USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log
Stardate: 60805.25 - 60805.31 |
Logs |
| OOC: Takes place after the rescue team returns, obviously. :)
"The Home Front" Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC =================================================== As soon as he had gotten off the transporter PADD For'kel raced for He hadn't been checked out by the doc, hadn't had time to take a The sudden appearance of the Colonel in the Ready Room had startled "Pardon me?" she replied deliberately, the tone of her voice more "London," he said flatly and with a finality that suggested the name "I told London no such thing," Iniara stated, trying to maintain her "She became a POW right afterwards!" He shot back in disbelief that This time, Iniara wasn't able to keep her expression neutral, Quiet, ironically, wasn't the last thing he wanted to be. He would've After a long pause Iniara opened her eyes, meeting the Colonel's He wasn't a telepath, and had nothing more than trust to go on. When And just like that, the tension in the room cleared. Iniara couldn't Leaving it at that for the moment, Iniara stood and walked to the "I don't pretend to know what you're going through with all this," she He looked up to her with a small smile of gratitude. When one was Iniara couldn't help but grin. "You know, the last time we talked, "What do you need the runabout for now?" she asked, setting the kit on "I was going to see Doctor Burton." Fork defended himself, but nodded Iniara nodded thoughtfully as she cracked open the medkit and loaded a She leaned down, pressing the hypospray to his neck, then discarded it "I'm not worried about that, trust me." He closed his eyes and "I can't order you to do anything, but," Iniara responded, selecting "Arel already offered too, but she may be of more use to you here," he "Nothing definite yet, no. Dr. Burton has called in a specialist, Normally he might have left it at 'a long story', but he was fairly Iniara raised an eyebrow. "Why? What happened?" He took another deep breath, this one however was far from a relaxing Iniara's eyes widened and she dropped into the chair opposite him, "It wasn't just Maivia, it's just a compilation of things. I do "Let's hope you're right." She chuckled lightly and stood, her "As soon as Dr. Burton permits... unless I'm needed here and don't "Of course you're needed here; you wouldn't have been assigned to this "I'd meant in the immediate future..." For'kel started, before "Good luck, Colonel. I hope you find her." "So do I." He paused long enough to give her a grateful smile and "In the Back" "Invitations' In The Post..."
Lt. Victor Krieghoff PO2 Benedict Maxwell Lt. Dhanishta Eshe
***Location Altroth III, Prison Facility***
Victor didn't like being late for parties.
It wasn't that he'd been invited to so many - as Victor anyway - that he'd been able to form an opinion on the topic, because he hadn't. He'd attended more than his share as Chulak, but Sakonna had never let them be late unless there was an engineering crisis that demanded he not be there, and Chulak hadn't suffered from Victor's issues with relating to others in the first place. No, he realized, as he worked on the open Hydran security console's entrails, the real reason that he hated to be late to parties was that he didn't want everyone to abruptly turn and look at him en mass; he didn't want to be the center of attention any more than he would ordinarily.
Which, unless he got this console working was what was going to happen to him and the others standing impatiently behind him. Except, of course, the other party-goers were going to be more Hydran security troops, with fusion weapons, and their stares would be followed by gunfire.
Lots of gunfire.
Victor wasn't all that thrilled with being the target of massed gunfire either, now that he thought of it.
As he worked, he reflected that he didn't have anyone else to blame for the console's current state of disrepair, since he'd been the one that had broken it when the length of pipe he'd used like an improvised lance to silence the Hydran sentry had over-penetrated and punched into it. Considering what had happened the last time something like this had been done in his vicinity - and where, truth be told, he'd gotten the idea from – he should have expected the over-penetration. The Divine knew that the metal bar used on that occasion had certainly punched through *him* easily enough.
The console sparked, giving him a bad moment where he wasn't certain that the methane in the atmosphere would ignite or not, and then the door started to cycle open.
"Good," Victor said aloud as he straightened up. "No staring today."
"No what today?" Max was asking, his filtered voice originating from somewhere behind Victor. In his hands was a 'shortbarrel' version of a phaser rifle, recently approved for field use.
"Staring," Victor explained as he edged up to the doorway.
"Say what? What are you talking about?"
"Staring," Victor repeated, checking both sides of the doorway before stepping inside. "Like when you show up for a party late, and everyone turns and stares at you all at once, making you the center of attention. Not the sort of thing you want to have happen under the current circumstances."
"Oh, yeah I know the feeling," the Medic squawked from his mic. "It's kinda like this party I went to several years ago. Not only did I walk in late, but I tripped and landed in the punch bowl. And those were not very kindly stares either..."
"Imagine them with fusion rifles," Victor suggested. "I'm sure that will do wonders to improve your coordination." He waved the rest of the party forward. "All clear. What about back there, Dhani?"
"We're good to go." Dhanishta replied in a flat deadened tone.
Throughout the journey to the prison facility Max and Victor had indulged in this pointless conversation, of which she found somewhat meaningless and strange. Max didn't dislike Victor, that much was clear, but the 'dead-man-walking-effect' did affect the Medic more than he'd admit to and more than Dhanishta was comfortable with. The useless chatter was a constant reminder of the tenuous atmosphere Victor generated, it was a way of trying to negate it, which just cemented the fact it existed and that… she could no longer feel it, which was more concerning than the continuous cover-up chatter that Max instigated to hide the fact that Victor made him nervous which drew attention to the fact that Dhanishta didn't feel that any more and ARG… *long sigh.*
Her eyes flicked back towards the shape of Victor and the Medic with 'his' vision, something within her understood the jokes, the banter and the chit-chat that constituted of nothing but irrelevant trivia. She understood it on a level that she had never experienced; a level that physiologically she couldn't – it was bonding, male bonding. The sort that evolved from this rather pathetic excuse for small-talk into real camaraderie, into a trusting relationship where you could and willingly would, put your life into the hands of the other without hesitation. And while Dhanishta had never known that first hand, she understood it implicitly and knew her part and place and the actions she should take, just as if she were dancing on someone else's feet.
Another part of her was tired of it, found it overwhelming and irritating. That was the part of her that almost took pleasure from the kill, the one that found this situation tantalizing, like perusing a menu from a new-and-fabulous up-and-coming restaurant that you had been just dying to go to for weeks. And then there was a third opinion and that one wondered why Victor had opened the door and not asked her; the experienced engineer, to do it for him. That was also the part which wondered why she was at the rear of the group; that wondered why she was here in the first place, and if Victor knew just who he was taking out for dinner.
The walk through the forest had already helped to blur the edges between the triple-layered-sunday that had emerged from the drop pod. The whipped cream was slowly making its way through the strawberry ice cream all the way down to the vanilla sponge at the base. Perhaps Dhanishta should be worried about how easily others penetrated her mind. Having been trained by a disciple of the Hakihr way her mind should be an impenetrable fortress, yet these subliminal links just kept forming, but this time it was different. In part she knew 'he' was there, she knew he was the facilitator for that dark something that rested, that nestled, just beneath the surface of her psyche, and this time she didn't fight it. This time there would be no subjugation, it was all or nothing…
"All right…" Victor stopped, one foot inside the facility and winced as something hit him. There was nothing there, no one there, but the blow had been there all the same. He wasn't even certain that the blow had been physical. He frowned, and irrationally wished he could take the helmet of his Hazard Team uniform off and smell the air for a second. "Okay, there was some sort of field just inside the door," he finally explained when he realized that he'd been standing there long enough to make the others worried. "I think I disrupted it when I walked in." But it hadn't been a field, he was sure of that. "Everyone be careful."
Max followed in behind Krieghoff, with a firm relaxed but competent grip on the short-barreled phaser rifle. The telemetry that the team shared once they all linked up gave him everyone's vital signs in compact digits that only he could understand (out of everyone there). So far, the team was doing well.
