana: You're over extending your attacks. You've been dueling him for over fifteen minutes now and haven't found his weakness. Adams: Weakness? What weakness? :: The seasoned veteran did not like being used as an example. Angry and proud. Just the way she liked them. A small crossed her face. :: T'Ana: You favor your left leg to move out of range of a thrust so you can come underneath your opponent in a throw. :: Adams scoffed, but his eyes told her that he knew what she was capable. The message she sent with the naked marines a few months ago still rang in their minds. Standing slowly so her guards did not get jumpy, she turned to them. :: T'Ana: May I? Johns: What? T'Ana: :: sarcastic:: I'm in a holodeck with imaginary weapons and safeties on. I doubt I can get away. :: They were a little unsure, but Adams stepped up and tossed her one of the rubber knives. She flipped it so the blade lay against her forearm and not pointed out. :: T'Ana: In a knife fight, Private Conner, your advantage is the usage of your blade. You want to keep a low profile to your enemy and get in close. You need to watch their body language to know how they are going to strike. :: Adams stepped up and T'Ana remained motionless. Adams was smart, he did not move against her so she began to circle with the blade still laying against her arm. With a quick movement, the Romulan assassin stepped in to range and Adams lashed out with the blade, she bent her torso backwards to avoid the blade and then before he could step back from her thrust, she placed the top of her foot against the back of the knee enough to make him stumble. The movement was subtle and relied on his momentum and as he began to fell, her fake blade cracked him across the throat gently. :: T'Ana: You're dead. :: The marines had begun to gather as she returned to her defenseless posture. She looked at them. :: T'Ana: I am guessing from your training that you all are improving your hand to hand combat skills for security details. Your commander believes more assassins are coming and so wants you to be prepared. Your folly is that you are thinking like marines, not like an assassin. Conner: What do you mean? :: Connor was the curious one. That was good. His youth did not taint his opinion of her yet. He saw a learning opportunity, but remained guarded of her. :: T'Ana: Marines are honorable. Marines fight for their loved ones, they fight for their pack, they fight for their people. :: There was a murmur of agreement. They were very pack minded and she knew that Major Parker's morale building had not gone to waste. :: Adams: And how is that not good? T'Ana: Because...assassins think of one thing. Complete the assignment. There is no honor. There is only the target. You think assassins will come at you from the front or the back. We will come sideways. Poison, long range sniper shots, close quarters combat from where you least expect it. When you patrol with your VIP, do you even bother to wonder if the security has been infiltrated? What about that diminutive maid who has been working at the residence for three years? Assassins will do what they have to to kill their target. They know weakness and they *will* exploit it. :: There were growls and her words were unsettling. That was what she wanted. Hannibal was a very good soldier and his black op files were filled with perfect missions, but each were run by a team and they completed as a team. Assassins were alone and that's how they thought. T'Ana: You all have weaknesses. Know them and the enemy will have a harder time exploiting them. Adams: What weaknesses? Your little trick was good, but that's in fighting. :: It was a challenge and she needed to prove her words more than anything. :: T'Ana: You're weakness is women. I've seen how you stare at me and the rest of your female comrades. An assassin will see that and use it to their advantage. Connor, you're trusting and will believe any sob story handed to you, Morgan, you're anger blinds you to the obvious, Gregson, your loyalty to the Federation keeps you from seeing any enemy wearing your uniform. If you are to fight an assassin DO NOT trust anything or anyone until your target is safe or the attacker is dead. :: With that, she turned and headed for the door with her guards behind her. They needed to be ready. There would be another and she had to make sure that no one was killed. If she couldn't complete the mission, no one was going to be allowed. :: ~tbc~ PNPC T'Ana Romulan Assassin As Simmed By... Lt Cmdr Nugra First Officer USS Thunder-A Embassy, Duronis II
  5. ((Briefing Room - USS Gemini)) :: Liam was beginning to worry he was not getting his point across effectively. He wasn't unfamiliar with confrontation, but it was usually with someone directly opposed to what he was trying to achieve. This was different. He and Hsina were theoretically on the same side. While he wanted to give his officers enough leeway to do their jobs. But not at the risk of putting the rest of the crew at potential risk.:: Frost: This is not a negotiation. You have your position for as long as you demonstrate your ability to do it. If you're not prepared to follow the rules, then you can pack up and find another another assignment, do I make myself clear? Amman: Yes sir. Permission to speak freely? :: He raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure what she felt needed to be said. But he considered himself nothing if not open minded.:: Frost: Alright, I'll bite. Amman: With regards to firearms, I have taken them on missions on four occasions. The first time was as a junior science officer. I had never fired a phaser before and our security chief, Commander Eskyys, gave it to me for the mission so that I might actually hit what I aimed at. The second was on an away team where we correctly predicted the presence of a power dampening field that would render energy weapons useless. The third was again on an away mission where we correctly expected disturbances with regard to powered systems and the fourth was specifically when ordered to take into a custody a Brikar, who by nature of his species was all but immune to the effects of phasers. Frost: I'll keep that in mind if we ever go up against the Brikkar or the Borg. Amman: If you order me not to use alternative weapons I will not use them. I just wanted to point out that there are situations in which non-powered weapons are vital for maintaining security. :: He understood where her intentions lay, and he couldn't entirely fault it. But he wasn't here to discuss his officers intentions.:: Frost: That was the general idea. Now what about your own wellbeing? Amman: Again sir, if you or medical order me to see the counselor, I'll see the counselor, but I think my record should also show you that I'm not unstable or likely to crack under pressure. :: This was were things began to go sideways for him. She may have believed that she wasn't going to lose control. Few people possessed the self-awareness to identify the signs before it happened. That was part of why they had counselors and psychologists. People who could identify the signs before they become problematic or dangerous.:: Frost: The counselors at Starfleet Medical seem to think differently. Why do you think that is? Amman: Specifically? Commander Blueheart thought it was a symptom that I didn¹t mourn or show any sadness with loss or display any signs of fear Frost: Everyone mourns differently, I'm not here to tell you how to react to that. But fear is different. Fear is an evolved response that keeps human beings alive. What changed for you? Amman: Outlook maybe. I don¹t honestly don't know. I don't ever remember being afraid of anything, and the last time I felt truly sad was when my mother died, and that was over 30-years-ago my time. :: Fear was an interesting topic of discussion and study. Fear was the instinct that kept human beings alive long enough to reproduce and evolve. It was what kept his primitive ancestors from charging head first into a lion's den. Controlled fear was what allowed him to be a good fighter. The fear of losing kept him training, and the fear of getting punched in the face reminded him to keep his guard up. Of course, there were those that feared the irrational, or even those that feared the rational to an irrational degree. But Hsina seemed to have the opposite problem.:: Frost: My concern is that a lack of fear may lead you to make irrational or dangerous decisions. I'm not going to lie, I'm surprised that you were cleared for duty. Amman: Why? You have two Vulcans on your staff, do think their lack of fear will lead them to make irrational or dangerous decisions? I take my duties very seriously, and not falling apart under pressure is probably a good thing. Still, if you do not wish me to serve as your chief of security, then I will gladly step down and disembark at our next stop or rendezvous. I'm the first to admit that I¹m not much of a Starfleet security officer. I¹ve had two months of direct commission training and then served most of my one year in uniform as a science officer. Frost: Vulcans are also not susceptible to emotional extremes either. But that's beside the point. So how did you make your way to security? Amman: Well sir, Captain Waltas thought that I was the best person to keep his ship and crew safe. I plan to do everything in my power to give you the same impression. :: Liam had been in security before. He had served as the Chief of Security for Starbase 118, with several thousand officers under his command. But if he was being honest, the story of how he got there wasn't that much different than hers. He was qualified, but he hadn¹t had a lot of practical experience.:: Frost: I'm not here to discuss your qualifications. As I told you, you will have your job for as long as you demonstrate your ability to do it. Amman: I believe my ability is why I¹ve been continually promoted instead of fired. Frost: But make no mistake, I won't put up with anyone who breaks the rules just because they don't like them. There's no room for cowboys on my ship. Do we understand each other? Amman: Clearly. LtCmdr Hsina Amman Chief of Security USS Gemini & Commander Liam Frost Commanding Officer USS Gemini
  6. (( Docking Port 7 – Deep Space 6 )) ::He thanked every star in the quadrant that he was good at forcing his mind to stay focused. For such a large transport ship, it seemed that every single common area was a proverbial madhouse. Then again, he hadn’t spent much time outside of the interior of Federation space, so the more... lively races were still somewhat new to him. He didn’t spend a great deal of time interacting, however. He was now a Starfleet officer, and he had a job to do – namely, that of familiarizing himself as much as possible with the tactical systems and security posture of his new assignment, the USS Darwin. He went into the assignment process knowing full well that he could get anything the fleet had to offer. He was surprised, very pleasantly, to receive orders to a state of the art science vessel. Science ran in his veins and in his family. As a Trill, that was the subject his race was known for above all else. Of course, if there was one person to rain on his parade, it was his mother. He couldn’t help but ruminate on their last conversation before departing Starbase 118.:: (( Flashback – Crew Quarters, Starbase 118 )) ::He didn’t let the conversation deter him from packing what few belongings he had brought along from Earth. His transport was due to leave, and the last thing he needed was to miss it. Of course, it was also an excuse to not look at the monitor, as even across light years and over a subspace comm channel, his mother, Marika Tiro, inspired his ire in a way no one else could. Except for maybe that Orion hologram on his final...:: Loren: Mother, we’ve been over this a thousand times. I am doing what I want to do. Just because I’m not firing myself out of a torpedo tube toward Trill doesn’t mean I’m abandoning my race. Besides, you’re joined! You of all people should know that being joined isn’t for everyone. It’s not for me. ::Marika was a joined trill, the sixth host for the Tiro symbiont. And she never let him forget it.:: Marika: Toja, I just want you to live up to your potential! Who knows what you could accomplish if you had five lifetimes of knowledge and memories at your disposal. ::This was a conversation they’d had time and time again after he left their home on Betazed for Starfleet Academy. She was unhappy enough about that decision. When she learned that he was majoring in Military Studies, she nearly strangled him through subspace.:: Loren: Who knows what you might come to understand about me if you bothered to listen to the five lifetimes of memories you flaunt so often. I’m not a scientist, and I never will be, unless something very, very strange happens. And I will not apologize for that. I've been assigned to the USS Darwin as a tactical officer. ::He could hear her roll her eyes over the comm channel.:: Marika: Wonderful. My eldest son is gallivanting around the galaxy looking for battle. I didn’t realize I’d raised a Klingon with spots. At least your sister is doing something worthwhile. ::His face visibly contorted in confusion that then shifted into recognition of absurdity.:: Loren: Do you even hear yourself right now? Looking for battle? Starfleet’s mission, before all else, is to seek out new life, to go boldly where no one has gone before. If my role in that mission, that I believe in wholeheartedly, is to protect the lives of my crewmates, or the lives of races we have yet to even encounter, I can’t think of any better purpose for which to live my life. Marika: Toja, just listen to me! I... ::He was finished with this conversation. He had worked long and hard