USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50210.29 - 50211.05 |
*Somewhere in a Dark Backroom of an Unnamed location on the Prominade*
"UUUuuhhhh.....ooooh...p...please...."
"Teehehehehehehee..."
"OOOOhhh... I cant believe this....."
"Neither can I....Oooooooooo How do you DO that?!"
"It's really quite simple I...OOOOOOOO...." There was a clang as a piece of metal clattered against the deck plating.
"Hehehehehehe I got you there..."
"Now I've gotta go get it..."
"Not while I'm here you don't!"
The female came around from the back of the chair and sat forcabley into the Ferengi's lap, all the while massaging his ears.
"This is the greatest Oo-mox, I have ...." he gasped sharply as the dabbo dealer stroked a tender part of his lobe. "Ooohhh.....m.....my...."
"You will see that i am not only trained in the arts of Oo-mox, but I am trained in a few different disciplines of it." She smiled widely and lowered her naked breast to his chin and embraced his head. Slowly she began to lick hungily at the back of his ears, and Crom let loose a muffled scream into her bosom. She nibbled at his lower lobes, and the Ferengi began to quiver slightly. She gentle raked her fingernails along the outer edges of his ears and traced ever shrinking circles upon them until she got to the inner ear.
She gently took his ear hairs into her mouth and began to spin them slowly with her tongue. Crom was practically shrieking into her chest with pleasure and lust. He reached around and grabbed her by he cheeks and held her tighter, she responded by playing with his ear hair a little harder and faster.
The lady slowly gathered up her clothes and smiled gently at Crom. "So, Do we have a deal?"
"You know, I never liked a woman in clothing. It's just so....disgusting!"
"Don't worry, I wont put them on until you leave." She gave him a look and slid across the floor to him. Sitting on her knees giving him the fullest view she could, she seductively moved her hands up her body and then back down her very cut stomache. Crom followed her hands with her eyes, and spotted the piece of latinum he dropped earlier right between her legs on the floor. Crom smiled and stood up and took a step closer to her, and slowly fell down to his knees and placed his hand on her thigh. "MMMmmmmmmm, dont just keep those talented fingers there."
He slowly massaged her thigh and worked his way up her leg, and cupped his hand around the underside. "We have a deal." He shot his hand up beside his face with the piece of latinum and held it at eye level. She laughed.
"Oh, you are SO Precious."
"I know"
***********************************************************************
<OOC: Well, there we have it. Love him, Hate him...too bad, he's here.....>
At precisely 03:55 hours, Betty's blue eyes snapped open and she turned off the chronograph before the alarm woke her up. Since she'd been a girl, she hated the noise those things made and made it a point to never be awakened by an alarm if she didn't HAVE to. The Marine issue chronos were identical to teh ones the miners had used, when she was a girl.
She swung her long legs off the rack and stretched, feeling and savouring the interplay of muscles. Betty sleeping in her skivvies is a far cry from Betty in her Battlearmour, more than a few of the male crew would have appreciated the sight.Of course, they would appreciate it at their peril. A visiting Hydran Royal Marine had once commented that Betty's 'Mammaliary Development was large for a Human' and had been found later, beaten dark green (methane breather bruises!) behind the Fort Kinoshwa Officers Mess. On bare feet, she padded to the private latrine. Of course, aboard a Nerp ship, she was supposed to call it a 'head' but it wasn't HER fault if the Nerps talked funny.
Mere minutes later, in a freshly replicated Black and Green Marine Duty NCO uniform, she was out and in the halls of the 'Marine-Land' portions of the ship.
Deck 16 was one of the few areas of the ship that the Advanced Starship Design Bureau hadn't enacted any of Dr. Quick's suggestions during the re-fit. As a matter of fact, when Quick had wandered down here to see his Purple Velvet covered Bulkheads and UV lighting in effect, he'd taken one look at the 'Regulation Issue' deck and blanched, muttering "Waaaay bad vibes... need to look at all of your blue chakra points...bad karma, man..." He'd left, never to return. The usual Deck coded floor coverings only existed on Deck Sixteen as patches of carpet near the turbolift doors. Beyond that, steel gratings and deckplatings painted grey dominated the decor. Grey Bulkheads, grey floors, grey ceilings, grey equipment. Engineering access hateches, corridor LCARS nodes, and Emergency Lockers were all noted on the same, regulation scripted stencils as the various Barracks, Messhalls, Training rooms and offices.
Where the fleet usually assigned even Junior Officers and Crew to double cabins, the Marines put entire fireteams (four marines) into bunkbeds. First Platoon had gone so far as to request that all six of THIER cabins have the walls removed, to make a single Platoon Barracks. Where Fleet Senior Staff had luxurious bedroom/apartments and couches to play with, Marine Officers and NCO's had single rack 'units' with a desk/replimat and a field latrine.
Where members of Starfleet travelled around with literal kilotons of mementoes and dross, Marines travelled with everything they needed packed into two duffle bags, one of which held issue gear and the other held personal gear. If their Field Replimats couldn't produce or fix it, they weren't issued it.
The most cheery things on Deck 16 were the posters every Marine replicated to taste, and decorated the area above their rack with... and the 412th FIST logo which was displayed all throughout the 'Marine Land' in all it's varying sizes. The logo was a cartoon of a bemasked madman in black BDU's, with an axe upraised and the motto "SFMC-FIST 412: Here come de axe-men!" Some of the Marines even had their Duty Assignment logos tattoed into their flesh, a practice Betty frowned upon.
Betty passed several Marines going about their duties, returning their salutes with a sharp one of her own. Fighting discipline was hard to keep when you weren't actually fighting, but few in the Corps were better than Betty in keeping Marines 'gung-ho' enough to BE Marines, and not actually chewing portions of Fleeties flesh (or their precious ships deckplates) at the same time.
She reached one hatchway, neatly stencilled "CO FIST 412 2Div 3Reg 1 Corps SFMC" and paused for a moment outside. With a deep breath, she went in. Nothing scared Betty, except the emotional minefield that was her relationship with her boss, Major Laughing Horse Log.
She marched past her empty desk and into the inner office. Of course, the Big Indian was there... the lights were turned low and his huge body hulked over the desk in the dark.
"Sir! Good morning Major. Master Gunnery Ser..." she began the traditional litany with.
"I know who you are." the deep voice rumbled. Betty felt her knees wobble, as she imagined his big hands caressing her face while he said that..... right. Back to reality Betty!
"Orders for the day sir?" she asked.
"As every day, on your desk. I want second platoons Heavy Weapons men to increase their scores on the range by 7%. You will direct special attention to this." the voice rumbled.
"Aye aye Major. May I bring you anything for breakfast?" she asked. Every morning for the last four months... she'd been wishing beyond hope that the Major 'fool around like a Fleetie' with her. No such damn luck.
"No. Leave the lights low, I wish to think. What do you think of this Security Department Captain Bhrode has saddled us with?" Log growled, the darkness broken only by the glow of his desk terminal and the faint sound of some ambient native drums.
"Barely competent, even by Fleet standards. Corgan is an idiot." Betty snapped out.
"Commander Corgan?" the Marine Officer pressed.
"Yes Sir." Betty admitted, hating Corgan afresh for the rank he flaunted. MAybe she SHOULD have gone to the Academy? NAaaaaahhhh... the Fleet and the Corps had enough over-traiend prima-donnas. it needed NCO's to make it run correctly.
"I trust him more than I trust..." Log mused.
"Your brother?" Betty pressed. ~~Take THAT.~~ she mused.
"He is NOT my brother anymore. You need to stop listening to rumours. Go to this Security Department today and tell me of what you find." Log growled.
"Aye Aye." She neatly spun on her heel, her braided hair snapping out behind her. She snagged her PADD with the days orders and set out on her usual shipboard early morning routine.
First Platoon's Sergeant had reported they were looking a bit slow reporting to PT ...rumour had it they were letting their newest member 'sink or swim' and it was bringing the whole platoon down...contrary to Log's order.. she used rumours as yet another tool in training HER Marines.
"MOVE YOU MAGGOT! Do you think a Jem Hadar is gonna wait for you to find your pants? 'Please Mr. trooper, don't shoot I'm naked?' GET YOUR BLUE BUTT IN LINE WITH EVERYONE ELSE! NOW!!!" Betty was shouting at an Andorian scrambling around in his tunic top and his Fleet Issue Grey Boxers.
She impatiently eyed the other twenty snickering Marines. "Yuk it up, the Private's failure to get dressed is ALL your faults. You guys WILL go to PT with the whole FIST. You WILL then assist Tanner and Dahlquist in doing EXTRA PT duty with the Nerp Security guys, while everyone ELSE has breakfast chow. Maybe THEN you mouth-breathing idiots will realize that everyone here pulls everyone else's weight. We are Marines, not Fleetie Nerps. We train as Marines, we live as Marines, We fight like Marines and when we die as Marines, a Marine brings us back. Smile Boys, you're in the Corps."
"Oh geeeze Gunny..." someone whined from the second row.
"Stow it. You are not a Marine Platoon. You're a Nerp herd. Sergeant Gunnarson, take these animals of yours to PT with the rest of the FIST. The stench of their existance is upsetting me. And Richardson, at least learn to disguise your voice. You see me when you're done with the Nerps PT for more extra duty." Betty snapped.
The Marines jogged out en route to the Gymnasiums on Deck 12.
Betty was in the Marine Messhall, eating alone and trying to ignore the snippets of conversation she heard. It was a fact of military life, that MArines run their mouths when eating. A bit of pointedly ignored listening opened all sorts of interesting rumours to her ears.
"... so then I jam another clip in and sight in on the Chi'kollpa warchief..." ~~ wannabe. you weren't even there.~~ she thought to herself.
"..damn Log. Stupid Indian stuff, he's got ALL of Recon running around in the holowoods, trying to avoid sticks and..." ~~ might save your butt, you nerp.~~
". . .and Bhrode goes WHAM! And breaks this Engineer's neck! One twist! And THEN he puts the smack-down on MORE Engineers! He kills like twenty of them barehanded! And he NEVER got courtmartialed over it!" ~~from what I hear, it was one, and she was asking for it.~~
". . .and Four eyes says to the guy 'Thank you for your concern!' He actually thinks they care about him and his dumb assed girlfriend! If you ask me, the woman was a cover for him and the lil boys! No Wait! It gets better! So me and Gulop are sitting there, in the armoury snickering and THEN the Vulcan Yellow-Ass Chick goes..." a whole table of Second Platoon goons drowned out the rest of it in laughter. ~~ Corgan. Touchy feely wuss. So busy moping around he doesn't see what his attitude is doing to his subordinates.~~
". . . whole Security Department is checking their phasers in, and the one says something about 94%. AND I gotta remind them, they was working on the 'Pakled' level of the range! And then I ask why they ain't signed out any replacement power packs, and the Yellow Ass Dork on duty with me says..." ~~mental note, have the armoury detail sit in on one of the Security phaser drills'~~
". . . so then Betty says to the guy "Maybe I WILL have..."" ~~Whoah.~~
". . . the Gunny and this Security drone? No WAY would Betty go for a nerp!" ~~They're talking about me!~~
". . . ah. I thought she and the Major was doing the old Horizontal..." "SHADDUP!" ten voices chorused. Betty could feel more than one set of eyes checking her for a reaction. She sipped some more tea and feigned interest in the bulkhead.
