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Sal Taybrim

Executive Council member
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Everything posted by Sal Taybrim

  1. Not advisable? At their size, a fall from such a height would mean that they would have Taelon and pancakes with a side of Max berries. No thank you. so you’re saying that’s not the breakfast of champions, then?
  2. Glitter. Goblin. that’s now official
  3. As the Covid-19 pandemic swept throughout the year 2020, it profoundly affected the lives of millions across the globe. Many of our own members suffered from the virus itself, while others experienced the grief of losing friends and loved ones. Persevering through this, our members remained enthusiastic about the fellowship we've built here, and found new ways to connect and share our stories through this challenging time. The Captains Council considered, for this Awards Ceremony season, the ways we could recognize the complications and challenges of the past year. We landed on a new type of Community Honor called Commemorative Coins, the first of which will be specifically focused on 2020 and 2021's events and the way in which we came through them. Commemorative coins, also known as "challenge coins," are a tradition in many government and military agencies with a history stretching back to the days of the Ancient Romans. These small medallions are bestowed by leaders to signify a job well done, or memorialize participation in an event. As such, everyone who simmed with us during the pandemic will receive the Per Aspera, Ad Astra Commemorative Coin, a digital item that can be displayed on your wiki profile: The coin displays our new logo, to signify the launch of our new brand and recognize that this was an experience that affected our entire community. And, you'll find on the left of the coin the image of a spiral – representing rebirth, and resilience, while also alluding to the mRNA sequence (which looks similar to a DNA spiral) of the vaccines which are helping to bring us out of this tragedy. On the right-hand side, you'll find the image of a lily, representing the return to innocence after death and the recognition of grief that touched many of us during this difficult time. And the name, "per aspera, ad astra" translates from Latin to English as, "through difficulties to the stars," a fitting reminder for us all. Over the coming months, we'll be transitioning some of our former legacy badges into Commemorative Coins, and we'll provide more information about that as it becomes available. Sincerest thanks to everyone who participated with us in the last year. We know how hard it's been for many, and we appreciate all of the good memories we created together. You can find out more about Commemorative Coins on the wiki, including instructions on how to add this one to your profile.
  4. I feel the scene only gets better with the reply... ((So’Mior’s Quarters, USS Constitution)) As First Officer he, together with other senior officers, had a certain responsibility for the wellbeing of the crew. As a Counsellor he had a marked responsibility for the mental health of the crew. And as a Vulcan, he had a preference for at least offering to assist one whom, he judged, was facing some of the trials that he himself had faced when he joined Starfleet, along with a few that were uniquely So’Mior’s. Regrettably he’d had other duties to discharge before he could make a personal call, but having confirmed with the computer that the Ensign was in his quarters, Saveron was finally able to key the door buzzer. So’Mior: Enter…? Saveron: Sochya, Ensign So’Mior. May I join you? He favoured the younger man with the ta’al, the traditional Vulcan gesture of greeting, grey eyes taking in the neat, spare quarters, the calming, meditative set up, and the dishevelled young man crouched over a broken cup. So’Mior: Commander, greetings. Please, come in. Sit? Bowing slightly in polite acknowledgement, Saveron stepped inside and let the doors hiss closed behind him, settling cross-legged onto the carpet, Vulcan style, in response to the invitation, making no show of noticing the way in with So’Mior struggled to gather all the pieces of the shattered cup. As a male Vulcan, Saveron didn’t have much of a sense of smell, but he could smell the tang of the calmative Mika from the wet patch on the carpet. All the subtle signs pointed to a mind ill-at-ease. To the older Vulcan it confirmed the reasons for his visit, and his preference that he might be able to offer some form of assistance. Saveron: Did I interrupt your meditations? ::He asked, as solicitous as a Vulcan could be.:: So’Mior: I was startled. ::He stated it as honestly as possible. Not ‘you startled me’ – there was no reason to find anger nor fault in a doorchime. No, the fault – and the fault lines – were drawn within him.:: It will mend. He placed the pieces in the recycler and watched them fade into raw materials. Saveron watched So’Mior watching the reclamation, before cutting straight to the reason for his visit. Saveron: I am acutely aware of the trauma which you experienced during the last mission. ::He’d touched the young man’s mind, felt it for himself.:: I came to enquire as to your wellbeing, in your current state. Slowly So’Mior turned towards the first officer, and his expression was lost and searching, oddly