to develop some semblance of patience, and she was trying it, as usual.:: Loren: This conversation is over. Please give father my best. I hope that he is more supportive of my goals and accomplishments, though I suspect he will be. He always was. Say hello to Anzi for me. Good bye. ::Before she could even respond, he terminated the subspace link with a press of a button that was probably more forceful than it needed to be. He didn’t have time to stand there and fume, so he finished packing, and departed for the transport.:: (( Docking Port 7 – Deep Space 6 )) ::He was brought back to the present with an announcement over the transport’s comm system. Docking in five minutes. He looked around him, and gathered up all of the cluttered PADDs he’d left strewn about his little warren on the transport, and made sure that everything was packed. When he stepped off the ship, it was like trading one madhouse for another. He stood there for a moment, letting the throngs of people swarm around him and pass by, like a big rock in the middle of a river. He tried to push the remnants of his little chat with his mother out of his mind. The last thing he needed was to look like he was ready to go ten rounds with a targ while reporting to his new commanding officer.:: Baker: MISTER LOREN! ::He blinked once, turning his head this way and that, trying to locate the voice that called his name. He didn’t expect to see any familiar faces, but someone obviously knew him. It was the flailing hand that gave him the hint that he needed, though he was a bit surprised at the face that greeted him. He tried to weave his way through the bustle, though it was slow going.:: Loren: Lieutenant Baker? I wasn’t aware you were destined for Deep Space 6. Might have made the transport a little less hectic. It’s good to see you here, sir. Baker: Likewise. Fancy meeting you here, Ensign. Loren: What brings you to this sector of space? Your new assignment, I gather? Baker: Well, if I can get through this mess of humanoid flotsam, it’s my first deep space assignment in years. The Darwin. Loren: The Darwin? That’s my posting, as well. Tactical officer. Though I understand I’ll also be functioning as a security officer. Seems to be more common than I was aware of, though I’m certainly not complaining. I understand she’s a beautiful ship. State of the art... and I, for one, am happy to be exploring the galaxy. ::He seemed quite proud of that, in fact. After all, it did fit quite well with Toja’s particular interests and experiences. The fact that he got a smile in return bode well – never bad to have at least one acquaintance on board.:: Baker: Hey, congratulations. Small galaxy, eh? ::He noted that Baker seemed just as perplexed about this station as he was, though he obviously didn’t show it as much, as he got put on “point.”:: Baker: I’ll let you lead the way Ensign, and feel free to put those Academy muscles to the utmost potential to get us through here. ::He couldn’t help but chuckle, nodding his head slightly.:: Loren: Aye, sir. ::Toja at least remembered at which docking port the Darwin could be found, and that was as good a clue as any. Getting through all of these people was trying enough, but with three duffel bags and a recurve bow, it was all the better. He was as wide as a freighter, and most people didn’t seem too keen on trying to give him the room he needed. His height gave him a bit of an advantage though, and eventually, they found the right docking port. The security officer on duty seemed to be expecting newcomers.:: Loren: Ensign Toja Loren, request permission to come aboard. Baker: Lieutenant Nathan Baker, request permission to come aboard. Security Officer: Permission granted. Welcome to the USS Darwin, gentlemen. You’re newly assigned to the Darwin? ::Toja nodded once.:: Loren: We are, sir. Security Officer: Well then, congratulations on your new posting. Proceed to the bridge and report to the Captain. Glad to have you with us. ::Even being on the low end of the officer structure, it was nice to finally no longer be a cadet. He was treated like a person, now, which was a welcome change from Academy living.:: Loren: Yes, sir. ::After a glance at Baker, wherein he didn’t even try to hide his excited smile, they ventured forth into what he was more than happy to call his new home.:: (( Bridge – USS Darwin-A )) ::Even just the brief stroll through a corridor to a turbolift had him almost lightheaded with anticipation. Sure, it wasn’t the flagship. It wasn’t destined to patrol the borders of Federation space, defending against attacks. It wouldn’t be Starfleet if that’s all that was ever done. A state of the art exploration vessel was the heart of Starfleet, and his words to his mother echoed in his mind. He squared his shoulders, stepping off onto the bridge. He minded his own for now, returning the bridge crew’s inquisitive glances with a polite nod. Before long, he found himself at the door to the Captain’s ready room.:: Reinard: I’m free, come on in and take a seat. ::He stepped in, and took a moment to set his bags down with some semblance of order. He remained standing, until Commander Reinard offered otherwise.:: Baker: Thank you, Captain. Loren: Thank you, sir. ::He settled into the offered chair, back straight. Definitely fresh from the Academy.:: Reinard: Welcome aboard to both of you! Let me see those transfer papers. How was your journey here? ::He reached over to his smallest duffel bag, and thumbed through a stack of PADDs until he found the one he needed. At least he had the sense to keep them in order. He handed it to the Captain, resuming his previous posture.:: Baker: Do the words “Catullan hippie chants” mean anything to you, sir? If so, imagine that for the better part of nine hours. My head is splitting. But, that being said, I’m happy to be here. ::Toja’s face shifted a little, into an almost bemused smirk. It seems he suffered the same fate.:: Loren: It was... difficult to focus, Captain. I’m glad to finally be here. Reinard: How do you feel about being assigned to this ship? ::That question once again conjured echoes of his mother’s protests. He didn’t want to sound cliché for a new Academy graduate, but he spoke his mind.:: Loren: I couldn’t have asked for a better assignment, sir. Exploring the unknown is Starfleet’s most important mission. I’m glad to be out in front. oO Just don't ask my mother for HER opinion. Oo Baker: Quite happy to be here Captain. Can’t wait to get back to it; it’ll be like riding a bike I imagine. ::Toja took a moment to study the Captain, his facial expressions, nonverbal responses to what he and Baker were saying.:: Reinard: I’m sure you’ll both settle in fine and enjoy it here. Get your quarters assignments from ops and I’ll see you shortly as I’ll be calling a meeting of senior staff. Bye for now. Baker: Thank you Captain. Loren: Aye, sir. ::He rose from his seat, and made quick work of collecting his belongings, and departed with Baker. He hoped his first impression was a good one. He still felt rather awkward in social situations, but his final exam at Starbase 118 had done a bit to help loosen him up. A hand at his back caught his attention.:: Baker: Well done Ensign, you made a good first impression. Loren: I hope so, Lieutenant. Surprised no one asked me about my bow. I was going to get something to eat, would you like to join me? Baker: You go ahead. I’ve got a date with the warp core, but I’m sure I’ll catch ya later. Loren: Understood, sir. Have a good day. Baker: Take it easy. ::He stepped onto the turbolift and pondered his destination. He knew where the crew quarters were on the ship.:: Loren: Deck eight. (( Deck 8 - USS Darwin-A )) ::The turbolift started on its way, which was a very short trip. Only when the doors opened did he realize he missed something rather important. He set down one of his bags, and tapped his commbadge.:: Loren: =/\= Ensign Loren to bridge. =/\= ::The voice on the other end was female. Seemed friendly enough.:: James: Go ahead. ::His self-amusement was evident in his voice.:: Loren: I seem to have misplaced my quarters. ::There was a momentary pause where he almost knew he was being smirked at.:: James: Deck nine, section three, compartment seven. Welcome aboard, Ensign. ::At least she was efficient about it.:: Loren: Thank you. Loren out. oO That could have gone worse. Oo ::He doubled back to the turbolift, and made his way to the proper deck. Then he trekked along the corridor until he found it. He knew that junior officers’ quarters were dual-occupancy, but no one else seemed to be home. He stepped into his bedroom, and let his bags hit the floor. Empty, save for the standard furniture emplacements. But it was his, and that’s what mattered. He set his bow on the table. He’d have to find a suitable mount for it when he’s not using it. He’s glad no one remarked oddly on it. Hard to explain these things. He almost started drooling when he caught sight of the replicator. Better eat while he had time. Something hearty, that’d last him a while.:: Loren: Computer, beef barley stew. ::He might be a Trill, but there were certain tastes he picked up at the Academy that’d stick with him for life.:: TBC ---------- Ensign Toja Loren Security/Tactical Officer USS Darwin-A - NCC-99312
  7. ((Deciduous Forest - Unknown Realm)) ::She could smell the forest before the darkness faded to reveal it. The sharp, crystalline scent of deciduous chill playfully tickled her nose and was followed by the appearance of colour. Yellows, golds, and oranges were tinged with undertones of red. Beneath her feet, a carpet of the bright hues softened any of her movements but there were still leaves that clung to the limbs and branches, not quite ready to hand over the glory of Autumn to Winter's kiss. It was a scene that held a hint of familiarity among the unfamiliar, a forest of her dreams, perhaps, or a conglomeration of places she had visited in her various travels on Terra with her family. She twisted about, behind her a path stretched on to infinity, but somehow she sensed she had already come down that path and it would do no good to backtrack for to do so would get her no wear. She returned forward and was faced with a decision. Before her, two paths stretched onward, one angled to her right, the other to her left. The one to her right was more pronounced, the leaves well trampled, the path clear. The other, to her left, was less obvious. There was a sense of direction, but if it weren't for a certain arch of the trees, a specific way the bushes bent back, it would be impossible to tell that there was a path there at all.:: Varistha: So which will you choose? ::The voice startled her and Alora literally danced to the side and whirled about only to meet the gaze of the ancient Kubarey who had entered naked when first she saw him. Fortunately, he was currently clothed, but his sudden presence startled her and her eyes went wide in her surprise.:: Alora: Whoa...where did you come from? ::The question was first answered with a soft chuckle.:: Varistha: Where do any of us come from? Alora: I think that's a matter that is in universal contention. ::Her answer spurred another chuckle and he nodded as he leaned against the gnarled cane clasped in his right hand.:: Varistha: Well then, perhaps it's one we shouldn't worry about an answer to. Rather, perhaps you should focus on a more immediate question. ::Alora followed the old Kubarey's gaze back to the paths in question. They remained unchanged save for a gentle dancing of leaves across as the wind teased them into a dance. With the wind's kiss, the forest commenced a whispered song, the breeze sighing its melody and mingling it with the branches' gentle clatter and the leaves' soft, enthusiastic jangling.:: Alora: Where do they go? Varistha: Another good question, but one I can not answer with too much clarity. They are the paths of your life. You must choose which road to take. ::With his cane, he pointed to the clear path.:: Varistha: That one is easy, comparatively. You can see it. The obstacles will be mild, the burdens light. It's a guarantee to a happy ending with little trouble on the way. ::The cane arched up and over to direct the girl's attention to the other path, barely visible as several leaves danced upon the wind to come and rest upon their fallen brethren.:: Varistha: That one. That one is less certain. There's a happy ending, but even so it depends on whether you master the obstacles upon the way or the burdens that will weigh upon your shoulders. Yet, the reward that it leads to is greater. Via that path, you will reach your heart's desire. I must warn you, it is more difficult than even I can say, but perhaps it will be worth it. If you can traverse it. ::The cane lowered and he allowed it to bear more of his weight.:: Alora: What a choice. ::Alora's lips twisted into a smile as she pondered first one path, then the other. They stretched out before her, both twisting then rising so that what was ahead could not be discerned. One offered certainty, it's ending unknown but pleasant. The other offered hardships, perhaps even danger from what she could glean from the old man's tone, but its reward was greater.:: Alora: Only two paths? Varistha: Which will you choose? Alora: I would ask you that question. Varistha: My choice has already been made, my path already traveled. Neither of these are mine, but yours to take. ::It was a difficult to choice to make. Would the road less traveled offer a reward great enough for its trials? Would she feel a sense of accomplishment if she took the easy route? For a while she remained there, eyes shifting between the two.:: Varistha: I fear you must make a choice. Your time is almost at hand. Alora: I'm on the clock, huh? ::Eyebrows arched up at the comment, but it also produced another smile.:: Alora: All right. I'll choose. ::Right, or left? Alora stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, but she angled neither way. Rather, she approached the line of trees that rose between them. The underbrush was thick and crackled as she plunged through it. One hand pressed against a trunk to allow for better balance as she clambered over. She had forged only a foot or so when she heard the Kubarey call to her, bewilderment rippling through every word.:: Varistha: What are you doing? ::With that hand still braced against the trunk, Alora craned her neck to peer back at him.:: Alora: There was a famous poet on my planet by the name of Robert Frost. He wrote a poem once that said this. 'Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I I took the one less traveled by And that has made all the difference. ::The Kubarey allowed himself a moment to ponder the words, then spoke again.:: Varistha: But you took neither path, either the one well worn or the one less traveled. ::Alora's face brightened, her smile twinkling within those emerald eyes.:: Alora: You're right. I didn't take either of those paths. :: she paused to face forward and continue onward.:: I'm going to forge my own. ***** Lt. JG. Alora DeVeau Science Officer USS Mercury