". . . her and the brother?" "No, it was the OTHER Security guy! The guy that got the..." ~~ SHeesh! I shot that Kreighoff guy down!~~
". . .and no one's seen the Kelvan for days!" ~~ no big loss there. I wonder where these guys get this stuff from?~~~ ". . .Betty is a fine piece of..." ~~ Tanner. Dead man. ~~
With a sigh, she stood and took her tray to the reclaimation chite. Maybe this mandated visit to security today would be NOT such a bad thing.
Damn rumours...
Captains Ready Room.
Captain john Q Brhode steepled his fingers carefully, and struggled to maintain an even tone of voice. He was having some difficulty controlling the nervous twitch in his palms but opted not to give in to his darker impulses. It wouldn’t do to tear his two Executive Officers limb from limb this early in the Patrol.
“So what you are telling me. . . “ he chose his worlds carefully balancing the perfect amount of skepticism and scorn, “Is that the Science Department in all their egg-headed wonder. . . is requesting that I. . . John Q Brhode. . . .deviate from MY chosen patrol route in order to investigate some silly energy source just because it made one of their instruments get all wiggly?”
Standing before him in perfect ‘Parade Rest’ stance Commanders von Ernst and Hawksley both nodded in unison. Brhode wondered if they rehearsed it.
“The details provided by Dr. Quick, and Lieutenant Kara'nin in Astrophysics makes for a pretty compelling picture Sir.” Lysander offered. “A confirmed artificial subspace beacon phasing in and out of the local space-time continuum, transmitting a message using Starfleet Protocols.”
“Fleet Ops reports no current activity along that stretch of our border,” Rebecca picked up. “The area is labeled as a navigation hazard, and should be devoid of all civilian traffic as well.”
“We compute a 97.2% chance of some sort of vessel as the source of the signal.” Lysander nodded, then glanced over at Rebecca who was glaring at him. “Or 97.3% depending on how many significant digits you are using.. . .” he amended.
~~~Rehearsed it.~~~ Brhode decided watching the two pick up on each others cues. “What are the contents of the signal?” he asked simply.
The Xo’s glanced at each other. “Unknown at this point sir.” Lysander allowed. Lt. Black in Tactical is running it through the decoder with the assistance of Intelligence, but its definitely Starfleet in origin. We should have a complete transcript for you in few hours.
“Starfleet?” Brhode sat upright. “Ferengi’s Follicles man. . . .you’re not suggesting that this could be. . . “
“No sir.” Lysander soothed. “Not a smegging chance in the world. The signal is only week or so old.”
“Not a chance of what?” Rebecca frowned not understanding. She and Lysander hadn’t rehearsed this part.
“Starfleet. . .Missing Ships. . . . .This region of space. . . .duh!” Hawksley sneered.
Rebecca furrowed her brows. She couldn’t recall any missing ships listed in this weeks Fleet Order of Battle Update. “What the noodles are you talking about?”
“Bone up on your History Number One.” Brhode chided. “You know what region of space we’re passing nearby?”
“Aye sir, we have mutual borders with the Tholians nearby, as well as the Klingons and Breen. . . . “
“You’re missing it Ernst.” Lysander sneered. Which caused Rebecca to glare at him openly.
~~~Call me by my last name. . . . ~~~ she fumed.
“There’s this old story about Starfleet losing a vessel in this area about 100 years ago.” Hawksley explained using small words so as to be sure to insult Rebecca. “Supposedly the Enterprise had a run in with the Tholians right about the same time, but there was never an adequate explanation for what happened to the other ship.”
“And you think THIS is the ship we’re talking about?”
“Hardly. . . .Ancient History Red.”
Rebecca frowned. . . History had never been her strong area.
“At any rate, Captain.” she continued ignoring Lysander’s patronizing tones..”I have Lieutenant Kara’nin working on another Astro-Survey of the region ahead. . . There may be some dangerous anomalies to deal with, and Black is still working on a translation. Of the original message, but in the meantime Fleet regulations require that we investigate the source. The ship. . .or whatever. . . . could be in distress and requiring assistance.”
“Supposed ship!” Brhode corrected. “For all you two wonder-weenies know this could be nothing more than a mere hiccup in the sensor suites. Considering the technological nightmare Quick has made of this ship that’s where I’d put my money.”
“Aknowledged.” Lysander quickly answered. “However in lieu of current information that seems the lesser possibility. A Rescue mission is by far the most likely necessity.
“A rescue mission?” Brhode rolled his eyes and flopped back into his chair. “By Kahless Nostrils Execs, you now how I hate rescue operations. All the whining and complaining about running out of air, or impending core breaches. Bah! There’s no chance for fame or glory or blowing things up! I want something where I can send over Marine Boarding parties and yell classy lines like ‘Take no Prisoners’ or ‘With my last Breath I spit at Thee’.” Brhode moped and considered the possible ramifications of a rescue mission. “ All those pathetic refugees traipsing around in my starship getting their grubby fingerprints on the wall paneling. . . . .” he muttered.
“A possibility sir.” Rebecca shrugged. “But consider this. . . .There is also a minute chance that this could be a secret Romulan plot to overthrow the Federation and this is our only chance to head it off. We could swoop in . . . .engage in glorious one on one combat and escape covered in blood and glory. Does that sound like more fun?”
“Blood and glory?” Brhode leaned forward eyes gleaming. “A Chance for personal betterment at the expense of my fellows?” He licked his chops. “Hell and damnation Execs what the bloody blue blazes are we standing around here for!!??!!!”
“Jst waiting for the WORD sir” Rebecca smirked primly.
Brhode lept to his feet, “The Word is given Number One. Order helm to set an immediate intercept course straight into the heart of that energy source, and don’t spare the horses!!! Also put both of yourselves up on report for failing to inform me of these facts right off the bat! The Federation could be on its last legs as we speak!!! Now get out!!”
Moments later as Lysander and Rebecca stood breathing a sigh of relief outside Brhode’s office door, the Tall Alpha Centaurian glanced quizzically down at his diminutive partner. “Uh. . .Princess,” he began. “About that minute possibility that this signal is a secret Romulan Plot.. . . . .”
“Zero point zero zero zero two five percent.” Rebecca yawned. “Which you’d know if you considered ALL the possibilities.”
Lysander glared, not knowing whether to smack her upside the head or stick his tongue out at her. Neither a good idea with the entire bridge watching. “A less than one percent chance?”
“Look Noodle head.” Rebecca craned her head back to look Lysander in the face. “I spent over a year with Brhode on PROSPERO. I f I hadn’t figure out how to manipulate him using half percent chances of secret plots, or chances to win himself a bevy of medals, we’d never have gotten anything done.”
“Oh.” Number Two replied simply. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Serves you right for not telling me about the history of the region.” The redhead stuck her tongue out at Lysander when he wasn’t looking.
“I saw that.”
“Indeed.” Rebecca nodded and turned to the rest of the bridge. “Sound Yellow Alert if you please Ms. Reece. . . . .All crew prepare for Rescue Operations. Security and Medical to report readiness for Away Missions ASAP. Turning her back on Lysander, Rebecca marched her little self towards the center Chair. Climbing atop the huge seat as a child would a parents lap, she wiggled her hips a bit to settle properly into position before considering the viewscreen before her.
Helm.” She stated positioning herself pertly on the extreme edge of the chair. “Prepare to come to new course. . . . .”
=/\=
OOC:
Attention all Depts. . . ship is on Yellow Alert.
Chad will be providing us with a science report shortly, and Francis is working on the coded message.
As for now we know we may have a ship in distress, and I need Medical and Security to prepare for Rescue Operations.
Counseling should prepare to receive survivors as well, or may be included in Away teams.
Engineering will need to pay attention to Chad’s upcoming report because it holds very serious implications for your Department.
Tactical. . . .Gee those nasty Tholians are awfully close. . . .maybe you ought to arrange a contingency plan or something.
I think that covers every Department, so lets get to it. Picnic time is over.
Any Questions ASK ME!!!!!!!!!! First come will get the cooler assignments.
Captains Ready Room.
Lysander disliked standing at 'Attention'. . . it made his silk Non-Regulation boxers do 'things' to portions of his anatomy best left un-conjectured upon with the Smegging' Princess close enough to smooch every freckle on her little nose.
“So what you are telling me. . . “ Bhrode chose his worlds carefully balancing the perfect amount of skepticism and scorn, “Is that the Science Department in all their egg-headed wonder. . . is requesting that I. . . John Q Brhode. . . .deviate from MY chosen patrol route in order to investigate some silly energy source just because it made one of their instruments get all wiggly?”
Lysander had to wait for the afore-mentioned Princess to wake up enough to chorus the 'Aye Sir" with her. Most likely was late on purpose again. Damn women. This whole 'script' was a smeggin' bad idea. He had to admire Bhrode's delivery of the word 'wiggly' though. It tripped off JQB's tongue like a tubby dauchshund trying to waddle down the stairs.
“The details provided by Dr. Quick, and Lieutenant Kara'nin in Astrophysics makes for a pretty compelling picture Sir.” Lysander offered, in a bored and unconvincing monotone voice. He could feel the cold, icy presence next to him become even more rigid, as his tone FINALLY registered on her cute little ears. Smegger. “A confirmed artificial subspaceerrr.... err....beacon thingey .....phasing in and out of the local space-time continuum, transmitting a message using Starfleet Protocols.” Lys wound down. Damn, he'd hated that line from the get-go.
Lys stifled a yawn. This was the LAST time he let Rebecca 'write' the script for their dual-reports. No sense of Style...panache... no class. What did you expect from someone who once wore the same dirty pair of mismatched socks for two weeks straight? And he was pretty sure the smell of 'feet' aboard was Rebecca and NOT Leo Streely. ~~She never was one for hygiene~~~ he mused to himself, unaware that she felt his 'neatness' was as pathological as he found her slobbiness.
“Fleet Ops Blah blah blah. . .' Rebecca peeped in with with her annoying voice. Lys took the time to oogle her butt while faking a cough. Niiice... with a start, he realized she had wound down and was glaring at him to continue.
"Er?" he asked, his lines clear out of his head.
"We Compute..." Rebecca hissed, through clenched teeth.
"Errrr. . . huh?" Lys asked again, his mind a blank.
"WE COMPUTE..." Rebecca hissed again.
“OH! Rather! We compute a 97.2% chance of some sort of vessel as the source of the signal.” Lysander nodded, then glanced over at Rebecca who was glaring at him. What was HER problem now? Oh for Smegs' sake.. she didn't really expect him to.... “Or 97.3% depending on how many significant digits you are using. . .or are forced to use by outmoded and frankly drunken mahtematician whose theories are hopelessy smeggin well out of date.” he amended, with a sigh. Who the hell used the Dalhquist Formula on a five integer Probablity Equation? Damn all short people. Dr. Dahlquist was most likely short. Smegger.
“What are the contents of the signal?” Bhrode demanded, seeming to hate having to ask the question.
The Xo’s glanced at each other. Typical of Rebecca and her 'style' of interpersonal skill... Bhrode had just thrown them a curveball that her 'script' hadn't encompassed. She looked dazed (she always looked dazed to Lys' eye but now, moreso. Must be his manliness) “Unknown at this point sir.” Lysander allowed, as he glared daggers of pure hate at Rebecca... who looked like her mental 'train' had been derailed by a plasma grenade.