vulnerable on features one expected to be expressionless. It emphasised his youth. Saveron would not interfere where he was not welcome, but he recognised the paternal, protective instinct in his own natural response. So’Mior: I… I don’t know. Those words were an admission, even a plea for help, if it could be offered in a way that might be acceptable. Saveron: Then you are not well? ::He asked gently.:: Finally So’Mior moved himself from his lean by the recycler to a chair, which he sank down into with a steady exhausted bonelessness. The observation of the younger man’s use of human furniture was filed away as Saveron focused on the verbal and non-verbal signals he was giving. So’Mior: I can’t… I can’t process it. I can’t find calm. I try and I feel like I’m drowning. His voice became hoarse, evidence of emotional control cracking, together with his expression. Saveron was appreciative of his choice to visit. Saveron: That would be deeply troubling. ::He acknowledged, validating what So’Mior was feeling.:: As a Counsellor, and a Vulcan, oO and a father Oo I would assist as I may, if you would not object. Despite their disparate levels with their differing choice of furniture, Saveron stayed where he was, sitting on the floor. It was a very non-threatening position, and one associated with the calm of meditation. So’Mior: ? Saveron: I have read your file, and am aware of your mixed heritage. As I do not doubt you are aware that my psychology qualification is through Starfleet. Not Vulcan. Which made a huge difference. Trained in the psychology of multiple species, and multi-species individuals. Which was important. Because So’Mior was, he’d learned, part Human. And he was very young. Too young by Vulcan standards, but that only meant that he needed support. He was here, now, and that was what mattered. So’Mior: ? The older Vulcan gave that slow, thoughtful nod again. There were multiple issues here. In some ways Saveron felt that Shael had only had such an effect on So’Mior because the young man already had some significant insecurities, rooted deep beneath his mental discipline. And that wasn’t the strictest either, else he’d have been able to ward her off. But it didn’t have to be. One of the faults of their kind was being unsympathetic to those who chose paths other than what was upheld as preferable by certain groups. Saveron had little patience for such views. Saveron: It is not simple. ::He agreed.:: Else you would have resolved it. But I believe that resolution is not impossible. He said this with the surety of one who had viewed the damage first-hand. So’Mior: ? TAG Commander Saveron First Officer USS Constitution-B R238802S10
  5. Congratulations everyone! You have all done fabulous work over a very difficult year! You should all be very proud!
  6. Well done everyone! Thank you all for making this fleet such a special place to play!
  7. I think the Klingons would approve, Mr, Dann
  8. When shoreleave turns into a summer action movie... ((Vrixis VI)) Maybe it was due to the fact that he'd just come back from an incredibly dangerous impromptu rescue mission on Qo'nos of all places, but Isaiah was feeling particularly...adventurous. Compared to dodging security beams and fighting angry cultists, whatever happened here on Vrixis VI was going to be trivial. Besides, they *were* supposed to be having fun, weren't they? Andrews: Well, whaddya think, doc? You in or out? Better decide before one of the resort staff sees us and chases us off of the equipment. Ayala: I’m not sure if I should reprimand you or compliment you. Taisa crossed her arms, shaking her head. Iz was already climbing into the driver's seat and looking over the console to get a feel for what was what. He glanced up and over at Dr. Ayala. Andrews: You can do both on the way. C'mon Doc, the fun train is boarding at the station. Choo-choo. Ayala: All right, all right, I’m coming. Isaiah grinned as she hurried over and swung up into the passenger seat, stowing her bag. The we're-gonna-get-in-trouble look that he read on her face and body language only amused him all the more. He reached down for the ignition, then paused and looked her way, wearing his smirkiest of smirks. Andrews: Hey Doc, you wanna take the reins on this horse? Not every day you get to drive a stole-, excuse me, *borrowed* vehicle. Ayala: Oh no, your idea, you drive. And you take all the blame. If we get caught and in trouble, you kidnapped me and that’s the truth. Andrews: Wow, just gonna throw me under the autotransport like that. I see how it is. ::Shaking his head.:: Some of us just trying to make life interesting for everyone else, and this is the thanks we get. So be it. As Dr. Ayala buckled her seatbelt (chicken!), Iz turned the ignition and the electric dynos of the rover hummed to life. He pressed the accelerator and the vehicle lurched forward jerkily, sending Iz almost out of his seat, and the straw hat flying off of his head and onto the hood of the rover. Andrews: Oof! What in the..? Oh… ::He pulled a lever release:: Parking brake. Of course. After leaning over the dashboard and stretching out to retrieve his hat, Iz decided maybe he'd put his seatbelt on and buckled it once he was seated again. Then shooting his passenger a grin, he hit the accelerator again and they were off trundling down the sandy path, throwing up a wonderful roostertail