  8. ((Observation Lounge, USS Atlantis)) ::Ren Rennyn had arrived in time to find a seat, nod hello to those he'd met, and even learn a few names he didn't know yet. Perhaps typical of a newly formed crew, a few seemed stressed by the travel and the sudden change in assignment. But typical of Starfleet crews, there was always someone with a friendly smile to point out the way. Now, Ren faced something different. Telnoth Haerin, the Grenushi ambassador, was eyeing each of them in turn with a sidelong glance. It wasn't just the condescending tone of his voice or the way he positioned himself away from the rest of them that Ren found off-putting about him. There was something in his eyes that told you you were small, and that was uncomfortable in its unfamiliarity to Ren. Back home in Arnmere, Ren was known for being the tallest man around. He didn't think of his height as extraordinary, but when it came in useful for others, he was glad to help. He hardly had problems with self-confidence - low self-esteem wasn't really a trait Starfleet officers could afford to hold on to. So he had no reason to be threatened by the Grenushi ambassador, especially considering that Federation citizens, maybe particularly those in Starfleet, had no place for that kind of disdain. Back home in Arnmere, Ren never would have dreamed of looking at someone with that much judgement. He wouldn't even have had those thoughts. It never made sense to Ren why anyone would waste their time putting others down, trying to build themselves up by lowering the people around them, bending others to their will, fighting to get their own way in trivial matters. As though it would make them seem more substantial. On planets like Trill, Earth, Betazed, those kind of selfish personality traits didn't have a place these days, and hadn't for a long time. He would have to get used to encountering that attitude out here. They'd learned about this in the Academy, in courses on making contact and creating effective communication with other cultures. Just the fact of being in San Francisco with cadets from all over the galaxy, representing hundreds of different worlds, was a daily lesson in getting along. Sure, everyone had their downfalls along with their strengths. Ren knew he did. It was knowing that and accepting it that made it easy to face someone like the Telnoth with the kindness and courtesy Starfleet officers were expected to show to any person they met. So, the next time Haerin glanced his way, Ren met the gaze with a friendly face and a modest smile. It seemed in that moment, though the Telnoth's face remained unchanged, that something deep in his eyes disapproved of Ren's very existence. The Trill ensign looked away, deciding to let that be and look only at the captain the rest of the meeting. Commander Blueheart was a man Ren liked, a captain who had obviously taken those same classes on cross-cultural communication not so long ago. He welcomed Haerin with that Federation kindness Ren was looking for. Blueheart explained the mission ahead of them and began giving out assignments to the crew.:: BLUEHEART: Mr Rennyn. The Uzoka system consists of two planets orbiting a yellow star, and lies on the border between the Valcarian Empire and the Beruna Province. Plot the shortest possible course to the system while keeping our distance from the Jenatris Cloud. You may utilize the Astrometrics lab if you so wish. RENNYN: Aye, sir. ::At the same time as he listened to the other assignments, getting a feel for who they all were and also what they'd be working on for this mission, Ren also began to think about his task. He knew a good amount about stellar cartography and astrogation, but he had little experience in the kind of Astrometrics lab the Atlantis had aboard. It was going to be fun learning about it!:: BLUEHEART: Oh, and Mr Kirosa? Congratulations. You’re chief of security. KIROSA: I- uh.... Thank you, sir ::There was a murmur among the crew at the news, and Rennyn offered a smile.:: RENNYN: Well done. ::He'd noticed Kirosa earlier when most of the crew gathered and came aboard Atlantis, but he hadn't had a chance to speak with her. He'd met a few Orions in the past, but never spent time with any. He was very interested to get to know an Orion.:: ::Ren also offered his congratulations to Lieutenant Anora. The briefing seemed to be coming to an end when Blueheart ended the conversation with Haerin. Ren decided to be brave and meet the Telnoth's gaze again, offering that same friendly face. But after a gracious, ambassadorial thank you to all the crew, the Telnoth swept out of the room without glancing at the Trill again.:: ::After the captain gave more instruction, Ren moved quickly from the room with most of the other crew. There was much to be done before 0600.:: Ensign Ren Rennyn Helm Officer USS ATLANTIS NCC-74682
  9. ((Kevin Breeman's Bedroom, Breeman Residence - Earth - Several Weeks After our Current Time on SB118)) ::Patri hugged her knees as she sat on the bed. Seated in the chair near Kevin's desk Jan watched her quietly as they discussed what had happened on what turned out to be Odyssey Station, located far outside of the Milky Way Galaxy.:: Patri: I don't know. I... Just didn't want to have to deal with them anymore. ::Jan nodded thoughtfully and smiled.:: Jan Breeman: That's understandable. I think you've had a very unique experience with computers. Computers aren't monsters. I'm sure you've been told that enough times. And I can understand why for you they are. ::Patri nodded.:: Patri: I was a real asset to a lot of people. I could feel what computers were doing, sense it when they were about to perform tasks. I could command them. But there was always so much noise. It was like constant screaming in my head. I couldn't recognize anyone any more. And that was why I found God. ::Jan nodded. A side effect of the slave tag had been a kind of prosopagnosia. Patri had effectively lost her biological parents.:: Jan Breeman: You saw religion as a way to calm your mind? Patri: Yeah.. In jail I'd practice it. There were less computers there. It was more peaceful. And I'd feel him there with me. Like Jesus Christ was someone I was friends with. He understood everything I was going through. It was like he had his own slave tag inside his brain. It jacked him into all the crap people had ever done. So God could obliterate it all just by killing him. ::Across the room Jan smiled slightly. It was understandable. The Christian narrative tended to emphasize the projection of all of human sin into the body of Jesus Christ. The crucifixion then became a kind of final purging.:: Patri: I learned to meditate. I even taught other inmates. I learned labyrinths inside the common prayer room. It was a holosuite devoted to running religious programs for inmates. We'd... Walk through the labyrinths together. It was like nothing else in the world mattered but you, the pattern on the floor, and God. Jan Breeman: I'm glad you did that. I wouldn't be surprised if you helped a lot of those people turn their lives around. Patri: I guess so. But then... This doctor named Emma finally figured out how to take out the slave tag. ::Jan nodded, remembering the lengthy correspondences she'd had with Emma Fengjian about the excision operation. The research that had led up to it had been revolutionary to say the least. And her follow through had been an astounding success.:: ::And yet, there had been something sinister in it all. As though in removing the device Emma had robbed Patri of a part of herself. She'd often brought that up. "Did I do the right thing?" she would ask sometimes during late night chats.:: ::Patri remembered what had turned out to be a kind of surgery.:: ((Flashback - Holodeck - Pamos Prison Colony)) Anger blossomed inside of her, a dagger sprouting in her hand. The throbbing beat harder, a rhythmic pounding driving her forward. She lunged at the creature, pressing her small by comparison form into the monster's midsection, and drove the knife into his stomach. There was a groaning sound from everywhere inside of him as she felt the dog's muzzle fall on top of her head. She smelled the stench of his wheezing breaths as the side of his opened mouth showered her hair with saliva and then blood. “Patri!” Emma, desperate and shocked. She grabbed at the dog and felt herself lifting him over her shoulder. This was instinct, a raw need that gnawed at her for satisfaction. “Patri I need you to talk to me. What are you feeling? I can't be sure this is working if--” How could Emma ever understand? Patri was doing what she'd wanted to do all her life. She was liberating herself finally, trekking into a new life. The ground in the forest in which they stood sloped gently upward, fog parting in front of them and obscuring their path behind. She could still see Emma in the corner of her eye, walking beside her, a pleading look in her eyes. Patri carried the limp Grendellai over her shoulder to... where? “Patri, I need you to talk to me. I'm here to help you.” She wasn't. She was just like all the others, singing a chorus of empty jargon to accompany the arc of Patri's life. Soon it was raining. As they reached the top of the hill Patri saw what she wanted. She set the dog down on the stony structure as a torrent of rain drenched his wound. She could see Emma staring at her, forlorn bewilderment pressed down by a soaked matt of hair, shaking her head in disbelief. Patri still held her knife. She wanted to cut at this dying Grendellai. She wanted to gouge its eyes out. She wanted to slice at its nose and draw blood from the vulnerable moist black skin. But something was wrong. There was a choked sound coming from his throat then a squeak and then a ruff and a bark. She couldn't believe it. The thing was a dog now. He was just a dog. ((Present)) ::At first she'd hated Emma for what she'd done. She'd wanted to kill herself after it, feeling as though she were just a husk and not a human any more. God had left her.:: Jan Breeman: ::Quietly she said,:: I know. Patri: So... When I saw that floor and those Binars told me what they thought it was, I just froze... What if I somehow wrecked it? Or caused it to do something that would damage the station? Jan Breeman: Because computers have always been trouble for you. ::Patri nodded.:: Jan Breeman: Patri... You must have been very scared. Patri: ::Quickly:: I was! Jan Breeman: And I want you to know that I'm very proud of you. Patri: Why? ::Jan got up from the chair she was sitting in and sat down on the bed beside Patri.:: Jan Breeman: Because you didn't want to do anything wrong. You would do anything to prevent yourself from doing something wrong. You're a good kid. And I want you to know that what Emma did to you back there... I know it hurt. I have known Doctor Emma Fengjian a very long time. And I know there isn't a day she doesn't think about how she hurt you. ::Patri burst into tears.:: Patri: What? Why?? Jan: Because, honey... She knew what it was she was taking from you when she extracted that slave tag. She knew you were too smart to let something bad in your life stay bad. You turned it into a part of who you were. And Emma took away that part. ((Flashback - Holodeck - Pamos Prison Colony)) The yellow grid was back, an empty room. Its lone occupant stood soaked in water that slowly faded as the emitters de-integrated the holographic substance from her body, until all that was left was Patri, staring out into a blank room, her real water still soaking her shirt, non-human elements gone. She stared at the flakes of dried mud scattered senselessly everywhere. Her mind, for the first time in her life, was an abyss that could never stare back. She slowly dropped to her knees and held out her hand wanting to clasp the god she'd conjured to get her through life. But the knocking at the door to her heart never came. She couldn't dream up peace beyond understanding or scandalous penetrations of her reality by an eternal divine other. Seated on the floor, dirt all around her, she held her head in her hands and wept. ((Present)) ::Jan calculated her next words, believing Patri would be mature enough to understand them.:: Jan Breeman: She wanted you to have your humanity back. ::Patri continued to cry softly as Jan wrapped her arms around her.:: Jan Breeman: And I think what you can learn from all of this is that people usually try to be good. Just like Emma did. Just like Kevin did. Just like you did. ::Patri wiped a tear from her cheak and said,:: Patri: Okay. Jan Breeman: You're a human being. You can start to trust yourself again. I know it'll be hard. But we're here for you. ::Later that night when Patri finally did fall asleep her dreams returned to being just scattered remnants of the days and weeks before, strung together with a logic all their own by the whims of her entirely human brain.:: Patri Jia Kom Former Computer Hacker as simmed by Lt. Cmdr. Kevin Breeman Chief Engineer Starbase 118