"Lt. Black in Tactical is running it through the decoder with the assistance of Intelligence, but its definitely Starfleet in origin. We should have a complete transcript for you in few hours." Lys added, mentally promising to NEVER let Rebecca forget that she had said "He'll NEVER ask about the origin..." to Lys' face during their 'rehersal.'
“Starfleet?” Brhode sat upright. “Ferengi’s Follicles man. . . .you’re not suggesting that this could be. . . “
“No sir.” Lysander soothed. “Not a smegging chance in the world. The signal is only week or so old. Not a chance..even under the stupid Dahlquist Probability Formula, which was proven wrong by the Endorian Jikklop in 2298 by Jokklop's...” Lysander prayed that Miss Perfect Smegger wouldn't ask...
“Not a chance of what?” Rebecca asked, frowning and not understanding. She and Lysander hadn’t rehearsed this part.
“Starfleet. . .Missing Ships. . . . .This region of space. . . .duh!” Hawksley sneered. Trust Rebecca to get Bhrode all agitated. Lysander mentally measured the distance between himself and the door... and swiflty did the calculations for the probability that Bhrode would go for his neck first. The result was disheartingly large. Even without the smeggin' Dahlquist Formula adding an un-needed integer to the ....
Rebecca furrowed her brows. She couldn’t recall any missing ships listed in this weeks Fleet Order of Battle Update. “What the noodles are you talking about?” she nattered away.. her precious 'script' abandoned. Lys rolled his eyes. Of COURSE she had given him a ten minute lecture on the 'importance of sticking to MY SCRIPT as written' when he'd tried to 'jazz' it up a bit. It needed some 'smegs' in it, to roll off the tounge better.
“Bone up on your History Number One.” Brhode chided. “You know what region of space we’re passing nearby?”
“Aye sir, we have mutual borders with the Tholians nearby, as well as the Klingons and Breen. . . . “ Rebecca began reciting, with the blank look that meant she was 'reading' some page of something she had memorized and filed away in her thick little head.
“You’re missing it....Ernst.” Lysander sighed, mangling her name on purpose. Which caused Rebecca to glare at him openly. A her mouth opened to correct him, he plowed on. “There’s this old story about Starfleet losing a vessel in this area about 100 years ago.” Hawksley explained using small words so as to be sure to insult Rebecca, sure that she would not notice until she 'replayed' it for the tenth or so time.
“Supposedly the USS Enterprise had a run in with the Tholians right about the same time, but there was never an adequate explanation for what happened to the other ship. The one that disappeared” He finished with, watching her brow furrow with thought as she digested and cross-related it and 'filed' the data away. "Kirk's Enterprise." he cut off her next question with.
“And you think THIS is the ship we’re talking about?” she demanded, blushing for some reason. Oh yeeesss... she wanted him.
“Hardly. . . .Ancient History there...Red.” Lysander sneered again.
“Then why bother with it? At any rate, Captain.” she continued ignoring Lysander’s patronizing tones..”I have Lieutenant Kara’nin working on another Astro-Survey of the region ahead. . . There may be some dangerous anomalies to deal with, and Black is still working on a translation. Of the original message, but in the meantime Fleet regulations require that we investigate the source. The ship. . .or whatever. . . . could be in distress and requiring assistance.”
Lysander sighed. Typical Rebecca. Ignore what was going on in front of her face.. to get her damn 'script' back in action. He opened his mouth, trying to remember if HIS next line was the bit about the Tactical Ramifications, Thereunto or the bit about the "Klingon Menace" and praying she didn't notice he smegging well was NOT going to say 'Romulan Reinforcements'... when Bhrode delivered Curve Ball number two.
“Supposed ship!” Brhode corrected. “For all you two wonder-weenies know this could be nothing more than a mere hiccup in the sensor suites. Considering the technological nightmare Quick has made of this ship that’s where I’d put my money.”
“Aknowledged.” Lysander quickly answered, as Rebecca heaved a long suffering sigh at her precious script and his 'off the cuff' recovery “However in lieu of current information that seems the lesser possibility. A Rescue mission is by far the most likely necessity." he added, feelign Rebecca's hate from the inches that seperated the two.
“A rescue mission?” Brhode rolled his eyes and flopped back into his chair. “By Kahless Nostrils Execs, you now how I hate rescue operations. All the whining and complaining about running out of air, or impending core breaches. Bah! There’s no chance for fame or glory or blowing things up! I want something where I can send over Marine Boarding parties and yell classy lines like ‘Take no Prisoners’ or ‘With my last Breath I spit at Thee’.” Brhode moped and considered the possible ramifications of a rescue mission. “ All those pathetic refugees traipsing around in my starship getting their grubby fingerprints on the wall paneling. . . . .” he muttered.
“A possibility sir, which I TRIED to tell Commander Hawksley about.” Rebecca shrugged. Lys sputtered at the blatant lie.
"It smegging well is VAN DER..." he began, to have Rebecca cut him off with an impatient glare.
“But consider this. . . .There is also a minute chance that this could be a secret Romulan REINFORCEMENT plot to overthrow the Federation and this is our only chance to head it off. We could swoop in . . . .engage in glorious one on one combat and escape covered in blood and glory. Does that sound like more fun?” Rebecca cajoled, looking smug.
"Smegging well sound like you've been drinking Pip-Shine Solvent again with that smegger Corgan..." Lys muttered.
“Blood and glory?” Brhode leaned forward eyes gleaming. “A Chance for personal betterment at the expense of my fellows?” He licked his chops. “Hell and damnation , my Duo of Execs; what the bloody blue blazes are we standing around here for!!??!!!”
“Jest a-waiting for the WORD sir” Rebecca smirked primly, in a texan accent for some reason. Lys goggled. Maybe he SHOULD have bought those 'chaps' from those Ferengi, who swore ALL Minnesota Cow Farmers wore them? And the belt buckles? SMEGGIN' DAMN! He made a mental note to check on the small Dairy farm he was sub-letting to Rebecca's Mother, Holli. Maybe she needed some more 'Long Horn Steers' for the Minnesota Winters' milk production?
Brhode lept to his feet, “The Word is given Number One. Order helm to set an immediate intercept course straight into the heart of that energy source, and don’t spare the horses!!! Also put both of yourselves up on report for failing to inform me of these facts right off the bat! The Federation could be on its last legs as we speak!!! Now get out!!”
"errr.. I actually had the Conn....' Lys began with, before he heaved a sigh. ANOTHER report. Great. Oh well.. the Klingon H'oD he'd served under would have had Lys flayed and the bits remaining burned and fed to a Targ who would be shot.... so a report was nothing!
Moments later as Lysander and Rebecca stood breathing a sigh of relief outside Brhode’s office door, the Tall Alpha Centaurian glanced quizzically down at his diminutive partner. “Uh. . .Princess,” he began. “About that minute possibility that this signal is a secret Romulan Plot.. . . . .” he began.
“Zero point zero zero zero two five percent.” Rebecca yawned. “Which you’d know if you considered ALL the possibilities.”
Lysander glared, not knowing whether to smack her upside the head or stick his tongue out at her. Neither a good idea with the entire bridge watching. “A less than one percent chance?” he asked, awed that she could bluff like that without puking. He made a mental note to NEVER invite her to his poker games. Bad enough she could and would count the cards, without practising this new found 'bluffing' ability. Smegging Princess.
“Look Noodle head.” Rebecca craned her head back to look Lysander in the face. “I spent over a year with Brhode on PROSPERO. I f I hadn’t figure out how to manipulate him using half percent chances of secret plots, or chances to win himself a bevy of medals, we’d never have gotten anything done.”
“Oh.” Lys replied simply. “Thanks for telling me. You know? During the HOURS I spent smegging well slaving over your stupid 'script' You could have mentioned that, when you were saying HOW URGENT and IMPORTANT it was we NOT DEVIATE from your smeggin' script. You know? The script you deviated from? That one? ”
“Serves you right for not telling me about the history of the region. And you forgot to mention 'Romulan Reinforcements.' It distinctly was supposed to be on page seventeen, after the part about the Science report.” The redhead stuck her tongue out at Lysander when he wasn’t looking.
“I saw that.” he replied without turning, hoping his math hadn't let him down. Even without the Dahlquist Formula smegging up the tenth percentile of an interger, he was pretty sure she was sticking her tongue out at his back.
“Indeed.” Rebecca nodded and turned to the rest of the bridge. “Sound Yellow Alert if you please Ms. Reece. . . . .All crew prepare for Rescue Operations. Security and Medical to report readiness for Away Missions ASAP."
"Ay Aye.. Yellow Alert. You have the Conn..err.." Reece began, clearly confused why Rebecca was taking the chair when Lysander had turned the Conn over to Reece before answering the call of their master.
Turning her back on Lysander, Rebecca marched her little self towards the center Chair. Climbing atop the huge seat as a child would a parents lap, she wiggled her hips a bit to settle properly into position before considering the viewscreen before her.
Lys rolled his eyes and sighed. He made a hand motion to Reece, to 'carry on' and debated if he shold say anythign to Rebecca. Just because she MEMORIZED pages after pages of Data...doesn't mean that she still UNDERSTANDS what she so blithly repeats. If LYS had the Command...and turned it over to Reece... Reece was SUPPOSED to release it back to Lys, to hand to Rebecca.
Helm.” Rebecca stated positioning herself pertly on the extreme edge of the chair. “Prepare to come to new course. . . . .”
"As you were...MISTER VON ERNST has the Conn. The novas help all you smeggers..." Lys muttered and told the Bridge staff, before vacating the Bridge. With that order, he released them from the obligation to shoot Rebecca as an interloper and mutinieer. Maybe next time, he should keep his mouth shut? Might be smegging amusing...
=/\=
****
"No way."
"Yes way."
Victor sighed and tried to concentrate on his food as the group of female officers three tables over chattered on. ~ It's not me. They're talking about someone else. Being convinced someone is out to get you, or is persecuting you, with no supporting evidence is a sign of incipient paranoia. ~
"No fricking way."
Yes fricking way. There were witnesses."
~ I knew there was a reason I always ate in my quarters. Bad enough that tables empty out across the room when I walk in, but listening to this too.... ~ He looked down at his half-finished meal and made a face as the women kept going, oblivious to anything around them. ~ Okay, even if it isn't about me it's still damned annoying. I don't think it was this bad when I was on Alpha Shift. ~
"What kind of witnesses?"
"A whole crop of people in Ten Forward and two of your people - some guy named Dahlquist and another one."
"Dahlquist isn't one of *my* anythings - he's a ground-pounder, I'm a pilot. He's also a moron to boot. Besides, there is just no way - he's Fleet and she's a Marine, it'd never happen."
