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Allia

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  1. Captain Waltas was not very receptive to the advice of his officers on the subject; Ensign Nickels was but the first to raise objections. Eventually, under the weight of concern by his senior staff, the captain relented and saw the rigidity of his position and the improper influence his emotions played on the topic. He begrudgingly agreed to try a diplomatic tack to solving the problem, although he still insisted on the use of deadly force as a contingency. And for Ensign Nickels? He received a gruff but heartfelt apology from the captain, was reinstated to duty, and accompanied the captain on the mission.
  2. OOC: A bit of background... During the timeline of this post, Discovery is facing a group of Remans that have vampiric qualities. Many of the ship's crew have been slaughtered or turned, including some PCs and/or their loved ones. Emotions are running high, and many of the senior officers have lost sight of their objectivity. Nickels stands out as one of the few who aren't jonesing for retribution. 'Rogg's suns', 'artificial suns', and 'unforgiving light' are references to an array of reflective mirrors placed by the Discovery crew in orbit above the dark half of the Reman's adopted planet, nicknamed 'Long Night'. For a related post that this post references, see the Round 6 Top Sims contribution by Nickels and Captain Waltas. (( The Dreaming, Planet of The Long Night )) :: The world burned. Whatever blood the Remans had didn't last long in the glaring artificial sunlight, boiling away into a thick fog that hung over what could charitably be called a battlefield. Here he saw a man in Hazard armor wrenching the fangs from the severed head of one of the aliens as it lay in a twisty heap of gray ash that had once been a towering dark-flowering vine. Here a twisted ear was being sawed off by a vibro-blade and threaded onto a necklace. There a Reman hand was severed at the wrist and held up like a monkey's paw suitable for twisted wishes. Sotted with blood, drunk with it, the crew lived out their dire dreams of vengeance in the bright and unforgiving light of science. Nickels Luciano watched with dark dim eyes and spoke dry words, tumbling from his lips like sand. :: NICKELS: I looked ta heaven, an' tried ta pray; But `fore ever a prayer had gushed, A wicked whisp'a came an' made My heart as dry as friggin' dust. :: His eyes drifted closed, and he drew his gleaming .45 Colt, a lovingly restored antique of great religious value, and let it fall with a slithering crunch to the ash. When his eyes flickered open, the crew was gone, beamed away, and the mirrors were falling from the sky like dying stars, the artificial suns crashing into the fire and dust they had created. :: NICKELS: I closed my peepers an' kept `em closed; An' da balls like pulses beat; For the sky an' the sea an' the sea and the sky Lay like a load'a jack on my friggin' eye, An' the dead was at my feet. :: The darkness fell around him as Rogg's suns crashed in clattering cacophony to the ashen dark side of the world, and he was alone with the dead. :: NICKELS: A bratty orphan's curse would drag ta hell A stupid spirit from on high, But geez, more horrible than `at Is da curse inna dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse, An' yet I couldn't die. :: He blinked. :: TRANSPORTER CREWMAN: Are you all right, Ensign? :: He was standing in the quiet hum of the transporter room, surrounded by the volunteer army of Captain Waltas' away team. His black bag was in one hand, a scuffed and well-loved old sawbones bag that he'd brought with him on many a safecracking and legbreaking job back home, and it was full of largely non-lethal and possibly non-anything specialized ammo for the TR-116 sniper rifle which was lovingly packed into a violin case slung over his shoulder. He'd let his mind wander. :: NICKELS: Yeah, I'm fine. Too much Coleridge at night. Never let an opium sot be th' last thing ya read before bed, my sainted Ma always tol' me. TRANSPORTER CREWMAN: ::carefully:: I see, sir. :: There was a sudden disturbance as the transporter glowed with the unexpected arrival of Sister Cruella and the missing Ops crewman, Mina Murray. Nickels brought his .45 up even as the Captain and the Away team levelled their bows and arrows like furious Apaches in a John Wayne picture. Nickels lowered his gun almost immediately, although the Captain, belying his earlier contrite demeanor, kept the skewering arrow centered on Sister Cruella's narrow