kimstapledon

((Lower Launch Bay, USS Independence-A)) :: With a bounce in his step, a type-2 phaser bumping companionably on his hip, and a switchblade resting snugly in his pocket, Nickels bopped down the corridor, nodding companionably to the Security personnel in the Main offices as he exited the brig, pausing only to countersign wardenship of the four prisoners to another ensign. He made a special note in the Security log to have the crewmen on duty attempt to review Federation penal records to see if anyone matching the third intruder's genetype had been previously apprehended, and a footnote indicating that a Medical officer might want to check on him again later to make sure his spinal cord wasn't swelling or nothin'. The Security office doors whooshed open and he strolled free, feeling briefly like a kid leaving school before he remembered that he'd never actually been to school as a kid. He let his Iotian nickel tumble across the knuckles of his left hand as he paused at a corridor console and checked the deck layout. He spoke softly to himself, as he often did in irritatingly quiet times. :: Nickels: Now I just gotta figure out where I'm goin'. These Prometheus classes are pretty slick little Edsels, but the separatin' modules gimmick is a little ... oh. Easy enough. :: He turned away from the console and proceeded down the corridor in the other direction, towards the Lower Launch Bay, which was, in fact, on the same enumerated deck as the Security offices and the brig, deck 7; the launch bay, however, would end up in the middle module in the event of a tactical separation, whereas the security offices and brig were part of the top module. It was the sort of starship design that would be baffling if you had to read about it, but made a lot of sense if you were walking the halls, shoes ticky-tacking on the deckplates, as Nickels was fortunate enough to be doing. As he approached the launch bay door, he saw the ensign waiting for him and raised an eyebrow briefly. He'd encountered his share of Ferengi on weekends away from the Academy, but he hadn't had opportunity to talk to one outside of a game of fizzbin before, and he'd never seen one in Starfleet uniform. This Ensign Ralik, he suddenly realized with a jolt that made him feel like a bit of an idiot, was THE Ensign Ralik, the Ferengi graduate who'd bucked the system and gotten into the Academy's country club. Nickels put on a half-grin. This was gonna be even more interesting than he'd first thought. :: Ralik: ::waiting outside the launch bay Ralik was adjusting the settings on his engineering scanners to what he felt would be most suited to the FTU ship, when he saw an approaching gold collared Ensign who had eye contact on him. He was used to being recognised as Ralik without introduction since he was usually the only Ferengi officer, he on the other hand could rarely be so presumptuous.:: Nickels: Nice to meetcha, Ensign Ralik. My walkin' papers say I'm Ensign Nicholas Antonio Drako Alfonse Luciano, but ya might find it easier ta just say "Nickels". ::he punctuated the little speech as he so often did with a pinging flip of his lucky coin, snagging it with his left hand before extending his right to Ralik:: Ralik: ::smiling and taking Nickels' hand in greeting:: Nice to meet you too Nickels ::noticing the coin: oO This guy is an interesting character indeed, first the speech now this coin thing, and that's not even mentioning his 'interesting' choice of hairstyle. Oo Nickels: Attaboy. ::he shook firmly and grinned:: All right. So somewhere lurkin' behind this door is the mysterious souped-up junker our mysterious intruders used ta mysteriously sneak aboard our ship. An' now we get t'explore the mystery armed with nothin' but our wits, some advanced scannin' equipment, an' a coupla highly advanced beam weapons. That about the size of it? Ralik: ::reaching down to check his phaser was still present by running his forefinger gently over it:: Errr, yeah that's about right. :: Chuckling, Nickels unholstered his phaser, cutting his eyes at Ralik and nodding at the engineer's own holstered weapon, and then coded the launch bay door open. All was quiet in the launch bay. A space in the center of the deck had been cleared away by Ops personnel and there rested the FTS Dreadnaught, looking about as graceful as a smoking brass casing. The two approached it, and Nickels tilted his head to the side, squinting along the snub nose of the phaser as he swept the weapon along the exterior of the ship. :: Nickels: Whatcha make of this contraption, Ralik? Ralik: ::he'd been pondering over it as soon as the bay doors opened to reveal it to him:: It's not the prettiest thing in the galaxy, but then these trade type vessels rarely are, they're usually just work horses. It is certainly modified ::pointing to various vacant mounts on the ship::, a few things have been removed. Possibly in favour of replacing their internal systems with those of other components. Nickels: Now that ya point it out, it does make sense. This little honey does kinda look like she's gone on a crash diet. ::he padded towards the vessel, his right arm steady