Shifting uneasily in his seat, Victor glanced over at the women's table again. The Marine pilot, a cat-eyed Ktarian, was still shaking her head in disagreement; her thick bangs falling down over her forehead and almost obscuring the cranial ridges that rose up from her eyebrows. To the Ktarian's left was a woman he didn't recognize, an ensign out Operations from the way she'd been talking earlier. A slight woman with a familiar voice - Shelley O'Rourke from Security - was sitting facing away from him; she'd not had much to say in the time he'd been here. The last members of the little clique were a pair of junior lieutenants, one out of Engineering - Sammy Something, Victor recalled from his attempts to catch the killer that had been preying on the crew the previous month - and a second Marine, this one from the Galaxy's Marine detachment's Engineer team. It was the girl from Engineering that was opposing the Ktarian's point of view.
"C'mon, you know it happens all the time," Sammy said as Victor forked another mouthful of what the replicators considered to be bratwurst. His mother would have disagreed strongly, even though the family recipes no longer bore much resemblance to what they'd been back on Earth in the 17th Century when the first copies of the family cookbook had been hand-written by a bored wife to send to her cousins, and Victor had to agree. ~ It loses something without the peppers and the Rigellian dill. ~
"I didn't say that," countered the Ktarian. "I know it does, even in the Marines," she smirked, her expression like that of a cat caught with the canary's tail poking out of its mouth. "It's only natural, after all. Girl sees boy, girl wants boy... girl gets boy." She shook her head again. "But not her. She's different - straight as an arrow. She's married to the Corps."
"Why is she different?" Sammy leaned forward. "She's a woman, isn't she? Maybe it happened just like you said?"
"Because it just wouldn't," the Marine insisted. "If he were enlisted or she were an officer, then maybe it might happen, even with him being in Fleet and her a Marine. But not with her being enlisted and him an officer on top of that - it's too big a hill for her to climb. She couldn't do it."
~ I don't think I like where this is going... and I'm not going to sit here and eat whatever-this-was-in-a-former-life before it decided to masquerade as a sausage, to hear the end of it. ~ Victor put down the fork, and stood up, cycling the tray back into the replicators unit in the wall next to his chair. ~ Paranoid or not, I just know that they're talking about... ~
"How many times do I have to tell you," the Ktarian's voice was growing exasperated, "that Gunny Goldstein simply wouldn't do it? I don't care how much of a man this..."
"Krieghoff," O'Rourke supplied.
"Krieghoff is," the Marine continued. "The Gunny just wouldn't do it. She's not the type."
~ It's not paranoia if they *are* talking about you. ~ Victor grabbed his PADD and the bag with his uniform to change into after his 'morning' workout and turned for the door, wincing as he realized the path led right past the ladies' table. ~ Oh yeah, it's time to go all right. ~
"So what is the type, then?" Sammy questioned. "If your Gunny Goldstein isn't it, what is it? Why can't she have a hot thing going on under the radar, no matter who it's with? Is she dead?"
~ I so need to be out of this room. ~ Victor steeled himself and started for the door.
"It wouldn't be with Krieghoff," O'Rourke spoke up. "Not unless there's something wrong with her... not with Krieghoff."
Victor winced as he neared the table ~ So what did you expect? Camaraderie? That she'd defend you? When was the last time *that* happened? ~
As he neared, O'Rourke sat straight up in her chair, and stiffened. "Oh, God," she whispered.
"What?" It was the Ktarian who spoke first. "What's wrong?"
"H-he's..." O'Rourke said, turning to look to either side.
Sammy looked across the table. "Who's...? Oh," she finished as Victor caught her eye when he drew abreast of the table. "Hello... Lieutenant."
"Ladies," Victor nodded pleasantly, never slowing as he passed by. "Have a good evening." ~ You'll never know if I heard you or not, ladies. Enjoy. ~
Behind him, he heard the voices at the table resume, the Ktarian asking, "Who was *that?*" in a hushed, speculative tone.
"Lieutenant Krieghoff," O'Rourke shivered.
~ Five more steps, just five more steps and I'm out of here. ~
"*That* was the guy? Nice ass! " the Ktarian breathed, her voice pitched lower than normal, almost a purr. "Okay, I was wrong... the Gunny would be a fool to pass that up - and she's no fool. Lucky bitch, I wish I'd seen..."
The doors closed behind Victor, mercifully shutting off the rest of the sentence. ~ Not my best exit, but it'll do. I think that experiment in dining out has pretty much answered any questions I had - we'll be going back to the replicators in my room after this. ~
Shaking his head, he started for turbolifts and Deck 12. The workout area he favored - Gymnasium #3 - was normally deserted except for a small crew of regulars this time of day, which suited him fine. ~ With any luck, the usual crowd will be done by the time I get there and get my gear stowed. Maybe I can have a quiet workout for once while I change up my weight limits. ~ He smiled in spite of himself. ~ If nothing else, Gunny's extra PT session every day is going to get me in damn good shape - maybe I can avoid breaking something the next time I have to mix it up with a damn Klingon. ~
He paused at the lift, catching one just a few seconds after arriving there. "Deck Twelve." As the doors closed and the car started in motion he sighed once. ~ Just once, I wonder what it would be like to actually be guilty of something the rumormongers were saying about me. Well, besides that time I told the XO of the Shantipole that he was an ineffectual ass who'd passed his level of incompetence after my transfer was approved... I wish I'd said what the rumors had me saying instead of that though.... ~
The car stopped at the next deck, and of course, the two people who'd called it were about the last two Vic had wanted to see.
'Lady Deathstrike's crystal blue eyes widened at the sight of Krieghoff. Behind her, the bulk of her boss, Major Log, loomed, a scowl on his coppery face.
"Major, maybe we should wait to..." she began, clearly uncomfortable.
"No. I want to check Sixth Recon's progress in the holodeck." The Indian growled, the broad width of his shoulders eclipsing all the light in the car for a moment, as he made his way into the lift car. He glared down at Krieghoff for several long moments.
"You gonna press the button?" the Indian demanded of Vic, clearly hinting there would be hell to pay if he didn't.
"Sorry, sir," Victor replied. "Your people are in Holodeck Two, correct?" he continued, as his fingers moved across the command pad, overriding his own request to place the Marines higher in the queue. ~ Great, just great. I'm trapped in the elevator with a marine that scuttlebutt says is sleeping with me, and who looks... nervous... about it. Why nervous? What is there... oh. ~ He glanced at Log as the doors closed. ~ He's her boss, she's enlisted and I'm officer, she's Marine and I'm Fleet, and if he believes the rumors.... ~
Log just glowered and grunted. It could mean anything. From the expression on his face, it SEEMED to mean "I could break you like a Toothpick (95!) and not even blink."
For just a moment, Victor contemplated saying something, but another look at Log rendered that idea null and void, since the Major obviously had hung out his virtual 'Do Not Disturb' sign. ~ He might not really rip my head off, but he obviously doesn't want to be disturbed either. ~
Failing in that, he glanced back at Betty. ~ Great, the first human woman I've talked to in two years that hasn't been terrified of me, been trying to fix my head when there's nothing wrong with it, or been crazy as a loon, and who I could actually have a decent damn conversation with to boot, and she's going to hate my guts for thinking that I started the damn rumors. How the hell do I apologize for that? It isn't like I wanted to jump in the sack with her; I wanted to apologize for cutting her out of the hunt for Kragg. After that... after that, all I was hoping for was to have someone to talk shop with occasionally that understood what the hell I was talking about for once. ~
Betty leaned back and tried to hide behind her boss. Luckily for her, the massive Indian blocked just about anything he chose to loom near.
Log, for his part, continued staring at the Security officer with a cold, black gaze that didn't even blink. "Holodeck Four." Log finally grunted out.
~ Holo-what? ~ "Excuse me, Sir?" Victor asked. ~ That *was* directed at me, right? Hell, for all I know he thinks out loud. ~
"My Men. Holodeck Four, not two. Someone screwed the default environment in Two. Looks like some damn mountain with lightning and wind. If I wanted that crap, I'd have stayed in Dakota. And that's MY spot." The major hinted, still not having blinked or wavered the flat, obsidian stare he'd been giving Vic. "I always stand in front of the car controls."
~ Mountains? Rain? Lightning? ~ Victor blinked. ~ Didn't that weasel Streeley say something about that? Something about... Darkstar, that was it. He said Commander Darkstar hung out in the holodeck with that program running. Probably shouldn't mention that... ~
"Always. The Major is correct." Betty added, glad that the bulk of the Major cut her view of Krieghoff. Any chance on her part, to GET this guy who was apparently going around blabbing all SORTS of rumours about her to the notoriously loose-lipped Fleeties; she was gonna TAKE.
"Ah, excuse me, sir. I didn't know - won't happen again." Victor made a single alteration to the panel, shifting the destination to Holodeck Four, and stepped back to let Log move into the spot next to the controls. The shift, given the amount of space that the Major occupied in the car, placed him next to Betty.
~ So what do you say to someone you just heard on the rumormill that you were having an affair with? ~ Victor started to think about it then pushed the thoughts aside in favor of a nod and a polite, "Gunny." ~ I'll be damned if those idiots will rattle me so bad I can't be polite to someone who deserves it. ~
Log grunted again and slid into the spot. Betty stared straight ahead at the door (partially blocked by Log's mighty shoulder) and tried to ignore Vic.
"You the Security guy, caught the killer?" Log growled again, several long minutes later.
Before Vic could answer, Betty bristled. "Forgot to pat him down for a suicide pill too."
~ True enough - but I'd made my point about who the monkey was to him by then. How he actually died wasn't that big a deal. ~ "Yes, sir," he answered the Major. With a nod to Betty, he added, "And Gunny here is right, I should have checked for the pill." ~ If for nothing else, so that Bhrode wouldn't be pissed over not getting to kill Kragg himself. ~
"Not bad. Pissed off the Captain though." Log growled.
Betty glared at Vic herself, over one shoulder. "Yeah. Pissed off the Captain." she added, seeming to have taken that action as an intentional slight to herself as well. "Nerp," she muttered, focusing on the front of the cab again.
They hit Deck twelve, and Betty let Log precede her out of the car. Apparently, the torture of Vic was done for the day.
Deck twelve was packed. The never-ending routine of Marine training had wound down, and the majority of the FIST was dispersing to Chow, except those unlucky enough to have drawn the duty of supervising the Security drones... or who had additional training. As Alpha Shift was 'on duty' in ten minutes, the Fleeties currently milling the hallways were scrambling for the lockers, or to get to their quarters to get ready for duty.
"Oh yeah... Lieutenant Krieghoff..? I wouldn't fuck you if your body heat would save me from freezing on Breen. I wouldn't piss on you if your head was on fire." Betty added, in a loud 'Parade Ground' voice and with a merry twinkle in her eye, indicating that she felt whatever score Vic 'owed' her was at least half-settled now.
~ Did she really just...? I guess she thinks *I* started the rumors. ~ Relieved to have the whole thing out in the open, Victor smiled out of reflex. "I'll keep that in mind the next time we're together on Breen, or when my head catches fire while you're standing next to me, Gunny," he replied politely, aware that there were people frozen in their tracks, listening to the exchange. ~ Hell, let 'em listen, they'll think what they want no matter what we say - and I'm damned if I'll give up a shot to have someone to talk to just because of a few rumors. ~
He turned and met Betty's eyes squarely, no hint of duplicity in his own. "If I'd wanted to sleep with you, Gunny," he replied in a softer voice, inaudible to anyone more than a meter away, but easily audible to her, "I'd have just asked. I don't need to resort to spreading rumors for something like that - I can take getting turned down face-to-face. Gods knows I got enough practice at it before I quit trying. All I wanted was a cup of coffee and someone to share it with who knew their head from their backside - and that offer's still open anytime you want to take me up on it."