Dhanishta moved to the doorway, scanning the terrain with her borrowed sight, even in the darkness of the night everything was crystal clear. While she knew this fact should be as disconcerting as taking a shower with Captain M'Kantu's wife, she felt no anxiety over it at all, in fact she found it slightly illuminating. There had been many instances; during the recent conflict with the Hydran before this rescue mission, that time upon Romulus when Baile had seen 'her' for the first time, and in several of her waking dreams as well as in her nightmares, that she saw her surroundings in colors. Sometimes during her dreams she could make sense out of them, but when she awoke that understanding was gone, lost to the sleep-haze. But out here she felt like she was connecting the dots. The colors were people and/or things, things that emitted energy; just like looking through night vision goggles – only prettier with intricate patterns. Bailes vision was an amalgamation of both and it blended with her own slightly abnormal perceptions. She smiled softly at her new understanding.
Backing up to the doorway, her eyes still scanning the bushes for any sign's of trouble she raised the nose of her rifle as she rounded the frame, palming the wall behind her for support as she looked to her colleagues to give them the obligatory, affirmative 'all clear' head nod. Yet instead her head hung low, her stomach turned and she felt a color move through her…
As Victor finished moving into the dimly-lit corridor, it happened again – and this time he knew the sensation for what it was. He'd felt it in dozens of places, but most recently – and strongly - on Romulus. It had pervaded the air there, so strongly had it been present, filling his lungs with every breath. If he could take off his helmet and survive, he knew it would do the same thing here as well.
It was black flecked with red and had the consistency of a dark foreboding thunder cloud tripled with the humidity of a tropical rain forest. It choked, like the worst flatulence cloud you ever stumbled into, totally invisible to the naked eye, yet once you were in it, it felt like it had a presence all of it's own, an identity all of it's own, a personality. And if it could, it would firmly shake your hand and invite you out to dinner. It was so overwhelming that Dhanishta gagged several times.
Individually the components had names: Fear; Pain; and Death. In aggregate, the miasma of psychic impressions that were given off when hundreds or thousands of people were living in fear, in pain, and dying in a concentrated area, had no name… but Victor knew it anyway: home.
Dhanishta stumbled slightly against the wall, just as if she had tripped on her dancing partner's feet and fallen off. For a moment she was alone with the sudden rush that filled her mind, it was deafening, like standing under a water fall, there was no coherent thought, no one scream she could pin down. It was just a torrent, a never ending outpouring of grief that had no outlet, no give except to that of death.
Dhanishta's eyes strained against the tilt of her head to look up, for they had brought their very own version of Death with them…
Victor winced, frowned, and motioned the others in. "It's going to be bad," he said simply. "Very bad. Worse than the recordings you saw."
"Can't be any worse than what those bastards were doing to people on DS5," Max growled.
Dhanishta nodded numbly, her inner strength prevailing enough to let her look up at Victor and see the change in his eyes.
"Yes," Victor said quietly. "Yes, it can. It can always be worse."
Dhanishta felt the spray on her face and turned to the wall…
TBC… "Not on the Guest List?"
1st Lt. Branwen London Gral'mev Gro'kle, Hydran Prison Physician Lt. Victor Krieghoff PO2 Benedict Maxwell Lt. Dhanishta Eshe
***Location, Altroth III, Prison Facility: Branwen's Cell***
Branwen leaned against the wall. It had been days since she had even glimpsed the other prisoners. Since the impregnation they were keeping higher incomplete seclusion and it was starting to grate on her nerves. The only one she saw Daly was the doctor checking out on her without giving her any kind of privacy. She had a feeling that he was still playing with her brain making her more docile and loving towards the babies. The urge to kill them or herself was almost completely gone now, and in its place were thoughts of giving birth and caring for babies. During those moments that she had independent thought it made her cry. But she did not fight; fight brought more pain and more behavior modification. So the young Marine tried to wait patiently and continued to hope that something would take her away from this place.
The cell door opened and Gro'kle entered with a female guard. A suit of some kind was tossed over to her. "Wear it," the Hydran Doctor commanded. "You will continue your gestation at my residence, where I can assure... proper care and development."
She cleared her head after blinking a few times, at first it seemed so good, so proper to go with him, until she forced herself to think about it. "I don't think so. I will stay here with the other prisoners." Branwen said in defiance.
"Do as you are told!" screeched the female guard, who raised a tentacle to strike, only to be stayed by Gro'kle.
"Or what?" Anger made her able to fight more than usual. "Hit me, punish me? Go right ahead, freak!"
A blubbering sound escaped Gro'kle's beak, and then he deftly tapped and adjusted a few controls on his remote. Already, Branwen was standing up against her will. "Put on the suit, cow," he commanded.
It was as if her free will shut down instantly. Branwen could not fight him any longer. Muttering a little under her breath she put on the suit as soon as possible, not complaining that he called her a cow. "Ready Sir." She whispered.
"Good, you will accompany me to my private quarters now," he instructed, his tone translated as much softer. The female guard was not so willing to be nice.
"Yes sir." She lowered her head and dutifully followed him out of the little cell. The suit was very uncomfortable, and already it was starting to get a little tight round the middle.
Before they could travel any further, an aide lumbered up the corridor to them, clearly hyperventilating. It blorped a quick exchange with Gro'kle, then launched itself back the way it came from. Gro'kle snapped an instruction to the female guard, and turned to face Branwen.
"Apparently something that requires my immediate attention has come. I will return for you later. Be prepared." With that, he left in the same direction as the aide. The guard, however, took advantage of the opportunity to let Branwen know exactly how she felt. She gave her a slap and a shove back into the cell. Within moments, the female Hydran was looming over Branwen.
"You are an abomination to my people," she spat through the translator. "Duty is the only reason why I don't kill you now where you lay, filthy Terran!"
"Why don't you." Branwen teased. It was less difficult fighting the guards than fighting the doctor for some reason. "I won't stop you, creep."
"I am not stupid, Terran. I believe you understand me." Then she added, "I am not foolish enough to tempt the wrath of the Gral'mev." With that she left the cell and closed the door, with the electronic latch securing it.
It left Bran lying on the floor with her eyes closed catching her breath. Something was wrong; she knew Hydran body language by now. She prayed that it was as bad as it could get for the bunch of freaks.
****
The third guard died as quickly as the previous two had, although a bit more messily.
It had walked around the corner and stopped, surprised, at the figure looming in the green-haze of the facility's atmosphere. Victor, in turn, had dropped his phaser, letting it be recalled to the Hazard Team uniform's transport storage buffer, and grasped the slender Hydran by his/her/it's weapons harness, whirling it around and into the open doorway of the atmosphere recirculation closet he'd just checked. Before the Hydran could do more than make a surprised 'blork' sound and flail about a little, Victor had kicked the contaminant filter off and jammed the hapless trooper head-first into the high-speed recirculation fan.
There was a dull whine as the blades bit in, a strangled sound and a single penetrating cry from the Hydran, and then there was nothing but twitching and blood. Lots of blood.
It was a sight that would make you sick. As the token alien of the group the fact that the blood wasn't red made no difference to the hybrid engineer – blood was blood no matter the color and it was reminiscent of the many re-occurring nightmares she had about murdering small children in their bedrooms in the middle of the night.
While inside the engineer there had been a joining of minds, a fusion if you will – as well as a hastily erected mental barrier to try and keep the wails of the incarcerated out for the duration of the mission – and to try and keep any sanity the engineer had left intact, there was a 'difference of opinion' raining in the slanted mind of the body of the woman they all referred to as 'Dhani Eshe'.
The fact was there were many more facets than just; her, him and that thing that they both thought was just in it for the ride. Starfleet Dhanishta, the Lieutenant by rank and trained engineer by trade, screamed out for some form of restraint – after all that's why Starfleet had several 'STUN' setting rather than; 'kill', 'kill harder' and 'kill till it's really, really dead'! The 'trained by a Vulcan Mind Lord emotionless wannabe logical Dhanishta' called for the situation to be handled swiftly – once more with as little bloodshed as possible, hence why she had studied and mastered 'Self DEFENSE' just as any other wannabe Vulcan would have, and hence why the most often used moves was the neck pinch which left your opponent unconscious as apposed to splattered, or the more deadly move, the Tal-Shaya- which was also the most humane.
Victor stepped back once the deed was done, looked down at his gloved hands and torso, now covered with Hydran circulatory fluid and a few specks of spattered tissue, and cycled the door open again, giving his companions a clear view of the Hydran's corpse jammed into the atmosphere intake, twitching with each new pass of the fan.
