USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log
Stardate: 60901.04 - 60901.10 |
Logs |
| "The Maltese Eptgac, Part Five: Truth . . . It's a Bitch"
8-ball Hunter **** "I am sure that you all will be very relieved that I solved the case." Nobody looked terribly relieved. In fact, there were a number of expressions that could be considered accurate---boredom, apathy, fear for their own survival---but relief wasn't chiefly among them. The people sporting these less-than-enthused expressions were the Galaxy's own Johnny Walker, Kimberly Burton, Victor Krieghoff, and T'Pei. Each were sitting around a 1930's Victorian style parlour in the Holodeck. 8-ball stood before them and, slightly behind her, stood her trusty sidekick, Ella Grey. So she had exchanged her fedora for a bowler hat. She had forgone the mustache, however. Somehow, it just didn't seem her. Well, if 8-Ball was planning on a murder mystery evening perhaps she could have warned them. In her closet somewhere there was a selection of clothes from the nineteen twenties that would have let her fit right into the holo program, however, considering the climax of this meeting would likely result, Kimberly hoped, in the resolution of just who stole Eptgac perhaps dressing appropriately to the scenario should be left to their hostess. ~ Or is that investigator? ~ Kimberly mused as she stared at the ridiculous hat 8-Ball was wearing. She understood the affection you could hold to a teddy bear, but perhaps 8-Ball was over dramatising the situation just a tad? Johnny Walker just sat there, looking bored. He enjoyed a good show, as much as anyone else, but he was on duty in forty-five minutes, and God only knew how long 8-ball would spend talking at them. 8-ball cleared her throat. "As I said, everyone must be very relieved, except one of you, the one who took my teddy bear. Yes! You may well be surprised, because it had seemed that I had cleared all of you as suspects. However, while deliberating in my humble abode"---it sounded better than sulking in her quarters--- "I came up with the incriminating evidence that pointed to one of YOU as the evil fiend." Ella stood near 8-ball, half heartedly attempting to look 'slinky' which she found difficult to accomplish in her uniform. "You're starting to ramble a bit." 8-ball shot Ella a dirty look before pacing importantly before the suspects. "There were a number of things I had to consider, before honing in on the dread criminal. There was a question of opportunity. That led me to first suspect, Johnny Walker. Johnny Walker is the only person here who walks into my quarters uninvited on a regular basis." Johnny Walker opened his mouth, but 8-ball did not give him the opportunity to speak. "Silence!" she said. "I'll get back to you." She turned to look at the other suspects. "Johnny Walker denied any involvement in the crime. He gave the tip that he'd seen Doctor Burton skulking around my quarters." 8-ball moved to stand in front of Kimberly. "The doc said that she'd been making house calls. An easy thing to say; hard to prove that it was true. Sure, there would be patients who could confirm her alibi, but there's also this tiny thing called medical confidentiality. The doc couldn't just give up the people who'd needed her assistance. So securing her alibi could be difficult. Not to mention, the theft of a teddy bear would be a very quick affair. She could easily have slipped into my quarters, snatched the bear, and been back to her house calls." 8-ball nodded. "True," she said. "An excellent point that still stands. There was no motive for such a crime. Of all the people here, Doctor Burton perhaps has the least reason to care if I go to Vulcan training---there is seldom a crime without a motive. Which led us to T'Pei." 8-ball went to glare at the impassive Vulcan. "Since T'Pei is my Vulcan guidance counsellor, she obviously had more stake in what happened to Eptgac. It's possible that she 'napped the bear, with some evil, twisted logic prompting her." T'Pei looked straight back, nonplussed by the glare. "The training will be ineffective if you are not committed to it," the Vulcan observed flatly. "Manipulating you would only serve to waste my time, and yours, a prospect to which you are opposed, as I recall." 8-ball paused and then continued as if T'Pei had said anything at all. "But would T'Pei really want me to come back? It's unlikely, plus her alibi checked out, and it was a lot more solid than Doc Burton's supposed "house calls". So unless she was acting in cahoots with someone, T'Pei couldn't have done it." "But then, who? Who? Another investigation of the crime scene told us that Victor "Death" Krieghoff had entered the room at the time of the kidnapping." 8-ball crossed over to where Victor sat, although she didn't quite manage to glare at him with the intensity that she'd glared at the others. Friend or not, new personality or not, Victor was still as scary as shit. "Except that I was also present in Security Main - in view of witnesses - at the exact same time," Victor interjected, with a half-smile. Whatever was going to come of this, he wanted to see who'd tried to frame him. Again, ignoring Victor---nobody was having the proper reactions at all; it was supposed to be more, "But I didn't do it! You can't think it was me" instead of all these logical reasons on why they'd already proved it wasn't them---8-ball took on a martyred look. "I knew that facing down Death would be a harrowing experience, if it proved that he had been the one to take Eptgac. But I was willing to do it, to face anything, if it meant even the slightest chance of Eptgac's safe return." Nobody looked terribly impressed by her bravery. Johnny Walker muttered, "Except go to your damn Vulcan sessions." 