chest. :: oO I see it's gonna be a long road ta open-mindedness f'r the fearless leader. Oo :: The Iotian's dark eyes met Sister Cruella's for just a moment, and he felt the strange tingle in his backbrain just as he had back on the shuttle from the Talvath, even though her glamour was gone and she was a lot more like her fellow Remans, like a big-mouthed bat that had been dragged over five miles of bad road. Even still, there was something about the calm, knowing possession in her pained gaze, and he let his lucky nickel tumble across his knuckles as she was escorted away by Security personnel. He felt like an opportunity had been lost, and watched the door she was escorted through long after it closed, as Mina and the Captain held a lively debate, which ended as most debates with the Captain seemed to end. :: WALTAS: This isn't open for discussion. Let's get moving people! :: Nickels stood with the rest on the PADD, and beamed down to the mysterious world of long nights below them. When reality resolved around them, the transporter swirls fading, he hissed through his teeth, his hand clutching the grip of his pistol so tight that the silver eagle in the handle was embossed into his palm. The world was smoldering ash, heavy with wrack and ruin, just as it had been in the odd waking nightmare he'd wandered through back on the Discovery. As Captains Waltas and McCall spread out with Security, Hazard Team and Intel operatives, Nickels shifted under the weight of the gun slung around his neck, and murmured to himself. :: NICKELS: Quoth he, "Da man hath penance done, An' penance more will do." Ensign Nicholas "Nickels" Luciano Security Officer USS Discovery-B
  3. (( Conference Room, USS Discovery-B )) :: Nickels slid into the conference room with a few moments to spare, feeling the bubbling effervescence of the anti-radiation meds spritzing his bloodstream. The whole of the senior staff was gathered up, and as Nickels unobtrusively slid to a spot against the wall just behind Commander Wood's seat at the table, he took a few moments to look them over. … from the blunt determination of Commander Mitchell, to the shifting calculating gaze of Captain McCall in his black armor, to the curious sparkle of Steve Rogg's reptilian eyes, to the deeply pained face of the man in counselor blues … Blueheart, if he remembered right. He'd come aboard and gotten involved in the breakneck pace of shipboard life so quickly that he'd hardly met anyone who wasn't a direct supervisor. Which brought his eyes to the Captain. :: oO Y'ask me, the man looks like he's carryin' a lotta rage. Oo :: , the Iotian mused. :: :: The meeting washed over the room, a surprisingly energetic and imaginative affair, a volley of ideas - almost all of which focused on extermination. Nicky Luciano ground his teeth slowly. The Discovery was a flagship full of highly-trained Starfleet personnel under the command of the senior officers gathered in this room - people from across the galaxy, of every race and creed, who had supposedly received a thorough grounding in the Starfleet guidelines that began with the selfless nobility of the Prime Directive. All that wisdom and noble intent boiled down to this briefing room, where educated and highly-trained men discussed whether or not to tip wooden stakes with silver before they drove them into the hearts of an intelligent species. The meeting rolled by, Nickels keeping himself out of the discussion, standing at an easy sort of attention at Commander Wood's shoulder, as invisible as a bank guard. He didn't add anything, argue, discuss or suggest - he just listened, and watched. And he felt a growing dismay inside as the sole alternative to outright bloodshed was offered by his eccentric Dachlyd friend Steve Rogg - and consisted of the deployment of an artificial sun that would be a shining violation of the Prime Directive for the unique ecology of the dark side of the planet. His dark eyes practically burned with righteous indignation, but he kept his expression mild and interested, the inoffensive face of a Security mook, the tactical discussion seemingly washing around him like a river around a stone. :: oO This ain't right. Oo :: The thought hung like the peal of a church bell. It was almost alien to him - as a traditionalist Iotian raised in the old gangster traditions of Okmyx Chicago, the thought of what he was about to do was anathema. But he had no choice. The instinct that had driven him away from the rough anachronistic feudalism and gunplay of his home, that had led him to become a recognized force in the development