"No need to worry about them sounding a warning," Victor said blandly. "They were cut off."
"Fuckin-A," Max crowed. "The chickens have come home to roost. And we're pissed." He stepped forward and through the growing pool of Hydran blood as he took point and rounded a bend.
Dhanishta raised a singular eyebrow at the sight in a very cool, calm and collected Vulcan manner, yet couldn't stall the slight incline of her lips. For you see there was also the 'Klingon Dhanishta' that found her heart rate increasing and longed to be in the presence of a Klingon so she could tap into the Rage and join in on the ride to Glory in Battle, revel in the blood, finger paint her face with it and rip out the Hydrans still beating heart so she could scoff it right in front of the little twerp!
"Watch yourself," Victor warned as he brought up the rear, behind Dhani.
Victor's voice reminded her of where she was, and of who she was supposed to be… that being the Starfleet Dhanishta of course. Though after what she had just witnessed Starfleet Victor do….
And then there was 'his' voice inside; the simultaneous pounding of his heart against her rib cage, her feeling his thoughts feeling her thoughts, him living the moment through her eyes and giving her his reactions. Whilst she could feel his adrenaline coursing though her veins, feel the speed he gave her; the reaction timing and the knowledge and foresight to anticipate what was coming next, she felt no lust within him, no rejoicing in the battle, just a calm, methodical, experienced veteran that had been fighting as a way of life for far too long. While that thought saddened her somewhat, the extra ammo she was packing; a phaser rifle, a knife and a fully trained marine (!) it all added up, accumulating in an over confident marine-soldier-engineer-killing machine fruit-punch that packed a punch!
Branwen heard some noises in the corridor, so she came to her feet and walked to the door. She couldn't see out, but she could use her voice. "What's going on?" She yelled.
"Someone ordered a pizza and refused to pay... so we broke a few kneecaps," broadcast Max through his Hazard gear mic. "Stand back from the door." Max raised his rifle to the locking junction.
Dhanishta knew it before she realized she did. Something was wrong, more than wrong. As if there could ever be a right in this kind of situation. She had seen Victors eyes as they had entered the facility, felt the echoes of souls past, heard the screams of those still 'living' and right now she could feel the woman behind this door.
Over the last few months, before Branwen had been captured, Dhani had begun to feel a closeness with Bran that she hadn't thought possible. When she had first met the marine psychologist in a therapy session she had wondered how the woman had ever made it through the course. She found Bran petite in stature and in presence. She was the sort of person she could imagine disappearing in a room full of people, commanding anyone in that room was a laughable concept. Her naiveté and xenophobia was extremely infuriating, and how this woman could ever conceive she could counsel Dhanishta… well that was another amusing thought.
But recently she had found her to be endearing, sweet natured, while she still habited a rosy tainted world, occasionally she would admit to the bitter truth, yet with all the adoring of an innocence possessed child. The world through the eyes of Branwen, no matter how devastating no matter how humiliating or painful still had a fleck of pink, still held an un-cynical, un-critical slant that made the twisted self absorbed engineer take stock and compare just 'who had it worse' and for a moment, for just one small moment in time she was allowed the relief that she wasn't the most nut laden cookie in the jar.
But there in that moment, in that moment where she couldn't block out every single voice that clamored for her attention, that tried to drive it's urgency, fear and pain into her brain like a nail gun on rapid auto fire, in that instance she heard that one singular voice behind the door – felt for that moment everything that was racing through the petite marine psychologist's mind, and was startled to find that Branwen wasn't there any more.
She'd been replaced with a Prisoner of War.
Branwen's knees almost sagged when she heard a familiar voice. The rescue! It had finally come!
"Don't be alarmed when you see me!" She shouted through the door. "It's me, Branwen. They did some things to me, but it is still me!"
And then there was 'Harvey' the 'tag along for the ride entity' that non of the facets of Dhanishta, nor the 'last minute booking marine Baile', had any clue of it's origins or agenda, yet it was there, 'she' was there – and she had something to add to the equation that far outweighed the Klingon Dhani or the Vulcan Dhani, or the Baile Dhani.
This was the moment 'she' had been waiting for. This was the exact circumstance she had foreseen and while no one knew of her agenda, it was about to unfold…
Behind Max, Victor winced as the miasma of pain and fear and suffering pressing in on him abruptly increased, as if he'd passed some immaterial threshold as they rounded the corner into this portion of the prison. The impact was enough that he missed a step, and almost stumbled, having to brace against the wall with one hand to steady himself.
Max had simultaneously dropped his rifle, which dematerialized into his suit's patter buffer, and reached for Krieghoff. He stopped short when he saw that the Security Officer had kept his balance.
"You alright, Vic?" Max tapped a hotkey and immediately used the telemetry between all the suits to get a read on the team. Victor's blood pressure was slightly elevated, his pulse rapid as was his breathing, but no immediate sign of suit compromise or disease process.
TBC… "Just Being" Nara paced. She felt restless. It seemed like life became an un-interesting string of the usual routines. Excitement happened as usual on the ship, but she somehow managed to stay out of any real danger for quite some time now. Maybe the fates saw she had a charge so took mercy. She also realized she hadn't really been that social. She looked over at the PADD that consumed her and kept her safe in her quarters when she happened to be off duty during some crisis. She picked it up now. It was material for Academy correspondence courses. On top of the classes she was ordered to take, she decided to enroll in several more. She wanted to expand her horizons and see if there was maybe a different department she was better suited for. Another reason she happened to be extra busy was that she was head over tactical systems. People reported to her on a consistent level for once. She reported to the Chief, but it was brief, very business-like meetings. She had become non-social. She would talk to people, but no conversation really went very deep. She wasn't sure where she'd been all this time. She was pretty much going through the motions. She wasn't depressed. She just was. "My Invitation Said Death plus Guests!"
Lt. Victor Krieghoff PO2 Benedict Maxwell Lt. Dhanishta Eshe 1st Lt. Branwen London
***Location, Altroth III, Prison Facility***
Victor considered that. "No," he decided. "There's too much here... more than before, and I..." He blinked behind his faceplate. The last time he'd felt like this... had been on Romulus. Before he'd... been himself, before he'd let the part of himself that he kept locked away out. He'd hoped that would never happen again, hoped that he'd... no, he hadn't. It was still a part of him, as it always had been. And it was asking to be let out. Not demanding, not yet - but asking to be let out.
"If I tell you to run," he said clearly, "then all of you need to do that. Run and don't look back."
Dhanishta heard the implication of the words. She hadn't ever seen what happened when the mask of the dedicated Starfleet officer was removed, she had never heard the stories from the witnesses – for there had never been any. Yet even so she knew what it meant, she knew the power he possessed because something within her, that something she tried to deny existed, lusted for the moment it could become one with the entity of Death and make it her own…
"That's fine with me... as soon as we get Lt. London out of here..." ... and I find that data port to download the med/bio info that Bental wants from here, Max finished silently.
"Then let's find her quickly, before I..." Victor frowned for a second. "Before I have to tell you to run."
Something within the engineer chuckled excitedly, ~tell me to run, please Sheppard, tell me to run…~ Harvey lusted for that more than anything. To be close to such energy, such power, such brutal strength that had been sanctioned by the On High.
They were from such opposite sides of the same coin, yet their end was the same. Death in whichever way it came first. The Mask had rules to adhere to, there were those he could take in any manner he saw fit; he was even allowed a measure of pleasure in it. There were those he was not allowed to touch, they were the one's he believed he protected, Victor believed he protected. And then there were those he was allowed to Cross Over, his fallen sheep that he was indebted to for failing to save, his penance – to be blamed for their end.
But Harvey was from a different school of thought. She was simply evil, she chose who she took; she prayed upon them and then sucked up their essence with luster upon her face. But no matter the method the end was the same, and if she could steel his authority, his rights to reside in that place, that place which brought him no judgment, then she too could once again rise to her former position, right there On High with the Untouchables.
After the initial noise Branwen didn't hear anything for a while. "I'm here! It's me, Branwen, I am not a Hydran! Don't leave me behind!" she yelled.
Victor pushed off from the wall. "She's up ahead, sounds like she's on the right," he said quietly. "Be careful though - her voice could be a lure."