and holding the phaser in careful sweep patterns back and forth:: What do ya reckon is the best way in? Ralik: ::chuckling:: The door ::smiling at Nickels::. Ships this size are almost always are designed to land so they have door entry as apposed to hatches in 90% of cases. Unfortunately in this case the door looks like it was at the back which is the part of the ship that took the brunt of the damage when we caught it in the tractor beam, I doubt it's usable. Fortunately trade ships by their very nature have a cargo door, which is just there ::gesturing to a large hatch raised a few feet off the ground:: and looks fine. That's looks like our way in. :: The Iotian swept his left hand out dramatically, taking in the whole of the Dreadnought with the arc of his bow, but his phaser never dipped and his eyes never cut away, roaming ceaselessly over the ship and in the shadows at the edge of the bay. :: Nickels: By all means, then, Mr. Goodwrench. Lead on. I got ya covered like a fluffy blanket. Ralik: ::attaching a lock release device to the door and activating it, the double doors clunked open by a couple of inches, leaving Ralik to manually force them apart to a point where the two Ensigns could fit through:: oO Hmm, it is kinda dark in there, there could be three or four camouflaged pirates in waiting ready to take their revenge for their incapacitation Oo. Erm, security first? :: Nickels didn't hesistate, pulling himself through the gap in the cargo doors and into the runabout in one fluid move and smoothly going to one knee, sweeping the narrow inside of the ship back and forth with his phaser, the ready light glowing softly. His left wrist supported his right hand as he knelt in a word-perfect triangle stance. He put his back to a bulkhead and heard his heart beating in his chest as the unfamiliar perfumes of the FTU vessel tickled his nose. Ralik started to pull himself through the hatch and Nickels swept the phaser back and forth in the twilight darkness. :: Nickels: Take it nice an' easy, Ralik. ::he grinned, and as the engineer clambered up, he distracted himself from his own unease with a little light chatter, as he so often did:: "Join Starfleet," they said. "See the galaxy", they said. But it always slips the recruiters' minds when it comes ta mentionin' the friggin' invisible mooks. Ralik: ::looking into the dusky dark:: I should reactivate the ships power systems, minimally at least, we need to be able to see what we're doing. ::thinking:: In fact I better not, even the lowest powered systems can harbour traps. Doesn't this worry you at all? Nickels: Naw, I ain't actually that worried. ::his voice was light, but his phaser never wavered, and his eyes never stopped roving. His nickel came from nowhere and spun lightly across the knuckles of his left hand:: See, I've got a gift. ::he winked solemnly as Ralik adjusted his gear and took a look around the Dreadnaught:: I got a seventh sense f'r danger. Ralik: A seventh? oO Surely he means sixth Oo Nickels: Sure, all Iotians have six. Sight, hearin', taste, smell, touch, an' fizzbin. Ralik: ::the joke was welcome in the situation and Ralik chuckled slightly:: I've been known to play a few hands myself. oO Amongst other things Oo Nickels: ::his eyebrows going up and an irrepressible grin tugging at his lips:: Then, chumley, you an' I are gonna have to hit the bar here an' break a deck open some night. :: Nicky glanced around. The ship had a distinctly utilitarian look, now that he thought about it. Everything had kind of a stripped-down look to it, and some obvious modifications had been made to the power system, obvious even to Nickels' eyes with his few pre-requisite Academy courses in the art and science of engineering. And there was certainly not much in the way of creature comforts or personality; not so much as a pair of fuzzy dice dangled at the pilot's console. :: Nickels: Friendly little domicile, ain't it? Ralik: For a Klingon maybe. ::scanning the area with his tricorder he prepared a mini-map of the interior:: Do me a favour would you Ensign and check out the [...]pit for any sort of indication to the modifications ::nodding in the direction of a door-less arch that lead to the flight controls::. I'm going to get a look at the engine room. Nickels: You got it, Rollie. :: He moved towards the front of the ship, where the side-by-side seats sat. Here was where those two mooks down in the brig had sat and made their fancy plans. He poked around and swung his phaser from one end of the narrow [...]pit to the other before shrugging and holstering it. If there was an invisible guy in here, he'd have bumped into him by now. Instead, he slipped his switchblade from his pocket and thumbed the switch. :: *Ka-click!