and deployment of non-lethal weaponry now led him to throw away his natural cultural deference … and possibly his Starfleet career. The resolution settled on him, heavy and cold as a discontented winter, and he turned his gaze to the head of the table, to watch the Captain. :: oO This ain't the best idea I've ever had. But it's the only one I got. Oo :: The meeting was called to a conclusion, the officers filing out to their appointed grim tasks, and Nickels followed after them. He paused for a moment at the door, rolling his lucky coin across his bent knuckles without even realizing, and listened to the captain speaking with a tactical ensign Luciano hadn't met yet, encouraging the man to provide incendiary grenades. Nicky shook his head, clutching the coin tight in his hand. He followed the tactical officer out and let the conference door slide shut behind him. He paused a few moments, letting the clock tick silently, before snapping his coin in the air in a shining arc, snatching it as it fell. Despite a strong superstitious urge, he didn't look to see if it was heads or tails before he walked back into the conference room - just in time to see the Captain holding a bloodstained ancient sword in his weathered hands, murmuring solemnly to himself :: NICKELS: `scuse me, boss - that is ta say, Capt'n Waltas, sir. WALTAS::Looking up from the blade, the gleam still in his eye:: Yes, Ensign? NICKELS: :: resisting the urge to crick his neck like a boxer entering the ring :: Wondered if I might have a minute'a yer time, captain. WALTAS::Sitting back down at the table:: Of course. Have a seat. :: Tyr watched the young man sit down, reading his body language. He was uncomfortable-and for an Iotian that was something-and for a Starfleet Security Officer it was something as well. Whatever the man had on his shoulders, it was weighing him down. :: NICKELS: :: taking a slow, steady breath :: I've got somethin' of a problem with th' current mission profile, sir. A pretty friggin' serious problem, if I c'n be blunt. WALTAS::Raising an eyebrow:: Oh? What sort of problem? NICKELS: The problem, captain, is that I dunno if we're actually followin' Starfleet regulations with this tactical solution we've put together for dealin' with the Remans planetside. We're talkin' about `em like we're plannin' ta wipe out a nest of Melvaran mud fleas instead of an intelligent species of known standin' with the Federation. :: His voice was smooth, but his gaze brightly indignant. :: NICKELS: Makes me wonder if we've exhausted all possible non-military solutions as indicated in Starfleet Directive 010, or if we're lettin' that go by the wayside on this one … f'r whatever reasons, sir. :: Tyr studied the man for an instant, gauging his sincerity. Although the exterior exuded calm confidence, the dark eyes said something else. :: WALTAS::Sighing, he placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward:: Ensign ... Nickels. We've been backed into a corner here. I don't even have statistics on how many crew we lost when Cenarius attacked us. Much less the damage he's done on that transport. We don't know where the crew is, or how many innocent lives he's taken. If he's as old as I think, it could be thousands, or hundreds of thousands. Who knows how many Remans are waiting for us down there and are practicing this..Vampirism, or whatever it is. And you want to give them a pass? :: Years of training instilled by the freely-delivered backhands of his father, a low-level crime boss, kept Nickels' hands from clenching into fists. :: NICKELS: Nothin' doin', sir. I think that the Remans that attacked a Starfleet vessel flyin' under a flag'a truce on a rescue mission should be captured an' dealt with ta the fullest extent of our laws. An' ya ask me personally, maybe we c'n even bust the three or four bastids what done it up with a baseball bat in the brig before we bring `em in. But I dunno that an attack by a few mutant or throwback or whatever Remans - even a nasty vicious attack like what we just went t'rough - justifies us plannin' ta go down with standin' orders ta shoot f'r the friggin' heart on sight. We don't enough about these people. We hardly know anythin'! WALTAS: Harsh times call for harsh action, Ensign. If we can't find a cure, and right now I haven't heard any news of one, we have no choice. We can't let these people run roughshod. Especially in a time where there is so much instability in the Romulan and Reman governments. Can you imagine if they somehow came to power? Entire fleets, planets, being turned into these monsters? You think