"Bhrode on the Promenade"
or.
"Double the Ferengis, Double the FUN!"
by
Fleet Captain John Q. Bhrode
ProConsul Liason Crom
USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50211.14 - 50211.21 |
************************************************************************
Crom jerked awake as his console began screaming at him. Something had obviously changed in the short time he had been able to fall asleep in his quarters. He staggered through the darkness towards his closet and deftly brained himself on the wall on the other side of the room. "Lights!" he called out in a daze.
Grabbing his latinum-scaled robe and slinging it on, he went hurriedly to his computer console. 16 new messages were awaiting him as well as 5 live feed transmissions. "What in poverties name is going on?" He scanned over the names of the messages, they all were store owners and proprieters on the promenade. He walked over to the replicator. "Slug Juice"
Crom took the glass and walked to the door of his quarters and stepped out into the bustling hallway and looked around. He noted from the wall panels that the ship was in alert mode.
He stepped back into his quarters and reached into the breast
pocket of his robe, and pulled out a small box. He popped the top open with
his thumb and took a pinch in between his fingers and snorted half up each nostril.
His head rocked back slightly as a goofy smile crossed his face. "AH, no
finer way to wake up than with Rometeran Beetle
Snuff!"
He sat down at his console and was assulted by the messages and live feeds of differant shopkeepers demanding to know what is going on.
"WHAT IS GOING ON CROM!?" A half klingon screamed through the console.
"The ship has gone to Yellow Alert, you know that means all shops must be closed down as to route the proper power and enegies to...."
"ENOUGH OF YOUR BABBLE!!!! I WANT ANSWERS!" the picture of the angry klingon vanished as Crom managed to hit the 'wrong' button. For the next half an hour, Crom had to try to calm down nearly every shopkeep on the ship. He paced through his quarters trying to figure out what to do.
He tossed on his a gaudy red shirt and latinum threaded trousers and stopped and stared at himself in a mirror for a few minutes, admiring his indescribably stunning looks. He pocketed his lucky slip of latinum and spoke. "Computer." The computer chimed a response. "Where is Captain Bhrode? Locate him for me."
=|= Captain Bhrode is currently on the Promenade =|=
Crom sighed and headed for the turbolift.
The Ferengi simpered as Bhrode sliced through the Tukka-wood with the combat knife, the mono-element ceramic egde drawing a fine curling shaving.
"See? Made by Trisexual virgins...Imagine what that could do to the ribs of your enemies?" Curot sighed, happy that his pickiest customer had maybe found something. Or at the potential profit. Okay, at the profit, he could care less about JQB's happiness.
"Only if my enemy was a block of wood." Brode replied, bouncing the heavy knife on his palm a few times as he scowled down at it.
"Well... I have heard from associates that on the other side of the Ferengi Alliance; there is a race of tree-like beings who hate you hoo-mans and they. . . " Curot began his lie easily.
"Hey! Didnja have more whips last week? Where's alla dem whips?" Curot's other customer demanded in muffled tones, from behind the sale counter piled high with Klingon leather outfits and battle webbing(Going back into storage! 50% off!)
"SOLD THEM." Curot hissed, motioning to his nephew to go and help the other. His nephew sulked his way over to the aisle, looking clearly put upon.
"The balance on this piece of crap is off. What else do you have?" Bhrode demanded with his famed scowl, returning the knife to the case and peering at the paltry few items therein.
The Ferengi simpered and spread his hands wide. Of his two current customers, this one was a definite sale, if handled correctly. The Ferengi thought black thoughts about his other customer, one who was more prone to finger all the goods and not buy a single thing.
"Unfortunatly, the better pieces of my collection were confiscated by Security. . . " he began, kicking himself mentally for not removing the other customer, who might point out the ommission. . .
"WHAT? We HAD to confiscate all that stuff! Guns! Knives! Whips! Lightsabres! We were ORDERED take them to by that Hyuuuge steaming pile of Monkey Poo.....YOU!" the voice of the other screeched as Leo's head popped up and he noticed Bhrode.
"You?" Bhrode sighed. Leo Streely did NOT amuse Bhrode. JQB eyed the gleaming knifes and swords along the wall with a longing eye, no doubt imagining using each one on his least favourite crew member.
"Captain! Your constables took valuable merchandise from me! How can I sell my stock if it is locked up in Security? And worse, he asked for a Volume discount on sexual aides! Have you ever...?" Curot asked, hands on hips and glaring at Leo.
"Hey! HEY HEY HEY! THOSE were for Rav..errr.. a Buddy! It's his Birthday soon! And if they can't have that weapons stuff, per the Big Guy there, may I add? If they can't HAVE it, how you gonna sell it?" Leo shot back.
"Easily and at premium prices. Supply creates demand." the Ferengi drooled at the exorbiant rates he can now charge for the edged weapons that Bhrode had banned. Personal phasers at 6000% mark up! Curot felt giddy for a moment.
Bhrode ignored them, staring down at the hand-made knives.
"What? You guys are NUTTS! Supply creates De Man? Sex creates Da MAn! And Da Chikkies too! Sounds kinda... you know... to me." Leo answered, waving his hand in a mysterious manner and winking, to get his sub-text across.
"Do not try your Jedi mind control tricks on me! I can't believe I sold you and that Nice Princess that electrical whip at such a low rate!" The Ferengi moaned.
"LOW RATE? Do I look like I'm laughing here? What am I.. here fer your amusement or sumpthhin?? You about bent me over a barrel and... 'you know-what' with that price! Although you didn't. Because I'm not like that! That price was SO HIGH it made that looney Doc Slow look like he was sober! I scored that chick! And another thing. . . " Leo shrieked.
"Pro-consul. Fix this mess." Bhrode barked out to Crom, who had just wandered into the shop and was watching the negotiation with his mouth open.
Crom shook his head at the situation and blinked once at Captain Bhrode, who was not looking pleased at all. "Mister Streely, you know this store has a no return no refund no excuses policy."
"Yeeesss! No refunds!" hissed Curot in joy.
"By stipulation 31.6 in the Charter of Commerce placed upon this ship and it's stores, Paragraph 1183c : The proprieter of any establishment has the right to expell an irate customer or former customer if the individual has become unruly, Which I find you to be." Crom glanced behind Streely and Bhrode to where Curot was standing, and Curot flashed a strip of latinum for a brief instant. "Curot, if you wish Mister Streely to leave, he must, or be in violation of the Charter of Commerce which you have signed personally."
Curot smiled a toothy grin at Leo. "I wish him to leave, he cannot afford my wonderful goods." he said in his most insolent tone.
"What? WHAT? You cant' do THIS to me! I'm Leo Streely! The fans are gonna bitch!" Leo began sputtering at both Ferengi, "This...this is stupid!!!!" and finally looked to the Captain. "You believe this? John? Can I call you John?"
"No. The Brig is looking VERY empty..." Bhrode mused, clearly trying to decide WHICH of the three Scottish Claymores he'd like to use to lop Streely's annoying head from his annoying shoulders.
The door hissed closed behind Leo, who promptly mooned them through the transparent 'aluminum' window that over looked the atrium that looked down on the 'stores' on the next deck. (Thanks Dr.Quick, for putting a two story 'mall' aboard a Starfleet ship!)
Crom walked over to Curot and extended his left hand for a shake. "If you have any more problems like this, you just let me know." He smiled.
"Yes! Yes! Of course, thank you ProConsul." Curot shook his hand vigorously and scurried back into the depths of his store and began polishing some weapons. Crom put his left hand in his jacket pocket and hid his bribe and revelled in his job for a moment. Then he remembered. Bhrode.
He whipped around to face Bhrode slinging around a large blade and coming farely close to the ProConsul. "Mister Bhrode! I must speak with you!"
Bhrode hefted the antique sabre and eyed the duo of Ferengi. He seemed to be torn as to which one he'd like to skewer first.
Bhrode used the tip of the sabre to tap the interconnected rings of rank on the ProConsul's collar. "Does the Liasion Corps tell you how to identify ranks?" he demanded, the VERY sharp point of the curved blade VERY close to Crom's earlobes.
"Yes Sir!!! Captain sir!!! I apologize, it has been a hectic morning already, such a slip of the tongue will not happen again, sir!" Crom managed while backing slightly away from the very sharp weapon. It stayed with him but the Ferengi seemed unnerved by it, even though his hands crept up to protect his magnificant lobes.
"Ohhh.... not IN the store... and that sabre was the personal property of King Abraham Lincoln on Earth!" Curot moaned.
"I am a Fleet Captain, by the Nagus' Notary public... and the day I need YOU to run off that little fartknocker is the day I damn well need. . . " Bhrode stopped and searched for the perfectly sarcastic comparision.
"Pakleds in your Engine hold? At Group Tour Rates? " the shopkeeper volunteered.
"THEY would be better than the wretches of engineers I have now!" Bhrode snapped, his hand shaking with suppressed rage and the tip of the sabre coming VERY close to Crom's lobes again. "LEAVE THE FUNNY TO ME!" Bhrode bellowed.
"I fully understand Captain, as do those I work with....RIGHT Curot?" Crom gave the other Ferengi a look to let him know to agree. Curot just nodded vigorously, not wwanting Crom to release whatever blackmail he had on the shopkeeper. "Well Captain, there is something that I must speak with you about and standing in this fine establishment, It would be rude to conduct business. Perhaps we could stroll the Promenade and discuss things."
"Denied. Say it here.. I am a busy man. What's your problem?" Bhrode asked Crom.
"Well Captain, I understand the necessity of closing down the shops and businesses on this ship when an Alert Mode is activated. Power has to be run to the right places and the businesses are not a priority on the list."