  10. ((Main Engineering)) ::Ben scanned over the text that now appeared on the screen. His stomach tightened as he read the words.:: --- Mr. John Livingston, Esq., I am pleased to inform you that after careful review, Starfleet Command and the Starfleet Academy Commandant have decided to accept your application to Starfleet Academy, San Francisco campus, to study in our Law program. If you choose to accept this offer, please reply within two weeks. You will report for duty at the San Francisco campus on Stardate 239004.01. You will find logistics attached to this letter, as well as required reading to be completed prior to your arrival. --- ::The letter continued, but Ben could not.:: B. Livingston: John! What have you done!? ::The screen switched from text back to the image of his brother, doubled over in laughter.:: J. Livingston: Ha ha! You should have seen the look on your face when you read that, Bennie boy! Oh, wait! You can. ::The screen changed to a still of Ben’s face, somewhere between disbelief and rage. Ben clenched his jaw as he sat watching it until John switched the view back. Now able to look at his brother, Ben glowered at him and leveled a finger straight at his brother’s face.:: B. Livingston: You listen to me. You cannot accept that offer. And don’t tell Dad about it, he’ll blow a gasket real quick. You know how he reacted when I applied, and that must have been much easier for him. At least I’d already become an engineer – Starfleet was less of a fall. J. Livingston: ::adopting a particularly sober expression, John nodded slowly.:: You’re right, Ben, you’re right. Dad would be upset. It’s just that, well … well, I already accepted the offer, and I’ve already told him. ::John smiled broadly and slapped the desk.:: And you’re right, he was so mad … oh, jeez, you should have heard him. ::Silence fell between them, and it remained for a moment as Ben thought. There were few situations that got under Ben’s skin. He’d found many more since joining 118, but that was the nature of the beast. The other thing that consistently managed to irritate him was any situation involving John. The man – boy, really – had a knack for finding those things that annoyed people, and poking them right there.:: ::And this was exactly one of those places. Starfleet had become a refuge for Ben – away from corporate life, a place he could excel and make a difference, and a way of feeling useful. But John? He didn’t have the same values as Ben. What values did this jokester even have? The whole reason probably was to annoy him.:: B. Livingston: John, why did you apply? J. Livingston: What do you mean? I wanted to follow in the footsteps of my big brother! ::Ben arched an eyebrow.:: B. Livingston: No you didn’t. ::beat:: Why’d you do it? J. Livingston: Well it’s complicated, Bennie. But here’s the thing. The galaxy is a complicated place, politically, legally, morally … ::John trailed off, implying that the list went on and on, or as John might have said, ad infinitum:: The Federation needs strong minded individuals with skills over a broad range of specialties, not the least of which – B. Livingston: I’ve heard the pitch, John. J. Livingston: ::shifting in his seat.:: I thought you’d be happy. Or at least happy for me. B. Livingston: How’d you get in with your record? J. Livingston: Top 5%, you know that. B. Livingston: Not that record. ::Silence descended once more. This time, Ben was not thinking. John, on the other hand, clearly was. His lips parted slightly a few times before he managed to speak.:: J. Livingston: Ben, please. B. Livingston: How? J. Livingston: Ben, remember … I wasn’t convicted. You know that. B. Livingston: And you remember. About what you put me through. All of us through. ::He shook his head slowly.:: Everything those families had to go through. ::John looked increasingly uncomfortable. He looked stung by an internal agony. It was an expression that Ben had seen before, and for half a moment, the hardness Ben felt was fractured and his own pain managed to find its way through.:: ((Flashback – years ago)) Bailiff: Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God? ::Ben looked down to find his hand resting upon the cover, his fingertips sensing the book’s beauty and softness. His other arm was midair.:: Livingston: I do. ::The book dropped from beneath his hand; the Bailiff retreated with it under his arm. Ben looked around and the crowded room, then sat. The seat, too, was very comfortable, much as the book had been.:: Judge: Please state your name for the record. Livingston: Ben Livingston. Judge: Your FULL name, Mr. Livingston. Livingston: ::beat:: Benjamin Livingston. Judge: And your relation to the defendant? ::Ben closed his eyes and swallowed what little was in his dry mouth. His tongue tasted like sandpaper. He looked up at the judge, who glowered, jaw clenched and gavel in hand, down at him. The prosecutor, likewise, stood facing him with arms crossed.:: ::He looked over to the table before him, where sat, eyes pleading and sorrowful and contrite, the boy who had looked at him so many times before, after getting himself into trouble with the neighbors or Mom and Dad or his teachers.:: ::Ben gulped down the sandpaper.:: Livingston: He is my brother. Prosecutor: And on the day that … ::sniff:: ahem, that this tragedy occurred, Mr. Livingston. Where were you? ::Ben reached to grab his hand. When had it begun shaking? He leaned in toward the small microphone before him.:: Livingston: I was at home. Prosecutor: And your home is where? Livingston: Boston, Massachusetts. Prosecutor: So you were not with the defendant in New York City on that day. Livingston: No. But I did speak to him that morning. Prosecutor: But to be clear, you were not WITH him, Mr. Livingston? ::Ben’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.:: Judge: I remind you that you are under oath to tell the truth. Livingston: ::beat:: No. I was not. ::Ben’s gaze wandered back to the seat in front of him. His brother held his head in his hands, fingers gripping his hair. Those big, brown eyes had always laughed. Now there was more anguish in them than amusement.:: ((End flashback)) ::Deep inside of him, Ben could feel some kind of emotion welling up – one that he had felt rarely but very recently. He wanted to reach out, through the screen and take hold of his brother, pull him close and hug the man that he had so often wanted to hit.:: J. Livingston: Ben … I don’t know what to say. ::Ben struggled to find some words as he fought back the tears that wanted to burst forth. If he hadn’t just remembered about all this recently, maybe it wouldn’t have been so hard. Maybe he wouldn’t have brought it up. If only he hadn’t been on that mission just before. He sighed, trying desperately to think of what to say.:: J. Livingston: I guess I’d better go. B. Livingston: John, wait -- ::no words seemed to express what he wanted to say.:: oO don’t go? I’m sorry? I know all of that wasn’t your fault? I’m proud of you? What do I say here? Oo Just … promise me something. Let’s talk again soon, huh? It’s been too long. ::John nodded rapidly, those bright eyes now shiny and red as he pursed his lips in an expression Ben had never seen from his brother. They made eye contact again for just an instant before John looked away again and reached out to tap a button in front of him. The screen went black.:: ::Letting an enormous sigh escape, Ben rocked back in his chair and let fingers run through his hair.:: Livingston: oO What have I said to him? What have I done? He was only a kid … Oo ::A minute passed as he thought quietly over all that had transpired before he decided to try to do something productive and take his mind off of it. He searched around for something in front of him, but after picking up a PADD, he tossed it back onto the desk. He sighed again.:: Livingston: Computer – letter composition. Take dictation. My dear brother John. At some point in the future, we’ll talk again about the events that neither of us like to speak about. When we do, I will do my best to make sure it is done in a productive manner, and not brought up in anger. I am also very proud that you have been able to recover yourself and not only succeed in law school, but be accepted by the very selective Starfleet Academy. Despite everything we just said to one another, I’m proud to call you brother. Now, I do want to offer some advice as you embark on this newest adventure. After all, it’s one of the few escapades you’ve taken for which I have advice to give that’s not “don’t.” ::Ben smiled to himself as he imagined his brother laughing at that line. He gathered his thoughts, then continued.:: ----- Lieutenant, J.G. Ben Livingston Assistant Chief Engineer Starbase 118 Ops
  11. ((Ship’s Counsellor’s Office, USS Tiger-A, night after the Pirate Adventure)) ::Jorey sat across from the counsellor and looked around the room. He was so embarassed from what had happened in the Tiger’s Den. He had never lost his mind before and had no idea what any of it meant. He felt fine now. He felt like himself and that nothing was wrong with him.:: Jorey: Counsellor, I must first apologize for my bizarre behaviour in the Tiger’s Den. I should have sought you out as soon as I knew that something was wrong. ::Jorey looked up at Zinna and smirked.:: A man’s pride can be both his biggest strength and his biggest weakness. ::Jorey leaned forward slightly and with a raised eyebrow asked joking,:: So I’m pretty sure I’m crazy, doctor... but what kind of crazy am I? ::Jorey sat back in his chair much more relaxed and wondered what the counsellor would have to say about his strange behaviour in the Tiger’s Den the night of the awards ceremony.:: Zinna: No need to apologize ens--lieutenant...everyone goes crazy every once in awhile. It’s just my job to analyze why. So have you been having any after effects since the mission? Jorey: ::His smile fading.:: Some. Nightmares, flashbacks... difficulty sleeping. ::Jorey leaned in and in a low tone continued.:: I can’t seem to shake the feeling of a seemly inevitable doom... like the shadows of other horrible creatures are somehow trapped and following me. ::Saying the words out loud sent chills through his body. He wanted to believe that it was all in his head, but there was a part of him that truly felt the presence of spirits made of fear and despair following him.:: :: The El-Aurian counselor nodded. :: Zinna: I would assume that would be normal for someone who went through with what you did, but the important thing is know that now, you’re safe. Do you feel safe here? ::Jorey wanted to say yes. He knew that he should be able to say it. It was a safe place with a trustworthy person, but...:: Jorey: I know that anyone else would think I am safe. ::Jorey shifted in his chair slightly.:: It’s like I can’t convince my own mind that the nightmare is over. There’s a part of me that believes reality will disintegrate and reveal the truth that I am still in a holding cell on the Reaper’s ship. ::Jorey could feel the shadows cringe slightly... almost like they were gasping to find their breath.:: Jorey: It’s as though something or someone has somehow followed me here. Like they are not finished what was started aboard the Reaper ship. ::Jorey knew he sounded like a madman, but knew the only way to fight was to do so honestly.:: Zinna: Braydon I’m going to suggest some things. One is something I rarely ever suggest but maybe you could ask the CMO for something to help you sleep better. The other is something that I know you will need. You probably need to take it easy. Enjoy your shore leave and anytime you feel like you’re being watched just remind yourself it’s not real. Jorey: The problem, counsellor, is that I know I am not being watched by something outside of me. ::Jorey saw the hint of a shadow race across the surface of Zinna’s desk.:: Its more like its survived inside me and is trying to force its way out. ::Jorey was speaking in a near whisper, afraid that someone other than the counsellor would hear. Talking about the Reapers, the feelings of doom, and the shadows was making Jorey more and more uneasy. :: Zinna could see the despair in him and sense him becoming more and more paranoid. Zinna felt as if she saw something swipe across her desk but she ignored it and tried to remain focused on Brayden. She surely didn’t want to tell him that she was seeing things as well...that would only make him feel like these “shadows” actually were real. :: Zinna: Brayden...I know exactly how you feel. In the past I had the same feeling that there was something evil inside of me trying to make it’s way out as well, but guess what? It eventually went away. oO Or maybe it’s just taking a break... Oo Jorey: So at least I’m not the only crazy one aboard the Tig... ::Jorey stopped abruptly as a strange voice filled his mind. It sounded like the voice of a small, female child:: Child: ~It won’t stop...so much fire...they’re all gunna burn...