Sedrin Belasi Posted January 12, 2015 Share Posted January 12, 2015 (edited) ((StarBase 118, Habitat Area, Temporary Quarters, 1 hour ago)) ::Ry’van Alstred admired himself in the mirror while he fastened a silvery skintight vest to his torso. The cosmetic surgeon who had altered his appearance had done quite a fantastic job. He looked every inch the perfect specimen of an Arkarian merchant, even down to the pinkish flush in his cheeks. Once the vest was in place, he picked up a tricorder, scanning the flexible circuitry embedded into the garment, making sure that everything was in good working order. It was a simple device, really. Simple enough to evade all but the most focused and invasive of scans. Just a signal enhancer, one that was strong enough to ensure a transporter beam could reach out and pluck him off the StarBase even through the storm. Because unlike the majority of the cattle grazing about on the civilian sections of StarBase 118, Ry’van was acutely aware of what was about to hit the station, and what the Cerberas was carrying. Should that bomb go off, he was going to make sure that he was far away from this station as possible.:: Message Screen: ::Green text, harsh and glaring:: Are you coming? Alstred: ::he narrowed his eyes at the message and spat into the darkness:: I’m on time, you slave driver. ::If his contact wasn’t working for the same noble goal as he was, he would have tried to eliminate him years ago.:: ::He tugged his brown tunic over the specialized undergarment and pulled on a thick blue coat, checking all of his supplies before finally slipping on his boots. Checking the chronometer, he grabbed his merchant’s satchel and headed out the door with a deliberate quickness to his pace. He pushed through the milling crowds headed for the commercial sector, all of them blindly oblivious to what was about to come knocking on their doorstep. Oblivious was the best way Ry’van could describe the average Federation citizen. It was like they all had blinders on, and all they could see was what was directly in front of them. His own people had believed this about the Federation in general and Terrans in particular for generations. But it took a disaster to prove that the Federation only offered aid for what it thought was important, rather than listening for actual need. And with Ry’van’s beloved homeland spiraling towards oblivion, the Federation was all too eager to step forward and expand their own borders at the expense of the Romulan people. And so Ry’van Alstred decided to join the cause of bringing oblivion to the oblivious. He swallowed back the bitter taste of bile as he slipped past a group of tourists talking about holosuite adventures and a set of Starfleet officers whining about their leave being cut back a day. Such terrible troubles that the Federation was burdened with. Such sorrows. Well, today they would get a little taste of sorrow, though not nearly enough to rival what he had already gone though. Even if their plans worked perfectly and the Cerberas ended up taking out a major section of this massive edifice that stood as a symbol of Starfleet superiority, it wouldn’t begin to match the suffering Ry’van had seen and endured. His contact was leaning against a post outside a jumja shop, a place where plenty of people, civilian and Starfleet alike were milling about either buying the sweet treats or waiting for others to buy them. He kept his head down, gesturing for Ry’van to follow:: Contact: Are you ready? Alstred: Would I be here if I wasn’t ready? Contact: Meet me in the Engineering section, Deck 1313, subsection 6. ::He pressed a PADD into Ry’van’s hand:: If you need clearances they’re on there. But I suspect most of the checkpoints will be distracted. Alstred: Yes, I expect. Unless we’re lucky. Contact: Never bet on luck. Alstred. I admit, watching this space station blow from a nearby vantage point would be incredibly satisfying. But I am betting that Starfleet will mobilize and figure out some way to save everyone just in the nick of time. This seems to be their overall modus operandi. Contact: I know. Frustrating, isn’t it. ::he offered a light smile, which was jarring for his Vulcanoid features and tidy Starfleet uniform.:: Alstred: Yes. ::he nodded, moving away from his contact. As much as he disliked the man, he also admired him. For a Romulan undercover agent to so cleanly insert himself into Starfleet and work under scrutiny was not so odd twenty years ago. But now with resources so thin and most of their people so scattered, it was quite the accomplishment:: Ehlu'eri Merht Ehtea'akhe ::he whispered the Romulan words of the call sign Contact: Diamn hiullhull. ::’sacrifice always. The Romulan response.:: ::Both men gave a nod of respect to one another and parted, just two strangers in the crowd. Ry’van Alstred headed to a secure location, quietly bracing himself for impact and savoring the cries of fear and confusion as the Cerberas smashed into the nerve center of Starbase 118:: Alstred: oO Serves you right, Federation scum. You can wallow in your sloth for only so long. The Resiliency is waiting for you. Oo ::Still, there was no time to waste. The Romulan undercover agent made his way through the habitat and mercantile levels, dodging guards and well intentioned officers trying to herd civilians to safety. Despite his bold words, he was glad for the codes his contact had provided. They allowed him to access areas that were off limits to civilians, and to slip into an un-patrolled route down to the computer core deep in the Engineering section:: ((StarBase 118, deck 1313, subsection 6)) ::His contact was already there, glaring down from his polished black hair and dark devilish countenance:: Contact: You brought the data rods? Alstred: I did. ::He looked up at the multiple alarms wailing:: How distracted are they? Contact: Enough. ::he folded his arms across his chest:: We got lucky. A piece of the Cerberas embedded into the Starbase’s special ops tower, including an un-detonated torpedo. They’re trying to tow the freighter away, but now they have a second explosive to deal with. ::There was a smug river of humor flowing through the Vulcan-sounding voice.:: You should have all the time you need. ::He offered a box over:: Alstred: ::opening the box carefully, checking the wealth of isolinear rods, access chips and other Starfleet goodies inside:: I suspect you’re leaving me to my work? Contact: Of course. I have a duty to perform. Starfleet might get suspicious if I do not report within the next few minutes. Alstred: Have fun milling with the cattle. ::His contact turned and offered only a nod in response as Ry’van Alstred cracked open an access panel and started to get to work. With the StarBase falling into chaos around him, he had one job to focus on – getting as deep into Starbase 118’s computer and siphoning as much information out of it as he could before someone was alerted. He was good at his work, and if this was an independent space station he was sure he could crack civilian security, gut the computer core and walk out with all the information he pleased. But this was Starfleet, with multiple layers of security protocols, back ups and encryptions. The question wasn’t if he would get caught, but when. And his job was to get as much as he could before the station either found out or blew up. He cracked his knuckles and began.:: ~*~ ((Starbase 118 – Control Room)) ::It was some time later, deep into the crisis, when emotions were already high, stakes were raised, and the situation had become painfully complex. The alert was just one more flash on a panel that was flashing in so many places that it looked like a rock concert run by a lighting designer on speed, whose favorite color was ‘red alert red’ But the warning was clear nonetheless: Security alert in the computer core, deck 1313…:: ~*~tags/tbc~*~ MSNPC Ry’van AlstredArkarian Merchant (Romulan terrorist) And NPC “Unknown Contact”Not a Starfleet officer, Not a VulcanNot StarBase 118 Simmed by: Lt. Commander Sal Taybrim Edited January 12, 2015 by Leo Handley-Page Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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