Betty blinked and considered the crowd around them. "Awwwwwww...... sheeesh!" she said with a glare. 'Dang rumours! WHADAY LOOKIGN AT?" she barked at a grinning marine.
"Nuttin Gunny." the guy replied, a touch too innocent faced.
'Aintcha got work to do? Like helping the armoury crews strip the plasma mortars and re-calibrate their aiming systems?" she demanded.
"Imma Corpsman Gunny... I...work in Sickbay and...." the guy caught sight of the expression on her face. "...I. ..I ...am going to the armoury to strip some mortars." he finished up sadly.
Victor glanced at the assembled crowd that was trying very hard to look like they all had something else to do. ~ You know.... I don't think I'll mention to her that this probably will be reported as a staged scene to divert suspicion from our 'affair' - I'm desperate enough for someone to talk to that I'll let the crew think whatever it wants, and if I tell her that, it'll kill any chances of her ever taking me upon the coffee. ~ He allowed himself to smile at a group of crewmen, the expression providing the impetus for three of them to suddenly recall urgent business elsewhere. ~ I'm going to just be a selfish bastard about it, and if they talk, they talk. Not like they haven't said worse things about me. ~
He turned back to Betty as the crowd started to dissipate, watching her speed up the Marine contingent with a glare that threatened to melt the deck plating. ~ She is a damn good-looking woman, though... ~ For just a moment he let himself think of the possibilities, then ruthlessly crushed the thoughts out. ~ No. Relationships never work, not with me. A friend to talk to though... that would be worth more than any good moments we'd have before it blew up in my face. ~
His voice still pitched low enough that only Betty could hear him, he added, "Any time you'd like some coffee and a chance to talk, just let me know, Gunny. And... thanks." The sincerity and loneliness in that last word hung between them for a moment before Victor turned and started for the locker room, the remaining Fleet personnel scattering as he approached the door and vanished inside.
****
With his back against a tree and the smell of real, growing grass rising up from the ground beneath him, Victor relaxed in the darkness and let the day go, closing his eyes and drifting. In the distance, soft sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze and the perfume of some flowering plant he didn’t recognize carried by that same breeze teased his senses, but he screened them out and concentrated on simply relaxing.
~ I need to find out who it was that decided starships needed to carry trees with them and nominate them for a posthumous medal. ~ Victor stretched once, enjoying the feel of his muscles loosening, and then leaned back against the tree. ~ Holodecks just aren’t the same, despite all the work they’ve done with them. The trees and things *look* real, but in the back of your mind you know they aren’t – and that makes all the difference. ~
He let his thoughts drift for a time, resisting the impulse to open his eyes and watch the stars. ~ They should be overhead, not zipping by outside the window. I know why they didn’t make the arboretum an internal compartment, but… Hell, I should just be grateful that there isn’t anyone else here at three in the morning. Corgan’s shifting me to Gamma Shift Supervisor was good for that, anyway – there are fewer people around while I’m working. ~
He laughed once, softly, as another thought struck him. ~ I wonder if it was also to get me as far away from the rest of the crew as possible? One too many complaints about me ‘menacing’ people in the turbolift, maybe? ~ Victor chuckled again, feeling still more of the day’s tension falling away to be absorbed by the grass. ~ Doesn’t matter if he did or not – the result is the same, and that’s all that counts. ~
Taking a deep breath, he held it for a moment and then let it out slowly. ~ This is better than any social activity the Counselor could send me to. No people, no noise, so stress – just me and the trees… and the stars. ~ He opened his eyes and watched the starfield slip by outside, losing himself in the stars for an eternity – until the door to the arboretum opened and a figure stepped up to it, silhouetted in the light from the corridor.
~ Who? ~ He frowned, watching the figure’s movements as they entered the arboretum and looked around. ~ A woman from the shape and the walk – Fleet by the cut of the uniform. And they’re looking around like they think someone’s here… looking for me? ~ As he watched, they appeared to zero in on him, and star forward, the door closing behind then. ~ Looks like they are here for me. Wonder what’s up? ~
For a moment he considered speaking up, and then discarded the idea. ~ If it was an emergency, they’d already be calling – or they’d have used my combadge. Whatever it is, it can wait until they find me. ~ Eyes open now, he followed the woman’s progress in the reflection from the large observation window. ~ Just a few more steps and I ought to be able to see who it is…. ~ He watched, waiting for her to approach closely enough that the running lights shining through the observation window from thee exterior of the ship would illuminate her. ~ And the lucky winner is… Chief Westwell? ~
The Chief appeared to spot him and started forward, her face visible in the reflected light from the observation window. ~ I wonder what Boats needs with me? Something serious from the look of it, she’s not smiling, and she’s always smiling. ~ Westwell drew nearer, but abruptly stopped about three meters away as a curious expression crossed her face. ~ Yep, that’s about the average distance for it to affect someone. I wonder what she’ll do now? ~
The Boatswain shook her head, stepped forward again, then frowned and carefully backed up. ~ That’s different, haven’t seen that one before. ~ Circling to the left, she started forward again, only to stop when she reached the same point, and her expression changed again. Backing up again, she moved in the other direction, her frown increasing as the same problem asserted itself as she approached the invisible line that she seemed to cross. Backing up yet again, she frowned, set her jaw, and moved straight ahead,
~ Never seen anyone test it like that before – she’s a smart lady. But then I already knew that from looking at her file. ~ As the Boatswain approached, Victor stood up and saluted. “Chief Westwell, a pleasure to see you.”
Westwell drew up short, still frowning slightly. “You don’t have to stand up for me, Lieutenant, I’m not an officer and we’re not on a parade ground.”
Victor smiled. “Regulations require it, Chief, whether you have your decorations on or not – but my mother taught me to stand when a lady walked in the room as a gesture of respect. In my book, you qualify for both parts of that.”
Westwell blinked, her frown easing a little as she returned the salute. “Then, thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Not a problem, Chief,” he returned. “Can I offer you a tree? I’m just indulging in a little post-shift stress relief.” He indicated the ones around his chosen tree. “Not necessarily the best seat in the house, but you can’t beat the view.” ~ This must be the ‘stop menacing the crew’ talk I’ve been waiting for. ~
With an odd look, Westwell nodded and moved to a tree near Victor’s as he waited for her to settle down before resuming his seat. She shifted twice, found a good position, and leaned back, still watching him.
Victor leaned back, closing his eyes. “Three meters is about the average, Chief,” he offered up once he was safe in the pocket of darkness he’d made for himself. “It’s less for some, more for others. Betazoids especially seem to really have a problem with it. On the other hand, Vulcans don’t seem to notice it at all, or just hide it better than anyone else.” He paused, then added, “It doesn’t turn off either, it’s always there whether I want it or not. If I’m causing problems for the crew, I’m sorry. I’ll try to stick to my quarters more when I’m off duty.”
His companion was silent for a moment, and then she asked, “Get that talk a lot, do you?”
“Every ship I’ve ever been on, Chief,” Victor conceded still hiding behind his eyelids. “Took a little longer to get around to it this time, but we’ve been busy.” He opened his eyes and glanced her way. “You understand that I don’t do it on purpose, right? It’s all there in my file if you want to look. Pheromones, subliminal telepathic activity, quantum frequency resonance – there are about a dozen theories in there as to why it happens, none of which was compelling enough that I was willing to be picked apart by white-coats to find out if it was the right answer or not. Whichever one it is, the problem really just boils down to the fact that I scare people by just being there.”
Westwell just looked at him for a moment, her eyes unreadable in shadow, and nodded. “I read that,” she conceded. “You’ve really been waiting for me to come and chew you out about the crew’s reactions to you since you’ve been on board?”
Victor nodded. “I have Chief. Like I said, I’ve done this at every duty station I’ve been assigned to since the Academy – and I got it a couple of times there. It’s nothing new, and certainly nothing I’m going to get steamed over. You’re just doing your job and looking out for the crew, that’s all.”
“Nice of you to see it that way,” she said slowly. She tilted her head to the side, looking at him for a moment as he turned back to the observation window. “And you’ve had this…”
“Try ‘effect’,” Victor volunteered. “I like that better than most of the things it’s been called.”
“And you’ve had this effect on the people around you your whole life?” she continued.
Victor smiled wryly. “Since I was a kid, Chief,” he confirmed. “My mother has stories about having to take me out of the nursery to get the other babies to stop screaming, and it hasn’t gotten much better since then. I usually try to stay away from the residential areas and the schools when I’m stationed in places that have them. Bad enough that I do this to adults; I don’t feel the need to see it happen to kids, too.”
That has to make thinking about a family of your own tough,” she observed softly.
~ Family? Yeah, right. Like that’s happening any time in this life. It’s a good thing Cousin Greta is a round to help carry on the family name. ~ “If I thought about, it would,” he admitted. “So I don’t. Easier all the way around, that way.” He glanced over towards her. “It doesn’t get any better you know, I know that much for certain.”
“What doesn’t get any better?”
“That feeling you have right now, the one that started when you walked up,” he explained. “It doesn’t go away with constant exposure. If anything, being in close contact with me for an extended time just makes it worse. Why would I want to do that to anyone I cared about?” He winced and sighed, “Sorry about that, Chief. I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”
“No, that’s all right,” she replied, watching him closely. “So you’re not… involved… with anyone?”
The chuckle that slipped out from inside him had little humor in it. “Not since my last attempt exploded back on DS9 over a year ago, Chief. I haven’t gotten desperate enough to lie to myself that it’ll be different this time since then.” ~ Okay, what the hell is this? It feels more like a visit from a Counselor than a butt-chewing. Why is she so worried about this? ~
Westwell was silent for a moment before softly saying, “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, Chief. Not anyone’s really. It’s just genetics.” He shrugged. “I can’t do anything about it, so I just live with it. In a way, it’s easier for me to not think about it – I get all that time everyone else is spending on relationships and worrying who to ask to the dance to spend on something useful.”
The Boatswain’s frown deepened, but her voice never changed tones. “So what happens if you find someone that makes you want to spend that time worrying about it? What do you do then?”
~ Okay, this is just all wrong. Did Counselor Dallas put her up to this? ~ Victor’s smile was more tired than anything. “What do I do? Probably nothing, Chief. It takes two, you know – and there’s still the ‘effect’ hanging there, nibbling away at the back of their minds all the time even if they feel the same way. Not a recipe for success, and I just don’t feel like dealing with another disaster when it’s easier to avoid the whole thing.” ~ Maybe the Counselor thought I’d deal with Boats better than I did her? ~
“Nothing?” Westwell’s voice was still quiet and nonjudgmental. “Even if they were one of the people that your… effect… doesn’t bother? There are people on the ship that aren’t bothered by it, right?”
“More than I had any right to expect,” Victor conceded. “Probably more than all my previous duty stations put together. Most of the Command staff, a few others, but still not a big percentage of the crew.” ~ Is that what’s going on? Is she subbing for the Counselor? ~ He closed his eyes again, his smile turning a touch bitter. “If there were someone like that on board… I don’t know, Chief. I really don’t. Maybe nothing, or maybe… maybe I’d grab onto them like a drowning man thrown a rope.” He shrugged. “But there isn’t, so there’s no point worrying about it, is there?”