"There is a point in all of this.. or did you come down here to tell me things I already know." Bhrode glared, pushing the swords' point closer to the backpeddaling Ferengi.
"Well Sir, I have been getting complaints from the Proprieters' Guild about the amount of time this ship spends in Alert Mode. It makes running a business and turning a profit difficult for many." ProConsul Crom stated.
"Tough Titties. Maybe they'd like to have their shops aboard Picard's ENTERPRISE? I understand he runs Red Alerts every day. What do I find when I come down here.. but this... Ferengi STILL OPEN AND SELLLING CONTRABAND WEAPONS! Am I the onlyone to motice we're under Alert and en-route to a mission?" Bhrode sputtered.
"Nasty rescue missions... refugees never have the time to bring Capital Items with them..." Curot began, his warty nose wrinkled at the thought of refugees in HIS shop!
"From what I understand, Sir, is that we are still quite a distance from our destination, and I find it counter-productive to stay in alert mode until we arrive." Crom glanced up at a vein throbbing in the Captain's forehead, his rapid speech cutting off Curot before the fool ruined his ruse.
Bhrode dropped the weapon's point for a moment and glared at the Ferengi. "You find it.... what did you say again?" Bhrode demanded, his voice low and in 'Maximum Pissed' mode.
"Counter Productive" Crom lied.
"Well.... mister.... Crom was it? I find it ANNOYING to come down here and find you not only let this....Ferengi stay open despite my ban on weapons being sold, but he's Still Open DURING AN YELLOW ALERT as well! Do you find that COUNTER PRODUCTIVE as well?" Bhrode ranted.
"Nooooo.... blood is too valuable to spill on my floor!
Let my Nephew get some buckets ready! Ferengi blood sells for six rondels an
ounce on
Ferengar!" moaned Curot.
"Six Rondels!?! You can get double that in the Vimtaac Province!" Crom blurted out. "You can even get more if you....."
Further discussion was interrupted by Bhrode's com-badge.
++Captain to the Bridge. Five minutes to arrival at Signal origin point.++
"I'll be watching you." Bhrode promised Crom.
"Then I shall endevour to look my best, Sir!" He said with a smile befitting of only a Ferengi.
"Will that be cash or... errr... we don't offer credit actually." Curot nattered to Bhrode.
"I'll be back." Bhrode promised the shopkeeper, with a significant glance, as he handed the sabre back.
"Ohhh... I'll hold this sword for you then. We'll forget about the holding deposit...remember, buy two illegal knives in violation of ships' orders and get the third at 1 % off!" the shopkeeper said to Bhrode's stiff back adding the **Cough**wholesale price**cough** as the door hissed closed behind Bhrode.
"Nice customer. He seems rich." Curot licked his thin lips in anticipation. "Say Crom... you have to do something about that Deputy. . . why do I pay you protection if I can't keep him out? "
Crom spun on the Ferengi Shopkeep with lightning speed, his eyes alit with an unnatural fire of business. "Curot. You are found to be in violation of Ship Protocall by opening your shop during Alert Hours." Curot's jaw dropped.
"WHAT!?! You have got to be kidding me!!!! you were the one who told me to stay open!"
"I said 'Stay open as long as you don't get caught.' which you have failed in doing!!!!" Crom shouted at him. "I believe," He said, his voice calming slightly, "Standard penalties are enabled. You have a choice of two penalties. A. You can serve me in my business for 28 days."
"28 days!!!! are you out of your mind!!" Curot's face was turning an off shade of yellow. "What's the second option!" he demanded.
"15% of your month's profit, straight to my own personal coffers." Crom grinned toothily.
"15%!!!!!!!!!!" the Ferengi turned panicked for a moment. "Thats unfair!!! I will only pay 7%!" Curot bartered.
"12%. Or I will see it that you are transferred to the Nausiccan Homeworld to do your business!"
"But..." Curot started in thought. "but the Nausiccan Homeworld doesn't have any type of currency or anything....."
Crom smiled and rubbed his right lobe. "Yes, that's right. It would be difficult to earn much in the way of profit there, wouldn't you think? You know I have the Nagus' blessing...."
Curot's face looked worried. "Yes, ProConsul, I am aware."
"Then do not cross me again." Crom patted him on the cheek. "So do you find 12% fair?"
"Yes, ProConsul."
"Excellent! Then we are finished here." Crom turned to walk out, but spoke back over his shoulder. "Let the Captain have whatever he wishes at BELOW cost, just to keep him off of your back. It could work." The doors of Curots House o'Pointy Blades and Stuff closed for the day.
The screen fades to show the interior of the of Austin's pad. Male voice of narrator (yeah, that big guy himself) started speaking "Babies, Ladies (and already not ladies), cool Chief Medical Officers from all over the Starfleet, beer and vodka were like rivers... And the Man behind all of this was the one and only, the Intergalactical man of reanimation.." Drum beats "... A-a-a-a-a-austin Malgin! The threat of every injury, the scourge of every single bleeding!.." Camera zooms so Austin's face fills the screen. His wicked smile shines on screen.
"Yes, bolts-for-brains, that's me. And prepare world, 'cause I am coming! And you... Yes, you, Old a**hole Price, just shut up and let my tongue do all the talking..."
"Okay, your majesty, whatever you say!" said narrator and left the sound record studio of the whole movie, leaving movie without a narrator. "Don't worry, dear audience, he will return. He always returns..." Austin walked to the shelf and dug in there. "It is my favorite.... King size... Always reliable... Always ready for use... Never betrayed me... My best friend which was with me even at hardest of my adventures..."
FIVE LITRES BOTTLE OF VODKA!
Disappointed voices behind the screen start to chant "Not real!" But the same kind of empty bottle, threwn at them makes them shut up, only few moans, mentioning something called Hippocratic Oath were heard... "That's it, baby... Shut up and let me concentrate - I am to capture Security authority with pervert nickname, which casts a shame on the great surgical instrument, Goldscalpel, who serves the Overlord of Underground Security Organization..." turns his face to the camera "Cmdr. Evil!"
Fade out...
Camera shows us the all-too-familiar interior of the Club "Studio 2369". It was the place where Goldscapel was about to meet Number 999 and Frau Liasonnen to give him the schematics of the deadly instrument, which poses a threat to all the medical services. It is called... 'Red Alert'. Narrator returns to the action. "Rose Isis MacAllen, the covert agent of relative-to-medical Scientific department was on the mission. Somebody tried to steal her PADD with information on the most important thing in the Universe - on Swinx origins research... The primary suspect is officer from an anti-Medical organization, so called Security Department... And his name is... Goldscalpel! She teamed up with Austin to make thos guys feel pain..."
Music turns in and Rosie walks on the posium to sing her song. She is dressed in... Well, dressed in nothing... She starts to sing the song...
"It's him, It's him, It's him, It's him
It's damn' him, baby,It's him, It's him, It's him, It's him
It's damn' him, baby,
His got the pervert style, but it's pervert too much,
Hey Goldscalpel, hey Goldscalpel
He's got a golden balls, He's Less-than a man,
Hey Goldscalpel,
Hey Goldscalpel,
His got the pervert style, but it's pervert too much,
Hey Goldscalpel, Hey Goldscalpel,
Your'e goin' down tonight, Down big time,
Hey Goldscalpel, Goldscalpel, Hey Goldscalpel...
Coz' thats the way uh huh uh huh we do it uh huh uh huh
Golscalpel, Goldscalpel, we'll kill him, just kill him
Coz' Me and Austin uh huh uh huh will make him pay uh huh uh huh
Golscalpel, goldscalpel he loves it he loves it
its him its him its him its him its damn' him, baby
Goldscalpel'll be f**ked! yeah
its him its him its him its him its damn him, baby
its him its him its him its him its damn him, baby
His fate is so bad, yes it is yeah!!!"
Narrator once again spoke in his annoying voice "Only when she hears no ovation, applause or even a single clap, she takes a better look on the audience. Cmdr.Evil's henchmen! Every single one of them! And they didn't really liked this music. God knows what would happen to Rosie if the hero wou..." Shot sound came from behind the screen and a loud 'thud' of falling body accompanied it. From behind the camera exits Malgin and gives a smile, which would more fit to his sworn enemy. He turned to the camera and says "I said shut up, big boy! And speak only when I tell you to do it. Clear?" Looks down after hearing no reply "Excellent. I didn' told you to speak and you didn't. Yer learning quickly, baby!"
"So nice that Austin Malgin decided to join us..." said Goldscalpel, interrupting Malgin's thirade. "I see that you and this little miss decided to try to spoil insidious plans of Underground Security department?"
Austin smiled "How'd ya guess, smarta$$? Deduction method?"
"No, idiot, I heard her song..." Goldscalpel pointed at Rosie who was already handcuffed. Austin shook his head thinking ~Those Scientific guys might be related to Medical but they are stupid no-brainers nonetheless!"
Henchmen promptly made Austin see that their intentions were more than serious. He grinned and said "Guys, you know who am I?" All Security henchmen nodded as one. "Guys, you know hoe many people were booted all the way back to Earth to be buried after my therapy?" All Security henchmen nodded as one again. "You are less than ensigns, you're petty officers and you seriously think that you can beat me not to make ya feel bad? Come on, don't force me to make physicals on you. How about if you all just lay on the floor and pretend that you're knocked out, okay, pussies?"
despite of all injuries, made by Austin behind camera, Narrator spoke again "The threat of Malgin's physical was so horrific, that henchmen thought not to mess with Chief Medical Officer. He is not a boy, whom you can beat as piece of cake - he is the big guy. In about a second they fallen on the floor and I doubt that they lost consciousness on their own will..." Malgin threw a glare in Narrator and he quickly stopped that phrase which stated obvious things.