8-ball glared at him. "What was that?" "Nothing." 8-ball went back to . . . looking intently . . . at Victor. "But Vicky pointed out a frame job, and while he could have been trying to con his way out of the theft, the psychology was still wrong! The psychology is the most important thing. Who would think to steal Eptgac? Who would want me to go back to Vulcan training? Death himself probably has loftier concerns. He has to deny people the promise of death, or go ballroom dancing." 8-ball hesitated for a second and then looked back at Victor. "Thanks, by the way. For not giving me permission to die when people were trying to eat me." "You're a friend," he replied quietly. "And... it's what I do." 8-ball nodded and moved to her other suspects. "The doc had no reason to care. T'Pei was unlikely. It was she who first suggested that the culprit might, in fact, be a friend, a suggestion I blew off at the time---after all, everyone was pointing fingers. Walker had fingered Burton and Burton had fingered T'Pei and---wow, that just sounds all kinds of wrong, doesn't it? Well, the point is, I didn't take her seriously. But now . . ." 8-ball leaned in front of Johnny Walker, hands flat on the armrests of his chair, so close that they were almost nose-to-nose. "You are my friend. We survived phased out cannibals---you can't not be friends, after something like that. So, you care about me. You want me to be sane. You've met Eptgac. You know how important he is to me. You have access to my room---you're always walking in on me naked, even before we hung out. You've got motive, opportunity . . ." "But I didn't do it!" Johnny Walker said. 8-ball smiled. Finally. "You're right," 8-ball said. Then, she turned around. "You did." Ella's eyes widened and she pointed at herself. "Yes," 8-ball said. "You. Johnny Walker might be my friend, but you are too, and only you would have the balls to try and pin this thing on Victor. Nobody else in their right mind would ever think of crossing Death. Johnny certainly wouldn't do it; he's not brave enough for that." Johnny opened his mouth to protest, but then gave up. It was true. "When I realized Eptgac was gone, who did I go running to? Stupidly, I went to my best friend, assuming she would be a trusty sidekick. And oh you played the role well. While going along with what I did, you never encouraged my investigation---in fact, you tried to get me to just go along with the ransom demands because you were the one who wrote them." "You had to be very careful. You had to look like you were helping, but really you were just nudging me every step of the way, until I got so frustrated that I gave up. But you didn't have faith in my tenacity. And back in my quarters, while contemplating, I realized that only you could have set this whole thing up; only you could have taken my beloved Eptgac. So I checked in the computer, with various technical ways that I won't bother to describe here---and I discovered that it was you who faked Victor's commbadge signal. You stole Eptgac." 8-ball took a step closer to Ella. "Well?" she said. "Do you deny it?" "Nope." "Nope? NOPE?" And here 8-ball lost her cool. "I will KILL you!" 8-ball screamed and leaped at Ella, chasing her as she ran around the room. A little surprised at the sudden outburst Kimberly half rose from her chair, watching as 8-Ball pursued Ella with a fiery look in her eyes that promised vengeance upon Ella and her children, if 8-Ball let her live long enough to have any. Considering alternatives in the space of a heart beat she settled on the simplest option to halt the incensed Vulcan. "Victor," she snapped, "grab 8-Ball and park her ass in a chair!" The change from smug to psychopathic had been so abrupt that by the time the group had realized it was not a joke, the half-Vulcan had Ella backed up in the opposite corner of the room, bellowing "Et tu, Ella?" at the top of her lungs while menacingly waving a framed picture of Eptgac over the pilot's head. If she was actually planning on hurting the woman, she would be able to make a decent start on it before anyone got to her. T'Pei lowered the mental barriers that were blocking the Lieutenant from reading her thoughts, realizing that they had to buy enough time for Victor to cross the room and physically restrain her. Then, reaching out for the Lieutenant's mind, T'Pei mentally screamed 'Stop! Immediately!' The other woman jerked in shock, dropping the photo as her hands snapped up to cover her ears. "All right," Victor said quietly, taking the few steps needed to reach 8-Ball and lay a hand on her shoulder, "that's enough, 8-Ball. Stop." "It was a joke," Ella protested. "But that doesn't mean I don't want you to go to your training. I don't want you to end up like you did before." "I--I'm not--I'm fine!" 8-ball snapped. "I'm doing the real counselling, aren't I? You had no right to take him, you goddamned bitch!" 