* :: The sound was reassuringly familiar for the Iotian over the quiet of the FTU stealth ship, and he prodded lightly with the long gleaming blade at the seats. The two jerks in the brig might've made their plans here, but they hadn't been polite enough to leave copies of those plans behind. He peered around, noting a fairly standard piloting console, although the symbols differed from the LCARS standards used by the Feds, and two relatively uncomfortable-lookin' seats. Nothing of note. He flipped his coin and checked it. Heads. On the whole, he figured that was probably good luck. :: Ralik: ::hearing a spooky double clicking sound of the swtchblade alarmed him:: What was that? Is something wrong? Nickels: No, it's fine up here. Just fine. This stuff up here'd probably be a lot more rich with meanin' if I was a Tic-Tactical. What've you found, Rollie? ::he folded his switchblade away neatly and unholstered his phaser with a little sigh. At some point he'd have to talk to Commander Rogers about getting permission to carry his early-generation type 2. These little dustbusters just didn't feel right in the hand:: Ralik: Rollie? Nickels: ::chuckling:: I don't mean any disrespect by it, Ensign. S'just pronouncin' that long E an' hard K is tough on an uncivilized tongue like mine when I'm too lazy ta even use glottals properly most'a the time. If it bothers you, I c'n stop it cold turkey. Ralik: No no it's fine, I don't mind nicknames. It's actually pronounced Ral-ick though, Raleek sounds almost Romulan. ::again the delay of realisation of what Nickels had said caught up to him:: Cold turkey? Nickels: Oh, well that just means ... actually, I don't know WHY that means "completely" when it's used like that, but that's pretty much what it means. ::he mused:: Maybe the saints of Chicago ate cold turkey when they were tryin' to lay off the sauce. Ralik: The sauce? oO This is going to take some getting used to Oo Nickels: Y'know, the sauce. The firewater. The hooch. You gotta get off it if yer stayin' on the wagon. Ralik: Oh …. right …. that's perfectly clear oO What the hell is he talking about? Oo Nickels: ... we're just gonna have t'hang out more, Rollie. Ralik: I wouldn't mind that, you're certainly an interesting character Nickels. ::scanning the warp system set up with his tricorder:: :: The Iotian security officer glanced around at aft compartment of the runabout - and noted the interesting configuration. :: Ralik: This is an interesting set up, though not unfamiliar. The core required to reach plus-9 warp speeds will not fit on a ship of this size, so they have got two smaller cores and linked them via the single core computer there ::pointing at a piece of equipment in the centre of the cores:: It does the job but it's not as stable, and certainly below Starfleet safety parameters. They needed this configuration to catch us. Nickels: A pair of warp cores. Pair'a aces, more like, f'r gettin' in and out fast. We're friggin' lucky ducks to have snagged these pigeons before they bolted. Oh! ::he thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead lightly:: I forgot t'look for the cloak controls up there. Didja find the unit back here in the closet or anythin'? Ralik: Sure did, ::smiling:: that was the first thing I looked for ::removing the main part of the cloak system from it's housing:: :: Nickels peered at the glowing unit that the Ferengi held in his hand, like a silver lantern pulsing with its own inner sunset light. It was a pretty little doodad, no doubt about it, but it had gotten those FTU vessels right up against the side of the Independence - had gotten those little weasels right INTO his ship. He understood the importance of the unit; it was cunningly small and produced a remarkably efficient cloak. But that didn't mean he had to like it. :: Ralik: It's not of a type I've seen before, I'm hoping this will help us detect the Romulan cloak and that of others more easily. Nickels: ::nodding slowly as the earnest engineer explained, his nickel turning across his right knuckles in a slow flashing walk:: O'course, technically we're not at war with the FTU - not yet, I don't think - an' we'd be under obligation t'return all these goodies ... if they hadn't broken in. That means we get t'keep the whole thing as impound unless the traders somehow get enough rigatoni in their backbones t'demand it back. :: He grinned broadly. :: Nickels: 'course, we couldn't necessarily USE any of these neat gimcracks directly - the spiffy little close-range full cloak, 'r the layout for a doubletimin' scaled-down warp chopper ... but there's nothin' stoppin' a bright wrench like you an' your engineerin' buddies from RESEARCHING the stuff as long as its impounded, right? ::he quirked his eyebrows:: Ralik: ::with a sneaky smile:: Nothing at all. Ideally I'd like to get this thing installed on the Independence, but there is a big fat treaty stopping that. ::chuckling:: If I was any sort of Ferengi I'd be thinking of people or organisations I knew that I could sell this to ::in the back of his mind he was::. I think we've got what we wanted here for now, I'm gonna head back to Engineering and catalog what we've found. Thanks for your security expertise here Nickels, no doubt I'll see you later ... perhaps for a game of fizzbin. Ensign Ralik Engineer USS Independence & Ensign Nicholas "Nickels" Luciano Security Officer USS Independence

I'm not sure what the rules are... I know I'm supposed to pick the next topic, which I have. But I don't think I'm allowed to just go and open up the next one....