~ ::The voice sounded like it was getting closer, before it faded back to nothing. Jorey: A child crying... ::He whispered, more to himself, trying to make sense of it.:: Zinna: A child? Brayden what’s wrong? ::Jorey and Zinna looked at each other for a moment that seemed to make time stop in an unnatural and erie way. Sounds of a child screaming in agony seemed to fill the room. Jorey wiped away a bead of sweat that traced down his forehead.:: Jorey: Is it getting hotter in here? ::Jorey said wondering if Zinna heard it, if she felt the heat.:: Zinna: Computer lower temperature by five degrees...:: Zinna thought she had heard a child crying but she was trying to tune it all out. She wanted to appear calm in front of Jorey. :: Can I get you some iced water? Jorey: Maybe we could take a walk, Counsellor? Make our way to sickbay and see about helping me sleep? ::Jorey said, trying to calm his voice. He needed to get out of this room. He need to escape. :: She nodded getting up:: Zinna: Of course, anything to make you feel better. Jorey: Thanks. ::Jorey said getting up quickly and heading out the door.:: ::The hallway seemed cool and whatever was haunting him seemed to have stayed behind in Zinna’s office. They continued talking as they made their way to the Tiger’s sickbay.:: Jorey: Sometimes getting up and moving somewhere else seems to help. ::Jorey smiled at the counsellor beginning to feel more like himself.:: Zinna: And that’s perfectly fine Brayden. ::By then they had reached sickbay since it wasn’t that far away. :: Zinna: Alright Brayden, the nurse will give you a mild sedative to help you get some sleep tonight. I would like to see you again tomorrow morning to check in. ::Jorey nodded in agreement and headed into sickbay. Zinna turned and headed down the hallway toward her quarters. She let down her guard now that she was alone. She wondered how it was she heard and felt Jorey’s delusions in her office. She thought she saw a shadow move across her desk, she heard the child’s cries, and she couldn’t be sure but could swear she felt the room get warmer.:: oOImpossible.Oo ::She thought as she entered her quarters. She was exhausted and fell on her bed. She just needed to lie down for a moment before going through her evening rituals. Meanwhile, Jorey was trying to complete his evening prayers and blessings, but the sedative was taking hold with more force than he expected. He made his way to the bed and seemed to enter into a deep sleep as his head fell gently against the pillow.:: TBC Lt.JG Brayden Jorey USS Tiger-A Chief Helm Officer and Lt. Zinna USS Tiger-A On Leave of Absence
  12. (( Port Escape Pods, Lower Decks )) HOSHINO: Everyone, get to the pods... :: Ryoma didn't move forward to safety, but instead moved back to Devon. Squatting beside he, his hands on her shoulders, he knew that she would fight him. :: HOSHINO: Devon, you get on this one, I'll try and get in a pod on the forward section... ROMJIN: What? Ryoma, no! There isn't time... ::pulling at his arms:: ...you have to come with us. HOSHINO: There are too many people, Devon. They are injured, the counsellor has kids, and you, :: he swallowed hard :: I want you to be safe. ROMJIN: I can't just leave you! ::Her heart was racing. She shook her head and refused to let go of him.:: You have to come! Please, Ryoma. I'm pregnant! ::That's not how she wanted to tell him but she was scared to let him go.:: :: Ryoma blinked, the admission barely even registered in his mind. After a moment he smiled and put the palm of his hand against her cheek. :: HOSHINO: I'll be fine, Devon, don't worry. I'll see you on the other side... :: He kissed her on the forehead. :: Now, go, before they go without you. :: Tears now streaked her smoke smudged face. Hands grabbed her by the shoulders and helped her to her feet. :: ROMJIN: Ryoma... * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * :: Ryoma had left Devon at the escape pod, and pushed his way back out into the corridor. Her face was on his mind as he collapsed to the floor, choking from the smoke billowing through the corridor. His hand slapped the floor in front of him, a spike of pain rising through his forearm. His eyes were stinging, his sweat-drenched hair was sticking to his face, and he was running out of time. :: COMPUTER: Two minutes until self-destruct. :: In the darkness of the smokey corridor, Ryoma heard groaning. He crawled ahead to find the source of the moans, finding a young deckhand with a gash across his face and a arm blacked from the near-instant frostbite of the Breen's cryogenic weapons. :: HOSHINO: :: Taking the young enlistee's pulse. :: It's okay, crewman, you're going to be alright. :: The kid's pulse was weak, but his groaning was a sign that he could pull through. :: :: Ryoma lifted the young man to his feet and carried on through the corridor, stepping over the bodies of Starfleet personnel and Breen alike. Then he heard what sounded like a chorus of screaming furies crying out for blood followed by a searing heat as the bulk head melted away in front of him. :: HOSHINO: No! :: The corridor lost pressure as the forward section of the saucer violently blew away taking Ryoma with it, his arms still wrapped around the crewman. His ears popped and he felt a sizzling sensation across his tongue before he succumbed to the darkness. :: * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * (( Intelligence Office, Lower Decks )) :: The jolt threw Ryoma into consciousness. As a kid, Ryoma had always heard that the falling sensation in our dreams was our heart skipping a beat, that if you hit the ground, you'll never wake up. Well, once again he had cheated death... the problem was, what is the point in cheating death if you wake up at the end of the night shift? Ryoma groaned as he checked the chronometer, wiping his eyes as though the display might just be a result of the sandman's trickery. :: oO How long was I asleep? Thank heavens I was alone... Oo :: With a yawn, he picked up the PADD from his lap and stood up to shake off the snooze. Immediately he noticed the note he had started before dropping off. Drinking his now stone cold coffee, he put the finishing touches to the message. :: ___________________________________________________ | | | Dear Devon, | | | | I just wanted to leave you a note to thank you | | for the time we spent together on Earth. When I | | close my eyes, all I think about is you in the | | morning sun. I really hope we can see each other | | again soon. | | | | If you're free after your shift, let me know - | | I have a bottle of shochu from our trip that I | | can't wait to unscrew, but I felt you deserved | | a chance to enjoy. How about it? | | | | Yours, | | | | Ryoma | | | ¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯ :: Hoshino put the PADD on Romjin's console and turned it face down. He felt good, like a new dawn had risen over his soul... or maybe that was the caffeine talking. :: ===================================================== Ensign Ryoma Hoshino Intelligence Officer USS Discovery-C
  13. ((Engineering Lab Two, USS Vigilant)) Matthews: =/\= TaJoot, I heard engineers were like smart and stuff, right? Listen from what we know so far the toxin is transmitted through that gelatinous substance. So how do you normally clean up the gel from one of those packs if they break? Moreover, could you implement that operation on a grander scale? And I really wish we could tell you that this was some freak accident. But I have pieces of a dead Romulan here that screams otherwise. Who knows what other types of sabotage could have implemented aboard that station. So you guys be careful poking around with that stuff ok? Cause you getting sick won't make us come up with a cure any faster. =/\= TaJoot =/\= There you go, I'm getter informed just talking to you. Tajoot out. =/\= ::Matthews was probably hoping exactly what taJoot had hoped-- that Someone Else's Department had a magic Undo button that could be pressed. There were definitely a set of procedures to be followed in the event of neurogel compromise for Intrepid-class vessels. And sure, the Vigilantes could probably apply them to the station as a whole. But StarFleet used neurogel for processing, not storage; you could clean up a broken pack, sterilize the site and replace it without losing anything. The Vigilant could flood the station with something that would break down the Zalkonian gel (and any other biomatter). But then they'd lose all hope of ever figuring out what had happened. Like, why was that Romulan on board? Was there some link between the Romulans and this station? Why didn't anyone tell him these things? T'Rella: The timeline of events is complete, Sir. ::She quickly moved the last few files into place.:: Transferring data to holographic display. taJoot: So, what happened when? ::The central holo was overlaid with a neat timeline, indicating the time, or projected time, of the failure of each system.:: Malik: Impressive... T'Rella: It goes without saying that these logs run through until the failure of the Damage Control systems. First to go offline were the diagnostic systems in a large proportion of the station. Following that, reports indicate problems with some of the data storage capsules, although their specific location does not appear in the logs. I suspect it has been erased, rather than lost. ::She raised an eyebrow.:: Malik: I agree taJoot: Yeah, nobody submits a ticket saying "I have a vague idea that there might be a problem in Accounting somewhere," they submit tickets that say "That tsooderst file server in Requisitions ate my spreadsheet again, when are you going to fix it?" T'Rella: What follows is a list of computer malfunctions that continues right through to the end of the log, followed by our next major error report. It appears that sickbay's ODN network collapsed, triggering a number of issues with equipment and isolating the computer systems within that department. By interpolating data from other files, I have made what I would assess to be a logical deduction... that the EPS flow regulator malfunction occured next. Similar reports have been found in the logs, and each is the trigger for power surges that disabled something more critical. Life support. Air refiltration. Emergency bulkheads. Internal sensors. Internal communications. Everything that would prove useful in the event of stationwide contamination failed first, followed subsequently by every other major system on the station... with the exception of the lights, and a few systems accessible in the command centre. taJoot: Okay, so, yeah, it would seem difficult to attribute that tidal wave of consequences to a random entropy peak. So... ::getting up and stepping over to the display:: then the question is... what stopped it? Why didn't the infection take down the command center too? ::Dueld got up and started to walk slowly around the holo display. That was a significant design flaw in this snug little lab, actually, no room to pace. How the hell did people think without pacing? It was like their feet were totally uninvolved in the cognitive process. Aliens, that's what they were, strange beige people from space.:: taJoot: Computer, run a molecular scan on the gel capsules still present in the Zalkonian command center. Compare used and unused storage sectors. Generate a model of a base gel pac in its default unused state; display a random sector from it here on the holo projector. Display a random used sector from the least damaged of the command center gel pacs. And finally, display a sector from one of the infected sacs outside the command center. Computer: Acknowledged. Working. taJoot: Well, somebody else has probably thought of this, but my idea is that maybe whatever saved the command center systems can be leveraged somehow to engineer a defense or a cure? ::Over the next few minutes, three different models slowly sharpened from a crude initial scan to finer detail in the air before them. He pointed at the middle one.:: taJoot: Okay, see-- magnify to molecular scale here-- look, some of the command center gel has triple-stranded DNA. It's part of the encryption protocols. It's just different enough, structurally, and there's enough of it there, to slow the rate of infection. And... hey.... ::Dueld held out both hands to bracket the lower model, and haul it up to his eye level.:: taJoot: The infection's either not very efficient, or it's super efficient, depending on how your perspective. Look at all those old proteins jumbled up there! Just like the toxin's effect on people, one of the effects the toxin has on the gel, when it converts the gel to toxin production, is that it shuts down garbage collection. If we compensate for a certain amount of signal noise from the damaged ends of the proteins, we can get back-- ::Dueld turned and sat down, tapping and skimming rapidly around on his station's worksurface. A few minutes later, he emerged from his absorption and tapped his comm badge.:: taJoot: Computer, record a message to be queued for Lt. Thomas, Lt. Commander Handley-Page and Lt. Zehn. Attach comparison images in their current resolutions from the holographic display here, and algorithm protocol Zalkonian Gel Alpha. Begin recording. Sirs, I've had a chance to do some analysis of the Zalkonian gel. It looks to me like, as long as the gel hasn't been infected for too long, the infection kind of acts like a preservative for data proteins that would have been discarded and broken down otherwise. It's so efficient at using cell energy for the toxin production that nothing has a chance to get rid of the garbage, so to speak. If we use some careful filtering to ignore bent sections or damaged ends, even the dead proteins have some data on them we can recover. I've attached a first-pass algorithm for noise reduction, which you veterans can probably improve on-- I used it just now on a record fragment associated with one of the survivors. It seems to record that Vorad ordered a lab in the older part of the station sealed for biohazard failures. Are you guys anywhere near the section shown in the attached file? Can you confirm whether or not my algorithm is retrieving useful data? If it is, you can maybe use it on the gel sacs around you to get more of the lost picture. taJoot out. End recording. Transmit with attached files. TBC ___________________________________ Lt. (j.g.) taJoot Engineer USS Vigilant NCC 75515