the Remans and Romulans were bad before...what if they all turned into these creatures? Or even worse, what if they'd succeeded in their plan and took over Discovery? Continued to infect ships? They could take over the whole Federation as well. I haven't seen such tenacity and sick hunger since the Borg. :: Nickels sat for a moment, and slowly brought his expressive hands up, spreading them in a slow gesture of admission. :: NICKELS: Yeah, I t'ink it'd be bad news if somethin' like Cenarius rose ta power in this galaxy. We know Remans c'n be big, nasty trouble from th' accounts of the Shinzon incident. But apparently they were bein' contained or self-managed for however long it was before we - WE, sir - opened up Cenarius' magic box or whatever the heck it was we pulled on board. An' yeah, they do kinda remind me of the Borg, in some ways. But … we treated the friggin' Borg wit' a lot more diplomacy than we're plannin' ta show now, sir. :: He ran his hands over his slicked-back hair, an unknowing mirror of a gesture Captain Waltas himself used often. :: NICKELS: I can't help but wonder, sir, an' I mean this with all possible respect … I can't help but wonder if maybe we wouldn't be takin' such a hard edge against these unknowns if they hadn't taken yer daughter. WALTAS::Turning angrily:: There is a hell of a lot more here going on than just my daughter. But yes. I won't deny I'm going down there because she's down there. Are you a father, Ensign? Wouldn't you do the same for your children? NICKELS: I ain't a father, captain, so far as I know. But I'm a son, an' a [...] good one. When my Pop was in trouble this last year, I took a leave of absence an' a demotion from the Fleet ta go back home ta Sigma Iotia ta help him do a buncha genuinely stupid things, an' got myself some fancy new scars doin' it. :: This time he did crick his neck, and it popped meaningfully. :: NICKELS: But one thing I didn't do, sir, was plan ta scorch the earth an' leave no witnesses. The mission yer layin' out for the Discovery, wit'out contactin' the fleet an' with standin' orders ta blast a planet that's only barely been catalogued by the Fed scientists, sounds an awful lot like a black bag job. WALTAS::Cooly:: I'm not going to pretend to understand what a "black bag job" is Ensign, but it sounds like you're accusing me of genocide. These things are animals. They don't deserve to live, and they [...]ed sure don't deserve respect. Maybe you just haven't been on a ship long enough to understand that the rules and regulations sometimes have to be bent or broken for the common good. Or maybe you just don't want to go toe to toe with the Remans for another reason. Maybe you're afraid. Your words are definitely not those of a parent, or a Starfleet Officer who is supposed to protect this crew. :: The Iotian's voice grew more heated at long last, and he planted his hands on the table with a flat slap. :: NICKELS: May I speak frankly, captain? WALTAS::Turning, bemused:: By all means. oO Here we go. Now we see where this leads. I've cracked the exterior. Oo NICKELS: It sounds, sir - :: he emphasized the word hard :: - like yer intendin' that the crew of the Discovery undertake a dangerous mission utilizin' weapon designs based off friggin' ancient superstitions an' wild-eyed conjecture. It sounds like we might be keepin' Starfleet at arm's length regardin' this mission not only because of its unusual nature, but because we're at risk of bein' in flagrant friggin' violation of Directive 010 and Starfleet Order 2. An' lastly, Captain Waltas … :: His voice settled down, and he carefully brought his hands off the table, stood upright and folded them behind his back. He rested his dark eyes meaningfully on the ancient sword in Captain Waltas' hand for a moment before bringing his gaze back to his superior officer's. :: NICKELS: … I'm new to the Discovery, sir, but the role of a security officer is clear no matter where ya are. We act to protect and preserve the lives of those above and to act in the best interest of the ship and the crew … an' to enforce the laws an' regulations of Starfleet. An' I'm not entirely sure, Captain Waltas, that the mission you've presented this crew wit' is in keeping' wit' that role. We ain't protectin', or preservin'. We're huntin' and destroyin'. Respectfully, sir … :: his voice settled a few degrees at last :: … I can't do what yer askin' an' call it Security. WALTAS::Turning angrily at the last sentence:: Did I just read you right, Ensign? Are you refusing a direct order from your Captain? :: The Iotian stood and straightened