Not sure what the procedure is to start it up but I did suggest something to Capt Walker but haven't heard anything back yet....

Thank you commander

Thanks for the banner and the chance to try. Esp to you Capt Walker. I promise I'll try and get to that 100 posts soon

It's white and cold in here. I wish I had some paper and a pen. But I don't. All I've got are memories and shards and skin and bones. So I'm just going to have to whisper this to myself. No. I can't do that. I have to mouth it to myself using the mouth we all have inside our heads. Lips can't move. My [...]ed teeth feel so sore. They took out my right molar, I think. I can't remember what it's called. I had this dentist once who called it that. Wait. I'm getting off topic here. I wonder if anyone's out there listening. They say God is dead. Or at least they said that before the spoonheads came. Now nobody says that anymore. Surviving is as good as it gets. You don't have time to philosophize. Not verbally at least. So yeah, I'm in here after a routine checkup, I guess. At least that's how the spoonhead made it sound. God if I could tell you how friggin horrible it feels to be here now. I used to be a student at a university in Toronto. I can't remember what it's called anymore. Maybe that's for the better. They say that those who can forget are the strongest. We are. We can forget the life we lost. Let's see. What was there? There were cars. We could drive our own cars on our own roads. Now we get transported around on floating hovercars. You used to be able to spend an entire day over at the book store browsing around, reading, sipping lattes. I'd sit there for hours reading the latest books. You'd hear people wandering around nearby [...]ing about their kids, about their husbands, about how fat their wives were. All that's gone now. Now if you [...] your tongue gets cut out. I guess I can count that for the better now that the spoonheads are here. There's a moment of friggin peace and quiet in a white chamber like this one. Let's see. What else do we have that's good? No more war. I remember the last arms buildup 20 years ago along the Canadian frontier. The Russians had been planning to invade Canada across the Arctic and the Americans had their tripwire force up there, missiles pointed at the invasion force. They said it was God's hand when the first missiles missed their targets. Hell, they didn't just miss, they didn't even explode. They just...disappeared. I remember the thundering of the ground as wave after wave of the [...]ed things shot up into the air from their silos. I couldn't see a single Russian nuke coming toward us. Where the hell were they? The sky was blue, calm. The sun was a radiant white, less bright than the explosions we'd been told to expect. They never came. Before we knew it the air raid sirens stopped. What else were they supposed to do? So there I was, my arms wrapped around the legs of my desk in the lecture hall, waiting to be vaporized while I ducked and covered. The other kids started counting. Maybe there would be a retaliatory strike. The experts on the news had said it would be about one minute after the American anticipatory attack before the Russian nukes would get here. But we knew nothing was coming. “Things are going to be very different after today,” I'd heard a woman earlier that day say to her baby as the two left the local coffee place. She had her latte in her left hand, baby with pacifier pushed along in the carriage by the right. She had a look of calm on her face and I thought I knew why. She'd read the latest book on the law of attraction, a book about a hidden truth that had been suppressed for centuries. But now that she'd read it, uncovered the age-old mystery, and put a smile on her face things would turn out to be okay. The universe would obey her command and she'd have a great life. I'd love to be able to tell you that I saw her again but I didn't. Before I knew it there was a rumbling. We thought it was the Russian nukes but whenever I looked out the window from under my desk I couldn't see anything aside from the blue sky, a few whispy clouds here and there. Then there was this black thing that flew past the window. It moved faster than any jet I'd ever seen. The F-22s had been up earlier that day and they didn't move anywhere near as fast as this thing did. The door swung upon and I saw my first spoonhead. We call them spoonheads because they have this spoon like ridge on their foreheads. He had a thick neck, slick black hair, and eyes with orbits that jutted out as though he were a cross between a starving child and Colossus from the X-Men. He had on some kind of suit with black trousers and a dark metallic body armour covering his torso. When he spoke it was with a forceful tone and in a language that sure as hell wasn't Russian. He brandished a big gun. One of the students stood slowly and backed away. The spoonhead didn't