  14. (( USS Saratoga )) ::Raw ingenuity, inspired brilliance and sheer dumb luck had all come together to keep the Saratoga alive as it languished in the atmosphere of JB-437-2. Tubes and wires criss-crossed engineering, conduits were laid bare in the corridors, decking was pulled up in crew quarters and science labs alike, visual reminders of the dirty tricks used to keep the starship powered for decades longer than it should have been. ::But time takes its toll. Even with the abundance of hydrogen available, the patched Bussard Collectors were failing to gather the fuel they needed to power the ship's fusion reactors. Deuterium conversion was nothing more than a pipe dream. The warp core was cold. ::Strict protocols had been programmed into the computer. What systems were deemed non-essential, what could and could not be shut down as resources became scarce. Whole sections of the ship were dark and cold, cut off years and years ago from the life-blood of the ship to preserve the whole. ::The Saratoga, faithful and determined for over a century, was dying. ::It had one last mission to complete. Sensors, almost blinded by age, touched upon the approaching ship. It fit no profile, but that was not important. All that mattered was that it was there. ::Ports opened. The last remnants of power were pushed through the ship, aged systems pressed into service for one last time. ::On the Mercury's sensors, the Saratoga lit up like a beacon. A few moments later, and they began to register a single lifesign, sequestered in the elderly vessel's sickbay.:: (( Sickbay )) ::There was nothing. No thought, no sensation, not even the passage of time. ::Life, suspended. Stasis. ::Then...:: (( Many, Many Decades Ago )) WIECZOREK: ...hear me? ::She blinked. Hard. For a moment, there was nothing but absolute confusion, until it was blasted away by a tsunami of pain thundering into her head. Her whole body arched and tensed in protest, instinct demanding she scream. The sound was choked dead by muscle spasms before it could escape her throat.:: WIECZOREK: Lieutenant, can you hear me? ::Hands caught her wrists, trying to pry her hands away from her head. When that didn't work, he caught her face in his palms, leaning in close. Had she a rational mind, she would have recognised the face of Konrad Wieczorek, the chief medical officer of the Saratoga. Instead she lashed out, one moment trying to push him away, the next her fingers balling into the fabric of his tunic, hanging on dear life.:: VOICE: We're too late. She's too far gone. WIECZOREK: Listen to me. Jenna, listen to me. We need to put you in stasis, before you... before your brain is permanently damaged. Do you understand? ::She didn't. She didn't understand anything, couldn't react to anything, except the inescapable, indescribable pain reverberating in her skull. Though she didn't see it, Weiczorek's face crumpled in resignation and he turned to his assistant.:: WIECZOREK: Is the stasis chamber ready? VOICE: Yes, it's— ::The voice stilled as this time, she did scream. The sound was enough to raise hairs on even a Vulcan's neck.:: God. Oh, God. Why is it, why's she..? Why's no one else like this? WIECZOREK: Vulcan physiology, Betazoid physiology, the particular way they've combined in her, I don't know. Just help me get her into the chamber. (( Present Day )) ::Sparks flew in sickbay, conduits explosively failing as a jolt of power surged through them. It was the final tipping point for the sole functioning medical system in sickbay. The stasis chamber flickered off, discharging its occupant onto the floor in a tangled mess. ::It was akin to being plunged into ice water and had much the same effect, leaving her gasping for breath, curled into a foetal position on the floor. It had been a century ago for the rest of the universe, but only one heartbeat since she had felt a pain so pure she had been incapable of feeling anything else. ::Now there was nothing. Silence, darkness, cold. She began to shiver, her teeth chattering together. Black eyes squinted into the shadows, trying to make sense of the shapes swimming in front of her. ::Sickbay. In those brief moments of illumination between sparks, she could see she was in sickbay. But why was the power out? Where was Wieczorek? Where were the rest of the staff? ::Nam-tor pthak-bosh vel t'kashek. Kup-putash-tor kashek. Nash-veh Vuhlkansu. Krie'nuv nash-veh ma. ::The ancient mantra brought stillness to her mind, almost Pavlonian in effect. She had many questions, but there were no answers to be found curled up on the floor. With a soft grunt, she hauled herself up; first on all fours, then to her feet. With detached concern, she realised that her fingers and toes were already numb from the cold. ::She decided on her priorities: light, warmth, a weapon, answers. At least the first two could be found in sickbay, she was sure. The others... she'd come to them in due time.:: (OOC: For those interested, the translation is: 'Fear is a thing of the mind. The mind can be controlled. I am Vulcan. I have control.') --The Sole Survivor of the Saratoga simmed by Captain Quinn Reynolds Intelligence OfficerUSS Mercury
  15. ((Blueheart's Quarters, USS Discovery-C)) ::And so, Lt Cogud began his tale.. .. :: COGUD: It all started... well I guess when I was born. ::Cogud went on to tell the Commander the many aspects of his childhood, including his family's experience with Orions, and how he had been taught to hate them.:: COGUD: I can't change my upbringing. BLUEHEART: ::nodding somberly:: No. No, you can't. ::He furrowed his brow and the helmsman picked up on this cue.:: COGUD: Yes of course, you want to know why Mr Vedra called me a racist... I mentioned the Sol System Rally, I may have... given in to my upbringing. Seeing the Lieutenant reminded me of my upbringing and when I couple that with the upbringing of many of my academy colleagues I feel cheated, so I blamed the first Orion I saw and thought I stood a chance against, then I fired my best shot... ::Raj nodded. His countenance took on a grave appearance. He hated bigots. No, he DESPISED them. Why a dark-skinned individual is considered filthy was beyond his understanding. Why someone born of a lower caste is untouchable was beyond his comprehension. Why a pansexual tri-gendered alien race is one big prostitution ring was beyond his grasp. Whatever his own personal take on the subject, he wasn't about to let that leak into his professionalism. What he did understand about bigotry was that it's forged in the flames of insecurity and low self-worth, later festering into a paranoid delusion. Bigotry is a disease. As a physician, he was compelled to treat the disease.:: BLUEHEART: I see. oO Cogud probably hurled a volley of racial epithets at Vedra. And Vedra is already clinically depressed to begin with. So many things could go wrong from here. Oo ::He stood up, fetched another bottle of wine (this time a three-year-old Bordeaux) and filled the gentlemen's glasses before his own.:: BLUEHEART: Jorus, am I correct to presume you feel some remorse following your action? COGUD: ::Nodding slowly.:: Of course. BLUEHEART: Good. It's a start. ::to Vedra:: Raine, I understand your hurt. But this is something that cannot be rectified overnight. ::Vedra clenched his jaw and fists but said nothing.:: BLUEHEART: Raine.. Jorus is going to need time.. VEDRA: He can have all eternity. I will never forgive a sick [...] like him! BLUEHEART: ::firmly but gently:: I'm not asking you to forgive him. And neither is he. I'm asking you to understand where this hate is coming from. Can you do that, Raine? Can you do that for me? VEDRA: Why? ::He hissed.:: Why would I do that for you? Why SHOULD I?! The moment he gets a chance he's going to attack me or send some goon to attack me.. Or some other poor Orion. I can't understand that. I can NEVER understand that. Can't he think for himself? Why follow blindly what his family believes in? BLUEHEART: It's not easy UN-learning something, Raine. VEDRA: No! I'm happy with the way things are right now. We stay away from each other. Everyone's happy. BLUEHEART: Well, I'm not happy. ::He leaned back in his seat.:: Are YOU happy, Jorus? COGUD: No. BLUEHEART: And you're not happy too, Raine. No one is happy. All this hate back and forth is only going to escalate, and not only between the both of you. It will spread like wildfire, trust me. Then we'll have anarchy and another mutiny and heck, maybe even a public lynching! As First Officer, I can't let that happen. ::He stared solemnly into each of their eyes as he lowered his voice.:: As a friend, I can't let you guys destroy each other, as well as your own lives and career. Don't throw it all away. Not for this.. Not for this. COGUD: How do you propose to do that? BLUEHEART: ::standing up and pulling up his pants:: We hold hands and dance. COGUD: What! Sir... BLUEHEART: And that's an order, lieutenant! TBC ================================ Lt Jorus Cogud Chief Helmsman USS DISCOVERY-C & Lt JG Raine Vedra Chief of Astrometrics USS DISCOVERY-C & LtCmdr Raj Blueheart First Officer USS DISCOVERY-C
  16. Voting closes Sunday, May 27, 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!
  17. JP - Lt. Commander Ethan Brice and Commander Karynn Brice - Stolen Moments ((OOC: This occurs sometime en route, I'm thinking the night of the briefing. We hope you all enjoy reading this as much as Ethan's writer and I enjoyed writing it and I hope this gives you a bit of a glimpse into Karynn's life )) ((Just outside the Holodeck)) ::To say that she was a giddy schoolgirl would have been a dramatic overstatement. It was hard to be that giddy about someone she had known for years. But she was certainly excited. Having a relatively high rank in the ‘Fleet did have its perks. She smoothed out the skirt on her light-blue sundress and pulled the light green sweater closer. Her stomach was in knots, glad to be seeing her husband “face-to-face” live for the first time since they had parted on Deep Space 17. Then again, it was a holo-meeting and deep down inside she knew that it just wouldn’t be quite the same.:: :: On the Apollo, Ethan had been finishing up the final pieces of the code that Karynn had put together. There were bits and pieces that would serve as a reminder to him of where they were; a certain flower that had been in the garden the first time they’d taken a walk together, starting off a very wet set of traditions from then on. He adjusted the jacket, really unsure whether it was a good idea to wear one of not. After a few strange positions in front of the mirror, he took it off, opting for the simple shirt and pants. He wasn’t sure why he was so bothered about it; they’d been together for years. She’d seen him with a full beard, after all...:: ::Stepping up to the arch on the Drake, the Haliian uploaded the program, and her code to initiate her end of the long-distance chat. The doors opened and she stepped inside. They wouldn’t have long - it was more to test the feasibility of this way of staying in touch than to have a real date. Scheduling for bandwidth was just too tight for that right now - not to mention the difficulty of scheduling time off for the two Brices that coincided. The pull of a Commander only got them so far. At least they could work the bugs out for the real date they’d have in a couple of weeks.:: ::The setting was simple enough. A park bench, shrubbery and flowers, a path leading off into another area of the garden, trees to provide shade. Complex programming took time to put together and used more resources. Karynn sat on the bench, then stood up, then sat again. How to greet him? Finally (although it had only really been a minute or two since she walked in) an arch appeared.:: :: The simple setting was a lot easier on the eyes than the black and yellow grid of the holodeck would have been. He wasn’t expecting Karynn to be there, anticipating that he would be the first as usual, but there she was, sitting on the bench, looking as lovely as ever. The young Engineer couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face and he slipped his hands into his pockets as he walked over.:: E. Brice: Any sprinklers in this version I should be aware of? ::Karynn smiled and shook her head, remembering fondly their first date and their surprise when the automatic sprinklers had come on, drenching the two of them. She had included another water-reminder of one of their dates - not far away she had recreated the fountain from Ethan’s Paris program. She paused only for a moment. She had been trying to be calm, reserved... but then she let all decorum get sucked into a black hole. Leaping off the bench she ran to him and within a few strides she was wrapping her arms around him, burying her head in his shirt. The holodeck was remarkable at reproducing him and for a few moments he felt real. His warmth, the feel of the fabric, his scent, it was all there.:: K. Brice: It’s you. ::As she ran into his arms, he lifted her from the ground, burying his face in her hair, loving every second that she clung to him. her could smell her, he could feel her and it was like she was all around him once again. The warmth of her, the touch of his clothes underneath his splayed hand in the small of her back, even the light green sweater that caught the breeze at the edges. It was all too real but all too not as well. He couldn’t push out the small niggling engineer voice that told him it wasn’t real.:: :: He kissed