of silt behind as the three sets of spinning wheels took their purchase on the terrain. The drive to the dining facility was actually rather nice...ocean breeze, swaying palms, shimmering ocean as a backdrop. A few times, Iz had to put his hand down over the top of his hat to keep it from being stolen by the wind. He looked over to Dr. Ayala, his expression like that of a kid rolling down the hill in a wagon with no helmet. The dining hall was not far, and it was directly adjacent to another building, which they took to be the storehouse for all of the foods that got prepared for resort guests. Given the size of the facility, it seemed like a good bet that this was actual meat and produce, as opposed to replicated renditions thereof. Iz leaned on the steering wheel and glanced over at the Doctor. Andrews: So, if I give you a shopping list, how about you just saunter on in and load up a cart, bring it back out here. I'll keep the motor running. Ayala: Oh no, this is your idea. You do all the talking. I’m here against my will, remember? At her response, he snapped his fingers in an "Aww shucks" motion. Andrews: Can't blame a man for trying. All right, let's try a different approach than the most direct one. Isaiah started the rover again, and they started driving around the perimeter of the facility. Ayala: ? Andrews: What, don't you trust me? Ayala: ? Andrews: Fair enough! I just wanna do a little reconnaissance here, see if we can see a path of least resistance to slip in and out with the goods. Iz parked the rover behind a dune and killed the power. Undoing his seatbelt, he slipped out of the seat and jumped down to the ground, removing his hat and placing it on the seat. He gestured for Ayala to follow him and started moving closer to the storage facility. There was a convenient palm grove near the side entrance, and he pointed to it as a good cover point. Once at the palms, he crouched down and peered out. Ayala: ? Andrews: ::Whispering and pointing:: Look there. I just saw an employee go in that door, and they were wearing regular clothes. But I saw one come *out* wearing the resort uniform. Ayala: ? Andrews: Yep! We're gonna get disguises! Isn't this fun? I think you ought to hum some spy music. Do you know any spy music? Ayala: ? Andrews: You know, something like *dunt-duh-dunt-duh-dunt-dunt..* Ayala: ? Andrews: Of course I'm serious. ::Grinning:: Okay, don't worry about the music. Just follow my lead! Iz waited until there was a break in any in or out traffic, and there were no individuals in sight. Then he stepped out from behind the palm grove and walked, casually, towards the door. He was banking on the fact that this was an isolated resort with very little need for security. If he was picked up on cameras, so be it. But why would they need to worry about guests wandering into the employee dressing rooms? He got to the door to the storehouse and tried it. It slid right open and he grinned broadly, gesturing for Ayala to follow as he slipped inside. Ayala: ? -- Ensign Isaiah Andrews Security Officer StarBase 118 Ops M239010MC0
  9. Just a bit of wonderful character development... ((USS Narendra, Crew Quarters, Deck 9) It had been a long day, and a stressful one. Talas had slumped into his temporary quarters aboard the Narendra. One of the benefits of being a support vessel is less people onboard, which meant he did not have to double up with anyone, he had some small quarters to himself which was always a welcome relief. The recent mission had once again, like the Borg did, shown Talas how close they come to losing their lives in Starfleet. One mistake, one surprise by the enemy, one system failure could doom a lot of people. It was this thought that kept bringing Talas back to his family, his mother was king and caring and genuinely wanted what was best for Talas even if she didn’t agree with his choices. His Father was different, his Father despised him and his choices and wasn’t afraid of making that clear. Talas knew he did not want to leave this life without having at least attempted to reconnect with his Father. Their last conversation had ended quickly, he knew his Father was angry and had never really got a chance to vent at Talas, in truth Talas could not put up with it. Grabbing his pad, he opened a blank letter and started to write. Father, Before you disregard this letter, I implore you to read it through and take time to consider my request. I know you’re angry and I have never truly given you the time or space to tell me about your frustrations, and for you to hear mine. I want us to have that time. I’ve recently had some quite frightening experiences, I expect most the details are classified but they’ve involved the Borg and as you may have seen on the Federation News Service, the Klingons. The ship that was involved in a battle over Qo’nos was the ship I am currently on, I was at the helm for the battle, it was a truly scary experience. It has made be re-evaluate a lot of things, including my relationship with you and Mother. Putting my thoughts down in writing, I hope, will serve as a platform for us to reconnect. We would just get angry at each other speaking in person, whereas writing gives both of us time to think about over points of view, and understand the others point of view, they key to a good debate is both sides understanding the view of the other, why they