Now there were only three against BIG one. But these three had a hostage, which was much of a use to BIG one. This was stalemate? Or it wasn't? We will see it in the second episode of Movie.
Narrator once again pops up, speaking in the same annoying voice as before, making big part of TV ausience spit on the floor and yell censored words, "We left Austin Malgin, Intergalatical man of reanimation, in the company of thee bad-very-bad guys, with hostage - Number 999, Frau Liasonnen and Goldscalpel, holding covert agent of dumb-but-relative Scientific department. Was this a stalemate? NO! Austin Malgin has escaped even from much worse situations, when those evil bastards plotted anti-world plans..."
Austin smiled and turned to camera "Shut up or I will do your physicals! Thanks." turns back to Evil guys "My Medijo never fails me! Even in this situation! This place and situation is so MEDIDELIC, baby! YES!"
Even if Austin made narrator shut up, there was a script and by it, Narrator spoke "But bad guys were not that simple as they seemed to be. They promptly took their pistols, bazookas, knives, bows, Anti-Air guns, ICBMs, phasers, lasers, shmasers and other stuff from typical evil people's arsenal from their pockets and aimed all that weapons at Malgin. Austin almost could feel the touch of laser aims.
"Let's stop these games, Mister Malgin," said Number 999, "Lower your hypospray and we will kill you without torturing.
"LOWER HYPOSPRAY!" screamed Frau Liasonnen on top of her infinite lungs. Everyone, including bad and good guys had to shake their heads for a minute to be able to hear again. When Number 999 stopped returning ears to his possession, he kicked Frau into chest. It was his last and final mistake. He made her scream again. Frau Liasonnen was now out of action and Rosie quickly ran behind the scene to at last put something on. Austin threw an evaluating glance at fallen enemies and said "Bed regime for 400 years in top security facility in Sickbay. With me and my glorious servants as guards. THAT is a punishment." Goldscalpel and Number 999 fallen on their knees and prayed for mercy "So what's now? This is simple - we surrender and tell where is Cmdr. Evil. You don't do physicals on us."
"Really? Your pleadings are an example for psychiatry. No and once again no!"
"NO? Then we will say it in another way!..." said Number 999 and started singing a song...
"It's a hard knock life for us
It's a hard knock (yea) life for us
Steada treated we get tricked
Steada Free says we get kicked
Its a hard knock life
I dont know how to be no pass of Medi.
God only knows. Got my hella life in the SecDep see how it goes.
No med's all that I see... you ask me my name? NUM to the Rizzo,
BE to the
Vizzo, R
to the Lizzo, I'm a crazy mother (beep) 999 y'all knew that.
Austin caught me just before th' song that's all backwords,
whats with that?
So I'll make a promise for being one ev'ry med' exam'nation.
Gimme a freedom, Twice in day will Ah be at s'bay. Life ye, mother (beep)
Its a hard knock life (yea) for us
Its a hard knock life for us.
Steada treated we get tricked
Steada kisses we get kicked
It's a hard knock life for us
Its a hard knock life for us
Steada treated we get tricked
Steada Free says we get kicked
Its a hard knock life
I will tell you wher's Evil, knowin' this will fit yer plan.
You hot a hypospray, ACMO too. Yo'll kill Evil.
After then, I'll be on ev'ry (beep) exam'nation, (beep) ev'n grand ones with
the
(beep) medics
Nice it is (beep) thats all!
Zat's what Ah say!"
"That was really cool stuff deserving EMA 2379!" said Narrator, clapping his hands till Malgin once again calmed him down in his unique way. What way it was youcould guess by the sound of falling body. Then Malgin came back and grinned into the camera "Our good old Narrator will be away for some time, while he gets to Medical department and gets a proper treatment there. It will take to the third chapter. But who cares about him? I am the star here!" He turned to Number 999 "Well, baby, do you really think that I will agree?" Number 999 nodded "And you promise to visit sickbay on every single call of physical, shmisical and whatever?" Number 999 nodded "And you mropise to tear apart all ties with Cmdr. Evil?" Number 999 nodded and Vladimir smiled wider than ever "Okay, guy, tell me where is Cmdr. Evil and I will let you go."
"Commander Evil is on his space ship 'Deadly Injury at the stars' at the orbit of Earth. He is preparing the Red Alert and if he gets the schematics, it will be ready in any moment. Golscalpel has the plans..." Number 999 turned to the place where Goldsacalpel stood at... Stood few minutes ago... Then at the place where Frau Liasonnen was lying as a heap of dead meat... Few minutes ago... Then he looked around the 'Studio 2369' seeing that henchmen were away too...
"That's cool... It is the first time I saw trash take itself out..." said Austin in mocking tone "Number 999 is left alone with his emotions, with me and without schematics! You're free to go, but I will see you next monday on the physicals..." Malgin walked away and screen faded out.
-= Austin's pad =-
... "Now, little miss MacCleopatra, tell me how we could find the Commander Evil's spaceship? I doubt that President of USA Mrs. Georgia Bushie will let us use her Cape Canaveral and her shuttle..."
Rosie smiled "My latest researches on the origins of Swinx, which I fortunately found in Goldscalpel's bedroom..." Voices behind the screen say 'phew...', but she continue as if she didn't heard. In fact she didn't, 'cause that sound was added after filming "say that it was built by race of Ancient Syringeuars, who came from somewhere outside Earth. Swinx is control center and Pyramids are in fact spaceship launching pad..."
"MEDIDELIC, baby! Let's do it to it!"
To be continued in third part. Adventures in space, appearances of Cmdr. Evil, Mini-me, Austin's mother-in-law, FBFC and return of Narrator...
Soldiers in gold and black marched, all at the ready. Their bulky Mark 1 Armor, more crude mockeries of Marine battle suits due to imperfect fits and less polish, surrounded the security officer’s bodies like a jet black beetle’s carapace. Security guards, though thought of as ‘less professional’ by their marine counterparts, were nonetheless as heavily armed. Their rifles were slung over their shoulders, as each guard made final preparations on their battle armor. Tricorders, type two phaser pistols and powerpacks were slung on a belt on their waist. On one of the officer’s boots, a combat knife was slid into a holster strapped to the boot’s side.
“How are those final checks on the armor folks? Are we all ready?” Lieutenant Commander Corgan stood up after placing the boot knife to his side.
“We’re ready, sir.” Lieutenant O’Rourke announced over the battle helm’s communications network. James had to shrug. If anything, at least they could talk to each other. The rest had to be based on trust.
“Good. We stand by in the transporter room, and wait for our mission ops officer to arrive.” James ordered, “Then we wait for the green light. Get ready. Anything could happen at this point.”
The security officers entered the transporter room. The mix of excitement, wonder, anxiousness and worry crackled in the air like static shocks. Corgan had to keep reminding himself that he was the commanding officer, and as such he couldn’t allow himself to be swept up by the euphoria of anticipation.
But he couldn’t help himself. The renewed vigor came in like a refreshing breeze. James was fighting trim, his reflexes free of rust and neglect. His wits were back and as sharp as ever, like nothing had even happened. It was as if he was young again. No, younger still. Academy young. Other than this moment, he never felt so confident about himself and his mission.
He was going to do it. So confident in himself that he couldn’t possibly imagine a way that could lead to failure.
Not by his fault, at least. ~”Where is that damn mission ops officer?”~ He grumbled. James was anxious to receive the mission data and be given the green light to leave.
~”You’re getting impatient in your old age.”~ Conscience thought.
“Yeah… I’m near the default age, and today I feel exceptionally young.” James smirked at the impending doom of turning 29 soon.
~”Well… don’t let it go to your head, ‘cause it’s gonna crash.”~ Mocked his conscience.
~”Oh yeah? What could possibly do that?”~ James challenged himself.
~“Turn your head ninety degrees.”~
~”And I’m looking for…”~ James turned his head, and let his current thoughts slide down into the wayside like a kid so enraptured that he didn’t notice the ice cream falling from his cone. He was stunned that somehow, something omnipotent heard him and decided to bring down his boast and his good mood in one crippling knock down blow.
A lithe woman in red and black (the uniform of a mission ops officer) checked the electronic instruments on the arm of her mark 1 battlesuit. Her face, partially obscured by the battle armor’s helmet, was as vacant as the stars to any outside phenomena, but completely engrossed with focusing on her chosen task. Lights and displays showed up on her visor, and from James point of view it was as if he was seeing a transparent view from the other side of an LCARS screen. Surreal, but even more so when he saw the source of his agitation, and quite possibly his animosity.
~”Me and my big mouth. I have something resembling confidence, and someone like Brhode or Reece shows up.”~ James mused.
James’ security detail was a background note, or a background noise, as Reece arrived after checking her equipment. She was at the ready, like James, but her emotions were either well masked or devoid. Her presence was a grave like chill as her space vacuum eyes bored a hole through Corgan’s head.
“I was…. sent… by… Captain Brhode… to assist you.” She simply said, allowing no joy, anticipation, or agitation in the prospect of working together.
~”Why am I not surprised that Brhode has a hand in all this?”~ Corgan mused again, without amusement of the irony brought on by the whole mission. It wasn’t as if he thought he couldn’t work with Lexa. In fact, James was confident that they would work exceptionally well. But what was Lexa’s views on the forced arrangement, and how was that going to affect their work? Then James thought of the pretentiousness of assuming he would not be somehow affected by Lexa’s presence. After all, they did used to date, and he never worked with anyone he dated before.