“Are you sure?”
~ Why do we keep coming back to this? Why would Boats be so worried about who I was sleeping with? Oh. Hell. It’s the damn rumors about me and Gunny Goldstein, that’s why she’s here. ~ Opening his eyes slowly, Victor shook his head. “I’m sure, Chief – there isn’t anyone. Not even Gunny Goldstein.”
“I didn’t mention her.”
“You didn’t have to,” he pointed out. “I quit listening to the rumors after they decided that her telling me she’d freeze to death on Breen before sleeping with me was a staged stunt to divert attention from our affair.” Something resembling real humor crept back into his voice. “Tell me, have they gotten to the point we have kids? Or are they not that far out of control yet?”
“No, not yet.” The Chief’s voice was still neutral.
With a shake of his head, Victor sighed, “I suppose I ought to be thankful for that much, anyway. She doesn’t need that kind of garbage following her around.”
“So you’re not…”
“Chief,” Victor turned towards her, eyes open and unflinching. “I’m not sleeping with Betty Goldstein, or anyone else on this ship. I’ll give you my word as a Starfleet Officer on that if you want.”
Westwell looked at him for a moment before shaking her head. “No, that’s not necessary, sir.” She started to sit up. “I believe you.”
Victor kept his eyes on hers as he added, “I won’t lie - I’d be damn flattered if she wanted that with me, Chief. She’s a damn good Marine, a damned good person, and just as much a beauty – but it’s not going to happen.”
Elizabeth stopped, looking at him oddly. “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, why not?”
“Why would I mind, Chief?” Victor shrugged. “Because no matter how good it’d be, it wouldn’t be worth it, Chief.”
“It wouldn’t?” She was openly curious now.
“No, it wouldn’t,” Victor confirmed. “Sooner or later, it’d blow up in my face – it always does. I’d rather have ten years of occasional cups of coffee and conversation than ten days or ten weeks of occasional sex. No matter how good it might be it wouldn’t be worth what I'd lose in the long run.” He shrugged again, standing and offering her a hand. “Know how long it’s been since I had someone to talk to that wasn’t trying to fix my head when it isn’t broken, Chief?”
Westwell let him pull her up, brushing off her pants. “No, how long?”
“Four years.” He brushed at his own clothing, leaves and some dirt falling away. “I lost them when the Dominion killed the Hesperas off Cardassia Prime.” He looked up, his eyes open and unguarded. “I can deal with not having a relationship, Chief, I’m used to that. It’s no big thing. But talk? Everyone needs that once in a while – and I’m really tired of talking to myself, you know?”
She nodded slowly. “I know. I hope that works out for you.”
“Me too.” His mouth twisted wryly. “Besides, I’ve got a better shot at the coffee and conversation than I ever would the other anyway.” He looked around the darkened arboretum, shook himself once, and nodded to the door. “You staying for a while, Chief? I think I’m done for the night. Got to get something to eat and give it time to settle before PT with the Marines.”
“I think I’ll stay a while,” she said, her normal smile starting to creep back across her face. “It’s been longer than I thought since I just sat and watched the stars, myself.”
“I never seem to get tired of it, myself,” Victor observed. “I’ll get out of here and let you get some time in without my presence bothering you, Chief. Have a good evening – or morning – as the case may be.” He nodded politely to her, snapped off another salute, and moved off into the darkness after she returned it, passing through the door a minute later and vanishing down the corridor.
The Boatswain watched him leave, not speaking until the door had closed behind him. “You really shouldn’t sell yourself short, Lieutenant,” she said softly, before turning to watch the stars flow by in silence for a time, “The fact that she didn’t kill you outright over the rumors is a pretty good sign that she likes you.”
After several minutes she sighed and shook her head, glancing over at the tree where Victor had sat, and then at her own reflection in the observation window. “Of course, it isn’t like I’m anyone to be giving you advice about relationships, either. At least you’ve managed to make some kind of peace with your problem.”
She drew out a cigar and lit it, puffing slowly as the glowing tip reflected in the window danced like an orange sun. “Some of us haven’t even managed that, yet,” she said softly, then returned to watching the stars flow by like a silent river in silence.
The intelligence office was buzzing as the recovered message was about to be fed in to decryption machines.
"Whatever it is it's old that's for sure."
"Duatonic technology, that's at least 100 years old."
Bolivar stepped on, "SOmetimes the oldest is the most reliable. Too many bells and whistles can cause trouble."
SO far it seemd to be a beacon, the same series of files was repeating over and over. What sort of beacon would take time to figure out.
"Mr Black informed us he would be right down." THe sneer on the Chief of intelligance's face was open.
"Mr Black is not cleared for this information and file. All he wants to do is call admirals and hang out with buddies."
"If you say so."
"I do."
Just then it came out. "It's a remote away team beacon, sending out a series of pulses that flashed an old code. We can't quite figure it out."
Just then the Nietschean major began to write, "it's simple, inform the captain the rescue mission is confirmed. We're getting a message in Morse code. SOS..."
"It seems awfully sparse, doesn't it?"
Lieutenant Tonik did not turn away from the primary computer terminal in Stellar Cartography to face his colleague as he responded, "The local block 817 has never been fully charted. In fact, the only two known ships to pass through this region of space are the USS Enterprise and the USS Defiant. The Defiant, of course, was lost, so any thorough starcharts of this region are from the Enterprise. They are not very thorough."
Cutter stood steady as the holographic projection of the outside space swiveled around. Many people claimed the room caused nausea, especially if you were standing. There was only one chair in the room, situated in front of the solitary computer access terminal, currently occupied by Lieutenant Tonik. Cutter often asked himself, that if there were as many problems with the design as people claimed, why Starfleet Science ever approved the design. He, of course, never experienced any vertigo in Stellar Cartography, Fruna'lin physiology apparently was very adaptable to constantly shifting surroundings.
"What sectors were they in?"
"Relative to the galactic center, the USS Enterprise followed and upwards northwest trajectory into sector 52, then returned along a similar path," the Vulcan stated. He overlaid the Enterprise's course onto the current map, designated by a yellow line. It flowed up into sector 52, like Tonik said, then made a curious jump of about two parsecs, then fell back down on a parallel course out of view. "We are currently in sector 06, the signal we received originated in sector 08, approximately 45.8 light years away from the Enterprise's route."
Another line, a blue line appeared as he spoke, symbolizing the Galaxy's newest course. Without being asked, Tonik also highlighted the stars the ship would pass by. General information popped up by each glowing dot. Cutter didn't expect an answer to his next question, but it had to be asked, "How large is the interspace anomaly in this region? Does it extend to sector 08?"
Tonik sat silent for a moment. He was reading the output on his terminal. "Unknown," he finally said, "Spock hypothesized the region of interspace stretched over several sectors. Its entirely possible that the anomaly may be present at the location of the origin of the signal, it is equally likely that it won't."
Cutter nodded, listing all information in his mind, "Thank you for your help, Tonik. I have to go finish this report."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To: Captain John Q. Bhrode
From: Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Subject: Characteristics of Sector 08, Origin of Received Signal
Date: -----
CC: Senior Staff
This report covers the history and characteristics of Sector 08. For easy access and assimilation of information, the structure of this report is as follows:
I - Nearby Political and Astrophysical
Bodies
II - Properties of the Interspace Anomaly
III - Departmental Alerts
I - Nearby Political and Astrophysical Bodies
Sector 08 is one of 100 sectors in Block 817, each 20 light years by 20 light years by 20 light years. Block 817 lies partially within Tholian claimed territory. Due to a centuries old, ongoing, Tholian held enmity for the Federation, this block of space has never been thoroughly explored. Only two Federation starships have previously passed through the region of space the Galaxy is heading towards, the USS Enterprise, NCC 1701, and the USS Defiant, NCC 1764.
The USS Defiant was on a mission of exploration in Sector 52, 45.83 light years from the origin of the received signal, in 2268, when it disappeared. The USS Enterprise was sent three weeks later, on stardate 5693.2, to search for the missing ship. During the investigation, the Enterprise entered into conflict with the Tholians who had laid claim to the sector. Sector 08 has never been explored by the Federation, and although the Tholian Holdfast still claims Sector 52, no similar public claim has been made on Sector 08.
The only information about Sector 08 has been retrieved from astronomical observation from the Federation. The following stars lay within 2.5 light years within our current course:
58 Trianguli unexplored
92 Ursa Majoris unexplored
II - Properties of the Interspace Anomaly
The USS Enterprise encountered an unusually spatial phenomena in this region of space, dubbed interspace. It is unknown whether this anomaly extends into Sector 08.
Our universe coexists with numerous, perhaps an infinite number of other universes. Unlike parallel universes, whose laws of physics are the same as our own, but with different histories, these alternate universes are unlike the one in which we live. The structure of space in these alternate universes differs from our own, generating new and different governing laws of physics.
The laws of physics and the properties of matter and energy in our universe and others is determined by its dimensional structure. Although never fully proven, it is generally accepted that our universe is constructed from not four, but several dimensions. These higher dimensions are curled up to a size much smaller than the Planck scale and exist at every point in space. Particles of matter and energy are created by Planck sized membranes that resonate in these curled dimensions. The configuration of these higher dimensions therefore effects the properties of all matter and energy.
In an alternate universe, the configuration of these higher dimensions vary from our own. This can cause a multitude of unknown effects. For instance, if the configuration of the curled dimensions were altered so that Planck's Constant, 6.626 * 10^-26 Joules * seconds here, was varied by just 10%, then none of the atoms we are aware of could exist.
In this region of space, for brief periods of time, these alternate universes overlap with our own, allowing the transmission of matter, energy and even space between the two universes.
The USS Defiant, and Captain James Kirk for a period of time, apparently disappeared into one such alternate universe. Kirk was recovered, the Defiant was lost. From Kirk's reports, matter as we know apparently did not exist in the universe he fell into, there were no stars visible.
These interphasic overlaps exist for only short amounts of time and reoccur periodically. In an ideal setting, the time of reoccurrence can be calculated by passively collecting information on the area of the unified universes. However, any release of power into this region destroys this periodic nature, causing prediction of reoccurrence to be incredibly difficult, if not impossible.
During spatial overlap, objects in one universe can be seen from another. Although an object may be visible, sensor data may not recognize its presence. The USS Enterprise had numerous problems in measuring radiation and mass analysis from objects in the overlap region. The Enterprise also discovered that during universe separation, objects in the overlap area became intangible, non-corporeal, yet still visible. While Kirk was trapped in an alternate universe, the crew of the Enterprise could occasionally see him, yet no audible or physical contact could be made.
Although there is no evidence to prove any theory, it is predicted that objects that are transmitted from one universe to another hold some 'dimensional inertia,' in that the properties of its matter and energy remain similar to its home universe, despite its new location. This effect is temporary, however, and over time, the material transmitted will shift to comply with the new dimensional structure of the universe.
III - Departmental Alerts
Due the proximity of the Tholians, the Tactical and Security Departments should be alert and ready for possible conflict. These departments should work with the Intelligence department, since more specific information is beyond the scope of this report.