his tunic, the Captain on his feet as well, and the security officer's voice was much more mild as he replied, though thick with restrained anger. :: NICKELS: Ya didn't leave me with any alternatives I could follow in good conscience, Captain. An' I ain't gonna … :: He was cut off abruptly by the Captain's fury. :: WALTAS: I don't give a [...] what your moral objections are to this mission Ensign! ::Stepping forward he raised his hand to cut off the response:: No, it's MY TIME to speak freely now. While you're throwing the book at me and telling a Starfleet Officer with about 3 decades of experience and 3 pips on you what he should be doing, why don't I give you another suggestion. Why don't you head on down to sickbay and check in with Addyson Martin? Or better yet, go talk to Anders, who I think still has the bite marks on her neck from one of those [...]s and who nearly lost the ship. Or even better, ::His voice raised to a shout:: HEAD DOWN TO THE MORGUE, AND TELL THE CORPSES THAT YOU THINK THEY DIED FOR NOTHING! :: The young ensign met the Captain's gaze, and his voice was all the quieter compared to the Captain's righteous fury, although his eyes were blazing. :: NICKELS: No one ever dies for nothin', sir. But I dunno that more killin' is gonna make anythin' better. WALTAS: THAT'S ENOUGH. You're confined to your quarters for the remainder of the mission. ::Tapping his comm badge:: =/\= Lt. Commander Wood. I am removing Ensign Nickels Security clearance and confining him to quarters. He is not to take part in the away team. Waltas out. =/\= ::Turning back to the Iotian:: You can wrestle with your morality in your quarters, Ensign. Get out of my sight. NICKELS: Right away, sir. :: he turned on his heel sharply as a butler, and walked to the door, turning and looking over his shoulder :: I hope you do get your daughter back safe an' sound, sir. :: he paused :: An' I hope you remember that there might be Remans with sons an' daughters of their own on that planet ya asked Comamnder Mitchell ta torpedo inta dust. :: Tyr watched the man leave. The moment the door closed he drew the sword and hurled it across the conference room. It embedded itself halfway into the wall. Leaning on the table, he took several deep breaths, a dark cloud reaching over him.:: o O He doesn't understand. He doesn't know what it's like to have the whole crew depending on you.. He doesn't know what it's like to be a parent.. O o ::As he retrieved the sword from the wall and sheathed it, another thought, one which he quickly dismissed, retreated to the back of his mind.:: o O And he's also absolutely right. O o ================================== Captain Tyr Waltas Commanding Officer USS Discovery -and- Ensign Nickels Security Officer USS Discovery
  4. ((Interrogation room; Phoenix)) ::Kivith waited as patiently as possible in the cramped interrogation room. What had happened to the rest of her crew? It would be appropriate for her life to be forfeit; it was her lack of tactical planning that had put them in this situation. The others shouldn't be punished by her lack of foresight. While she told herself that worrying about things she had no control over was illogical, she couldn't help herself. Still, when the door finally opened and a dignified Romulan in traditional military dress strode in, Kivith thought she maintained her outer calmness rather well.:: PE'THLAR: Greetings, daughter. ::And then the woman laughed. Aside from the mirth on her features, the Romulan woman appeared very familiar. Then, what she had said finally penetrated Kivith's thoughts. Daughter. She wasn't referring to her Vulcan heritage; this woman was claiming to be her actual parent. Highly unlikely, being as her mother was human, but the similarity between Kivith's features and this woman were hard to dismiss so easily.:: ::It seemed to take forever, but the woman finally regained control of herself:: PE'THLAR: Look at the device. ::Kivith sat, motionless.:: ::The Romulan slapped her hand down on the desk, hard enough to cause an echo throughout the room.:: PE'THLAR: I said look at it! KIVITH: I see no reason to do so. This is your technology, you could have programmed it to convey any readings you wish. ::PE'THLAR regained composure:: Kivith, you are as stubborn as your father. Kravik drove me mad when he dug his heels in. If this is how you grew up, it's just as well I left you with him back on Earth. ::Kivith tried to keep her surprise to herself, though she was currently so unbalanced she wasn't sure how successful she was. It wasn't likely that these pirates had been