"Okay. I'm taking point," Max advised.
Behind the two unsuspecting humans the alien known only to them as Dhanishta Eshe moved slowly. Her back was towards them, her face turned outwards, down the corridor, watching and waiting for the late arrivals that would inevitably kick start this party into the riot they had all been expecting. Yet within her a silent take over was already underway and as pleading screams reverberated off the facilities walls, within the engineer only one voice was able to be heard.
~Now Jebidiah, the time is now…~
"Hello!!!!!" Bran kept screaming.
A heavy door separated the rescue party from whomever the voice belonged to. Max was itching to blow the door but waited for Victor to give the go-ahead.
Victor stopped, checked the corridor as Dhani moved to cover their rear, and frowned.
"Hold on." He took a breath, and powered up his suit's integral tricorder, for a fast scan of the other side of the door, reluctant to use the external one he'd brought and tie up a hand he might need to fight with. The HUD display ran the results past him and he frowned.
"Okay, everyone go hot with their suits; shields on. Tricorder says that the atmosphere on the other side is *not* oxygen-based... and that there are no human life signs there."
Max acknowledged by giving his own verbal command to raise his suit's shields, and quickly boosted his rifle's power to maximum, and readied himself. He took aim once again at the door with his rifle. "Ready."
It could have been mistaken for the sound of an increasing heart beat. It could have been mistaken for a rise in blood pressure, or even an overload of adrenaline. It could have been mistaken for a build up of pressure in her ears that made those sounds so intoxicating. It could have been many things, if one was so inclined to try and rationally explain everything away. But when the sound came, when that feeling came as strongly as it did, there was no rationality to be found.
The sound was there. It was everywhere and in everything. And there was no coherent thought, no conscious action. The beat of the drums was all there was. And when the rhythm starts, there were no excuses allowed.
One must do only one thing, and that… was to dance…
Victor nodded, banished his own phaser back into the buffer, and called up a weapon he hadn't selected before while Max was present: a shoulder-fired tetryon pulse launcher and warmed it up. He glanced at the confusing tricorder readings again, and frowned. What if Kit were actually in there and sensor masked for some reason? He considered that, smiled as he arrived at a solution that no Hydran would easily understand, and held up a hand to Max, three fingers raised.
The engineer felt hot under her collar, her visor misted up and for an instant a pang of worry gripped her stomach, but the mist cleared, and his vision returned and now she felt it, stronger than any emotion of her own. Lust. Her body itched, her muscles twitched and all she could hear was the sound of the drums…
Victor ticked off one finger and called out, "Kit, efface yourself before the Lord!" as he ticked off the second finger. He held the third finger for a moment, and then dropped it.
Max had already backed off and took aim squarely at the mid-point of the door, waiting for whatever was inside... and whatever effect Krieghoff's weapon was about to have. He even considered averting his eyes, but changed the light reception in his helmet's visor instead.
Branwen went to a corner of her cell and made herself as small as possible while she prayed. It was Victor, he had come for her; everything was going to be all right now.
Victor smiled suddenly, the pressure in his head relieving for a moment as he prepared to commit an act of violence on a scale that seemed to make the part of him that had been asking to be let out satisfied for the moment, and fired.
The bright blue bolt from the Tetryon pulse launcher - a weapon designed to disable armored shuttles and ground craft - seared down the corridor and, finding no material or energy barrier dense enough to force a total discharge of its energy, blasted the door into particulate molecules, and continued on through the room beyond, blowing out the back wall as easily as it had the doorway, and continuing on through the structure of the base. A split-second later, the detonation sound reached them and klaxons blared in the distance where the bolt had finally found something sturdy enough to discharge its remaining energy against.
"Knock, knock," Victor whispered with an odd, cheerful lilt.
"Hey, um... you think I could borrow that?" Max inquired. "I have this annoying little bastard that keeps shitting everywhere back on the Galaxy, see..."
TBC… "Happy Trails" Rear Admiral Dorathallan sh'Tholos Captain T'Vara ***** beep beep beep Somewhere, there was a sound beep Somewhere, there was a sound that wasn't beep that wasn't part of beep part of the music. beep Slowly, the incessant sound trickled its way into her conscious beep She opened first one eye, then the other, the eerie sound of the flute beep Her meditation interrupted, the room around her returned to focus, and beep Lightly tapping the LCARS console to activate it, she was only mildly "Captain T'Vara," the Andorian shen began, nodding slightly. "Admiral sh'Tholos," T'Vara returned with a nod of her own. Never one to bother with small talk (a trait which T'Vara Not unexpectedly, one of T'Vara's eyebrows inched upwards as she "Far from it, Captain; it has been exemplary. The Commanding Officer "Very well. I shall review the information and contact you with my "Thank you, Captain. Until then. sh'Tholos out." Silently, T'Vara closed the comm channel, then called up her incoming ***** Two hours, fifty-seven minutes and forty-three seconds later, the And it would be a challenge, if the personnel files and recent mission With a single delicate finger she tapped out a short series of "Captain T'Vara," sh'Tholos began in an uncanny repeat of their "Admiral sh'Tholos. I have reviewed the files concerning the USS "Duly noted," the admiral said with a nod, paused as she tapped a few "Aye, sir. Given the current position of the Argus Panoptes, I will The Andorian quirked her head to the side, regarding T'Vara somewhat Now it was T'Vara's turn to tap a few buttons on her side of the "Very good." sh'Tholos suppressed a smile; sometimes she just "Thank you, Admiral." T'Vara paused, then added with a slight
[this takes place just after my last Paige post -- this was started a long time ago and I appreciate Mek handing in there with me] -- "What about swift kick in the head?" Commander Arel Smith -- It was difficult -- nay, impossible-- to live and work on the Galaxy without being exposed to Scuttle. Walking down the halls, sitting in 10-F, in the locker rooms, in the halls waiting for a holodeck, the gossip ran rampant and unchecked: some of it believable, some of it not. And while a great deal of it did have to do with important and life-changing events -- the Captain's incapacitation, Hydran spies, the continuing efforts of Federation politicians to destroy Life As We Know It -- most of it was about the crew on a much more individual level. 'Who is shtuping who' was always a popular and buzz-worthy topic. Also popular were stories of officers and crewmembers getting away with this and that, or who had a time-displaced daughter from the future this week, or who was next to be pregnant (and is it really so-and-so's baby? Probably not!). And then, there was always the running 'kill count'. Some crewmembers followed security and marine 'stats' with a devotion that would put even the most avid of baseball fans to shame. Many even placed bets on which figures of Galaxy Lore would kill the most of the bad guys (James Corgan was usually on the top, though a lot of credits were lost and nasty chores or duties won thanks to his 'episode' in the last battle). Arel Smith was one of the top in the ranks when it came to the KC. She usually had good odds and ranked somewhere in the bottom three of the top five (Corgan and Kreighoff solid holders of the first two places, though the waffled back and forth for number 1). There were endless stories about her performance in battle as well as her short temper. One of the popular buzzing around the ship was that she beat the shit out of one of the counselors for no good reason whatsoever except that he was looking at her funny. To say that approaching this woman wasn't high on Paige's