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Round 7 Captain Reynolds: The Sole Survivor


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(( 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'sā€” ::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 Officer
USS Mercury
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