“Well… ummmmm…” James nervously tried to express a simple sentence, but found it difficult in the light of his ex-girlfriend’s presence, “Uhhhh… thank you for your assistance. We are currently on standby, awaiting orders. Any word on the mission yet?”
Lexa was slow to answer. Then again, her voice was slow to eloquent anything. “We have… schematics of the ship. USS Defiant… NCC… 1764. Constitution Class.”
Nobody in the transporter room blinked. In fact, nobody even spoke for a few moments.
James broke the silence, “Did you say Defiant?” He asked, “And did you add Constitution Class and an old ship registry to it?”
Lexa spoke with some impatience, “Yes.”
“As in… the ship…. what the f**k? That ship’s been gone for years!” James threw his arms up in the air and gasped, “This won’t be a rescue operation, it’ll be a corpse retrieval! Of all the bloody…”
“You have to think beyond regular space and time.” Reece chastised, “The USS Defiant was… trapped… in a layer of interspace. Rumor was… the ship disappeared… forever.”
“So now we’re looking at a ghost of starship’s past.” James flatly looked skeptical.
“More precisely.” Lexa tried to explain, “We don’t know… what happened to the Defiant. Spacial and time properties… of interspace… is unknown. The Defiant… could have aged thousands of years. Or maybe… not at all. We don’t know.”
James had to think carefully, and for a moment his brain had to wrap around the idea of a ship from the past coming to life. There were many possibilities, all not very clear, as to why the ship was trapped, and how. For some reason, the Defiant’s incident was foggy in James’ mind (lost somewhere between the record of the USS Saint Louis incident and the battle between the USS Endeavor and the Zak’nafain). Though Lexa’s answer about interspace did help, it still seemed impossible for an ancient ship to come literally… out of nowhere to harass a crew at a certain time.
“No offence, but this is just strange.” James came to that conclusion.
“Strange or not…” Lexa replied, “We have… a job to do. We must do it. Orders are… if we encounter… officers… treat them with the utmost… respect.”
“Agreed.” James answered, though wondering what good it would do when the officers on the Defiant realized how displaced in time they really were, “Do you have the layout of our search area?”
“It is available. I have… downloaded search areas and schematics… on your tricorders.”
“Then we’re all packed?”
“Yes.”
“Everything’s ready?”
“Yes.”
“Right then.”
“Right.”
A momentary pause, the Lexa said abruptly, in a string of rapid firing words, “I would like to talk to you about the mission in private.”
“My sentiments exactly.” James instantly agreed, then turned to his crew, “Alright boys and girls, study the Defiant’s schematics. It’s an old school Constitution Mark II*. She’ll be as textbook as the original Enterprise… which I assume you all have seen in some way, shape or form. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Lexa led James out to the hallway, and as they left, James finished his sentence, “I have some issues about the mission to discuss.”
(*Mark II Constitution, according to FASA’s Starship Tactical Combat Simulator. First Constitution variant to possess Photon Torpedoes and Phasers.)
As they exited the transporter room and entered the hall way, the discussion began with Lexa opening the argument. “Brhode is worried about you… and me.”
“You think I don’t know that?” James sighed, exasperated, “It seems that everyone’s been worried about me as of late. I’m not surprised someone mentioned it sooner. By they way, you’re not the first. Lt. Krieghoff had to snap me back into reality, so he beat you to it.”
Lexa’s face twisted into something that looked like hurt (though with her placid features, it was hard to tell), “You think… I was sent here… to…”
“Brhode’s playing with us.” James said matter-of-factly, “Plain and simple.”
Lexa lashed back like a snake, “James! I mean… Commander… Brhode doesn’t ‘toy’ with us. He is… concerned.” Her voice was more shaky than before, “He thinks… we can’t work together…”
“I know.” Lieutenant Commander Corgan argued, “Then why is he forcing us together?”
“I don’t know… I don’t know!” She screamed at the futility of it all, “I just don’t know! I didn’t want this! Not you, not after… all… that you did.”
”And what did I do?” James challenged.
“You… lied to me! Cheated on me! Who knows what else?!?”
“How about… none of the above?”
“How do I know that is not a lie?”
“You just do!” James forcefully spoke while keeping the noise level down, sounding more like a straining machine that could barely control the steam pressure inside. He had to stop himself from balling his fists and seething in anger. Despite his feelings, Lexa was right. James didn’t know how he was going to get her to trust him again.
He also realized that they went off on a tangent. “Lexa… Commander… whatever you prefer.” James shrugged while staying calm, “All I can say is that I’ve told you the truth. I can’t force you to believe me, but I can have faith that you’ll at least consider the possibility.”
Lexa’s hardened, ashen face warmed up as he continued, “Look, personal problems aside, we work well together. Take the personal problems out, and we’ll be fine. Far as I know, Brhode’s trying to break me. Or you… or both of us. Or maybe he wants to find out if we’ll be able to work together. Either way, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of watching me lose… just like what happened out here.”
James extended his hand out and smiled, “Partners?”
Lexa looked at his hand hesitantly, then stared away, and then back to his hand. Her arm extended out for the handshake, but then held back.
“We are partners… that’s it.” Lexa coldly stated.
James drew his hands back and took the neutralist’s stance, shrugging and speaking in a relaxed tone, “Fine. Let’s do the mission and leave it at that.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” Corgan added with a sly smile, “Now lets prove some naysayers wrong.”
Rebecca glanced around the crowded transporter room at the assembled crewmen around her, and nervously puffed a lock of red hair back off her face. It wasn’t standard Starfleet practice to include so many members on an initial away team evaluation, but if what the boys and girls down in astrophysics were saying was true, then this may be a one shot deal.
The odd energy draining effects of the Interphasic region of space was already playing havoc with many of Galaxy’s systems, and given the historical record of its detrimental effect on transporter technology, it was best to send everyone need over in one fell swoop.
Tactically it wasn’t pleasing to the marines, but they fortunately didn’t get a vote. This was supposed to be a rescue mission, and a diverse staff of experts was needed.
Chewing on her lower lip, Rebecca also considered how this could also potentially be a diplomatic mission of sorts as well. Whomever had set off the Defiants’s distress signal was more than likely a descendant of some of the original Starfleet crewmembers trapped in interphase more than 100 years ago. It was a sure bet that being confined to their tiny universe of the ship’s hull for their entire lives was sure to present an interesting culture shock situation. Rebecca was glad there was some counselors on hand to handle that aspect, although any real negotiation was going to be technically her responsibility.
Not for the first time she wondered how she had gotten wheedled into this duty. In the original scheme, one of the Lt. Commanders, James Corgan most likely, was going to be given charge of the away mission. Someone had then postulated the theory of ‘what happens if we run into some 130 year old Starfleet crewmember?’ It was laughed about at first, but then they considered. Technically, any surving crewmember they encountered would be still TECHNICALLY on active duty, and thereby within the chain of command.
If James had run into a Defiant Lt. Commander, with say 100 years on the seniority chart, the odd circumstance of the away team leader being ‘out-ranked’ by a centenarian would result.
The solution of course was to send a full Commander, such as Rebecca along. According to Kirk’s original report, it was positively confirmed that both the Captain, and First Officer of the Defiant were dead, having choked each other to death. Theoretically therefore Rebecca would outrank anybody else that survived.
Idly she wondered about how to give orders to a 100 year old Ensign.
“Ma’am, we’re ready now.”
The soft spoken voice of the Transporter chief drew Rebecca out from her thoughts and with an acknowledging nod she stepped up on to the large transport pad. They were using the larger Marine pads belowdeck which were capable of sending Rebecca’s entire 20-man away team in one fell swoop.
Members of every department were present, each clad in their own specially designed Atmospheric Environmental suit. Again Rebecca hoped the suits were only an unnecessary precaution. Hopefully in 100 years the survivors would have figured out how to get the air going.
“Energize when ready Chief.” She ordered, wrinkling her itchy nose.
Reality faded . . . . .
. . . . . and the universe returned in the form of a great open shuttle bay dimly lit by flickering lighting elements. As the blue glow of the transporter effect faded from the polished duranium walls, Rebecca was able to note the great ship’s seal of the USS Defiant painted in vivid colors across the deck.
They were really here.
The shuttle bay had been chosen for two reasons. First and formost, it was one of the largest open spaces aboard the Defiant, providing for an ideal landing spot for the oversized Away Team, and secondly, because it was previously totally unexplored by Kirk’s mission 100 year ago.
Rebecca wanted to cover the unknown before rehashing what was already a matter of record.
“Lights are still on.” She heard someone remark over her helmet speaker.
One of the engineers replied in a crackle of static. “Even after 100 years that shouldn’t be a surprise. On lower consumption regimens, an old intermix drive can provide power almost indefinitely.”
“Still. . . . .seems odd.” The original speaker remarked, and Rebecca silently agreed.
Nobody was present in the shuttlebay, an area Rebecca had half hoped survivors would have set up for industrious use. In fact no sign of anything being disturbed was evident either. Toolkits were neatly stowed against the walls, Fuel cells sacked in neat little rows, and exposed surfaces clean and free of grime.
Topping it all off were two ancient Federation shuttlecraft sitting quietly in the middle of the bay. Though the technology belonged in a museum, the shuttles seemed almost brand new, their boxy hulls polished and unharmed.
“Shuttles Lawrence, and Dern.” Someone read off the nameplates, “I wonder who they were?”
Clearing her throat, Rebecca keyed the Comm switch at the chin of her helmet. “Okay nobody here. Everyone split up into your predesignated search teams and spread out. Engineers see what we can do about salvaging this vessel, and everybody else search for the survivors. Keep the diplomatic and culture shock briefing in mind.”