list of strictly platonic "for a good time, try..." would be an understatement. In fact, there were probably seventy or eighty legal-sized pages in front of it. However, she didn't have a lot of choice. They said Arel Smith was the one to see, so Arel Smith she would see. At first glance, the Klingon-wannabe security officer didn't look anywhere near deserving of her fearsome reputation. She was around average height for a human woman these days, and actually kind of pretty with dark hair and ice blue eyes. And while Paige had no doubt that Smith's trim physique was made entirely of hard-as-steal muscle, it didn't have the intimidation factor of, say, James Corgan's bicep, K'aa's teeth, or ops Lieutenant Gerti Greenbaum's afro. But then the woman looked toward her and Paige couldn't help a very soft whimper (though to her credit, she managed to bite it back into little more than a throat gurgle). "Yes?" Arel asked, trying to cut back the annoyance in her voice and not really succeeding. "Um, I'm gipe with the self-defense stuff, right? Phasers, I'm halla bomi, velocity varsity nint, but fighting and hand-to-hand? Zef sharky." She shook her head, screwing up her face to accentuate the sentiment. "But I heard you were maybe who to see about getting some... instruction or something?" Arel gave her a funny look. "Zef sharky? Nint? Is the translator broken or something?" Paige contained the cringe from the woman's pronunciations and then shook her head. "No. Sorry. It's probably working fine, I just forget that not everyone -- I'm good at phasers because I was on the velocity varsity team and all that, but the hand-to-hand stuff is frakin' embarrassing as hell," she translated, considerably slowing down her typical warp-speed Martian jabber to do it. Her accent got in the way and her tongue tripped over some of the consonants, but the other woman looked to understand better. "If you have time at some point, maybe you could help?" "Hand to hand, huh?" Arel said, brightening at the idea. Since her little accident with Brian she was on even more modified duty. This was something to relieve the hell that was paper pushing. "Got time now?" Paige hesitated a moment, trying to discreetly glance at the chrono on the wall. She had a date with the girls planned for the holodeck in three hours. "Yeah," she said, nodding. "We can do now. Just... try not to hurt me too bad, keppa?" Arel smiled and then turned around and started walking to the gym. Paige had no choice but to scuttle after her. **** "You're not too horrible," Arel said after the first hour. "You hit like a girl though." Paige wiped at the sweat that dripped down her temple and slicked back the bangs that had been plastered to her forehead. Better sweat than blood, she supposed. She pulled at the strap of her tank top, was breathing heavily, more heavily than she would have liked. "Thank you," Paige said, offering a grin; she knew it wasn't meant as a compliment, but she, for one, had never really understood the insult. Readjusting the protective gloves she wore, Paige stepped back from the security officer, dropping her hands. "So not that this isn't a blast, but..." "Tomorrow?" Arel asked. "You can't half ass this if you want real results." "Heunda, not what I was going to say," Paige said. "You thwaping the stuffing out of me is all well and good, but I'm not a fraking doll here. If this is what I needed, I wouldn't've suloged my junior year boyfriend. How about less jabbing and more teaching, y-a?" Arel paused while she tried to work her way through the other woman's slang. Then she shrugged. "Learn to duck and I'll teach you more." Paige released an irritated sigh (more a growl really) before she retook her stance. She was going to be in a lot of pain in the morning and was already having minor daydreams of the Betazoid hot baths she was going to take on the holodeck. Originally, she and the girls were planning to use the upcoming hour for a full session on 'Rock Band 2384' (maybe she would finally advance a level), but she was sure she could convince them that 'spa' was a much better idea. The security officer took a swing and, surprised, Paige ducked. The sharp jab to Arel Smith's kidneys was more a klutz move than anything else, but, given that Paige somehow managed to turn her fall into a roll up onto her feet, it looked more and more like an actual strategy. She gave the other woman an appropriate look. Arel growled something at her in Klingon, looking daggers at Paige as she took in the other woman's stance. "What is your next move?" "My next move?" "You've attacked your opponent. Me." The security officer gave an easy, if sharp looking, smile." I'd consider a plan if I were you." "I'm assuming point-and-laugh or run-like-hell aren't viable options," Paige said, wrinkling her nose. "I'm just glad I made some contact, y-a." Arel looked at the woman critically. "Get lower in your stance. Feet not so wide apart." Paige attempted to adjust accordingly and almost fell over -- twice -- before she managed to get it near close to correct. She looked at Arel uncertainly. Why was it that the 'correct way' of doing almost anything was never the most comfortable way? "I don't see how this can be anywhere close to effective," she said, shaking her head. "What am I supposed to do from here? I don't need to be *shorter*." "Less room to fall when you're knocked on your ass. More kinetic energy. Better center of gravity. Pick one and quit whining." *Better position to stab you in your fleshy gut,* Paige thought, narrowing her eyes a little as she cemented her stance. Her ass was going to hate her in the morning. That would teach her to take the initiative and try to better herself. But Paige's competitive nature was beginning to come out and damned if she was going to let Arel Smith get the better of her: she could do this and she would do this even if Smithy here had the lowest possible opinion. Arel pushed her hard but the girl remained on her feet. "Better. Okay, Paige, given that your opponent is more skilled, and likely to be carrying a weapon, your best option is to run. If you can't run, you defend yourself until you can. And disarm the enemy if you're able. That's what we'll work on, defense and disarming. Once you get that down, then we can get into actually attacking, okay?" "Aw gee, you know just what to say," Paige muttered, bristling at the run away advice. "Run-away I can do. I'm very in-tune with the 'flight' option of my response. We're working on the 'fight' now, though, so as I wasn't unada furies in junior high, a little encouragement would be appreciated, la." "I'm not your cheerleader," Arel snorted. "And I'm giving my opinion but if you don't want it ..." She broke off abruptly and attacked. The force sent Paige to the floor and she lay there stunned on the mat, seeing some light after she hit her head. "Ouch," she said. "Learn faster," Arel countered. "Start blocking." The cadet pushed herself up, tugging her clothing back into place before she retook her stance and stared at Arel a moment before retaliating. The security officer easily dodged the first blow, and the second was hardly a tap on the shoulder. Arel shook her head. "You're going to have to work on your strength later. Now block me." "I'm trying," Paige said through gritted teeth, stepping back now and again away from Arel's barrage. Finally, she seemed to get her arms up in just the right way in just the right place, and then found an opening to connect again into Arel's side, her fist coming in sideways. It wasn't pretty by any means, but it did the job. She pushed back, breathing heavily, trying to get far enough away so the older, larger woman couldn't easily surprise her with a fist, elbow, or solid kick. "So obviously, I'm not going to be a champion cage fighter," Paige said when she could catch enough breath to be audible. Arel shrugged. "If you wanted to, I could train you as such. It will take you a couple of years. But I think you've had enough fun for today. I'm here most evenings if you want to continue to train." Now there was an image. Paige Sullivan: Cage Fighter. Wouldn't that make ahbs and freya proud? "Bomi," Paige said, with a nod, relaxing her stance to something vaguely normal as she rubbed at what was sure to be only one of many bruises. "Soon as I can pee without using the stall rails to get myself off the pot, I'll come back to you." Arel nodded. "I'll be waiting." Paige was barely able to stifle the groan.