hold those views. I want to assure you that I understand your viewpoint, the Cardassians committed horrific atrocities to you, our people and our planet and I don’t doubt that many Bajoran’s would happily see the Cardassian population wiped out. However we have to understand that the occupation is over, to continue to punish and not attempt to build connections to create a stronger bond that will stop things like the occupation happening again is key. Hoarding resentment at something that has a viable solution is illogical. I understand why that’s difficult and why you find it hard to move on from what the Cardassian’s did to you I know you did not approve of my relationship with Gilana, but she was right for me, and that’s all that should matter. Neither Gilana and I were born when the occupation finished, she, nor I can be punished for the actions of her people. I think Cardassia received enough punishment at the hands of the Dominion. Gilana died several months ago, in an shuttle accident, it’s a shame you never got to meet and understand that she was a good person, she wasn’t a Cardassian officer in the occupation, she was a normal citizen. There is a planetary controller’s conference at Starbase 118 in a few months, where I posted, in a few months. I’d like to invite you and Mother to come and visit, it could be part of your work. I’d be proud to show my parents around the base. Please consider the request, I know it’s a long flight from Bajor to this side of Federation space, but I hope it’s worth it. Beck -- Ensign Talas Beck Helm Starbase 118 O239707TB0
  10. I just love a good bad guy sim ❤️ ((High Orbit. Qo'Nos.)) Hatfield: Open fire! Idiots! Buffons! Morons! The trap had been sprung upon the Narendra far too soon by overeager commanders of third-rate Cult vessels. Her opening shot smashed into the Federation vessesls shields. And then the Narendra vanished. Actually vanished like smoke into mist. Hatfield: Where did she go!? Find the Narendra! Federation vessels didn't have cloaking devices as standard, and especially not clapped out old buckets like an Ambassador-class. Suddenly, the minefield began to move, swarming after an unseen target. It had to be the Narendra and Hatfield slammed an angry fist into the arm of the command throne. An instant later she was out of her seat, a heavy blow landing upon the shoulder of her helmsman. Hatfield: Follow them, you fool! She hissed in anger as the wildly flowing stream of mines detonated in a ripple of explosions that inflicted crippling damage upon the Cult vessels shields. The Narendra flickered into view, smashing a torpedo into the exposed belly of one vessel. There were more explosions as the ship began to break apart, it's death throes ensaring and dragging down it's companion. The main viewscreen brightened then, as the Vakh'Tol powered up and heaved to. Her eye darted around the viewscreen as the rapid series of events were processed, watching still as other Klingon vessels scrambled to get clear of the disintegrating Bird of Prey and the seemingly wild torpedo volleys. Hatfield: Get the Narendra back on screen. Now! The view snapped instantly to the Narendra, and she was bearing down upon them rapidly. There was the flash of a torpedo launch and Hatfield barely had time to open her mouth to bark an order at her stunned-looking helmsman. The torpedo missing them, but only just. The shockwave from it's detonation shook the Chang-Vor'ch like a toy in the bath, shattering screens and causing consoles to explode outwards. The main viewer was reduced to scrolling static, and Hatfield was slammed sideways against her throne. Pain blossomed in her side and face, with her spitting blood onto the deck. Her bridge crew and bodyguards were scattered as leaves on the wind, being banged about just as much as her. And Malle Zistra, her Betazoid navigator was the worst off laying face down in a spreading pool of her own blood. Hatfield: Get us out of here! The green-collared helmsman looked at her dumbfounded, his face bloody mask from the slice across his cheek. Hatfield: Now damn you! In the end, it was her chief weapons officer Lieutenant Danzuc that got behind the helm controls and put them into a rapid about turn. The hefty Klingon punched the engines, getting them well clear of Qo'nos before sending the ship streaking away at warp. Spitting another gobbet of blood onto the deck, Hatfield stalked to the lift at the rear of the bridge. She clicked her fingers at her guards and they hauled the helmsman to his feet, dragging him between them as they followed her from the bridge. They dragged him along the ships main corridor, stopped beside their commader beside an airlock door. Hatfield jabbed the button and they hefted him. Suddenly realising what was happening, he began to kick and scream and plead. The guards simply tossed him in and Hatfield sealed the door. Silently through the glass he screamed and pounded at the door. Hatfield: You failed me today. And one failure is one too many times. Goodbye, Mr Fredericksen. She pressed a key, ejecting the former Marine from a ship that was travelling only a little under warp eight. -fin.- Commander Vivienne Hatfield. Former OC, USS Valeria. Former FL, House Kravzo'ch. Simmed by; Lieutenant-Commander Arturo Maxwell. Chief Tactical Officer / Second Officer. Starbase 118 Operations. O239311AM0.