The Enterprise experienced a curious medical side effect due to the properties of the overlapping universes. Over an extended period in an interspace region, the molecular structure of biological tissue distorts to comply with the new laws of governing physics. This effect is most serious in the brain. Symptoms of this brain tissue distortion include vertigo and tunnel vision. Victims described it as looking through a spherical lens. Eventually, victims become paranoid and psychotic and prone to outbreaks of violent fury. A cure to this effect was discovered by Dr. McCoy, based on a Theragan derivative. Theragan, of course, is an old Klingon nerve gas. Both the Medical and Security Departments should be aware of this effect. It is unknown if the same cure can be used again, as there is no reason to assume that this region of space overlaps with only one alternate universe or if it overlaps with several. The over! lap physics may not, in fact are probably not the same for different alternate universes.
Organic organisms experience a transition shock if they pass fully from one universe into another. This transition is fatal unless preemptive measures are taken, such as surrounding the organism in a transporter beam.
Engineering and Ops should be aware of the potentially damaging use of power in overlap regions. If mission depends on a timely recurrence of interspace, no large amounts of energy can be expended by the ship. Other known affects of interspace on starship technology include unexplained power drains in various systems, most noticeably warp engines. Interspace also interferes with transporter frequencies, making it difficult to transport. This is the reason James Kirk was lost to another universe temporarily.
The physics behind the proposed Transwarp Drive propulsion system are loosely based on Interphase physics. The USS Enterprise used this effect to escape the Tholians. By entering and exiting an alternate universe in a controlled manner, the Enterprise was able to travel over two parsecs away almost instantaneously. Helm should be aware of this effect, as it may have potential for a tactical maneuver. Helm should also be alert for any unexpected Transwarp 'potholes' which may be undetectable by normal sensors.
All ships sensors should be set to passively scan this region of space constantly. Any data collected about Interspace, if encountered, could be invaluable to long-term Federation knowledge and technology.
Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Chief of Astronomy and Physics
The corridors of a dark and industrially forboding ship where the only things in the rescue team’s view. Moments earlier, they dismounted from a shuttlecraft, crashing a hole through an aged and stubbornly jammed entrance hatch. One by one, six white suited, bulky beasts entered the dark halls of the ship and with their magnetic boots they stomped their way to their final destination. One beast had an armful of tube like objects under its arm. The others had scanning devices and phasers ready.
The ship lacked the smooth, organic lines, the plush carpeting, and the soft beige colors of the Galaxy. This ship was from an entirely different mindset. It was a practical and cheap design, more for functionality than comfort and ease of use. There were no covering panels, but an intricate network of sealed wiring pipes, pulsing power distribution nodes, and duotronic network interfaces. There was a century’s worth of tarnish and grime in the old machinery, dulling the monotonous metal gray into a tarnished, black streaked mess. Magnetic boots clanked on gratings that acted as the upper floor on the deck, while down below in a maze of pipes and machinery, the lower deck waited, as did perhaps a weak grate and a gracious fall.
=/\=”Keep your eyes peeled. These older Antares freighters are a bit worn from age.”=/\= One voice crackled to the others over their small comm.-link network, =/\=”Status?”=/\=
=/\=”We are approximately fifty meters from the main cargo bay.”=/\= Another voice, more female and business like, announced, =/\=”Gamma radiation is interfering with tricorder scans and ship to team communications. However, I am reading lifesigns in the approximate area of the main cargo bay.”=/\=
=/\=”Status of the lifesigns?”=/\=
=/\=”Cannot be accurately determined due to the interference. However, they appear to be weak.”=/\=
The lead space suited man pointed to three of the team members, and directed them to the opposite direction. He ordered, =/\=”You three, go to engineering. Attempt to restore power and bring life support online. Then, restore propulsion so we can move out of this radiation field. We’ll try to get the people in the cargo bay off the ship.”=/\=
=/\=”Aye, sir.=/\= One of the three selected beings saluted, another female by the sound of her voice, and she stalked off with two others.
As the two groups split away, the groaning of a bulkhead was overheard from a distance. The ship creaked and rocked slightly as the inertial dampners and gravity systems flickered on and off. The groups stood still and allowed the momentary system glitch to pass. Moments later, they were once again subjected to lower gravity.
=/\=”My stomach feels funny.=/\= The man with the tools complained under the monotonous ‘tromp-tromp’ of space boots.
=/\=”Hold it in, Lieutenant. You won’t do well if you spew in your helmet.”=/\= The other space man snapped.
The female in the group coldly announced, =/\=”Twenty five meters. There is a gap up ahead in the deck plating.”=/\=
Sure enough, the leader of the group shone his light in the general direction of the cargo bay door. It was an imposing, gate like metal slab that was almost smooth to the surface, bordered by an industrial gothic arch of twisting metal and squares. The deck plates up ahead were shredded by felled bulwarks, leaving a fifteen foot gap where the floor was supposed to be.
The leader of the group attached a metallic suckerlike object to the walls and looped a cord around it. Unlatching the rope release, the leader of the group then deactivated his magnetic boots and leapt. He cleared the gap like a bird in flight, the free floating lack of gravity drifting him across the gap and straight towards the cargo bay doors. He re-activated his boots as he tucked and rolled, and as he straightened out again, his boots planted themselves on the cargo bay doors. He walked down the vertical incline and back onto the metal grated floor.
The remaining female of the group attached her magnetic device to a rope in her EVA suit, and she too leapt the gap and made a perfect landing. The third person, with equipment in tow, attached his line and made a clumsy attempt at crossing the gap. With flailing legs and flapping arms, he tried to make a good landing on the other side, but ended up hitting the cargo bay doors on his back.
=/\=”You’ll have to practice your zero gee training, Lieutenant.”=/\= The leader chastised, =/\=”Any detectable atmosphere on the other side?”=/\=
The female checked her instrument readings, =/\=”Affirmative, sir. However, there is a microfracture in the cargo bay. The oxygenated atmosphere will deplete in fourty four minutes, fifty three seconds.”=/\=
=/\=”Then let’s get to work. We can’t get in until we restore the containment field in this door. Hook up a portable power pack to the containment field grid. It should be enough to keep the force field on until we get these people out of here.”=/\=
Two of the group members dislodged a piece of twisted metal that once served as a panel for the cargo bay door’s electronic components. The person with the equipment placed his tubules down on the ground and pulled from a backpack a small battery. He clawed through a tangle of wires to find the right ones. He pulled out a slim knife and cut the two wires clean off, and then attached both sides of the cut wires to the battery. The panels near the door flickered to life, a flashing display of reds and yellows asking for activation. The tool man pressed one button on the panel, and red energy flared up in front of the main cargo bay entrance. It then dissipated and left an invisible barrier.
=/\=”How long will it hold?”=/\= Asked the leader.
The female was the one to provide the answer, =/\=”Forty five minutes, eight seconds.”=/\=
=/\=”Any other hazards?”=/\=
=/\=”None, sir.”=/\=
=/\=”Can you get a better reading on the lifesigns?”=/\=
=/\=”Affirmative sir. Twenty five Terran lifesigns. Feint.”=/\=
=/\=”Well, we can’t wait that long to take those people out of there. Re-modulate your suits to pass through the force field before we get the main doors open. On my mark, we’ll open the door, hurry in, reattach our ropes to the inside of the cargo bay, and slam the door shut. We’ll each take one transport enhancer and set them up in a triangle formation, each one twelve meters apart. We’ll put the survivors in that triangle and let medical and transport take care of the rest.”=/\=
The leader recalled his rope by de-activating the magnetic couplings in his attachment. The suit looped in the rope. He grabbed the metallic head like a snake’s, and attached it to the wall.
=/\=”Everyone latched in?”=/\=
=/\=”Check.”=/\= The sub-ordinates said in unison.
=/\=”Good. Lieutenant, open the hatch.”=/\=
The tool man, after distributing the transport enhancers (those tubule like objects that were using up one of his arms), pounded a fist into one large, red lighted button. Ancient gears and servo’s creaked and groaned, their rusted joints screaming to be left alone. Slowly, the door slid up and open, bathing the three officers in a stream of light. Inside, the slow hiss of a pinhole sized opening in the hall permeated the atmosphere. Cargo containers and people alike drifted in limbo like a haunted vision of a special graveyard. Their limbs were in free fall, their hair adrift like being submerged in water. They were listless and silent, with barely the energy to move.
=/\=”Reattached your ropes to the inside of the cargo bay and close the main door. I don’t want what’s left of the atmosphere in here to be sucked up when the force fields fail.”=/\=
The three drifting saviors passed through the forcefield in a red flicker. One by one, they split off into separate corners of the room, recalling their ropes and throwing them at secure attachments on the walls. Metallic slaps were heard and the ropes were held into place. The tool man was the last to come in, and on his way out he hit the button to close the main gate. It rumbled like a closing maw, holding them inside.
One by one, the transport enhancers were brought online, until a glowing pyramid was placed in the center of the room. The saviors slowly drifted the unconscious freighter crewmembers towards the center of the triangle. After all the bodies were accounted for, the leader called, =/\=”Rescue Team Bravo to Galaxy. All freighter crew accounted for. Twenty five survivors to beam up to medical for decompression. Repair crews will need to patch up a microfracture in the hull as soon as main power is restored. Force fields are active on main entrance only. Preparing to depart as soon as we pack up our equipment.”=/\=
=/\=”Yes sir. Medical on standby. Preparing to transport.”=/\= Was the ship’s final message. Then, the survivors were whisked away by a blue light.
The leader began de-activating his transport enhancer as he spoke, =/\=”That’s a wrap, folks. We got them all. Good work.”=/\=
=/\=”Yeah! I knew my idea would work!”=/\= Cheered the tool man.
=/\=”The last time I recalled, the idea of activating the force fields by using a battery was a common rescue operations practice.”=/\= Corrected the female.
=/\=”Oh yeah… what about… my idea to use the transport enhancers?”=/\=
=/\=”Again, common practice.”=/\=
=/\=”That’s enough bragging for one day, officers.”=/\= Interrupted the leader, =/\=”Let’s go help team Omega in Engineering.”=/\=
=/\=”Yeah!”=/\= The over confident tool man made a grandiose gesture of ego inflated confidence. He then started to relax, and leaned up against the wall, =/\=”Probably need our help too…=/\= He added, his arm moving slowly.
=/\=”HEY! DON’T HIT THAT…”=/\=
The tool man’s arm slid the only other item that wasn’t stiff due to age. It was conveniently a locking mechanism, clearly labeled in red and white, as a lever that deactivated the locks to the cargo bay’s main hatch.
By hatch, it meant the hatch going out to outer space.
WHOOOOSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH
The last of the air was sucked out in one giant gulp. Vacuum was rapidly replacing the last of the cargo bay’s breathable air. The officers were jerked sideways, the ropes holding them together tight to the breaking point.
That was when one officer, the former tool man, remembered where he latched his magnetic device. It was on a panel, and the cover was being pried loose by the vacuum’s force. It popped open, and flung itself out into space.
Taking the tool man with it. In transit, it managed to loop around the neck of the female officer, slashing an air hose and slipping to the soft underside below the helmet, while the panel and the toolman’s flying body smacked into the leader’s head.
=/\=”Rescue Team Bravo… you are dead.=/\=
**************
“Computer, end the fraggin’ simulation.”