"Sound and Fury" -- pt. 2 Cmdr. Brian Elessidil Chief Counselor's Office Further discussion -- such as it was -- with K'aa had been relatively Little more than an hour or so had passed since he left K'aa back in "You will note, Commander, that in response to your request to look "Absolutely," Elessidil quickly agreed, accepting the PADD and "No, Sir. There are no known planets in current Gorn-controlled space "Music to my ears, Ensign." "Surely you aren't suggesting I sing, Counselor?" Brian glanced up from the PADD, his look suggesting that T'Vor Of the five planets on the list, there was one in particular "Yes. It lies approximately thirty-four light years from the Hydran homeworld." Rational Vulcan science had taken him as far as it was likely to go. "Thank you, Ensign," he said, rising from his desk. "I have to continue my conversation with Mister K'aa. Your assistance has been "Very well, Sir." As T'Vor departed, Brian studied the image and information before him --------------------- As the doors slid closed behind him, Brian didn't even bother to "How's that appetite, Mister K'aa?" he asked pointedly upon arriving The Gorn, once again engrossed in the black bound book Krieghoff had "No, I don't think I'm deluded at all. I think you'd find this much K'aa reacted to the last image as if he had been struck a powerful It wasn't in the counselor's nature to be cruel but this stalemate had "Now it's time to talk -- for real. I want you to tell me who or what you Slowly the Gorn raised his head to the ceiling as his wailing ceased. "Tell me about these sacrifices. On whose behalf did you make them "For my people, Commander", the prisoner growled as he looked up at So far, little of what he said was making any sense to the counselor. "If there isss any jussstice in thisss universssse, any mercy...", the "And we'll be keeping you right where you are then, until you can be "I bear hisss ssscarssss", the prisoner said while pacing. "Both of "Not yet! Tell me how we get K'aa back, then I'll see what I can do for you." The Hydran agent snarled at Brian, and thin streams of viscious drool "Machine? How did this happen?" "The firssst experiment wasss with my original body and a human tessst A vague feeling of nausea crept into Elessidil's gut at the thought of Brian stared at the agent in K'aa's form for a few moments, his mind After a few more seconds spent just glaring, Brian turned to leave in silence. "Survival Skills" - Part Two Cmdr. Arel Smith, apc *** USS Galaxy "What do you want, Arel?" "Do you know how frelling long I've been waiting?" She snapped. "Since "Only the king of your universe, Arel. You called me, remember? Now, "I have an ethical problem," Arel said. "Tell me it's okay to kill a tribble." James' eyes narrowed quizzically, making sure he heard right. When no "It's okay to kill a tribble." As he leaned forward to kill the "I do love you," She replied in a suspiciously honest tone. "Even if Well, that was different, James thought. Arel not coming back with He depressed the comm-switch, becoming serious. "You've got a small "I can't kill it," Arel said with a tone that clearly said 'duh, you Click. "You're a high-ranking officer. Use your emergency transport "Hey, there's an idea," she said cheerfully. He heard her call the Not hearing her laugh at the other end, he cursed the connection for Click. "No one packs a paunch... err.. punch like you, honey. And "It's amazing you've lived this long, Mitchell," Arel said in a deadly Click. "Not once they knew the magic I could perform with it, right He noticed a few of the mechanics out in the hangar watching him with Click. "What you choose to do with your men is your business," She snapped. Arel went on for a few minutes insulting him in every language she knew. ~Blah, blah, blah~ James rolled his eyes at the woman's drivel, and Arel stopped suddenly, realizing that he wasn't listening anymore. She He flipped the pages sideways so he could 'read the articles' when she Then, he waited in silence. "Well? You have *no* comment at all?" Arel snarled. "I should have one, shouldn't I?" He spoke out loud before realizing He tilted his head back, feeling the heat of the alcohol burn down his He set the glass back down and walked back across to the comm-unit. Click. He terminated the connection without saying a word. "Goodbye, Arel." He hung the unit back in its cradle and walked out of *** Arel frowned at the abrupt end of the call. She had been expecting She didn't know what a quiet end of conversation with James meant; she Arel frowned, looking around the room for something to take her Large chomps had been taken out of it. She didn't know how but she was sure that the tribble was responsible. "I should have killed them both when I had the chance," Arel scowled. OOC: Firstly an apology. This has taken longer that I'd have hoped for various reasons, mostly my bad though. This will finally be concluded in the next post, once me and RobH have finished writing it. Have tried something slightly different here, hope you enjoy. Thank you for your patience. This is set a short while back. “Surgical Replication” Lieutenant Kimberly Burton – Chief Medical Officer ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ USS Galaxy – Operating Theatre ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Tick Tick Tick Life and death. Death and life. Like the steady beat of the metronome so little separated them. A tiny difference, a small change and the delicate balance that kept the humanoid body alive could so easily be disturbed. Tick Tick Listening to the rhythmic ticking Kimberly settled her thoughts and ran through her mental preparations for the impending surgery. Rituals, traditions, habits, like everyone she had her preferred way of dealing with or preparing for what lay ahead, and this was today’s. Quiet meditation, a moment of peace and clarity. Tick Tick Opening her eyes she let out a slow breath and got up off the floor. Leaving the metronome ticking away steadily on her desk she left her office and looked around the room beyond. For the first time in quite a while, main sickbay was quiet. Some would say too quiet. Every patient who couldn’t be discharged was either in the secondary hull sickbay or in side wards across the hall with the support staff. Appointments had been cancelled and the whole room cleared. Only the staff that actually needed to be here were present. Unnecessary? Perhaps. But word had spread, and a steady stream of people had been drifting in and out in ever increasing numbers, most with the flimsiest of reasons or excuses. In the end she had simply cleared the room; it made life easier, and quieter. Listening to the steady rush of air and the quiet hum that pervaded life on a starship she contemplated recent events briefly. Only a few years ago she had graduated, her posting here had initially been that of an administrator, her medical duties still new to her despite the years of study and practice. ~ Now look at me… a research lab full of notes and theories on a procedure no one else is willing to try… Blazing a trail to new ideas… ~ Entering the scrub room beside the surgical bay she dressed slowly into her surgical reds and let her mind wander, deliberately not thinking about what she was about to do. Her entire life for the last few weeks had revolved around the lead up to this moment, nervousness at the unknown, cajoling and persuading people that this could be done, long nights of research and enough coffee to float the ship. And now it was here she found herself strangely detached, almost serenely calm about the immediate future. Running her hands under the sterilizing ray she looked up as the door to the surgical bay slid open and Gabrielle joined her, the room beyond shimmering slightly as she stepped through the sterile field. “Pre meds?” Kimberly asked without any preamble. “All done, the Captain is sleeping. We’re ready.” No more needed to be said really, they had done this so many times now in simulation that now the event was here conversation seemed superfluous. Following Gabrielle inside Kimberly looked at the recumbent form of the Captain, face down on the modified table. No hologram but a living being this time. Standing beside him she looked at the array of displays and screens set up on the walls around them. Virtually every free inch of wall had a screen or holographic display covering it. Activating the neurocortical scanner she started the pre-set scan running and looked to Arietty, “Start the recorders.” She instructed. Tick Tick Tick ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Time… Passes. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ An hour of detailed scanning and analysis and they had a full map of their patients physiology, from DNA to the all needed central nervous system structure. Though it showed nothing new or unexpected there was no reason to be hasty or make assumptions. They had a procedure, and it was their bible for the next few hours, barring complications. “Okay, everything looks as we expected it to look,” Kimberly muttered, rotating the hologram of the cervical spine sections, “we go as planned.” Watching as Gabrielle set up the life support systems she checked each and every one off her list, and then double checked the settings. For the duration for the actual replacement surgery their patient’s brain would be sustained with neurological support and blood gas infusers alone, his body protected by a low level stasis field. The life support had to be turned off during the actual replacement of his spine, and a spinal shunt would prevent the reattached spinal section from setting his heart in motion before they were ready. For this to work properly, he had to be dead still. Literally. “Ready?” She asked after a moment, one eye on the clock and the other on her staff, checking the acknowledgments from everyone off her mental checklist. Once they started they were literally on the clock. Ninety minutes, from the moment they removed his damaged section of spine they only had ninety minutes before technology and biology failed them, and irreversible brain damage became a much feared reality. An hour and a half… Time enough to watch an old 2D film, read a magazine… Live or Die. “Put the genetronic replicator into pre-synthesis and have the medical transporters set to pre-scan,” she ordered as she held out a hand. “Scalpel.” Tick Tick Tick ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Time… Passes. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ “Deactivate life support,” Kimberly ordered as she held her hands away from the incision she had crafted over the last thirty minutes, “and start the clock.” As of now, they were quite literally racing against time. As of now everything had to proceed exactly as planned. Their margin of error was small as they needed the maximum amount of time possible to correctly align the genetronic replicator and medical transporter. “Activate the medical transporter and lock on to the damaged spinal section.” Watching as the transporter was locked on she waited for Gabrielle to indicate her readiness then, “Energise.” To one side, in a tray prepared for it, the damaged section of spine materialised. Ignored for now it sat almost forgotten, the source of so much trouble yet now irrelevant to the task at hand. Looking to Gabrielle Kimberly watched, now they were in the hands of the expert. Though the concept and outline of the procedure were hers, the application from this point on was not. This was the province of an expert. “Replication is complete,” Gabrielle confirmed, her eyes glued to the scanner readouts rather than the patient. “Pre-lock sequence initiated… It’s in the buffer.” The replacement, intact bones and nerves. Replicated from cells taken from the patient and now held in transporter stasis while the scanners aligned the delicate beam in, the glow of the transporter field and the scanner washed around and in the incision as the two machines did as they were directed. Glancing at the few staff who were assisting she saw on their faces a look she imagined she was mirroring, a mixture of concern and frustration. Now it was a waiting game until Gabrielle was ready. Tick Tick Tick ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Time… Passes. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Nervously watching the clock Kimberly sent a string of silent pleas and prayers to whomever was listening in the universe that Gabrielle would hurry the frell up and that this would work. Her earlier stoicism had slowly faded as her co-surgeon spent what seemed to be an eternity calibrating and re-scanning. Fine tuning the process that would insert the replacement spine sections and reconnect the nerves all in one go. Though their simulations had shown it wasn’t an easy process she had used up a little over an hour of their allotted time, and the toxicity levels in the patients blood, though acceptable, were rising, and would soon necessitate a decision. ~ C’mon, ‘C’MON!’ ~ I was the inaction, that was all there was to it. While Gabrielle worked she did have things to attend to, but still, the waiting was a killer. Focussing her attention on Watson as she stood up straight she raised an eyebrow. “Ready.” Was all the holographic Doctor said. “Are you sure?” Glancing at the clock, “you have time for one last double check?” Not wanting to give the impression she was hurrying her she asked despite her own feelings. They were a little ahead of schedule if she was ready now. “No, we’re good to go. The alignment is as good as we’re going to get it. We can begin the transport whenever you’re ready.” It was hard to tell from looking at her sometimes that she was a hologram, the technology was so good. But here and now it was obvious to anyone in the room. Despite the even temperature, she was the only one not sweating. “Energise.” Tick Tick Tick ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Time… Passes. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Standing aside Kimberly and Gabrielle watched as their patient, their Captain was taken into the recovery ward. What happened next when he woke up would depend entirely on how well that had done their job. Once the spinal shunt was removed they would know for certain if he was to be confined to a life support machine for the rest of his life, or rehabilitation so he could learn to do things all over again. “Good work…” Gabrielle started to say, only to be cut off as Kimberly waved a hand dismissively. “No. We’ll know if its good work when he wakes up and we know for sure it ‘was’ good work.” Still watching the receding stretcher she stripped the surgical reds off, “For now we do the only thing we can do.” Raising an eyebrow Watson silently asked the obvious question without looking away from the stretcher either. “Now… Now we wait.” Tick Tick Tick Tick Tock… <tbc…> "Gerti Greenbaum and the Afro of Doom" Deck 11, USS Galaxy "Such a display is inefficient… and highly illogical." "Lieutenant, get that outa my face, or by Kahless I'll start trimming "Hey, I know that size DOES matter… but I think you're really trying "Girl – fro lahk that' oughta be framed. Won't get you anywhere with "Po, woman! Is that a tribble? It must be, like the bull-tribble or "Goddess! Go to sickbay before that spreads! It could be contagious!!" "Zarky! Can you play drums?" "Hmmm… never thought my presence was THAT bad!" Some people just didn't appreciate great hair. Sure, the Tellarites Her name was Greenbaum. She worked in Operations. Galaxy Operations. Ops on the ship had certainly seen better times. Rumor was the last They advertised that Ops was the most important department on any "Ply?" "Er… what? "Ply crewman", Gerti droned. "What ply for that finey of hiney?" "Zero?? Who the hell uses zero??" "Look Honey", Geri said taking a drag from her synthe-cig. "We got "OK… lemme see one." One was indeed one, with the texture of the London Times replicated "Klingons an' Klingons wanna-be's for the most part", Gerti grated. "Maybe I'll try… two?" "Lissen greenie", the Ops lieutenant leaned forward on the pallet of "No… I think I'll take a two." A set of bloodshot eyes popped open in the middle of Gerti's massive Crewman Jones grabbed an armful of the "three" and dived back into his quarters. "Damnit Floyd! You scared a week's worth outa the kid!", Ggreenbaum "Brain the size of a Tribble", Floyd growled as he settled back on "Thatis it! No more kibbles for you!" "Prologue" ------------ "Report." As always, Engineering was the first to chime in. Not looking up from "Sensors are operating at one hundred percent capacity," came the next "Helm?" "Just passing Jupiter now, sir. We'll be able to go to warp in under Captain Levesque nodded to himself, then turned and looked at his XO, "Ready for this, Andy?" he asked with a slight smirk. Andrian Kalogeropolous-- or 'Andy Kalo' to pretty much everyone who "Still got that cough, I see." Levesque watched as his XO and "I did," Andy replied, his breath still a bit wheezy. "A month ago. "Now now, let's not be getting ahead of ourselves, now. This new Jean-Phillipe Levesque was still fairly young as captains went, yet he Of course, it had taken them almost all of that time to finish He still didn't feel totally safe strapped to this engine, and he had "Captain, I've just received a message from Project Command. We are Lieutenant Halberstam's voice brought him out of his thoughts and "Aye, sir." Tapping at his controls the navigator began to work, Time seemed to slow on the bridge as the assembled team waited for the "Did I ever tell you that, in Greek, this project's name translates as "No, you didn't," the captain deadpanned. "Thanks for sharing." ------------ "They've gone to warp, Admiral. Telemetry indicates they are at warp A slight pause. "Warp 2." Another pause, this one longer. "Warp 3. ------------ "We are at warp 6 and holding, Captain." Concentrating on keeping his hands from deforming the seat's armrests, "Warp 7, aye." From her station, Lieutenant T'Mar dutifully reported, "Warp 7 "Think she'll hold, 'Commander?" Smiling, Greentree turned to face the captain, nodding once. "It's "Very well. Take us up to warp factor 8." Relaxing ever so slightly, "Aye, sir," came the reply from the CONN. "Taking us up." ------------ "Warp factor 7.3." His mouth set into a tight line, Admiral Williams continued to watch "Warp factor 7.5." Inside, he almost laughed. The newly formed Research and Development "Warp factor 7.7." They said it would never happen; said it was a pipe dream smoked up by "Warp factor 7.8." His heart swelled with pride as he watched the counter slowly tick And it looked like that day was today. "Warp factor 7.9." A small smile broke out onto the admiral's face as he half-whispered, ------------ "Come on baby, come on..." the captain urged, leaning forward in "Warp 7.92." "Structural integrity field is at 95% and holding, Captain. Engines "Warp 7.94." "Give her more...she can handle it..." "Warp 7.96." "Come on, baby, do your thing..." "Warp 7.98." "Just a little further..." ------------ "Warp 8! Sir, they have reached Warp 8!" Unable to contain his enthusiasm any longer, Admiral Williams clapped The woman he'd addressed, young and blonde and probably fresh out of As one, everyone in the room looked up from their screens just as the "Captain Levesque!" Admiral Williams called out, a broad smile on his Abruptly, the screen winked out. A moment later, all the telemetry feeds went blank. ------------ Without warning, the ship began to shake violently, the vibration much "We are at warp 8.9 and increasing steadily," T'Mar called out from "Structural integrity is at 75% and failing rapidly, Captain!" The He didn't have to be told twice, especially now that it seemed his Though it was only a second or two, what seemed like hours passed "Sir, according to my console, we should be at a standstill." Lt. "Engines are at zero power; there is no warp field remaining," Lt. And as if on cue, T'Mar called out, "Warp 11.6. Warp 12. Warp 12.3." "Structural integrity is at 53% and still falling!" Somewhere deep within the ship, the captain thought he heard the metal ------------ "What do you mean they're not out there any more?" Admiral Williams "I-- I don't know, sir," another of the technicians stammered. The "Vanished?" Williams roared. "Unacceptable! Find them!" ------------ "Warp 14." A thousand thoughts raced through JP's mind as the ship continued to "Warp--" But T'Mar never got to complete her report. Deep within the ship, "Hull breaches on decks 12 through 17!" Lieutenant T'Mar called out Across the bridge, Jessa Greentree was also struggling to get back to At the front of the bridge, a tiny voice almost squeaked, "Captain?" "How long will it take to fix them?" Levesque asked. The engines "Captain?" the small voice repeated, still unnoticed. "Unknown. We are not where we should be," T'Mar answered, just as "Captain!" As if on cue, a high-pitched alarm sounded throughout the bridge, the "Imminent collision detected," T'Mar stated. "EVasive maneuvers!" "Engines are still offline, captain!" "Thrusters?" he asked, trying to keep the shaking out of his voice. "Anything?" "All propulsion systems are offline." So this was how it was going to end, he thought grimly, his ship "Shields up! Transfer all remaining power to shields and structural integrity." "Aye, sir," Greentree replied, her voice noticeably wavering as she Exhaling sharply, the captain poked the communications panel in his "Peace at Sunset" Lt Chris Daniels ============ The irony was that a man once both revered and loathed for his ability to party went to one of the As Chris sat back in a balcony chair, he appreciated the fact that over the years his mother had After the Galaxy had left the Deltan sector, some of the medical staff thought, with Chris' So, that was why he found himself watching the waves crash by himself on his villa's balcony It was total peace, a feeling he hadn't known in a long, long time. Unfortunately, he couldn't admit to not reflecting on what had gone on among the stars during his External factors aside, Chris' internal demons still fought against whatever good was left in his But that was why he was here...to relax, forget about those things, and come back recharged. And As the Risan sun made its descent on the horizon, he placed his book on the table and stood, In the silence and asymmetry of the sunset, Chris found beauty. But most of all, he found peace. "Here's Johnny!"