shoot him so that seemed to be the best thing to do. I was on my feet too by now, pacing backward toward the wall. The prof stood, set down his reading glasses, and got up from the lecturer's desk at the front of the room. There was a sound like a loud hiss and I watched as the professor was ripped out of existence. He was screaming the whole time, bright gold light coming from his eyes and mouth as his arms rose in surrender. It was too late and all that remained of him was a puff of smoke and some grey dust on the floor. The alien yelled something else and brandished the gun at us again. One guy started to walk along the wall toward the door. He didn't get shot. So we followed him. We were all totally freaked. I could see another guy starting to move, and a girl crying and slowly walking. I looked over toward the guy next to me and he nodded. The spoonhead must have seen it and because after a while he started nodding too whenever we got what he wanted us to do. It was pretty scary. You could see puddles of [...] along the wall when you looked back to where we'd all been standing moments before. We walked out toward the courtyard and holy [...]. There were these big floating black things in lines. I could see other classes being escorted into them and so we walked toward them as well. There were a few guys on the ground, the jocks mostly. Some were dead and others lay there with spoonheads towering over them, yelling at them in their strange language. We walked in a straight line and our spoonhead nodded to us, still brandishing his gun. Another spoonhead came toward him and yelled something. Before I knew it the guy at the front of our line was dead and the two spoons were laughing. At least I thought it was laughter. I couldn't be sure because...well they were aliens. Over the months and years I've learned more about them. They laugh like us and they smile like us. I still can't understand most of what they're saying. Sometimes there's the odd one who speaks English but with a bad accent. Like today for example. Today the guy pulling my molar said, “This … no hurt.” It always hurt when the spoonheads did something to you. They didn't care as they stared out at you through those steel eyes framed inside those giant sockets. His neck was wide just like all the rest and he smiled. “This help.” “Who?” I asked. There was a clink and a ring in my ears. I could taste blood. I moaned and the spoon said, “You. Us.” Now there's another spoonhead coming my way. He's got a little box in his hands. It looks kind of like a cellphone, not that we have those anymore. I don't even think they'd work anyway. “You … come.” The spoon's got a smile on his face and I walk. Now we're in a dark room. “Sit.” I sit. The chair is cold against my bare [...]. “Name.” Kyle McTave. “You do.” I'm sorry I don't understand. “You do!” I shake my head. I can't understand you. I'm standing now, screaming. My back hurts like hell. “This help.” There's a spoonhead behind me now, shaving the hair off my head. It hurts like hell as he digs the razor into my scalp. I can feel blood trickling down the sides of my now nearly bald head. “You do.” The spoon behind me yells something and then I'm on the ground. Do? Do? What do I do? Yeah that must be it. Student. It was 20 years ago but I guess that's what I did before they came. Worker. That's what I do now. “Student?” The spoon cups his fingers around my chin and pulls gently. I stand up again. “You. Sit.” I'm on the chair again. “You. Think.” The words come out slowly, thick accent making them almost unintelligible. Of course I think. There's a zap and my [...] hurts like hell. I'm standing again. “You Kyle think. Stop now!” I can't stop. I can't stop thinking or this all stops. There's a weapon pointed at me now. “You stop.” The lips inside me want to tell you everything that's happened over these past twenty years. I'd tell you about the labour camp, about the ringed facility floating in space. You can pretty much see its shape from earth, floating there going past the moon every day or so. “Stop now!” There's a thud against the side of my head. My ears are ringing. I want to tell you about the crimes, the crimes against humanity. I want to tell you how peace came to earth through the separation of self from other. Yeah. That's how it all ended. Not with a murmur or a bang but with enslavement. God, I'm proud to be able to be the only man alive who can say, we have peace on earth and good will toward all mankind. Can I do it? Will I do it? There's a kick at my stomache and a sharp pain. They must have broken a rib. I have to do it. “Stop now! You die!” Real lips quivering, breath shaking, I open my mouth to begin.

Koloth: It was great simming with you. Toni: I was most impressed with how much thought you and your group puts into simming. I've played story games in the past but nothing compared to this. Everyone, feel free to keep in touch.