  11. Very interesting and compelling end to one of our antagonists - bravo Mr. Davis! ((Theseus, Bridge)) Kurin: You mean surrender? Chax: What! And risk getting stuck in a penal colony again? Last time I was there I was roomed with this Starfleet brat that wouldn’t stop talking about “blue jeans,” “television,” and “gasoline powered cars.” It was insufferable. Fuse: What it comes down to, is the choice between life and death! ::he raised his voice slightly:: Do we wish to die, cowering in a pool of our own excrement? Or do we do what we can to survive? Live to fight another day. I refuse to believe this is the end of the line. ::He looked each crewmember in the face.:: The Captain may be gone, but we are still a crew. Kurin: I’m with Fuse. Chax: But we can still get away. Invert the polarity on the hull plating, make a low-level subspace field, anything! Chax became increasingly angry as Fuse negotiated. He tried to listen, but his mind flooded with all the memories. Memories he didn’t want, memories he had long suppressed. What was his name? Nicolas? No. Bobby? No, but it was a boring human name. A son of an Admiral, too. He sulked around the penal colony. It was insulting. Though it was a prison of sorts, Chax had never lived somewhere so… nice. Which made him hate the Federation even more. The audacity to place someone in a prison nicer than their own home was an insult. And this Admiral’s son, whining and complaining all the time, had no idea what life was like outside of the Federation, the penal colony, or even the Sol system. The sheer privilege of it all made his second stomach churn, and his gizzard clench. There was no way he could go back there. (( OOC: Condensing a bit since there were no open tags.)) Rajel: =/\= As you can see we are backing away. You may want to die, but my crew has a strong will and instinct to survive. Within the next 30 seconds we will be out of transporter range. This is your last chance. Contact us before it is too late. Constitution out. =/\= The channel closed and silence fell over the bridge, broken up by the occasional ping of flexing metal. Fuse: =/\= Bridge to all hands. I won’t make the decision for you, but i’m sure you can all tell that we have found ourselves in a precarious position. The hull is buckling and we only have…::He looked at the data again.:: Two minutes to make a decision. Do we go with the Federation or stay and go down with the ship? All who wish to live report to the galley and prepare for transport. =/\= Fuse: I suppose you have the bridge Chax. Chax: And I suppose you can go to hell. I hope you rot in that penal colony, rot from the inside. Kurin: ? Fuse: ::Shaking his head:: However you may feel about it, some of us want to live. No matter the cost. Chax: Funny that you call prison living. I intend to thrive. Kurin: ? Fuse turned and left the bridge, and Chax started barking orders from his console. He had no time to waste. Chax: Invert the polarity of the hull plating. Can we create a low-level subspace field around us? The bridge was a flurry of activity, every station doing what they could to try and save the ship enough to escape. Yet everything they tried couldn’t stop hull from breaking and heating. Whatever that dust was, it was deadly. Fuse: =/\= Theseus to Constitution. You win. Five souls ready for transport. =/\= Chax cursed under his breath at the cowards as he continued to work. Hull integrity continued to fall at a precipitous rate, as the temperate continued to climb. Bridge Pirate: Chax! The dust is interacting with the gravimetric distortions from the anomalous cluster of stars. If we can isolate ourselves from those distortions, we should be fine. Chax understood some of those words. Avoid the gravity, save the ship. Gravity comes from mass. Warp drive creates a bubble that makes the ship mass-less. At least, that’s what he thought he knew. Chax: =/\=Engineering, we need a warp bubble, now!=/\= Engineering: =/\=Wha- no, impossible between the nebula and the gra-=/\= Chax: Make it possible, or we’ll definitely be dead. The line simply clicked off. Hull integrity dropped below 20%, with atmosphere venting alarms starting to show across the ship. Nothing they couldn’t fix, if they could get away. A message popped up on his display: Engineering requests all possible power, including structural integrity fields. So this is how it had to be, huh? One shot. He was no stranger to life-or-death situations. He approved, and immediately the power levels dropped drastically across ship system as engineering overcharged the warp core, trying to brute-force a warp bubble. Alarms and klaxons wailed, declaring imminent failure. A situational button appeared on his panel: engage warp bubble. It appears Engineering wanted to give him the honors. Chax: To our freedom. Chax pressed the button with cool determination, and he heard the coils charge; faster and to a far greater capacity that he’d ever seen before. More alarms and klaxons, this time because the nacelles were under incredible stress. His held his breath, and clenched all his fists. He began to wonder if he should have transported over. And at the last moment, the charge was released, creating a single, large pulse to establish a warp bubble. In the picoseconds that the bubble formed and propagating outward from the nacelles, the hull atomized into a cloud of plasma. With appropriate temporal resolution, it would be possible to trace the propagation of the warp bubble across the hull, as the sudden and drastic change in the local effects of gravity ripped the hull apart at the molecular level. As it raced across the hull, ejecting superheated plasma in every direction, it ignited the atmosphere in the ship. The plasma conduits routed through the hull were ripped open, too, sending electrified plasma arcing everywhere. Had this occurred over a timespan that Chax could appreciate, it would have been quite a show. But sadly; as the hull surrounding the bridge atomized and the atmosphere ignited, it also blew out into open space, along with Chax. Behind him, the ship exploded outwards as the damaged warp core’s antimatter pods were compromised and began to annihilate into pure energy. But not only was he on fire in the burning atmosphere, he was pushed into the field of superheated plasma. As his body intersected with it, it too atomized. The molecular makeup of his body was far less able to withstand heat than the hull material. But fortunately it did not occur over a time period he, or anyone else on the ship, could experience. The nerves in their bodies didn’t even have enough time to signal “pain.” All Chax or anyone else still on the Theseus knew was existence, followed by non-existence. And the Theseus herself, similarly paradoxically lost. All that she was still existed, but the atoms were all messed about and scattered. Some turned into pure energy. She had lost her identity entirely. (( Elsewhere )) An old man, sick from both radiation and an overdose of anti-radiation medicine, kicked open the cockpit of a warp-capable escape sled with his last bit on energy. Rich Orion air. Soon, hands were all over him, lifting him up and out. - fin - —— MSNPC Chax Captain of the Theseus (Very briefly) as simmed by Lieutenant Lazarus Davis Chief Science Officer USS Constitution-B Podcast Team Facilitator IDIC team member ASDB team member C239510LD0 (he/him, character) (he/they, writer) “Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” – Dylan Thomas
  12. (This is a really compelling sim that blends personal demons with the cruelty of the storyline bad guy. Beautifully written!) ((The Waiting Room)) Tatash followed behind the group as they entered the small waiting area offset from the court room. He could tell instantly that it was soundproof as the door fell behind them, isolating them instantly from the hubbub of the arena outside to the point where a pin dropping would have echoed around the room. He turned his attention towards the other person in the room, the same striking handsome faced that had looked up at them from the PADD, the same one that was a harbinger of the cult they were seeking to destroy. He flashed them a smile, but it wasn’t a friendly one, it was the smile of a hungry cat toying with it’s prey before consuming them. Predatory, cruel. Kelemkor: Ah, Vro’che. You have done such a good job in guarding these… Starfleet … guests. There was a tone behind that message, the emphasis placed on guests was levied with something that implied they were anything but. Vroche: ? Tatash kept himself quiet, he was still appearing meek, humble. It was not his place to talk. DeVeau: ? Kelemkor stood up and swept towards the trio of Starfleet officers. Kelemkor: Ah, Commodore Taybrim and entourage. ::He smiled in a lovely but cold way.:: Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kelemkor, your aide for this trial. Taybrim: ::Calmly, diplomatically:: I was not aware we merited an aide. Vroche: ? Tatash: We are not the ones on trial, we do not require an aide. This is extremely unusual. DeVeau: ? Tatash hated this… sleaze, this fake-speak that permeated the group. It was clear now that there intentions of this man were not friendly, but he was laying the verbal equivalent of a flower wreath on a shallow grave he’d started to dig for them all. Kelemkor: Come now, Commodore. Surely Attorney Li’otha has explained to you that the likely outcome of this trial is the execution of your officers. Taybrim: That is a possibility we hope to avoid. ::Sal stated firmly.:: Vroche: ? Tatash: The political