Nobody asked any questions, so Rebecca nodded. “Lets so it.”
“Lights are still on.” One of the team said.
Ella barely paid attention. Before her were two of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. The shuttlecraft were in pristine condition and it was enough to make a girl want to weep. Trust an engineer to get sentimental over an old ship and her components, Ella thought. Her fingers just itched to go over and tinker with them. She was just waiting until the commander uttered that wonderful word that all engineering enthusiasts adored.
Salavage.
She felt like a little kid squirming in their parents grasp as they waited in line at the amusement park or toy store or something, waiting for the permission to run free and play.
Anyway, the lights being on wasn't that abnormal.
“Even after 100 years that shouldn’t be a surprise. On lower consumption regimens, an old intermix drive can provide power almost indefinitely.” One of her engineers remarked. Kudos to him, Ella thought impatiently.
She was glad the other engineer had said something though. It saved her the effort of having to type on her computer PADD, which was difficult in these environmental suits with their big fat-fingered gloves. Ella had brought an old fashioned pad of paper and pen, just in case, and even a whistle, though it could only be used if there was air to breathe.
Someone replied about the lights being creepy or something. Ella ignored them and focused on the names of shuttles. Lawrence and Dern?
“Shuttles Lawrence, and Dern.” Another person read outloud with her. “I wonder who they were?”
She really didn't care. Ella glanced over at the commander, willing her to say the word. She tried to stop her foot from tapping.
“Okay nobody here." Commander Von Ernst began talking " Everyone split up into your predesignated search teams and spread out. Engineers see what we can do about salvaging this vessel...
The magic word said, Ella grinned happily and left in the direction of main engineering.
He felt tight. The muscles in his upper torso were sinewy, taut with the strain of upholding the level of being he had attained in his journey to explore the region of being he had so recently ventured into with the advent of his newfound enlightenment.
Seated in quiet meditation on a patch of grass atop a craggy knoll, the breeze fluttered about the Kelvan's ear as he held his arms upwards in open motion, palms up, unmoving for hours. The roar of rushing water, far in the distance, drifted to his sensory organs. The cascading water could not be seen over the landscape of flourishing catskills and tall reeds of wheat, but it was there, just as real and distant as the hurdle he now faced within him. A brink which he teetered over but could not quite see, where he would rise to the next tier and become one with his true self.
He fought his genetic codes that had so entwined themselves to the DNA of this human form that he'd taken on, using his accumulated strength he'd recently acquired to grasp his original sequencing to strive for dominance over the invading human cells.
As in physical environments he faced in everyday life on the Galaxy, so he endured within his own body. The desire to dominate by the Terrans was everywhere.
The afternoon sun bore down on him through the parted clouds. A storm was brewing, reflecting his current state. The human emotions that he'd co-habitated with since his arrival in the quadrant gave him the desire to rush forth in victory, but it came with a price. The lack of cohesiveness and logic the Kelvans had perfected over the centuries was torn down in a frenzy with the irrationale of the human spirit.
This threw up a blockade in his search for tranquility and purity of thought. And so, he now concentrated on dominating the cells within him, to rid this shell of human body of it's imperfect genetic structure and give him the power to return to his own form. He did not much like being at the mercy of humanity.
They thought by 'saving' his species, offering them a new home, in a new form, that the Kelvan's owed them for it. They kept up the charade as their numbers were low. Used the resources offered to them by this Federation, and insinuated themselves into every corner of the sphere of influence to defeat this so-called peaceful alliance from within. No more so than the fiasco at lanjep was the need for Kelvan leadership so obvious.
His species was a conquering race. They bowed to no one. This co-habitation with other species of inferiority rove the Kelvans into a hidden frenzy. To the worlds, they maintained their cover of superiority and efficient processes, but behind closed doors they suffered. Sharing human emotions brought this upon them and they would not be defeated it!
So the internal project had begun.
Rain began to patter down upon his head, and the howl of the increasing wind flowed over the hills and down the canyons, chasing those that stood up to it, and conquering everything in its path, save the sequoias lining the valleys in the dales.
The gales acknowledged the show of strength brought out by the looming trunks, their will unbending, by flowing up and around them.
Kylar desired to be this great unbending will and spirit. He will stand in the face of adversity and maintain control.
A storm raged all about him, and he did not notice. He was pelted at by marble-sized hail, slammed by gale force winds, and drenched by a wall of water. He rose upon his haunches in the onslaught he compared to humanity and maintained his balance, teetering ever so slightly. His blood churned within him, excitement at his impending victory, as he lifted himself up to his full height and moved his arms for the first time in what felt like hours in a gentle motion of movement. His body contoured itself into a variety of positions. Tai-Chi it was called. Adversity versus determination and patience.
The storm churned around him, thunder rolling across the countryside, chill breezes wrapping themselves around and over him as he drove his thoughts forward in a desperate search for his inner being.
The Nor'Wester calmed around him, bringing him to the forefront of his being. His last movement, bringing the palms out and forward in a stopping motion, met the last drop of rain, it's companion thunderous applause fading in the distance.
He opened his eyes. He was close, so very close to attaining his connection to the past. This did not bother him, as he would be there soon enough.
He reached into his trousers pocket and removed a vial. Popping it open, he slipped out two capsules and downed them.
With the dew formulating on the ridges of the reeds, the Kelvan spoke his one word spoken out loud.
"Exit." A bulkhead shimmered into view slightly to his left. He hopped a spry step over a broken rockface as he stepped into the concave dip in the hillside he'd occupied throughout the storm. The harsh, dull grey doors parted and he departed the now-quieted meadow to enter the real world, all the stronger.
****
An hour later, he found himself on the Bridge staring out at the viewscreen as the haunting image of a Constitution Class vessel from ages past hung outside, listing slightly to starboard. It was a scene right out of the history books. curran had studied the third five-year tour of the Enterprise since it was Kirk that had brought the Kelvans to this embarrassing juncture in their existence.
It was part of their history training in preparation for insertion into the worlds of humanity. Study the mistakes of Rojan and Kalinda as it came to the wile of the terran species, and especially Kirk.
Now, one of the log entries was out there, and he had an opportunity to observe this generation of humans in their response. Away Teams had been prepared and sent to the ship. He'd elected to stay behind as just past the drifting vessel was the Tholian Holdfast and disputed territory. If the Tholians had observed the entrance of this vessel on their sensors - which they most likely have - they will likely be dropping by with unknown reactions. They had been reportedly disillusioned by lanjep and severed ties with the Federation without warning.
Curran strolled the upper ring behind Brhode. The grizzled Terran ignored him as per usual, which suited the Kelvan fine for the moment. He stopped behind the Science station, where Lt. Commander T'Pring was stationed. She was analyzing the fragile distortions of the sector when it came to the interspace effects. Which reminded him to head to Sickbay after the Away Teams returned for his vaccination.
He did not care for Science, and moved onto the next station. Tactical. The plethora of weappons available at a single touch gripped his interest. Tactical displays, strategic scenarios played out consistently on key mapping monitors. Lt. Commander Black's Andorian wife had taken up position here in his place while he had been assigned to the Away Team.
Then... a blip on the long-range sensors.
"Captain!" The Andorian pushed the Liaison Officer aside as she immediately played up identification control signals on the ID markings of the object that had suddenly appeared.
"What is it, Black?" Brhode growled as he stopped scratching his scruffied chin. He hadn't slept in some time obviously. This event is what Captain's of starships lived for. The unknown. Voyages in space were mostly boredom. Only about 10% of the time did anything of interest to a Captain occur, unless it was something they had a personal interest in. Picard enjoyed his travels for the sole reason that he was a historian and archaeologist, as well as science-oriented. He enjoyed staring at purple clouds and crumbled buildings, unlike Brhode. This should certainly intrigue him.
"Incoming object at mark 265.43. Obtaining identification markers momentarily." Her fingeres played out over the console, narrowing the field as signal markers began arriving. Various ships schematics flew across the inlaid image.
"Tholians." Curran whispered it under his breath.
"What was that, Legate? Speak up or shut up!" Brhode stomped up the ring and over, the other officers and crew on the bridge immediately enacting defensive and security protocols on incoming unidentified vessels.
"Tholians, Captain. They must have detected us on their long-range sensors and sent a scouting party out to 'greet' us."
"What have you got, Black?" Brhode stopped between the Kelvan and the Andorian. The visuals slowed down and halted, matching the ID tag sent out by the object.
"I concur. Tholian long-range cruiser-type. Unknown class. Little data on it in our database." The schematics flipped, delivering proposed key strategy data on the ship.
Brhode dropped a single eye to Curran, watching him suspiciously.
"Analysis, Legate? Why are they here? Not to join the party, I take it?" He flipped his ogled stare back to Sendi. "Time to intercept?"
"Four minutes sir." Brhode pulled himself to his full height.
"You've got one minute to give me something Legate... HAWKSLEY! Get up here!"
"Do not being Counsellor Dallas to the bridge. Keep her out of sight of the Tholians. They are here to demand we leave, and will enforce it any way they can. lanjep was an emabarrassment to them, and they deem the Federation weak. They had severed ties with it since, and this is our first contact since then."
The Centaurian arrived, the turbolift doors opening to admit the Executive Officer on board the ship.
"Aye sir?" His eyes caught the viewscreen to see the Tholian ship come into visual range as Brhode barked a magnification order.
"Analysis of that! NOW! We have... " He spotted the intercept timer. Two minutes, 46 seconds. "Two minutes until we get an uninvited visitor to our little reunion here!"
Two minutes 34 seconds and counting.....