able to hack into the Federation database to gain access to her file, and even a greater stretch to claim that these pirates had forewarning of their approach enough to study those files. Perhaps this woman did know her. She wouldn't let the Romulan know she came to that conclusion.:: KIVITH: My mother was human. ::PE'THLAR sneered:: Your mother is half human. Use the device. Scan me. ::Kivith continued to stare at her passively. After a few moments, the sub-commander dropped into a long string of curses in Romulan.:: PE'THLAR: You are going to drive me crazier than your father. ::She drew a wicked looking curved knife from a sheath at her waist:: ::Kivith tensed, ready to defend herself. Weapons had been pulled on her before; with her background and the temper she had struggled with growing up, there had been more than a few scuffles. Instead of coming at her with the blade, however, the sub-commander raised her sleeve and slashed a thin mark across her upper forearm. A very narrow stream of bright red blood trickled down onto the table, splattering crimson as it landed.:: PE'THLAR: Do you believe me now? ::KIVITH watched the blood drip with a morbid fascination that kept her brain from functioning properly.:: I am more inclined to, but nothing can be proven without a complete genetic scan. If it pleases you, I will behave on the premise that you are indeed my mother. However, if you believe that will make me treat you more...familiarly, I must inform you that I am duty-bound to the Federation and will not divulge any secrets. PE'THLAR: I do not want Federation secrets. ::There was deep scorn in her voice as she dropped the sleeve back over her forearm, careless of the blood.:: This ship is like a singularity drive on the verge of breaking containment and imploding. You and your crew mates are going to be as dead as the rest of us unless you help me. ::Kivith looked at her mother with puzzlement.:: oO The jailer is asking the prisoner to save her? Oo PE'THLAR: Captain Deklan is a brutal Jem'Hadar. The Brotherhood gave him command of my ship and consolidated his crew among mine. Ever since, he has killed and pillaged as he saw fit, even executing crew members for refusing the simplest order . His conquests are disgusting, and the man must be killed before he destroys us all! ::Kivith noted the shame on her mother's face. That likely made her one of the captain's conquests; it explained the rage against him.:: KIVITH: What can I do? I am your prisoner. PE'THLAR: You are my agent, just returned from a scouting mission. ::The sub-commander looked at her with hard eyes:: You suggest we leave this sector of space immediately, before a more powerful Federation fleet gets here and destroys us all. KIVITH: How does this improve our situation? PE'THLAR: This will increase my standing among the crew. When we try to wrest the ship away from Deklan, maybe it will override the crew's fear of him enough for many of them to take our side. ::The sub-commander stood, leaning both hands on the desk and hunching over to stare at Kivith searchingly.:: Whether you believe me or not, this gives you and your friends the chance to escape. Otherwise you can go sit in the cell with the rest of them, and die when your fleet comes. ::Pe'thlar looked hopeful.:: A fleet IS coming, is it not? ::Kivith thought about the USS Achilles that had just come from this region of space. Even though the Colorado hadn't been advised of the threat in this system, surely they were already beginning some sort of recourse. She didn't have enough variables to make an informed decision.:: KIVITH: I do not know. Possibly. If so, it could be several days before they arrive. PE'THLAR: Are you with me, daughter? KIVITH: Affirmative. ::There were few logical choices. Outside the cell, she could be more helpful in any circumstance.:: ::PE'THLAR breathed a heavy sigh of relief.:: Good. Take off your Starfleet badge; it's been deactivated anyway. ::As Kivith did so, also taking a moment to remove the single pip denoting her ensign rank and pocketing both. Pe'thlar handed her a Romulan communication device to place on her uniform.:: Click this five times to open a channel to me directly, but only in case of emergency. KIVITH: I understand. I must speak with my shipmates before they do anything...drastic. ::PE'THLAR opened her mouth to disagree, but must have realized the argument would take more time than simply letting her go. She acceded with an irritated nod.:: I realize you've probably taken the Kholinahr seriously, but emotions may be required in order to save yourself, and