8-ball pulled out of Victor's gently restraining grasp---a move made only possible by the fact that Victor allowed it---and stepped forward again towards Ella, wondering if she could launch herself at her former friend before Victor caught her. She took another small step, readying herself to jump, nails first. "Hold it right there," The pilot said, taking something out of her pocket. A cabinet across the room opened to reveal a gagged teddy bear. "One further move and the bear gets it." 8-ball froze in her place, looking at her beloved Eptgac. His head and limbs were still attached; he seemed to be perfectly okay, other than the fact that Ella now had a phaser pointed at his head. 8-ball imagined his stuffing all over the floor, maybe even spraying her as she ran for him. She stayed still. "You wouldn't," she said. "Try me," Ella replied. "Common, Eight. It's not like I'm asking you to cut off your arm. Just go see T'Pei twice a week." "I would rather cut off my arm!" Then, because that seemed harsh, 8-ball turned her head very slightly to look at T'Pei. "Sorry," she said, before remembering T'Pei had no feelings. T'Pei opened her mouth, but promptly shut it again, unsure of whether or not it would be wise to respond to either statement. 8-ball looked back at Ella. Two days ago, she would never believe that Ella would do it. But then again, two days ago, she wouldn't have thought Ella would steal Eptgac in the first place . . . but here they were. And Eptgac's life was on the line. 8-ball crossed her arms and glanced at the others, none of whom were either ready to help her or knew of a way to do so. She looked down at the floor. She couldn't do this. She couldn't . . . "Come on, Toots," Ella taunted. "I don't have all day." 8-ball took a deep breath. That failed to prepare her, so she took another one, and looked up into Ella's evil, evil eyes. "I . . ." 8-ball steeled herself for the horror. "I will go to Vulcan training." And of course, because the universe just loved kicking her when she was down, the relief that 8-ball had been looking for earlier finally appeared, at least on most of the five faces present. Victor reserved judgement, and merely watched disapprovingly. 8-ball didn't check to see what T'Pei's expression was. Frankly, she didn't want to know. Having sat through this somewhat surreal investigation Kimberly let out the breath she had been unconsciously holding. That seemed a little easy, though to be honest, when your teddy bear was at stake was there really any other option? 8-ball stepped forward, holding one hand out for Eptgac. "I'm never talking to you again," she said to Ella, "and I hope spiked Tribbles find their way into your bed at night, but you've made your point. I will go back to my Vulcan training. There. Happy? Now give me back my damn bear." Ella dropped the phaser, entered a combination in her PADD, and went to retrieve the bear. She handed it back to her friend carefully, just in case 8-ball was still feeling vindictive. Then she glanced at everybody else in the room. "Suckers," 8-ball said and ran out of the Holodeck. Ella sighed. "Well, it was worth a try." "To be honest Ella," Kimberly said as she stood and made her way to the door, "you had that coming." She offered, revising her decision of who needed a psych session the most. Holding a 'Teddy-Bear' to ransom! Victor shook his head and looked over at Ella. "You, better than most of us, ought to know that you can't force someone to change, Ella. It has to come from within, or it's meaningless." He frowned. "But even more importanly, you lied, and you used me to try and hide yourself. That's harder to forgive." He shook his head again and stopped speaking as he turned and left. Johnny Walker stood up, unconsciously walking to the center of the room. "And now that the dust had settled and the teddy bear stolen back, who knew what would happen? In real life, there are no happy endings. Sure, the doll had been saved and the villain had been caught, but friendships had been tested and innocence had been lost. No one can go back to the way things used to be. There is only tomorrow . . . and a long, long shadow, reaching for it." Johnny was quiet for a minute and then noticed Ella still in the room looking at him. "Oh, my God," he said. "The monologuing . . .it's catching." Then, he too ran from the room. -The End "From a Distance" MomQuest IX : Dawn Starring :
(EARTH) She loved this time of morning. In the moments just before the dawn peeked its way over the snow capped hills of Southwestern Minnesota, the world took on an almost magical feeling. The air was Cool and crisp with a hint of earthiness in its smell, and the moonlight still reflecting off the blanket of snow gave an unearthly glow to the fields and pastures around the tiny farm. Morning was coming again to the farm homestead of Holli von Ernst. She was 51 this year and perhaps for the first time in her life she felt the chill of the morning air a little too closely to her thin bones. Still, a life dedicated to daily farm chores and a love for running in the annual Minneapolis City Marathon had kept the red-haired woman in state of fitness that still managed to draw the eyes of men half her age. Clad in her soft flannel housecoat Holli scoffed at the idea as she began her morning ritual of braiding up the waves of scarlet hair that hung well past her knees. ~~Been on this farm by yourself for too long Hol…Gotta stop fantasizing about the hired help like that.