* * * * * * * * *
Samantha Widdlestein (aged 10) twisted and fidgeted, her PADD cutched in her hand tightly. She sighed a LARGE 'put upon' sigh and craned her neck to try and hear that the marine guards were talking about. It was more fun than listening to the Engineers gush over some old junk behind her.
Just her Luck... she weaseled and lied her way into letting her dummy teeachers actually PUT her on an Away Team, and her Darling Lysander simply trades places with that RED HAIRED girl and now Sam's stuck staring at some dumb old shuttlebay and some ratty old looking junk. And He's on the ship. Typical.
"But damn... sit around and watch the Nerps futtz? Didja see them wearing their bayonets on their SHOES? Dummies. It ain't fair East." the Marine she nicknamed 'Jitters' drawled, continuing the bitch session he'd been having under his breath since they left Galaxy.
"Shaddup Dahlquist! You want the major to hear you? At least we get to break out the armament. Maybe shoot us some-thing. . ." the Marine Sam had nicknamed "Joe-Ammo" replied, running loving hands over the stock of his Assault Weapon.
"Nothing to shoot, but some old stuff. I'd rather be aboard and playing a training simulator game. Hows about that Commander VonErnst? Whadda momma! Redheads! SO damn sexy!" Jitters answered.
"What about her?" the voice grated over their comm links, sounding like the whisper of some large predator gliding in the dark waters of a nameless sea. Even Sam wheeled around in her EVA suit, looking for the source, shivering at the noise.
The effect on both marines was electric. They stiffened in their jet-black Combat Armor rigs and looked over to where a VERY large shadow squatted under the nose of a shuttlecraft. The shadow had not been there moments before. It spoke again, magnified in their helmets
"She looks like a little girl. Point is clear. Cover that only entrance like you're supposed to." Log ordered.
The Marines activated the Stealth mode of their armour, and a complex chemical reaction under the 'skin' or their armour rigs mimicked the deckplates and bulkheads of the USS Defiant. In effect they disappeared from normal vision, and the mini-computers built in the rigs took care of most close-by passive scanning coverage. It would take more than a tricorder to find them now. The effect was marred by the assault weapons, seemingly hanging in empty space. It was like the Marines had simply faded from view or scan.
Sam sidled closer to the form of Major Log. There was no way she trusted the Engineers to have chosen the safest spot if something needed to be shot at. Arel Smith had never trusted engineers.
"Can I do my interview NOW?" she demanded petuantly.
The Marine's black visored helmet regarded her with a blank stare that told of extreme repressed annoyance. It was the tenth time she'd asked since they'd left the Transporter room, and the twelfth time since Log had found our of her addition.
"Fine. I'll take that as a 'yes.' Kit-Kate Jordan says that if you don't ask questions when their guards are down then you're no reportor. And I want to be a reporter when I grow up. That or President of the Federation. Maybe both." Sam plowed on.
"Remind me again, why this kid is here?" interrupted Lt. Sousa in a black and Yellow Engineer's EVA suit, on Log's other side.
"Extra credit." Sam replied, with a glare to tell
the Engineer that he was
ANNOYING her.
The Engineer rolled his eyes. "Can I PLEASE get my salvage crew working in here? Commander K'Etlaynna is dancnig like a fiend to get her hands on some musuem exhibts outta here. You guys secure yet?" he demanded of the Marine.
"Yep. And Yep." was Log's reply, watching the shadows of his concealed MArnies sweep to the doorway he'd recconnoitered earlier himself.
"Fine" the Engineer sulked, waving to one of his crew.
"So where ARE the crew of this ship? Any yukky bodies or blood sprayed cabins?" Sam demanded, waving her PADD under Log's faceplate.
"Nope." Log replied.
"Insane survivors who've existed on the flesh of their fellow crew and scrawled incomprehensible messages to us who follow?"
"Nope."
"Generations of mole-people who've never been off this ship?"
"Nope."
"Just a lot of old boring stuff laying arund?"
"Yep."
"Well, THAT sucks."
[grunt]
"Two hundred years old stuff kid. They don't make stuff like this... can't you imagine Admiral Kirk standing here and..." the Engineer told her.
"Nope." Sam began, hoping to get a response from the Indian.
He grunted again. The Engineer looked sheepish.
"Lots can happen in that time." the Engineer informed her.
"Great. Don't you have something to salvage?" Sam snapped at him, making a mental note to arrange SOMETHING to happen to him during his next duty shift. This guy annoyed her.
She was surprised to note the HUGE Indian Major chuckle, as the Engineer retreated to the knot of his people, visibly drooling over the antique shuttlecrafts.
"So are you mad the security people accompany the one group, and you guard the other?" she asked.
"Nope."
"Just your job, right?"
"Yep."
"Gotta do a job, right?"
"Yep."
"Security as good as your Marines?"
[grunt]
"Was that a 'yep?"
[grunt]
"a nope?"
[grunt]
"Okkkaaayyy...This is gonna be the shortest interview ever...Do you trust this Commander Von Enrst?"
[grunt]
"Elaborate on that? Can she run an Away team? As well as you can? Better? Worse?"
"Nope."
"'Nope' to which part?"
"The 'elaborate on this' part."
"Okkkaaayyy. You like working with Commander Corgan?"
"Nope."
"Really? why?"
[grunt]
"Like Captain Bhrode?"
"Yep."
"You know Commander Hawksley?"
"Yep."
"Like working with him?"
[grunt]
"You think he's cute?"
"Nope."
"I do."
[grunt]
"You ever say anything but yep and nope?" she asked the MArine.
"Nope. I can grunt some though." he replied.
"Somehow I thought you were gonna say that." she muttered.
"HEY KID! Get over here and help us open this shuttle! It's a MArk I-k with the Ryerson compression package on the data busses and a Modified Mark Six Hemi on the ..." the Engineer called out.
The MArine she'd nicknamed 'Jitters' guffawed from the door.
"You fool, it's a Mark Five Hemi pump on the plasma manifold! Everyone knows THAT!" Jitters cackled his scorn.
"Tech Geek. . .I hate geeks." Sousa replied.
"When the buffalo squaws clump, the mountain lion does not scream before leaping. A wise Buffalo Soldier does not clump, but sharpens his horns. " Log suddenly said to Sam.
"What? What does THAT mean? You sound like your brother!" Sam replied, hands on her EVA suited hips.
"Stick close to the Engineers. And I have no brother. Anymore." Log growled, as his Stealth mode engaged and he disappeared into the depths of black shadows in the shuttle's nose cone.
Sam stuck her tongue out at the shadow anyways. "Can I quote you on that?" she demanded.
"yep." was the whispered reply.
Bhrode stared at the ship laying in space.
It was like a personal affront to him. Holding secrets from HIM! Mrs Bhrode's Baby Boy!
He scowled and looked over the myraid firing plans that Black's wife was pouring into the Tactical datatbase. Typically.. she was relying on Admiral Hanson's and Demarcieu's old fashioned tactics. Bhrode LIKED the new stuff old Jurgen Hoth was coming up with. Von Enrst and Hawksley may be headcases normally, but they sure made an old warrior's heart sing when they applied their prodigious talents to warfare and destruction.
"Black! Firing Plan Gamma Twenty-Variant Seventeen has an error in torpedo Load Rail assignments! The last I looked we don't HAVE a Load Rail 44!" Bhrode snapped.
"My finger must have stuttered on the keys.. I apologize sir...it shold read Load Rail 4. . ." the slim Andorian murmered.
"Less apologies and more shooting! Recalculate it." Bhrode ordered.
"Mister Reece!" Bhrode snapped out at the slim female at the OPS board.
"Yes Captain?" she replied in her oddly stilted voice.
"Let Geluf take your spot. I want you on that tub. Join Commander Corgan... and send Hawksley up here. I want Von Ernst on the Away Team."
"Aye sur." the tall brunette murmered, halfway to the Turblift as Curtis slid into her seat already.
"The rest of you, look at OPS. Damn smooth department. Take notes." Bhrode ordered.
Hawksley appeared ten minutes later.
"Away Teams are..." he began, still wearing the Red and Black EVA suit with the helmet detached.
"Under Commander Von Ernst's command. YOU I want up here. Something is fishy. . .' Bhrode mused, studying the older sister ship.
"I think that it's something the other Lieutenant Black left near the Tactical Arch. . . a smeggin' sand-wej or something. . ." Lys nattered, lounging in his usual seat.
"Number Two, shut up." Bhrode ordered, his eyes on the Wngineering Monitors built into his command chair.
The Kelvan appeared and began sauntering the Upper ring. Lys eyed Bhrode from the corner of his eye. Beyond a disgusted snort, Bhrode ignored the Liasion Officer.
Which suited Lys. Bhrode was bad enough tempered for Lys' tastes normally. Add sleeplessness AND the Kelvan, and the mix was like Triterium hockey pucks on Narcassia.
"Captain!" The Andorian suddenly barked. Bhode whirled in his seat to face the Tac Officer, even Lys stopped swinging his leg over the seats' arm and sstraightened up, eyes on his repeater displays.
"What is it, Black?" Bhrode asked.
"Incoming object at mark 265.43. Obtaining identification markers momentarily." Her fingeres played out over the console, narrowing the field as signal markers began arriving. Various ships schematics flew across the inlaid image.
"Mmmmnnpppthummhbbt." Curran whispered under his breath.
"What was that, Legate? Speak up or shut up!" Brhode demanded, stopming up the slope of the ring to the Tactical Arch.
"Tholians, Captain. They must have detected us on their long-range sensors and sent a scouting party out to 'greet' us." The kelvan replied, his face impassive and cool.