your friends. ::Kivith had already come to the same conclusion. It wasn't going to be an easy thing to do; she hadn't allowed any emotion to escape her unchecked in twelve years. Remembering back to another incident, she amended her estimation to nine years. Unwilling to speak, she gave her mother a nod.:: ::Pe'thlar patted Kivith's shoulder awkwardly before marching out of the room.:: PE'THLAR: My agent returns with troubling news. T'plak, you will take Kivith to some quarters to straighten up. I must inform the captain immediately. Guards, come with me. ::Kivith allowed herself a small sneer she almost felt as she watched the two guards fret. Do they follow their prisoner, or do they follow their commander's orders?:: PE'THLAR: Centurion T'plak will be with her; do you doubt his loyalty, and mine? Move it. ::After a moment's indecision and a concerned glare at T'plak, they followed the sub-commander down the hall.:: T'PLAK: How much does she trust you? KIVITH: Enough. It would appear we're both prisoners, in one sense or another, so our goals are aligned. Take me to the cell where my crewmates are, then we can find me a new uniform. ::The Centurion didn't waste time with objections, he simply lead the way. When they reached the cell and found the guards weaponless, communicatorless, unconscious, and stuck inside the field, Kivith fought down the urge to smile. The Discovery's crew was too clever for their own good.:: KIVITH: Can you keep this quiet and post a new guard? T'PLAK: I think so. ::He shook his head at the men.:: Idiots. I'll need to stay here until new guards arrive and make sure this doesn't get out. Take this corridor all the way down, make a left at the junction and a right at the next. Your quarters will be 713B. KIVITH: Acknowledged. Meet me in my quarters when the area is secured. Once I have completed some tasks, I will need to be escorted onto the bridge. ::She didn't wait for his agreement, only trusted that he would do as she asked. The way she had seen T'plak look at her mother left little doubt of his loyalty. It wasn't ideal, but it was sufficient for her.:: ::She manned the computer terminal the moment she got to her tiny, nearly empty quarters. Fortunately the crew was so diverse and had programmed the computer in a variety of languages, allowing her to tap into the basic ship functions and download a map to a datapad of her own. She took a minute to encode that map and prepare to send it via data stream throughout the ship. With the ship's specs, an enterprising crew could find a place to hole up and plan their next move, or perhaps when the moment came, take back the Colorado, located in the primary hangar.:: ::Kivith finished the encoding, knowing that while it would seem like an odd but brief data surge inside the piece-meal ship, Epsilon should be able to download the map and decipher the message. KIVITH: *Datasurge transmission*=/\=Commander Epsilon, take cover until the opportune time arrives. You will know when that is. Kivith out.=/\= ::Kivith monitored the ship's primary frequencies, looking for anything that suggested her message had raised suspicions. As far as she could tell, it hadn't. After that, requisitioning weapons and new clothing was a matter of replicating something in the proper size. She had never been particularly fond of Romulan uniforms, but she left her Starfleet regulated underclothes on and sliced the collar off the rather bulky top, shredding the materials so the hint of cleavage could be seen. Kivith decided that would work well in this crew of misfits. Otherwise, she was well covered in the muted sea-green outfit. With the exception of having her bosom somewhat exposed, the uniform was quite comfortable. She took a moment to remove her braids from Federation regs as well, choosing to plait her scarlet hair together in a long tail that reached nearly the small of her back. After the chime rang, she drew the disruptor pistol she had found and walked to the door, pressing the button to open it.:: T'PLAK: Things are under control at the brig. ::Eying her appreciatively.:: You don't look much like Starfleet anymore, but you don't look very Romulan, either. ::Kivith ignored him.:: Take me to the bridge; we've kept my mother waiting long enough. Ensign Kivith Science Officer USS Discovery
  5. Can somebody open a new topic for me, please? I'd like to submit a crewmate's post, but I can't open it myself. Please title it as such: An Unlikely Coincidence Kivith - USS Discovery Thanks so much for anybody's help. Cheers!
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