fallout for such a terrible, wasteful punishment would be immense. Is Qo’nos really going to risk hefty sanctions and a souring of relations with the Federation over an internal matter? DeVeau: ? He moved towards them again, and Tatash felt something creeping in the back of his mind. A strange sensation like someone was peering through a window at him, a shadow creeping in his thoughts like some sort of muffled spectre. Kelemkor: There are ways you could save them, if you are careful. Those dark eyes connected with his, they lingered for a moment. Taybrim: I am already careful. ::he said with a low conviction.:: Vroche: ? DeVeau: ? Tatash: Could you please step back… The figure didn’t, and Tatash found his thoughts wandering. He didn’t know how to counter the invasion, he’d never experienced something so deeply violating before as he felt his memories dragged up to the surface. ((Flashback – The Battle of the Albion)) ::Diago was thankfully quick on his trigger, the Albion letting out orange bursts of energy towards the attacking ships that did their best to adapt to the sudden new parameter being thrown at them, several exploding into blossoms of yellow before subduing into frozen shards of gas and metal. One by one their number went down, a few elated cheers coming over the comms as the electronic smokescreen surrounding the fighters started to dissapate along with their numbers. Even Tatash couldn't help but feel himself slightly untense, until that split second of relief bore a heavy price. His Valkyrie spun violently as something tore hard against the port side, what had once been a pristeen wing now a twisted peice of metal. He'd been rammed, the drones apparently programmed to take every last risk when it came to ensuring victory against their designated enemy:: Computer: Warning, Port engines destroyed. Compensating. ::Slowly the ship came about, steading herself out as she limped towards the Albions perimeter, but the moment had been enough for one of the drones to deliver a firm volley against her damaged hull. Tatash flailed in his chair, thrown against the side of his cockpit as alarms wailed on each console:: Computer: Catastrophic damage. Eject. Eject. ::His training took over, clawed hands grasping for the lever under his seat that would throw the entire cockpit out as a makeshift lifeboat, one tug. Nothing, two tugs. Still nothing:: Computer: Ejection failure. ::His heart was pounding, the blue glow of the Albions shuttlebay painfully close as he fired up the emergency thrusters, throwing him forwards towards it as he tapped on the comms system hoping to the pale goddess it still worked:: Tatash: =/\= Tatash to Albion. Mayday, Mayday. ::Nothing, whatever response had come through was distorted static blasting through his earpeice. His cockpit was cracking, a thin spiderweb slowly erupting over what was once an impossibly strong material:: Tatash: =/\= Mayday... Computer: Warning, landing gear failure. All systems failing. ::All he could do now was hope as he continued to push towards the docking bay at speed, his scaled knuckles amost white as he did his best to assert what limited control he had on the ruined vehicle. The Albions damaged hull rushed past him as he saw the massive catching net erupting from the shuttlebay floor, he could even make out technicians running for cover as time seemed to slow down as the adrenaline pushing through him hit his peak. The nose hit the net with tremendous force, the entire fuselage crumpling down as he was thrown forward, what was a moment of reality pushed into a murky darkness:: ((The Waiting Room)) Tatash snarled, a guttural, violent sound erupting from him as he found himself transfixed on Kelemkor. Taybrim/DeVeau/Vroche: ? Kelemkor: ? Tatash: Get out of my damned he… ((Flashback – Tilanna V - 3,500 feet above ground level)) ::Lights shimmered around him as suddenly his body was forced to spread outwards, Raisillius floating along behind him in freefall. His HUD finally sprang to life, altimeters and artificial horizons along with a target zone flashed up by Falcon's careful navigation.:: Computer: 3,000 Feet. Caution: Exceeding recommended speed. Tatash: =/\= Pushing through the pollution layer now, watch out for civilian traffic. ::The greenish haze under them approached rapidly, breaking apart into a murky soup of unknown gasses as vehicles passed them by on each side. Some swerved desperately to avoid the two black figures falling, others skimmed by so close that Tatash could make out the faces of their pilots, all mouth agape for that brief split second:: Computer: 1,500 Feet. Danger: Extreme risk to life. Terminal velocity achieved. Deploy parachute. ::He override the suit with a tap on his wrist as the target zone became larger, clearer. As they