"What have you got, Mister Black? Tholians my ass. . .we kicked their asses before and they know better than to mess with me!" Brhode stopped between the Kelvan and the Andorian. The visuals slowed down and halted, matching the ID tag sent out by the object.
"I concur with the Legate. Tholian long-range cruiser-type vessel, matched to 95.673% accuracy. Unknown class and abilities, there is little data on it in our database. However, it seems identical to the ships encountered by USS Enterprise close to this spot." The schematics flipped, delivering proposed key strategy data on the ship.
Brhode dropped a single eye to Curran, watching him suspiciously.
"Analysis, Legate? Why are they here? Not to join the party, I take it?"He flipped his ogled stare back to Sendi. "Time to intercept our current mooring?"
"Four minutes sir." Brhode pulled himself to his full height.
"You've got one minute to give me something Legate, since you're SUCH the little expert... HAWKSLEY! Get up here!" Bhrode roared.
Still in his EVA suit, Lys scurried up the slope.
"Do not being Counsellor Dallas to the bridge. Keep her out of sight of the Tholians. They are here to demand we leave, and will enforce it any way they can. lanjep was an emabarrassment to them, and they deem the Federation weak. They had severed ties with it since, and this is our first contact since last year." The Legate offered.
"They are rocks. I'll blow them to pebbles. Sand. I'll pulverise them and put the dust in a litter box for a pet Targ." Bhrode grunted.
"Aye sir?" Lys nattered.
"Analysis of that ship and form a Battle Plan! NOW! We have... " He spotted the intercept timer. Two minutes, 46 seconds. "Two minutes until we get an uninvited visitor to our little reunion here!"
Lys began whistling under his breath as he took a small portion of the TActical Arch for his own LCARS displays.
"Tholian Cruiser type ship.... masses less than one/quarter our total weight by volume... weapons unknown but called a 'Web' of some energy latticework... can be deployed as a free-standing line and interlaced with the webs of other ships to make a barrier, or cast as a 'webfist..." Lys began nattering.
"More contacts on sensors. Three, four... five Tholian Cruiser types....six.. They are holding positions at the extreme edges of our sensor envelope... if we were a Constitution, we'd never register them." The Andorian Black reported.
"And.... there they go..." Lys commented, as the Tholian ships began an elaborate long-distance dance, around the asteroid one had towed at teh end of thier 'web' leash woven around it. Using the asteroid as a base, they clearly were about to weave a net to gather both Federation ships into.
"Webs. They're webbing us in. Just like they did to Kirk." Bhrode murmered. "OPS! Alert the Away Team that they are now going to Red Alert! Away Teams are to secure that Ship! Hold Galaxy's position and sound Red Alert!" Bhrode ordered.
OOC: This happens before the red alert
"Now medical has asked me to stay away from the more dangerous
critters in the botanical gardens, untill my last adventure with the Naussican
Fang
beast heals up properly."
They were again in the botanical gardens of the USS Galaxy, this time with something a little less, dangerous looking, a Tamarian Jibrit.
"What we have here is the Tamarian Jibret, a rare and gentle creature who enjoys a vegitarian diet and direct sunlight. Now what we're going to do is take a look at the little critter...."
However one of his colleagues had put in the wrong name, this wasn't the rare peaceful and cuddly Tamarian Jibrit, but was instead the vicious blood thirsty Talarian Jigrit. And this one didn't like to be touched... especially... there..
Steve however was enthusiastic and had no clue about the mix up. "Crikey, it's a big un here, now what we are going to do is, check the sex of the creature then plant a subdermal tracking device....."
When Steve lifted it's tail the creature opened both of it's eyes....
"Ahh crikey... it's got me spleen!"
OOC: this is wholly and completely unauthorized
The intelligance shed was hopping as the reports of the Tholian vessel that was approaching, and Bhrodie's demand to find a firing solution, or at least a way to destroy the ship.
Wonderful, they were about to take on the THolians, because John Bhrodie had to fire his phallic symbols. To compensate for a small penis, the crew of this ship, and most importantly himself, Saladin Bolivar out of Boudica by Charlimagne would be condemned to a sudden and final ending of his life by Bhrodie's decision to attack the Tholians.
Unacceptable, he would have to speak to captian Bhrodie at his first available oppertunity.
As he began to draft an emergency report to the captian he smelled something, the foul scent of "Aqua Velva" mixed with a strongly pungent hair gel.
"Mr Streely, you are not allowed in this office." Bolivar spoke up seeing the pudgy high strung self titled deputy of security was in his office.
"Woah hey hey mein furher..." Leo began, "I'm just here in my official capacity as a deputy..... urrrk." Was teh last sound he got out as Leo Streely was yanked off his feet and dragged to within 5 inches of Major Bolivar.
"Mr Streely, look at me sir." Leo's eyes locked with those of what could be mistaken for a predator, a snake eyeing a rather tasty rat that was trapped and just waiting, or a wolf watching a sick deer fall back from the herd.
"This is assault.... hey hey, PUT ME..."
Bolivar waited and watched him, "Mr Streely are you familiar with the auto da fe?" He queried.
"Isn't that where you get two chicks at the same time?"
"No that is not the correct answer." Leo looked away, Bolivar spoke forcefully, " Look at me Mr Streely, the auto da fe, was the public execution of heretics in the 15th century during the Spanish Inquisition. You are familiar of how they were executed right?"
Leo shook his head so hard his jowels wobbled.
"Well if they begged for mercy and kissed the cross they were strangled by the garrotte, but if they refused they would be burned alive at the stake with wet green wood so it would take longer...."
"Now hey hey hey you can't do that....." Leo looked around for an exit for help, but the Starflet crew was watching with sudden interest and amusement.
"Mr Streely look at me when I am speaking to you sir...." Waiting patiently he moved towards teh door, "LEave this office and do not return. Am I clear."
"Y-yes.."
"Excellent. Now I am off to see the captain, have a nice day... and may I recommend, less aftershave, that is a very repulsive odor."
****
Awash in a sea of bright blue, the people of transporter room six were no more. Scrambled into nothing more than transmitted signals, they were beamed through the unknown, and into another location. Like being displaced molecule by molecule and relocated by the electronic equivalent of a U-Haul van.
A second later, back to where they started, as corporeal beings made of flesh, bone, carbon, water, and other biological bric-a-brac. Only this time, they were somewhere else.
The new location was like something straight from the history books, only this time it was reality. The hallways were squared and boxlike, lacking the organic curves and bulges the crewmen were accustomed to on more modern ship designs. There were no lines or creases in the hallway's flawless walls, but a smooth gray surface with the occasional access panel, communications speaker, and storage box filled with emergency supplies. In some areas, the gray was highlighted and accented with red, black or yellow borderlines. From side to side, red painted doors were bordered by thick, blocklike archways, labeled in numbers for departments and quarters addresses.
"Tari K'hala...." Ensign So'ka gasped immediately after the blue haze of transport disappeared, "This is amazing."
(*Note, guess the videogame reference here)
James looked around the Defiant's interior in awe. He couldn't fathom how rare a privilege it was for an officer to visit an old starship, much less a legendary member of the Constitution class. The hallways were everything that James remembered from the Academy holosims. The clean lines, the simplistic design, the retro charm... everything was intact. But this time was different. He was seeing the real thing.
"You said it, So'ka." Lieutenant O'Rourke breathed a sigh of relief, "Like the commander said, this is old school. Amazing, isn't it?"
"Amazing is an emotional response. I think 'intriguing' is more suitable." T'lan added.
His security scans complete, Victor took a moment to actually *look* at the surroundings instead of sweeping them for hostiles while his tricorder continued on it's pre-programmed watch. ~ That's one word for it - if it were a little more cramped, I'd say 'Cardassian-esque' would be another. Never thought I'd see a Starfleet vessel that reminded me of good old DS9. ~ He checked his tricorder. ~Okay, where are the people? The power readings? This is reading like a ghost ship. ~ "No breathable atmosphere," he announced over the security tac-link, "we're stuck with helmets until Engineering can get the life support systems going."
Victor's information was passed through the ears of the security officers. It took the reasoning of OPS to bring them back to reality. "That's enough... everyone." Lieutenant Commander Reece whispered surreally. Even she could be caught up in a visit to the past, but had the sense enough to get down to business, "Commander Corgan, we must reach the security department... as soon as possible." She switched on her tricorder and read the ship's schematics. "We'll take... the following route..." She tapped a few buttons, and soon all the away team's tricorders were flashing routes."
James stepped in, slightly offended, "Excuse me... but don't I have a say in this?"
Lexa turned around and gave Corgan a cold stare, and said, "Captain Bhrode gave me charge of this away team."
In shock, James thought, ~"Now she tells me?"~
Lexa added as James was in mid thought, "But if you have a suggestion, I would like to hear it."
James watched over the schematics and the trail Lexa traced on the tricorder. Upon further inspection, James had to admire his ex-girlfriend's efficiency. "No problems here."
"Then we'll take this route. We'll set up a base of operations here, in case there are any emergencies." She pointed at the security office with one slim finger, "Then, we can explore the ship deck by deck from there. We'll find some answers somehow."
As the small group moved out, Victor checked the placement of his people. ~ What is she doing? ~ "O'Rourke," he said, clicking over to a private frequency, "you're too far out in front - drop back with the rest of your team. You're with us today, not the usual mob."
O'Rourke stiffened slightly, or at least appeared to, given the suits it was hard to tell. "I know that," she replied grudgingly, dropping back to join Victor and the other two members of the team."
"Try not to think of it as a penalty detail, O'Rourke," Victor continued, as she drew even with him. "If that were the case, you'd be back on the Galaxy guarding waste reclamation centers or something."