Lt. Victor Krieghoff PO2 Benedict Maxwell Lt. Dhanishta Eshe 1st Lt. Branwen London
***Location, Altroth III, Prison Facility***
The Tetryon pulse bounded through the facility with ease, gobbling up walls like hurdles until it reached a finish-line (of it's own desire) where, for its finale, it merrily flourished in a hastily choreographed fireworks display, backed up with a sonic boom fanfare that sent wave after wave of glorious vibrations through the facility, rocking the Prisons foundations and making the ceilings themselves sputter out dust and debris like spittle. Any chance they had now of a stealthy entrance was well and truly blown. However they had intended to blow the joint anyway, Dhanishta shrugged inwardly, so they started a little early, what gatecrasher didn't?
Twisting slightly to look behind, she marveled at the dust cloud that bellowed out from the exposed hole and watched how it rose upwards and expanded, churning over and over itself as it rolled towards her, tumbling and curling into little puffs as it wrapped it's tendrils around her feet.
Engulfed within the smoke haze she sucked in a breath excitedly, totally enraptured with the buzz of the aftershock and aroused by the smell of weapons discharge. There were many things to get 'excited' about in the universe, toe sucking, ear nibbling, even a hot-chocolate fudge sunday did it for some people, but to be tantalized by the smell of weapons discharge was probably right up there on the 'not so good side of weird' along with foot-fetish-guy and that leather clad freak that liked to pierce his spine with metal rings so he can be chained to a rack and hung from the ceiling with meat hooks!
Dhanishta watched slightly dazed as the dust cloud continued past her to the end of the corridor where it thinned out, expanded again and then dissipated as it eventually came to rest its thick coat on everyone and everything within its reach.
It wasn't until Dhanishta focused on the blinking lights of her HUD that she realized; A) According to the readings, hostile contact would be expected in one minute thirty, and B) she was wearing a hazard suite and therefore couldn't smell anything other than recycled oxygen! As that realization waxed and waned she felt her grip tighten around her phaser rifle and an odd echoed sensation of burning thighs, taught tendons and over exerted muscles ripple through her body. ~Hummm, odd!~ she thought as she followed the bread crumb trail of blinking lights and turned the corner to enter the rabbit hole…
Branwen climbed to her feet unhurt but covered in dust. They were here for her, finally! "Don't shoot! It's me, Branwen. Just green and methane breathing, but it *is* me, and I want to go home."
"What the fu..." Max's voice trailed off. The being standing up before them had the visage of one Branwen London, but the overall appearance… The green wasn't anything like the green of an Orion woman. No, this green was definitely the sickly greenish hue of a Hydran. But there was no third eye (stalk), no tripod, but she was wearing a methane breather. He turned to Krieghoff. "I'm going to scan her, Lou."
Down the corridor and around the bend, figuratively or literally – take your pick, about three steps behind the 'White Rabbit', Dhanishta paused and checked her rifle. Power cell was full; she nodded to no-one and set her sights on the next bend.
"We've got hostiles in ten," Dhanishta informed the boys flatly through her mic, "I've got it covered," she added as she inched further down the corridor, totally separated from them now, her finger poised over the trigger of her rifle, just itching to squeeze…
After acknowledging Dhanis message Max turned to Branwen and addressed her, "Stay absolutely still and do not speak. If you move, my friend here'll turn you into ashes with that big gun of his." He then produced a tricorder from his diagnostics medical buffer and began scanning her. The readings made Max even more confused.
There were human attributes that matched the profile of Lt. London, but then there were several Hydran alleles that were 'grafted' onto her DNA. Max decided a quick 'quiz' was in order. If she couldn't get it right, he'd kill 'it' himself.
"Lieutenant, what did Admiral Packard say to us at the training orientation at DS5?"
Bran blinked. "Admiral Packard? I don't know an Admiral Packard and I wasn't with you on DS5, Max. You are mistaken, please, it is really me, you are mistaken Max. Ask me something else." She babbled.
"Nine…. eight," Dhanishta whispered, totally out of their view, oblivious to the dilemma they were facing she continued to watch the small blips on her HUD as they came closer and closer, "seven…" she breathed raising the barrel of her rifle towards the next bend in the corridor…
"Vic, you got anything for her?" Max offered. He figured he would have known her longer and as such should know something a bit more personal. He could have asked Dhani, but she was busy and had been very distant and quiet thus far.
Victor considered that. "Yes. Tell me what I said to you before your wedding started, and what Dhani's reaction to it was." He checked his scans, since there was, after using the Tetryon pulse launcher, no possible way that every Hydran within the facility didn't know that they were here, and added, "Oh, and duck," as he raised the launcher again.
"Damn it, Vic!" Max cried out as he reduced his profile and ducked out of the way.
Branwen ducked as well, again. While doing so, she was desperately thinking what he had said exactly during the wedding.
As soon as everyone was below the line of fire, he let loose with another bolt along the exact same path that the first one had followed, the pulse impacting the group of Hydrans he'd seen on the scan as they clustered around the opposite end of the path the first pulse had bored through the facility.
Simultaneously round the bend, down the corridor and opposite the next bend Dhanishta sat crouched with her rifle trained on the empty space, just waiting for the first three dots to emerge. She smiled joyfully as the dull thunderous roar tickled her feet with its vibration and sent tingles up and down her spine culminating a warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"Fivefourthreetwoone!" Dhani rushed in one exhale as she sprung to her feet, unable to wait any longer, unable to just tap her feet idly to the rhythm. It was time to dance!
As the echoes of the blast faded away Victor continued, "Now, about the wedding and what I said there?"
TBC… off: one more in the series to go, I swear! "The Final Lesson" Part Eleven Lt. Ella Grey Dr. Kimberly Burton ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ USS Galaxy – Sickbay ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ "We've got to stop meeting like this," Ella joked as she eased herself It had been about a week since she'd been released her from Sickbay "I know," Kimberly agreed with a chuckle, "people might start talking." Picking up a hypo she raised it to Ella's shoulder and let it silently ~ I should have a sign above the door… 'The impossible we do at once… "So, do you feel like telling me what happened yet? Last few times "Yeah," Ella said with a sigh. "They said they think someone sold Ella let her voice trail off, let her gaze unfocus. It was both staged She shook her head. "Anyway, I noticed that he'd disappeared and that "Designer perfume? Ms Grey, what he was wearing has so far defied "I was," Ella replied with a hint of annoyance which she wasn't "I thought John might have gone back to his quarters so that's where I Ella studied the doctor as Burton continued the scans. "You "Do you have any idea where he got it? Anything you know might help. "The Station? I don't really know," Ella said. She pointed at the "It is," angling her tricorder so Ella could see better, "the residual "As for the drug, well I guess Security will chase that one down, "Not very well," She answered. "My parents hired him not knowing about Frowning for a second Kimberly tried to reconcile the data she had so Thinking for a second just how to follow that up she shifted topic for Ella shrugged. "Now that I'm not speaking like Antonio Banderas, well ~ Tribbles! ~ Shuddering involuntarily at the thought of the little "What do you say, Doc? Is it a clean bill of health?" Nodding Kimberly smiled, setting the thoughts of tribbles aside for "From what I can see here, I'd say yes. One more check up though just Ella smiled, letting herself relax a bit. "Great." Now there was just one more person left to talk to and then she could, At least until it came back to bite her in the ass. She had little 6239 |