dropped closer and closer the outlines of the sprawling factory became clearer, each building becoming more then just a mass of grey and brown:: Tatash: =/\= We pull at a 200 feet. You heard right. We open fire from 200 feet above, bring the damned roof down to cushion our fall. Computer: 500 feet. ::He watched the meter ticking from the corner of his eye, four hundred.... three hundred... every part of him was thumping with adrenaline, every nerve firing off as he pulled the cord. He could feel himself being yanked upwards, threatening to rip the suit right off him as it struggled to cope with the extreme stress placed under it, especially as the micro-boosters attached to the sides also fired. It took all his willpower to bring his carbine up, the Communicators of his stricken team finally appearing, clustered together in what looked like the dead end of a corridor. Raisillius had already started hosing down the roof and Tatash joined that heavenly choir, leaving the thin steel punctured and shattered before finally his thick boots finished off the rest of it. The both tumbled in with a tremendous crack, something twinging in his shins as they impacted the corridor with more force then he'd have liked, but the adrenaline took care of that momentary pain as he continued to fire down the corridor. Figures slumped and fell, toppling down in complete surprise as the two heaven sent warriors pushed back up against them. A few shots landed nearby, one clipping him in his armored pauldron, tearing it off with a sizzle causing his helmet to go dead for a moment as it automatically rerouted control around. The perpetrator meeting a viscous and swift hand from Raisillius's precise bursts of fire.:: Tatash: ::Yelling over the din:: Grenade out! ::He tossed one of those little ovoids down the corridor towards the attacking force, pressing himself back against the wall before the large bang made his ears ring, the shockwave moving down the corridor enough to make him wobble slightly. A second explosion occurred as the Captain took a chance to throw his own. Tatash didn't need to venture down the corridor to see the results of their effort, the remains of what had a moment ago been aggressive forces now strewn across the floor made gloomy by a pall of smoke. It was grisly, but there was no sympathy. War was never a pleasant thing to look at.:: ((The Waiting Room)) The invasion stopped, something was dripping. A steady drop-drop-drop onto the floor. Pain, searing pain. Something was in his grip. Something heavy. Rage, incalculable rage was pushing through his veins like fire numbing even the ripping sensation in his flank. Every battle he'd fought in, every person he'd lost, killed, maimed pushing his actions like the fury of a thousand ghosts. He heard shouting, muffled, like hearing things through water. A dull cacophony that wasn't making sense, it was just.. noise. Noise around him, hands trying to grab at him, pulling him, he would not move. He could -not- move. He was war, he was fury. Taybrim: ? He heard that, that familiar voice like a lighthouse beckoning him back to his senses like suddenly being thrown in front of a moving train. His conscious snapped back to reality, but still lost in a mire of confusion. Kelemkor was hovering a foot above the ground, a gasping sound coming from him as a scaled hand was wrapped around his neck, but still he had that smile on his face. Whose hand was that? Tatash blinked, finally releasing those fingers as Kelemkor dropped back down rubbing his neck with that same face, but now mixed with amusement, like someone had just won an astounding and surprising victory. Taybrim/DeVeau/Vroche: ? Kelemkor: ? Tatash didn’t respond, the mystery of the dripping sound suddenly starting to snap together in his head as he looked at the D’k tahg in Vroche’s hand, it was red. Wet. It was like his nerves were moving in slow motion, the hand that had dropped Kelemkor pressing against his flank where his uniform was tore and that same warm wetness was running down the inside of it. Tatash: Sal, I… I’m sorry, I don’t… I don't understand. Confusion was met with logic. He’d tried to kill Kelemkor, the guard, understandably had tried to stop him. A firearm would have drawn attention, a knife was quiet. But why? Why had he tried to kill him? Confusion, endless confusion. He felt the medkit tossed at him by Kelemkor who seemed endlessly amused, thumbing over the catch relying now on pure training drill, fingertips searching for something to staunch the wound. Taybrim/DeVeau/Vroche: ? Kelemkor: ? --- Major Tatash Marine Intelligence (Charlie Company) Starbase 118 Ops C239108T10
  13. A brilliant little passage into the IDIC variety of species in the galaxy:
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