"And working with you is different, how?" she fired back archly.
'That's easy, O'Rourke," he countered pleasantly. "You don't have to worry about Waste reclamation centers suddenly turning psychopathically homicidal on a daily basis."
The smaller woman's frown deepened and her face darkened behind the visor of her helmet. "I will never understand why you aren't..."
"Because Starfleet signed off on my psych profile, O'Rourke," he interrupted as they neared the old-style turbolift. "You can either spend your time second-guessing them or learn to deal with it. Your call, but I know which one's going to be easiest. Not," he glanced at her, "that I expect you to take that choice."
Ahead of them, Corgan and Reece's team entered the turbolift as Victor fanned O'Rourke out with a hand signal to cover one corridor as the lift slowly moved off. "They'll send it back for us as planned unless something goes wrong. Everyone keep to your positions and wait for it." He paused, then added, "Or the screaming. Either way, we wait."
"There are no lifesigns... on the ship... except for... Galaxy... crewmembers." Reece spoke aloofly, checking her tricorder scans and then announcing, "Lower deck is clear. Prepare to... enter... turbolift. O'Rourke, have your team cover this entrance until we reach the proper deck, then you will board the turbolift as we cover the other floor."
The first away team entered the turbolift. The foreign controls at first confused and beguiled the young officers. As the door closed, Ensign Taro tried to find the panel that directed turbolift controls... only to find that it was missing.
"Archaic technology." T'Lan spoke with Vulcan calm and confidence, "You grab one of the handles on the wall, and hold down the button... like so." She demonstrated, her hand resting on a handle like projection. Her finger squeezed hard on a soft button, but nothing moved. "Everyone on the turbolift has to do the same before it moves. You enter the deck requested on the panel above the handle."
Then, everyone in the turbolift experimented, and the turbolift started to move. It thrummed downwards, surprising that it still worked under minimal power. Slowly it went up and up, then halted it's movements with a resounding thud, jarring everyone inside.
"The turbolifts in this era lacked inertial dampners." T'Lan stated expertly. Everyone let go of the handles, and then fanned out to protect the entrance."
"Omega Team to Epsilon Team. You're clear to come up." James announced over the communicator to Lieutenant O'Rourke.
"Epsilon Team To Omega. Copy that. Over and out." O'Rourke shut down the communication channel.
Victor shook his head and entered the turbolift car with the rest of the team. ~We're already on pins and needles, and Corgan trying to fight Reece for control of our little part of the mission isn't helping. ~
The others fanned out, taking their handles as the car started up again under O'Rourke's guidance. ~ Interesting actually being aboard one of the old birds. You forget how much they've changed over the years until you actually see the differences. Exposed beams, sharp angles, if it was lit differently and more cramped it really would look more Cardassian than Federation." The car started to slow. ~ Let's hope none of us have to find out what the bathrooms were like. ~
**********
The whoosh of the turbolift doors announced the arrival of the second fire team. James ordered his men to reform, and then pointed in the general direction of the security office. "All clear, Commander Reece?" James icily asked.
She replied in kind, "All clear. The security office... is not too far." Lexa urgently wanted to speak some more, but her com badge, and the badges of every other crewmember, activated with a crickety chirp. She slapped hers by instinct, "Commander Reece. What is it?"
=/\="Galaxy to all away teams."=/\= Geluf's voice crackled through interference, some heavy interferance, that whined and crackled with every voice. It didn't sound natural, and unlike any interferance James heard before, =/\="Tholian ships spotted outside our sensor range. ETA: Four minutes. We are under red alert status. I repeat, Tholian ships spotted outside our sensor range. We are under red alert status. All away team personnel report to your designated objectives. Galaxy out!"=/\=
"Hey wait!" James objected, slamming his badge to try to communicate out, but received an objective chirrup, "Dammit! The ship has no defenses. We're sitting ducks out here if the Tholians try anything."
Victor frowned inside his helmet. ~ I think *when* they try something is a better bet. ~
"Then we must reach our objective." Reece urged, "Let's go!"
As Commander Reece checked her schematics, Victor glanced up at the wall, noting the writing there. ~ Main Medical. Might be worth coming back to check for the CMO's records and logs after we finish up with Security. ~
"This way!" Lexa said carefully, starting off down the dimly-lit corridor. Their footsteps muffled by the helmets, the group might have been encapsulated in their own individual worlds as they pounded down a corridor past doors labeled 'Nurse's Lab,' before they turned right along a curving hallway, passing doors marked 'Medical Research Lab,' and Biochemistry Lab,' among others before taking a sharp left that brought them out of the dedicated medical section of the deck and next to a pair of Transporter Rooms.
Commander Reece, eyes on her tricorder, turned left without pausing, the rest of the team following behind her as she continued a short distance and then stopped, pointing down a corridor to the right. "O'Rourke! Take your team to the armory! Corgan, we'll secure security and the brig! We're not too far apart! HURRY!" Lexa's voice added more urgency to the emergency.
But as they reached security, the door was shut. James pressed the manual release button, but the door didn't respond.
"Krieghoff... need some door openers. Help me out here." Corgan ordered.
Victor paused as O'Rourke and the others moved on. "I'll catch up in a second, O'Rourke. Be careful."
The Lieutenant didn't respond, but even through her EVA suit the set of her shoulders made it plain that advice from Victor was the last thing she wanted. She did, however, slow down and draw out her own tricorder as she reached the armory door and stopped, starting to scan the room beyond.
~ Like me or not, at least she's going to be smart. ~ Victor turned and moved past Corgan's team to the jammed door. "Is it welded shut or just stuck?" he asked, watching Corgan try the door controls again.
James checked over the door, and consulted his tricorder, "Just jammed... rather crudly. Jesus... looks like someone was in a hurry to lock it up. Check out my readings."
James tricorder reading were displayed to the rest of the teams. On the other side of the door, objects blocked the way to security.
"Now why in God's hell would they do that?" James asked.
Victor nodded, checking the door visually. ~ Nothing *looks* wrong. No warping anyway. ~ "Is there an atmosphere on the other side? The safety interlocks would engage if that was the case."
"Atmosphere present," Commander Reece interjected tersely.
"All right then," Victor stepped up to join James at the door. "I read up on the older ships and things that might giver us problems when they changed the mission on us. It might be jammed in its track back behind the door. I recall reading that these older systems did that often enough that you had to watch to see if they were going to open all the way or not when using them." He thumped it experimentally. "If that's what it is, we ought to be able to knock it back on track if the two of us put our shoulders to it."
Corgan nodded and the two men braced themselves, and then jammed their shoulders into the door in unison. It shuddered, but didn't move. "Again," Corgan ordered, the second impact rewarding them with a secondary 'clunk' as the jammed door dropped back in its tracks.
"That ought to do it, sir," Victor noted, stepping back as Corgan keyed the door again and was rewarded by it sliding open.
As soon as the door opened up, Commander Corgan barked his orders, "O'Rourke, take your team and secure the armory. Check what's inside. Get a weapons manifest if you can. We'll be next door if you need help, neighbor."
"Aye, sir," O'Rourke replied. "I've scanned the Armory and the doors and I don't think we'll have any trouble. She reached up and keyed the door to the Armory, then frowned. "Well, we shouldn't."
"It'd be locked to keep the crazies out, O'Rourke," Victor offered quietly on a private channel. "The security codes were in the download Commander Reece put together, along with the Defiant's command prefix code."
"I know how to do my job, dammit!" O'Rourke snapped, flushing behind the light tint of her visor. She pulled up the codes and keyed one in, flushing again as the door slid open. "We're in, sir," she announced over the open frequency as the team moved forward.
The interior of the Armory was a far cry from the one aboard the Galaxy, the door opened directly into the main weapons storage, stark racks of old-style weapons lining the walls with security locks holding them in place. A single desk with computer interface was all that separated the team from the array of weapons, hardly a barrier to any intruders.
Waving So'ka and Hanley to the sides, Victor backed up O'Rourke as she moved into the main part of the armory and looked around. "There are weapons missing," she noted. "Mostly Phaser 2's, but I see a few Phaser 3 slots empty."
Victor nodded, sweeping the room with his tricorder. "Probably to quell the problems that arose when the interphase madness started to affect the crew. Anything bigger than a Two was overkill for use aboard the ship." He completed his readings and checked them. "Looks like they're all powered down, I'm not showing any active weapon charges."
"There is nothing live back here," So'ka reported. "I haven't seen an old-style photon mortar in this kind of condition outside of a museum though. They've got three back here."
"There's a supply of photon grenades for it o this side, "Hanley added. "They're powered down too."
"Makes sense," Victor nodded. "Why keep it charged when you're just asking for a problem by doing so? Who needs a photon mortar aboard ship, anyway?" He turned towards O'Rourke, who was busy at the armorer's desk. "Anything there?"
"O'Rourke ignored him for a moment until she was finished with what she was doing. "Looks like there were ten Type Twos and two Type Threes signed out before the interphase madness got too bad. The Armorer powered down everything still in the armory, even the Type Ones, when he realized what was happening to keep anyone else from getting a weapon. That's all I've got here." She straightened up, looked at Victor like she was expecting him to say something, then contacted Commander Corgan and Reece to reported on their findings.
As she spoke, Victor keyed a note into his tricorder and beamed it to her. "Ask if we can check Medical - the CMO's logs might be helpful."
O'Rourke looked down at her tricorder, blinked and looked at Victor again, then added to the end of her report, "Lt. Krieghoff suggests we check Sickbay and see if the Medical Logs will have any useful information, sirs - is that a go?"
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