~~ Not that there was any help this time of year. The winter months were slower, and the agricultural students who typically came out for summer sessions were locked tightly away in their various dorm room cramming for finals. Rebecca of course was long gone, and her husband long before that. Loneliness was a way of life for Holli, but with it there was peace and a knowledge that she wouldn't do anything else with her life. Still there were always chores to be completed, and as always Holli was up early to do it. The similarity between the older von Ernst and her infamous daughter was startling from a physical standpoint. From the elfin thinness to the freckled noses and red hair, Rebecca ands Holli could almost be sisters, the 18 years of age difference notwithstanding. Socially however, the differences were profound. Rebecca was a dour, sullen young lady full of doom and gloom, while Holli was perpetually the life of the party, full of warm smiles, a sharp wit, and a daring spirit. Perhaps it had been her feeling on invincibility that had resulted in her unexpected pregnancy during her Freshman year at New York State University as a Kinesiology major on a track scholarship, but since the surprise arrival of her darling Rebecca so long ago, Holli hadn't looked back once. Even when her young husband died when Rebecca was only eight, leaving the young single mother alone with a confused child and a huge farm to run, Holli had steered her life straight into the wind, applying the steady determination and endurance of her marathon running towards the goal of making life as perfect as it could be for her young daughter. The success of those efforts were largely debatable, but it was not for the lack of trying. Fully dressed now, the old wooden floors of the ancient farmhouse creaked and groaned as Holli made her way downstairs and out onto the front porch, braving the chill morning air as she sat on the swing and pulled on her muddy work boots for a new day of never-ending chores. It was wet this morning. Snow covered most of the ground, but the eternal tromping of the cows hooves were forever churning up the wet ground into a muddy minefield. A north wind was also whipping through the area, rustling the dead leaves and whipping her cape of read hair pleasantly about her thing frame. Definitely, it was her favorite time of day, and Holli inhaled deeply, dranking in the sights and sounds. The subtle chirping of the morning doves, the lowing of the newly awakened cows waiting to be milked, and the high pitched whine of the incoming shuttle. A shuttle? Peering out from under the porch awning, she could already make out the red and green running lights of a atmospheric craft definitely angling down into a final approach towards the farm. Holli may be an old country gal, but his still was the 24th century, and she had seen a shuttle or two in her day….especially when little Rebecca popped in for a visit. A wide grin spread from cheek to freckled cheek as she almost leapt off the porch waving and running across the muddy driveway towards where the antigrav units were already stirring up the morning mists. ~~Rebecca! Holli's little Funny-Face was coming for a visit!!~~ she thrilled. She was so excited to see her daughter that she almost didn't notice how the exhaust plumes blew over her large mulch pile, scattering it away into the snow. No matter….Rebecca was raised on a farm too, and knew how to shovel mulch…..which she'd definitely be doing before she left again The ship wasn't the usual sleek Starfleet issue Rebecca usually showed up in…..actually usually she merely beamed down come to think of it….but instead it seemed to be a beat up civilian model Warp Sled, with its typical tiny cabin and oversized engines. A hot rod. Chewing on her cheek as she listened to the airlock hiss and equalize, Holli entertained the thought that maybe funny-face finally met a boy…. Only the two figures emerging out of the cabin lights were not the answer to her grandchildren-prayers. Indeed there was a man but the woman bedside him was too tall to be her own darling pixie Rebecca. A subtle chill crept into Holli's bones that had nothing to do with the morning air. Blond haired Allison stepped out into the frozen muddy driveway heedless of the wet squelching sound it made under her boots. ~~Grandma…..~~ she almost breathed aloud, starring at the tiny confused woman before her. ~~Dang Grandma is a hottie.~~~ 20 years from now Holli had given up her running, and left most of the farm work to year-round hired hands, spending most of her retirement time doting on her darling daughter and baking cookies for her imp of a granddaughter. As a result Alli had never seen her in her prime. Allison had never seen her hair so long either. After a lifetime of maintaining her knee-length red tresses, Grandma von Ernst had finally shorn it off into a simple shoulder length style that had been all little Alli had ever known. She'd seen pictures sure…..but those didn't compare to how the scarlet locks flowed and whipped about in the morning wind almost like blood red cape flapping in the breeze. "Who are you people? What do you want?" Holli demanded, her sudden disappointment fading into anger at the intrusion. "Your stupid shuttle is tearing up my yard and ruined my mulch pile." She noted Victors uniform