her temple, nuzzling his nose into her for a precious moment that he knew couldn’t last forever. Then he smiled gently:: E. Brice: Were you expecting someone else? K. Brice: No. It was just hard to believe until you were here. ::Karynn laughed lightly nuzzling his cheek. And then the bit that was wrong came flooding in. As her skin brushed against his, the skin felt real but he didn’t. Her own gifts gave her a sense that even the best holodecks in the galaxy couldn’t replicate. So while she could touch him, she couldn’t feelhim. The man... image... she was touching had about as much emotion as her bedroom wall. Without thinking she pulled away.:: ::Part of Ethan had expected that reaction. He kept his arms in the same position for a moment before dropping them to his sides. Even he was used to feeling something emanating from her when their skin touched. Years of having that kind of connection with a Haliian tended to leave the resonance of feeling behind even when apart.:: E. Brice: I know; it doesn’t feel right. ::he attempted a smile:: I might as well be a vegetable in designer labels. ::Karynn tried to smile, attempting to shake the startled look from her eyes. Intellectually she had expected this, but that didn’t mean that she was prepared for this. What came out was a wry half-smile. She nodded.:: K. Brice: Sorry. It’ll just take some getting used to, I guess. :: He nodded and stepped in a little closer, reaching for her hand and holding it in his, running his thumb over the back of her fingers. It didn’t feel like her hand. He didn’t get that familiar drip of feelings into his system emanating from her, even though she stood in front of him. It wasn’t normal, but they didn’t exactly live normal either.:: E. Brice: It won’t be forever. ::She paused, forcing herself to maintain the contact. Slowly the feeling of panic that she felt inside subsided to a tolerable level. It wouldn’t be forever, and this was a lot better than just a delayed message on a flat screen. She gently squeezed his hand with her own.:: K. Brice: No... not forever. ::She smiled quietly:: I’ve missed you, Kiimosa. :: That made him smile softly. She was light years away from him, yet in that moment they were close enough to at least touch one another, even if they couldn’t feel each other.:: E. Brice: I’ve missed you too. ::he kissed the backs of her fingers:: Happy Anniversary. Hard to think that we’ve been married for a year and you’ve been napping for half of it. ::The Haliian chuckled gently. It certainly didn’t feel like a year, but then again he was right. She’d been unconscious for around six months, in a coma in sickbay.:: K. Brice: Maybe that’s why I almost missed it. All of a sudden it was our anniversary. It snuck up on me. ::She paused and sighed.:: It’s been an eventful year, that’s for sure. A promotion, an illness... and now separated on two different ships. ::The Engineer lifted an eyebrow, with a slight smile at the corner of his lips.:: E. Brice: At least while we’re separated, they’ll be no chance of other surprises waiting in the wings. ::he exhaled a laugh:: Oh, I have something for you. ::Slowly they walked hand in hand along the path. She smiled, passing on the opportunity to make a crack about giving Matthew a younger sibling, and instead commented on the second half of his statement.:: K. Brice: Oh? E. Brice: I don’t have it here, it should be in your Quarters when you get back. I had to call in a few favours from the Operations department. You know how Customs can be. ::he rolled his eyes skyward:: It's a tradition on Earth for your wedding anniversary present to be a specific gift. This year, it’s paper. ::They walked along the path together, the fountain from their Paris escapade coming into view. Ethan laughed, remembering the soaking he had received from that particular fountain and what that night had meant. He squeezed Karynn’s hand gently. A large part of him had forgotten what it was like to feel human when touching another being. Her hand was warm and soft, unlike his. It was a simple fact of his species that he hadn’t appreciated in a long time.:: E. Brice: I’m pretty glad you can’t feel this. ::he wiped his face with his free hand and laughed:: I can’t believe I’ve given you paper for our anniversary. K. Brice: ::laughing:: Well its not like paper is a common item. ::pausing:: I’m sorry I didn’t get you paper. I didn’t know. ::He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth.:: E. Brice: Having you here is good enough for me. Although, I do feel like I’ve been in this marriage longer. ::he laughed:: Anyway... I hope you like it. If not, I’m too far away to get it thrown at my head. ::She laughed.:: K. Brice: I sent a few pictures. They should be waiting for you so you can make holoprints of them. And it will take longer, but before we leave Alpha Centauri, I’ll be shipping out a gift from here. It’s just a trinket, but its something to remind you of me. It will probably take weeks to get to you though. ::The fountain came in view. The soft gurgling of the water flowing was almost musical. She smiled, remembering how she’d splashed him from a fountain just like this early on in their relationship. An exact replica actually. She momentarily thought about repeating the incident, but decided against it. She was more “adult” now than that Ensign had been. Not that such a thing was necessarily better...:: ::For the young Engineer, being with his wife was like no time had passed at all. They were together, they were healthy, save from being thousands of miles apart for whoever knew how long a time that spanned ahead of them. He stopped in front of the fountain and kissed the back of her hands again.:: E. Brice: When I get the chance, the very first chance, I’ll be coming to see you. ::Karynn smiled and nodded.:: K. Brice: And I’ll be on the first runabout to you the first chance I have. ::she laughed:: The bed’s so cold without you. And I even miss your coffee stains on my table. E. Brice: My coffee stains have to be better than your cold feet on my legs. ::he smiled:: I actually get some quilt at night now, I miss having to turn the heating up. ::The downside was that they were running out of time together. The sway of a Commander could only hold so much weight when the ships needed the power they were using. Taking that into consideration, the computer decided that a subtle reminder would be more appropriate and gave them a delicate warning in the manner of a quiet alert.:: ::One minute. That’s all they had. She held his hand tightly, forcing herself to smile, to hold back all of the sadness that threatened to spill out. She wanted to remember this as being happy - and she wanted him to remember her happy, not sad, not crying.:: K. Brice: I love you, Ethan. More than I can express. ::Smiling, albeit sadly, he brushed his thumb over her cheek and swallowed as the familiar green eyes looked back into his. He felt as though his world could collapse at any moment, looking into those eyes, he could melt into his boots.:: E. Brice: I love you too, Karynn. ::he nuzzled her nose:: More, every single day. ::Stretching upward, her lips brushed across his. A kiss goodbye. She was almost getting used to the lack of emotion ebbing and flowing through her. His skin felt warm as her fingers brushed his cheek. She closed her eyes.:: ::He felt her kiss him, felt her hand reaching up to the back of his neck and he closed his eyes, hoping to remember the final few seconds of contact with the woman who held his heart. His arm held her close, his hand touching the small of her back and almost willing the moment not to end.:: ::And with that he was gone. Faded away as the link dropped. She was alone again and life went on. The fountain still gurgled, the breeze was still blowing. Her heart ached and a single tear wound its way down her cheek.:: ::Ethan’s arms dropped back to his sides. The dull ache across his chest constricted, letting him know it was still there. His jaw tightened and he held back the sadness that crept up from a heart that wasn’t whole. He paused for a second, looking at the place where her image had been.:: E. Brice: ::softly:: Sweet dreams, Kii. ::The arch formed in the grass and the Engineer started the walk back to it. He pulled the padd out of his pocket, closing off the program from the Apollo’s holodeck, taking a last look before it faded away.:: K. Brice: ::quietly:: Goodbye, my love. ::pause:: Computer, End program. ::A black and yellow grid replaced the world around her. She walked out, back to the starship, back to work. Life went on.:: THE END Lt. Cmdr Ethan Brice Assistant Chief Engineer USS Apollo and Commander Karynn Brice Xeno-Anthropolgist/Psychologist USS Drake
  18. Guest

    Round 8 LtJG Didrik Stennes - Keeping up Appearances

    PNPC Minister Kin Zaht (( Jektim Central Government Complex, Jektim Capital )) :: Kin Zaht secured the doors to his vehicle and ran, head down, through the hoverpark, clutching his attaché as if it were a child. This morning was worse than yesterday; the number of Betazoid protesters outside the Government Complex had grown overnight, as did their level of agitation. Across the reflecting pool, in the forecourt of the Jektim Historical Archive, a more morose group of Trill had gathered, presumably as a counter-protest to the Betazoid protest. Things were still peaceful in the Capital City, which was far more than could be said for the rest of the Imperium.:: ::Kin Zaht reached the secured doors at the end of the long row of parked hover-riders, and had his infochip out and ready to be scanned. He barely slowed to a trot as the scanner recognized his credentials and allowed him access to the Complex. As the door slid shut behind him, too slowly for his liking, he breathed a sigh of relief. He'd be safe. For now.:: ::He passed a multitude of offices on his way to the Department of the Executive, and noticed all the empty desks. It seemed as though each day, fewer and fewer Trill and Bajoran government employees reported to work. It'd been days for some, weeks for others, and Kin doubted he'd be seeing them again soon. "Self-segregation" was the buzzword all the news reports were using, and it seemed as though it was actually happening. His own neighborhood, previously an upscale--and relatively integrated--quarter of the Old Capital, was now almost exclusively Betazoid. Zaht hadn't yet stopped to wonder where his Trill and Bajoran neighbors went, nor did he mind terribly the rapid demographic shift. Property values were always higher in homogenous neighborhoods, anyway.:: VOICE: Minister Zaht, sir. ::Zaht turned to see one of his assistants, a young Betazoid female with just the faintest of Trill spots hidden behind her thick black hair.:: ZAHT: Yes, Tura, what is it? TURA: It's the Federation, sir. They've contacted us on subspace. I think they're considering our request. ZAHT: What did they say? TURA: Nothing yet, sir, but they want to talk to you. Just called a moment ago, before you walked in, sir. ZAHT: I'll take it in my office please, Tura. ::Zaht continued the several dozen meters past a virtually deserted cluster of offices and desks. Out the window, he could see for kilometers, almost to where the Vabu Estuary blended into the sea. It was a beautiful sight, one he'd seen pictures of since he was a boy in school. The Capital was built on the banks of the Vabu because its three sections, the River, the Estuary, and the Sea, represented the Jektim Peoples. For some reason, however, it didn't look so inspiring as of late.:: ::Zaht sat at his desk, smoothing out hair that had become mussed by his dash from the hoverpark to the Complex. He closed the shades behind him, not because he wanted to, but because he was nervous some intrepid protester might hurl a piece of garbage or a rotten kukri melon at the window while he was speaking to the Federation. The last thing he needed was for the Federation to think things were out of control. For that reason, Zaht's most recent executive order was to ban all communications between the Imperium and other states, save for those that took place inside his own office. No one else but he would represent the Jektim to the rest of the Quadrant, and he made sure everyone, especially those pro-independence terrorists on Fiyo, knew the penalty for violating the new law.:: AMBASSADOR: ((on screen)) Minister Zaht. ::Zaht plastered on his best PR smile. It was good; he'd had decades of experience as a politician to perfect it.:: ZAHT: Ambassador, so good to see you again. I must say, it's been far too long. ::The Ambassador grinned. She must not be used to getting compliments. Just for good measure, Zaht threw her another one.:: ZAHT: And I love what you've done with your hair. ::The Ambassador's smile widened. This was too easy.:: AMBASSADOR: Minister, I am calling because the Federation Council has met to consider your government's request for humanitarian aid, and they've decided to grant it. ::Thank whatever-those-ridiculous-gods-the-Bajorans-believed-in. Help was on the way, and soon this ethnic nonsense would be put to an end for good.:: ZAHT: Ambassador, I speak for all the Jektim when I say we are truly grateful for any assistance you can provide. AMBASSADOR: Unfortunately, we weren't able to accommodate everything you asked for. I'm afraid we can spare only a single starship, but she's well-equipped, and staffed by some of the best Starfleet officers we've got. The Drake has a dedicated engineering team assigned to her that can help make improvements and repairs to your infrastructure as well. ::Zaht scoffed through his smile, trying to downplay the Ambassador's offer.:: ZAHT: Oh, Ambassador, you certainly don't think things are that dire, do you? The Jektim prides itself on his technological and industrial achievements, and I think our cities can withstand a few minor instances of civil unrest. AMBASSADOR: Nevertheless, they're on their way. The Drake should reach the border in ten days. ::Zaht's plastic smile cracked slightly. Ten days? Was there no other starship closer? He tried to think of all the damage that could be done in ten days, but even entertaining the notion made his blood run cold.:: ZAHT: I understand, Ambassador. Please, tell the commanding officer of the…Drake, was it?