Indignantly, Lieutenant Commander Corgan, Lieutenant E’xch, and Lieutenant jg T’lan, once suspended in a cargo bay, fell from five feet and onto the gridlike floor of a holodeck in a tangled heap. At the other side of the holodeck, Lieutenant O’Rorke, Lieutenant jg Marsh and Ensign Taro watch in awe and silent amusement.
“Owww…” Lieutenant E’xch massaged his sore bottom as he slid off the pile, not heeding that his space suited body landed on two others and caused considerably more discomfort than what he experienced.
“Owww indeed. E’xch… did you check to see if your grappling point was secure?” Corgan sighed as T’lan rolled off him.
“Uuuuhhhhhhh…. I think so.” He replied.
“Well next time…” James removed his helmet, “Be careful what you touch. You damn… darn well fragged us. Turned us into a simulated statistic. Thanks a bunch Now let’s run another one. We’ll be ready even if it kills us.”
Through the groans of his crew, James fired up the holodeck for another round of fun.
Major Log scowled at the Security Team's training results and grunted.
As the Security officers re-set themselves for another attempt at the ANTARES class boarding, Log switched off the viewer with his blunt and thick fingers.
"They're gonna die. Lookit them, all bunched up." Betty observed noncomitally.
"Dirty Smeggers." commented Lysander, who wasn't really watching. He'd been more interested in the tactics of the Marine Pilot escorting the Baording Party Shuttle.
Log grunted again, watching the re-play of the point man's attempts to secure a grappel.
"Lookit, no one watching the back fire fields... no one even scanning for hostiles behind them.. that dork is carrying THREE Transporter cones and everyone else is standing around with their tumbs up their butts waiting on the one idiot to.." Betty began again.
"One good Plasma Grenade." added Lys, clearly relishing the thought.
Betty eyed Lys with a grin. She always liked people who knew their ordinance.
"Yeah. BAM. One grenade right there..." she indicated the spot on the screen.
"Do the raven spirits tell the Great Eagle Mac'in'hop how to see prey?" Log growled, cutting her off.
Betty blinked. When severely stressed, Log tended to speak in cultural riddles.
"I don't know. What's a raven?" she asked, hoping this wasn't one of her bosses increasingly frequent rants against his brother.
"A smelly little bird that eats dead things." Lys nattered. He'd received a report from Holli VOn Enrst that they had Ravens on HIS farm now. He'd thought it referred to Commander Darkstar until he'd looked the pests up in the Encyclopedia Galactica.
Log grunted again. Betty stifled a yawn. Lys goggled at the antics of the Security people on the flatscreen.
"Has a SINGLE Security type asked for help in this drill?" Log demanded.
"Commander Darkstar has a group of Security types on Holodeck Two, he's running them through Triage Drill Tango Seven." she answered evasively.
Log grunted again... the silence extended a bit.
"I suppose he didn't ask for a phaser for himself?" the Major finally demanded, with a petulant undertone.
"No. He's watching them, and they're deployed pointmen to cover the medics...but he. . . " Betty began.
". . .doesn't use phasers. Sanctimonous little prig." Log waved off the rest of her report with an irritated hand.
He smiled suddenly.
"We have three Marine fireteams in Holodeck Three?" He asked with a crafty smile.
"Affirmative." Betty grinned herself. She knew EXACTLY what Log was thinking.
"Have THEM run both drills... and please forward the recording of that drill to both Commanders Corgan and Darkstar, with my compliments." Log allowed one of his rare smiles to play across his blocky features.
"Errrr..." began Lys, who suddenly realized they were looking at HIM with appraising eyes.
* * * * * * * * * *
The ship lacked the smooth, organic lines, the plush carpeting, and the soft beige colors of the Galaxy. This ship was from an entirely different mindset. It was a practical and cheap design, more for functionality than comfort and ease of use. There were no covering panels, but an intricate network of sealed wiring pipes, pulsing power distribution nodes, and duotronic network interfaces. There was a century’s worth of tarnish and grime in the old machinery, dulling the monotonous metal gray into a tarnished, black streaked mess. Magnetic boots clanked on gratings that acted as the upper floor on the deck, while down below in a maze of pipes and machinery, the lower deck waited, as did perhaps a weak grate and a gracious fall.
The corridors of a dark and industrially forboding ship where the only things in the rescue team’s view. The haze from the external access hatch being blown hung in the air.
The Marine Battlearmour had shifted to match the Freighter's internal Bulkheads perfectly. With a crash the six mottled grey figures deployed themselves into the corridor, the scarlet lines of aiming lasers flashing in all directions as they scanned for targets.
==One is in...Go-go== a voice commanded over their built in speakers. Like silent ghosts of death, they spread out and slithered down the hall... only their movement and the weapons in their armoured hands showing their locations.
==One: Fifty meters to Target Alpha== the voice told them. With a hand wave from the leader, the rear flankers stepped up to cover the medic, who'd slipped on a wobbly deck grate.
"Watch it Tanner!" they hissed to the marine, who shrugged and gave the offending plate a kick. The noise echoed throughout the creaking and sputtering ship.
==One: We read lifesigns in target Alpha. Unable to supply more discretionary information. Situation Red Three == the voice told them. The leader stiffened, and then waved the 'Lock and Load' command.
As they crept closer, the groaning of a bulkhead was overheard from a distance. The ship creaked and rocked slightly as the inertial dampners and gravity systems flickered on and off. The groups stood still and allowed the momentary system glitch to pass. Moments later, they were once again subjected to lower gravity. Their armoured boots held them fast to the deckplates.Sure enough, the leader of the group shone his light in the general direction of their target.
The leader waved them forward in the general direction of the cargo bay door. It was an imposing, gate like metal slab that was almost smooth to the surface, bordered by an industrial gothic arch of twisting metal and squares. The deck plates up ahead were shredded by felled bulwarks, leaving a fifteen foot gap where the floor was supposed to be.
The leader of the group attached a metallic suckerlike object to the walls and looped a cord around it. Unlatching the rope release, the leader of the group then deactivated his magnetic boots and leapt. He cleared the gap like a bird in flight, the free floating lack of gravity drifting him across the gap and straight towards the cargo bay doors. He re-activated his boots as he tucked and rolled, and as he straightened out again, his boots planted themselves on the cargo bay doors. He walked down the vertical incline and back onto the metal grated floor. The ruby aiming lasers of the other five Marines flickered all over the surreal landscape.
==Fireteam two has secured Engineering. Fireteam Three secure at pickup point, waiting on One.== the cold metallic voice told them.
The leader paused a moment, waving the tricorder built into the powered gauntlets he wore.
==Microfracture in the cargo bay bulkheads. The oxygenated atmosphere will deplete in fourty four minutes, fifty three seconds== the computer voice intoned.
At the leaders' silent orders, two of the group members dislodged
a piece of twisted metal that once served as a panel for the cargo bay door’s
electronic components. One of them clawed through a tangle of wires to find
the
right ones. He pulled out a slim knife and cut the two wires clean off, and
then attached both sides of the cut wires to the battery. The panels near the
door flickered to life, a flashing display of reds and yellows asking for activation.
The tool man pressed one button on the panel, and red energy flared up in front
of the main cargo bay entrance. It then dissipated and left an invisible barrier.
==Target Alpha open and atmosphere contained. Elapsed time one hundered seven seconds.== the voice reported.
The leader recalled his rope by de-activating the magnetic couplings in his attachment. The suit looped in the rope. He grabbed the metallic head like a snake’s, and attached it to the wall. The others followed suit, all still scanning around them.
==Hostile, Bearing three five oh. Distance fifty meters. ID is Borg.== the voice continued
As one, four of the six targeting lasers swung that way. The leader scanned the opposite direction and the Tool man eeled hisway back, to secure a small electronic package on the bulkhead of the corridor there. He quickly slithered back to them on his attached line, somersaulting through the null-gee.
Long moments passed.
A Borg drone stepped out from the corridor. Phaser fire slammed into him, as his shield sprang to life. He began to modulate the shield,and the phaser fire flickered as it spent itself uselessly on it. Minus one appendage, the Borg lurched forward.
Then, the small electronic package exploded. Microflechette rounds tore into the Borg, as powerfull De-Gaussing waves interferred with his cybernetic circuitry.
As his shield died, the Marine fire pounded the Borg to the deckplates. At the curt command of the leader, the fire cut off.
The Borg lay smoking, adding his death smog to the gereral haze of the freighter.
"Scratch one Hostile" the Leader said, to no reply. His hands danced int eh "Go-go" signal. The team moved forward again.
==Fireteam Three moving to provide enfiladed fire from behind hostile target. Fireteam three reporting shots fired. Tactical net updating. Hostile force of four Borg Drones neutralized.== The computer voice whispered in their ear, as the phaser flashes and explosions flickered down the corridor where Three was having some fun.
The tool man, after distributing the transport enhancers (those tubule like objects that were strapped to his back), pounded a fist into one large, red lighted button. Ancient gears and servo’s creaked and groaned, their rusted joints screaming to be left alone. Slowly, the door slid up and open, bathing the three officers in a stream of light. Inside, the slow hiss of a pinhole sized opening in the hall permeated the atmosphere. Cargo containers and people alike drifted in limbo like a haunted vision of a special graveyard. Their limbs were in free fall, their hair adrift like being submerged in water. They were listless and silent, with barely the energy to move.
The six drifting saviours passed through the forcefield in a red flicker. One by one, they split off into separate corners of the room, recalling their ropes and throwing them at secure attachments on the walls. Metallic slaps were heard and the ropes were held into place. The tool man was the last to come in, and on his way out he hit the button to close the main gate. It rumbled like a closing maw, holding them inside.
One by one, the transport enhancers were brought online, until a glowing pyramid was placed in the center of the room. The saviors slowly drifted the unconscious freighter crewmembers towards the center of the triangle. After all the bodies were accounted for, the leader called, "Fireteam One. All secure. Standing by for Emergency Transport."
==Received== the cold mechanical voice told them.
The people flickered out in transporter hazes.
==Elapsed time, three hundred five seconds.== the voice told them.
The cargo bay disappeared around them, and they were alone on the black and yellow Holodeck.
"THAT is how you board and secure a hostile ship on a Search and Rescue. You don't TELL people you're rapelling across a hole, it's obvious. Wastes time telling them what they should already know. We shaved FIVE MINUTES off their best time. When they do it the next time, it's gonna be different." the leader said, removing his sealed Mark II helmet to reveal the scowling face of Major Log.
"Errrr... wouldn't you say it was an advantage, knowing Corgan's solution?" asked Lysander, revealed as one of the 'flankers.'
"No." replied Betty, the other flanker.
"Yeah but...we knew we'd have to transport them out..." nattered Lys.
"Oh, you wanted a drill where we have to CARRY them out?" Grinned Log, stuffing his ebon braided hair back into the confines of his Mark II Battlehelmet.
"Errr... not really..." Nattered Lys, as the Marines pushed past him to the Arch of the Holodeck, no doubt to program some more 'intersting' variants into the scenario.
"How do you feel about Mechad Killing Machines? Say. . .ten Darlok class Medium CyberTanks?" the Marine officer was asking Lys.
"You're sure the saftey protocols were ON right?" Lys asked nervously.
=/\=
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