and squinted slightly trying to remember if she'd seen him before. Rebecca so rarely brought any of her little friends by the farm, and so while Vic looked somewhat familiar she could not immediately place him. The skinny blond woman next to him looked startlingly familiar however. Except for the hair color could almost be a twin of Holli's own Aunt Annabelle back in Buffalo. "Who are you." she repeated. Licking her lips, Alliosn shivered slightly against the cold. She hadn't thought to put on a jacket in the warm shuttle cabin. "Gram…uh….Ms. Von Ernst?" she began my name is Allison….were friends of…uh…your daughter . Can we talk?" "She's not here." Holli retreated a step involuntarily. Why was she so chilled all of the sudden? That man scared the pee out of her somehow, and yet any 100lb woman who could spend a life staring down a 1500lb Holstein Cow was not easily intimidated. "You messed up my yard." she repeated. Alli looked over at the scattered mulch pile and blushed. She'd spent many morning shoveling up the soggy mess as a child. Gramma von Ernst put you to work when you came calling. "Oh…gee…sorry about that….Um my friend here will be glad to shovel that up for you if you and I could go inside and talk a minute okay?" "I will?" Victor asked curiously, amused by the sudden burst of take-chargedness by Allison. "Well duh…" Alli rolled her eyes. "Several reasons….first of all because you're all big and manly and look like you know how to shovel poo. " ":Secondly." she ticked it off on her finger, "Mulch is full of all kinds of dead and decomposing leaves and twigs and such so you could like pass the time giving things permission to die and fun stuff like that." "Lastly…." Alli made a face. "It looks hard and I don't want to." "Ah," Victor smiled slightly. "It becomes clear now. This isn't about shoveling manure, it's really about my not telling you your mother was missing aren't you?" "Bingo." Alli touched her frozen nose. "Ciao Uncle Vic." "Where's your tool shed, ma'am?" Victor asked Holli, shaking his head in amusement. "Might as well get started." After the directions were issued, he nodded and started towards it, pausing to add, "Just remember, Allison, the shuttle's not very large and it doesn't have a shower," before rounding the corner of the house.
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(Inside the Farmhouse) Grandma von Ernst's hot Coco was just like Alli remembered it. On a cold day like today nothing beat snuggling up on the old green couch, and sipping a cup of chocolately goodness. She rubbed the upholstery idly, somehow missing the red stain from where she spilled Kool-Aid on it when she was five. "Sorry it's a bit chilly in here." Holli was fussing about, "Not expecting guests, and I don't usually heat the house when I'm planning on being outside doing chores all day." He swiped a few invisible specs of dust off the coffee table, and cast about wondering if anything else was amiss. "You're friend going to be all right out there?" Alli grinned in spite of herself. "He's tough." The décor of the old farmhouse had not changed much in the last 20 years……or should she say wouldn't change in the next 20 years. The photos on the mantelpiece were still the same dusty old frames showing mom growing up as a kid. --5 year old Rebecca playing with the chickens. --Teenage Rebecca rolling her eyes as Holli snapped the camera, a sarcastic expression Alli recognized as her own. --A wedding photo of a very young Holli and the long dead grandfather Alli had never met. As a child Allison had never noticed the slight bump under Holli's wedding gown, the sight of which made both of her eyebrows shoot up now. ~~Holy Zark….Grandma had a shotgun wedding.~~ she gaped. "I could start a fire….."Holli was saying, topping off the coco with a fresh steaming batch, and a new handful of marshmallows. "A fire…oh." Alli glanced at the old stone fireplace. "Let me get it please. I love to….I mean I used to start the fire in my grandma's house all the time growing up." "Really?" Holli cocked her head a bit, showers of long red hair shimmering hypnotically. "Not a lot of people have real wood burning ones nowadays, think you can handle it?" The blond woman rolled her eyes in a manner that reminded Holli of her own daughter growing up. Amazing the similarities. Alli was already up and across the polished wooden floors, pulling aside the screen and making sure a couple of freshly chopped logs were stacked well on the grate. Without thinking she reached over to the small end table and pulling open the drawer extracted the little box of Laser-beads Grandma always kept there for starting the fire. Puling out one of the little red spheres she shook it to activate it and dropped it neatly into onto the logs, enjoying the brief flash as the internal laser discharged and sparked the wood into instant flames. She hadn't done this in years. Holli watched the girl with a frown, warming her hands by the fire. Her eyes narrowed critically. "Allison…you did say that was your name right?…..How did you know where I kept the Laser-Beads?" Alli froze in the midst of rubbing her hands, and slowly turned to face Holli. There was no excuse, so she chose instead to divert the topic. Playtime was over. "Ma'am….We're friends of your daughter….This may come as a bit of a shock to you but…..maybe you better sit down."