… that we eagerly await their arrival. AMBASSADOR: You'll be able to tell him yourself soon enough, I asked Commander Rogers to contact you as soon as they get underway. ZAHT: Very good, Ambassador. And thank you for all you've done to help us. I'm sure your assistance persuaded the Federation Council to act in our favor. ::In the distance, Zaht heard a disturbance in the air. Something sounded… wrong. A buzzing… no, more of a humming. It was voices, many of them, but to his ears, the cacophony sounded like one, low, rumbling voice. And it was getting louder.:: ZAHT: ((hurriedly)) Well, Ambassador, if you'll excuse me, I really should be going. Government work is never complete, I'm afraid. I look forward to speaking with you soon. ::Before the Ambassador could reply, Zaht cut the transmission, and dashed to the window. Lifting back the shade, tried to pinpoint the source of the sound. He squinted into the distance, nothing. And then, he knew. Everyone knew.:: ::The Trill protestors in the forecourt of the Historical Archives building scattered backwards, creating a large, circular open space around a singular protester. Zaht looked at the lone dissident, and for a split-second, Zaht swore they locked eyes. But that split-second ended too quickly, as the protester tapped a panel, detonating some kind of incendiary device inside his clothes, and himself in the process. Zaht stared out the window at the ensuing panic. This was it. The dissolution had begun.:: ZAHT: Ten days. How can I keep it together for ten days? ::He knew how. He'd known how all along. But now it was time to act. And he would.:: PNPC Minister Kin Zaht Interim Leader Jektim Imperium -as simmed by- Lieutenant JG Didrik Stennes Helm Officer USS Drake
  19. Guest

    Round 8 Major Whale & LtJG Weston - Staying Sharp

    ((Assimilated Corridor, Deck 17, USS Nimitz)) :: The team moved quickly through the eerily green lit corridor at a cautious pace. A tight three man V moved slowly behind a fourth team member at the point position. Oliver's head was on a swivel as he advanced on point, his gaze swept left and right but always returned to the motion scanner he held before him. The blue-silver light it cast made the sweat on Oliver's brow stand out clearly as they stopped at a four way junction. :: WHALE: Weston...? :: He adjusted his grip on the phaser rifle and kept the stock pressed against his shoulder. The first time he and Weston and several of the Constitution crew had walked these halls, he’d carried the larger Type 28 rifle. Though he’d always felt more comfortable with it, it has made more sense to arms the team with the Type 33 Close Quarters Combat model. The lower profile and more compact design of the CQC was far better suited to combat within the close confines of starship and space station corridors. Which made perfect sense, as it was created based on recommendations arising from Operation Bright Star. :: WESTON: I know Major. Just give me a minute. TARALLO: Engineering can't be far, which way Lieutenant? WESTON: :: Oliver shot him a dark look over his shoulder. :: I don't have the whole floor plan commited to memory yet, I'm sorry. WHALE: Just concentrate. You know the layout. WESTON: I know. :: He paused a moment and closed his eyes before answering. :: This way. :: He pointed right. :: :: With a nod, Whale raised his rifle and took a step down the corridor. :: WHALE: Weston behind me, Tarallo watch our six. :: Before he could give a response Alton called out a warning in unison with Oliver's scanner. :: TARALLO: Contact, nine o'clock. :: Their heads snapped left and a trio of drones were marching their way down the corridor. The heat was becoming unbearable now and Oliver wished he could tear of his ISARAS vest and get a little bit more air. He turned at the light touch on his shoulder from Whale, and led the way down the right corridor to what he hoped was Main Engineering. As they ran he snapped the portable scanner into a prototype mount on his left wrist to free up his hands if he needed to climb or draw his phaser. At the end of the corridor their jog petered out to a walk and then a full stop when they were faced with a dead end. The outline of a double door could be seen off in the distance, but it was mostly obscured by a massive pile of debris. A major support beam from the deck above punched through the ceiling, dragging with it a snarl of wires, cables and massive sections of jefferies tubes. :: WESTON: [...]. WHALE: Alternate route? WESTON: Thinking. TARALLO: Contacts closing. WHALE: Defensive positions. :: Tarallo, his Marine training kicking in perfectly, automatically dropped to one knee to cover from a low angle while Whale took up a standing position against the opposite wall. Feeling a trickle of sweat run down his back, Whale tried to shrug off the oppressive sense of dread that had been settling on his like a thick black cloak. Holodeck simulations were supposed to be realistic, but this one was cutting far too close to reality for his liking. The last time he’d set foot on the USS Nimitz, he’d nearly lost Fiona Shelley, and over four hundred members of Starfleet had been swallowed up by the Borg. :: WESTON: :: Oliver cursed inwardly and gritted his teeth as he tore his phaser free of his vest. :: Up. WHALE: Full sentences would be nice, Oliver. Or even sentence fragments. :: Oliver turned around and waded into the debris and grabbed hold of a mid-sized piece of torn tube flooring. With a hard wrench he tore it out of the pile and moved a little further up the massive beam. :: WESTON: This beam punched through a jefferies tube. We can still get into it and find a way back down on the other side. :: He was halfway up the beam when he finished and turned to look at Whale for approval. :: WHALE: As long as it gets us where we need to be, I’ll crawl through the solid waste reclamation centre. Tarallo, you head- TARALLO: Contact. Twenty metres Major. :: Whale quickly turned back around, the muzzle of his rifle rising as if it were part of his body, following his gaze. A T-junction twenty metres down the corridor. Movement. A Borg drone, black and grey and pale and dead-looking rounded the corner, it’s doll eyes barely appearing to focus on its quarry. And then two more rounded the corner, heading toward the trio of Starfleeters. :: WHALE: Move, I’ll cover! :: Firing at the advancing Borg in quick bursts of two -- the ubiquitous “double-tap” taught in all assault training, be it marine or security -- Whale knew he’d hit at least one of the Borg, but didn’t wait around to see the effect. As soon as Tarallo was up, Whale followed, dropping a grenade down the hole as soon as he was up. :: WHALE: Cover! :: They all ducked their heads as the grenade exploded in the corridor beneath them, hopefully taking out the three Borg. :: WHALE: All right... :: Taking a moment to catch his breath, Whale wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his SDU. :: WHALE: So we’re in a jeffries tube, which means direct access to engineering from here, right? WESTON: Bingo. Forty meters. :: He pointed. :: This way. WHALE: Then let’s move. :: No sooner had they started forward than they began to hear a shuffling sound at their backs as from somewhere further back, the Borg had gained access to the jeffries tube. Neither Whale nor Weston nor Tarallo needed to say anything -- all three instinctively picked up their pace and within moments that were at a hatch that would lead them into the main engineering section of the Sovereign Class starship. Weston waited, hand on the latch, while Whale and Tarallo took up position. :: WHALE: Ready when you are. :: Though in truth, he felt anything but ready. A nerve was twitching in his left eyelid and his entire jaw ached from having been clenched the entire time. :: :: The hatch was popped and Whale stepped through into engineering, Weston at his back and Tarallo taking up the rear and before Whale’s eyes could adjust to the lack of light, there was- :: BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP :: Weston’s scanner. :: :: Olivers jaw dropped as he saw the screen fill with blips. Twenty plus. :: :: Though they’d been avoiding their use for stealth reasons, Whale flicked on the rifle-mounted flashlight and immediately swore. There were easily two-dozen drones milling around engineering. They were just as he’d remembered them, just as they appeared in the dreams that kept him up at night. Not your typical Borg, these drones of the SubCollective were a haphazard amalgam of humanoid and found technology, rather than tailor-made Borg enhancements. :: WESTON: Twenty or more Major. WHALE: Form up! Don’t waste your shots -- make them count. :: He fixed his sights on the first drone caught in his flashlight beam, an abomination who in life would have been an Andorian female who looked barely old enough to serve, but who went down in a shower of blood and circuitry when she took two phaser bolts to the forehead. As Whale adjusted to focus on another target, he saw a drone go down, but had no idea if it was Tarallo or Weston who’d notched the kill. And he didn’t give a [...] either, as long as it meant one less Borg in the universe. He’d entirely lost sight of the fact that this was a simulation. :: :: Oliver fell in next to Whale on his right side and levelled his hand phaser at the closest drone. The SAR version spat phaser fire in bursts, not beams and the single shot dropped the drone at centre mass. Alton was firing as well, his rifle twitching between targets as his mind worked out distances and priority. Oliver twisted as another drone disconnected itself from a darkened alcove and stepped towards him. Had he been using the larger Type 33 he'd never have been able to bring it to bear, but thankfully the smaller phaser pistol spat once and saved his life. The drone staggered back, its right arm terminated in a viscious looking saw blade which it used instinctively to steady itself. The blade bit into a console and burst as it tore through the digital readout. Sparks and then flames flew as the console came apart and black smoke started filling Engineering. :: :: Engineering was dark enough, with the SubCollective leeching power from the lighting systems to feed itself, but now somewhere, something was on fire, a haze of smoke darkening things even further. They could barely see three feet in front of their rifles. :: WHALE: This is no good, I can barely see! WESTON: The elevator! Head right - WHALE: Son of a-! :: He yanked his arm away from the Borg that had suddenly appeared next to him through the smoke and immediately rammed the butt of his rifle into its face. He felt, more than heard, the satisfying crunch of bone and as the drone staggered back, Whale shot it twice in the face. And then twice more as it fell. And then twice more as it hit the ground. All the death caused by these THINGS, all the sleepless nights, all the times Shelley had woken in the night, screaming or sobbing... those were not things he could let slide. However he may have changed over the last year, the pain of the failure at Duster’s Range and on the USS Nimitz had not dulled in the least. :: :: Feeling another hand on his shoulder, Whale jerked back an elbow at what he presumed would be face-height as he turned to bring his rifle to bear. :: TARALLO: Sir-Gah! :: Oliver staggered back from the frozen drone that had half stepped out of the blanket of black smoke and let out a long shuddreing sigh. The room was eeriely silent, or would have been if David wasn't cursing a blue streak off to his right somewhere. He turned in time to see Alton approach the Major and reach out a steadying hand. Oliver shouted for him to wait but it was too late. :: WESTON: Major! Stand down! :: Breathing heavily, Whale looked around, first at the frozen holographic simulation of the Nimitz around them, then at Tarallo clutching his nose when Whale had hit him, then at Weston. He had been so caught up in his anger that he hadn’t even heard the computer’s announcement that they’d failed to reach the objective and the exercise was over. And then with a roar, he smashed his CQC rifle onto the deck plates. :: WHALE: FRAK!! TARALLO: Don't worry Sir. It was an accident. :: His voice was muffled as he pinched the bridge of his broken nose. :: What's so important about this simulation anyway? WHALE: Because one day, the Nimitz is going to show itself again, and when it does we’re going to have to do this for real! And I am not going to frelling fail! :: Not again. :: :: Oliver walked up to Niner and turned him around to see the damage. He moved the marines hand and sucked in his breath in sympathy for him. :: :: He waved a hand at Tarallo, still scowling, still looking like he wanted to smash something else. :: WHALE: Go get your nose looked at. WESTON: See a medic Niner. We don't need sickbay asking questions. TARALLO: I fell down some stairs Sir. WESTON: Good choice. :: The door slid shut behind him and Oliver turned back to David. :: WESTON: Want to run it again? WHALE: Yes. ---- Major David Whale XO & SAR Commander USS Drake http://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php?title=Whale,_David ----- Lieutenant JG Oliver Weston Intelligence Officer USS Drake
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