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The dishes had been cleared away by a concerned Krieghoff who busied himself in the old fashioned kitchen trying to figure out which drawer to put everything in. Holli's sobs were diminishing now, but Alli remained close by, an arm around her shoulders lending comfort and support to the worried woman. "So….sniff…you don't know where she might have gone?" Holli crumpled another tissue, her freckled nose red and drippy. Allison frowned, "Actually that's why we came here. We're hoping you could tell us something that she may have said or done recently." "I havent seen her since last summer." Holli protested, arms flailing a bit desperately. "Ever since the war broke out she doesn't get back home as much…do you think she's safe?" "Absolutely." Alli reassured, grabbing her grandma's hand with her own. "Mom…uh…Rebecca's too smart for her own good sometimes, but she can also be a bit sneaky if she needs to. " Alli cast about the room, looking for something to say. The fire still crackled merrily, but the mood had left a definite chill in the air. "Notes?" Holli sniffed, "What like holo's." "A holo? She sent you a holo?" The elder von Ernst bobbed her head, "A few weeks ago….but it was business mainly…just asked me to open up a new account for her and put some money in…..OHMYGOSH….she said she needed some universal currency!" Alli almost jumped as well. "Which she wouldn't need if she was visiting a Federation world….but rather someplace outside of it." Victor appeared in the doorway to the kitchen a threadbare old apron tied around his torso, "As a Federation Captain, Rebecca could requisition any shuttlecraft she needed." he said "But if she was traveling incognito she'd need credits." "Exactly Vic, perfect." ALli grinned. "Oh and….where do these bowls go?" he asked holding up the dishes. "Top shelf on the left." Both Allison and Holli answered at once. Alli blushed, and the farmer looked at her with intense curiosity. "I do not know who you are Miss Jimsdottir…but I'm glad you are helping my daughter." she gave her hand a good squeeze. "Let me get you the account information…maybe you can use it to track her movements."
The information was quickly revealed, however it was already apparent that tracking Rebeca down would be a bit harder than they thought. "The account isn't accessible from Earth." Victor pointed out. "Its drawn on an off planet account locaed in the outer Solar System." Holli nodded. "Rebecca insisted that I open it in a Pluto Bank. Kinda like a Swiss Bank account, but with even more security and privacy. I didn't think about it at the time, but I'm guessing she was trying to avoid having Starfleet track her purchases." "Pluto." Alli frowned. "Is that going to cause problems? " Victor rubbed his chin, "No but it will require us to get creative. The planet is known as a pretty rough place…killers for hire…mercenaries…all sorts of underworld contacts." "Just the place for somebody trying to avoid a run in with the law." Alli nodded. "All right…Pluto it is. When do we leave?" “McAllister, Future Tense” or “Music Without Sound”
Paul McAllister, former Commander, SFI
Soundtrack: “Requiem (The Fifth)” – Beethoven’s Last Night, Trans-Siberian Orchestra http://wm.atlrec.com/Trans-Siberian_Orchestra/new_03/requiem_thefifth_300.wmv
<SS Vienna, Somewhere in Space>
The private yacht Vienna was in high orbit. On the surface of the planet below, a fierce storm raged. He didn’t know the name of the planet, much less the system, nor did he care. The storm had caught his eye and suited his mood, so he stayed.
He was alone in the converted cargo bay of the yacht. A real fire raged in the fireplace, appropriately vented by the ship’s engineering systems and constantly monitored by the ship’s computers. Other than the glow from the fire, there was only the light of a few candles placed around what appeared to be a music room.
Like the storm on the surface of the planet and the fire in his fireplace, the pain in his head raged on. There nothing he could do, the pain would not leave – and in truth, he did not want it to. Pain was a fine and just reward for the sins of his youth.
Paul David McAllister raised his head from the Steinway Concert Grand that sat to one side of the room, opposite the fireplace. Flexing his fingers, he did not need the music spread in front him – this one he knew by heart.
The opening movement of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony in C Minor, Opus 67, Allegro con brio.
McAllister’s fingers hammered the keys.
Music without sound.
In his head, the pain raged in time to the music. In his ears -- nothing.
Paul David McAllister, like the composer whose work he was expertly playing, was deaf.
His visions came now, his muses in white, dancing in the gloom.
The pain began to subside as McAllister left the piano and began to conduct the orchestra in his head. The muses continued their macabre dance to music without sound.
He recognized them now, figures from a past he could not forget. T’Pei, T’Risia, Kyznetsova, Smith, T’Vara, Tarin, Burton, Hunter, Eshe…all of them danced in his feverish mind as he urged the orchestra – louder, faster, more…
Music without sound.
VOCA ME BENEDICTUM SANA MEAM ANIMAM
Flashback –
<Federation Rehabilitation Facility>
Holley McAllister lay in her bed without moving. Paul had long ago ordered the machines thought to be sustaining her life be taken away.
Holley lived.
After many years in a coma, Holley awoke. More years, and Holley remembered, and could walk again. Then, and she could dance once more.
Her brother Paul had promised to be at the recital. He had promised.
And then without warning, Holley McAllister was reintroduced to war.
He had promised.
Holley McAllister died with a million others.
He had promised.
The Present –
McAllister urged the muses, dance damn you all, dance; he urged the orchestra, louder, faster…
VOCA ME BENEDICTUM SANA MEAM ANIMAM
Flashback –
A battle. CIC was burning. McAllister pulled people from the wreckage, some alive, some dead. The alarms, the smoke. Heat. Burning fire. Warp Core breech immanent.
ALEX!
Run, damn you, run faster, down ladders, run you fool damn you run, you can save her…
Sudden pain. Decompression. Darkness. Music without sound.
She had saved him.
The Present –
McAllister returned to the keyboard, hammering out the last bars of the movement. The muses faded, but one remained…
Paul looked into her eyes, raised his hand, and tried to smile.
“Immortal Beloved,” he whispered, and slumped over the piano keys, fingers bloody, the music gone.
Music without sound.
TBC “Big Punches come in Small Packages” Star Captain Le’on Khatowren, Commanding Officer; ICS Days of Thunder. ========== Commanding Officer’s Ready Room, Combat Information Center ICS Days Of Thunder, Cattusian Flagship. In orbit around Cattus III; home of the Cattusian Commonwealth located in Federation-Triad Neutral Zone. Star Captain Le’on Khatowren of the Cattusian Commonwealth looked over the PADDs in his ready room for what must have been the millionth time. Fleet movements, battle readiness reports, political statements, intelligence reports, damage assessments, crew training and readiness reports, it all was enough to make his little head ache hard. The entire universe went to hell in a hand basket, in Le’on’s expert opinion, almost overnight. But choices had been made outside of his control and now all he could do was defend those that he could. A friend of his once said that you had to play with the cards that you were dealt. In which case, Le’on wanted to have a word with the dealer. With a snarl of frustration, Le’on batted some of the PADDs out of the way and then leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his paws to his temples in an attempt to relax. The stress of it all was so overwhelming at times. He then stalked over to the replicator, ordered himself a White Russian, and then sat down on his couch and proceeded to sip at his drink, calming his already frazzled nerves in the process. He glanced around his ready room where many pictures of his past hung on the wall. Ahh… Memories… All back during a time when war wasn’t a constant way of life… There was his academy graduation way back in 2378. Back when he was six feet tall. Looking back on that, he found that he could hardly remember when he ever was that tall… His disgruntled mug shot of when he was tossed into the brig back in 2380 shortly after Q had shrank him. He’d gotten extremely drunk that day… He’d gotten drunk a lot of days since then… His awarding of the Bronze Star and his promotion to Lieutenant Junior Grade, right around the time he joined the USS Galaxy… His subsequent promotion to full Lieutenant somewhere around 2385, right when the Federation-Triad War was at its heaviest… His awarding of the Legion of Merit during the Cattusian First Contact mission. That had been the second and last time he’d met the infamous Q. That had been sometime in the late 2380’s… This brought him to his next picture of him with the infamous omnipotent being. Ironically, he felt no ill will anymore to Q and actually came to regard him as a friend now… Then, his final promotion in Starfleet to Lieutenant Commander in 2392; that was when he had gotten married to Belle on Cattus III and had officially relocated his residence there from Burning Terra… And then finally the picture of him on the podium in Cattropolis in 2395, when he announced to the entire known galaxy that Cattus was formally withdrawing from the United Federation of Planets less than a decade after they had initially joined. It was the same day that he’d resigned from Starfleet and accepted the position as Acting Commandant of the Cattusian Star Corps Academy. A year later he christened the ICS Days of Thunder and stepped on board as her first, and so far only, Commanding Officer. He had felt in his gut back then that something bad was going to happen, and happen it did when the Federation finally dissolved in 2399 when it officially lost its war with the Triad. Now, a mere three years later after one war stopped another one was looming on the horizon. He was 43 now and felt like he’s earned every piece of grey fur that was starting to seep in on his head and body. War was growing weary on his bones, but he’d never admit to that. He’d just claim that it was the high gravity of Cattus III that was getting to him. With that thought, his gaze slowly drifted to the holopicture on his desk showing his wife and four kittens. He let out a little chuckle as he thought about his one son, Tipper, surrounded by his mom and three sisters. The poor boy lived in the estrogen ocean and was practically begging Le’on the other day if he could go to war with his dad rather than face down the rest of the litter alone. At the moment, Le’on wasn’t quite sure which would be safer for the lad; War or staying home with the ladies. “Star Captain,” The voice of his Executive Officer, Commander Salem Spellman, came over the intercom. “It’s time sir.” “Da Comrade,” Le’on said, walking over to his desk and hitting the reply button. “I will be right there.” His usual thick Russian accent was still around to this day, a testament to his upbringing back on Burning Terra, but his pronunciation had improved remarkably over the years. He kissed his paw and placed it on the holo of his family for luck and then strolled out into the CIC. The Combat Information Center, or CIC, was the real nerve center of the ship. The bridge, which controlled ship movements and carried out other duties, lay directly forward of the CIC, all of it enclosed in the center of the ship and not on top of the ship as to be some giant bulls-eye target. If Le’on wanted, or needed to, he could be at any major control point of the ship (security, engineering, sickbay, etc...) in a matter of seconds, not minutes. His ship, the ICS Days of Thunder, named after the initial space faring days of the Cattusians, was an old refitted Federation Saber Class Starship. It was small by the standards of most humanoid species, but perfect for the Cattusians who were all about Le’on’s size. The standard Saber had 10 decks and held about 40 crewmembers. His Saber had 20 decks and a crew of 200, which included a fighter deck running down the entire beam of the ship to allow easier takeoffs and landings of starfighters much like the USS Miranda did back in the day. The weapon compliment was greatly increased when one tossed out all the unnecessary space that taller humanoids required. Le’on glanced around the CIC and his chest swelled with pride. This was all of his doing. He’d helped the Cattusians negotiate for Starfleet to give over some of their ships to be retrofitted for their use. It was claimed, back at the time, that the Cattusians would make an excellent addition to Starfleet. A few even made it in before Cattus withdrew from the Federation. What wasn’t given to the Cattusians, the Cattusians made themselves with the help of the shipyards that Starfleet helped install as well as the training facilities planetside. Starfleet then had actually assigned Le’on to train up the “Pigmy Caitians”, as they were being called, so that they could then fight the Triad. As a result, these were all men and women who were all trained by him in the deadly art of war. He had honestly hoped that the day Cattus would mobilize for war wouldn’t come, but come it did and now they all had to play their part in this deadly game. Salem, the jet black Cattusian, came up to him. “The Prime Minister is hailing us sir.” He said simply. He’d been expecting it as much as his CO did. “Figures...” Le’on sighed as he walked with Salem over to the central holotable. “Let’s see it.” Prime Minister Maureen Morris’ tabby face and upper body filled the area above the table. “Star Captain.” She said formally, addressing Le’on. “I’m sure you know why I called?” “Da Madame Prime Minister.” Le’on nodded. “Negotiations have failed?” “They have.” She confirmed solemnly. “Or at the very least reached a stalemate. Either way, we will have to proceed as planned since they are on the way as we speak. The fate of our people now rests in your paws. Do not fail us.” “We will succeed or die in attempt.” Le’on said proudly. The CIC crew echoed that by cheering and pumping paws into the air. “Very good Star Captain, we will await news from you then. Parliament out.” With that, Morris’ image disappeared. Le’on turned to his communications officer and pointed a claw up at him. “Give me fleet wide communications.” He ordered. “I want everyone on every ship to hear me.” The communications officer nodded, tapped a few controls, and then pointed back at Le’on indicating that he was on. Le’on cleared his throat and spoke up. “My fellow Comrades in Paws, this is your Star Captain. It is an honor to be speaking with you today and I am proud to be your commanding officer in our motherland’s greatest achievement to date. And today, we begin our part in a deadly game of chess with our old adversaries; those who call themselves the Hawks. It is a game that has been going on long before your fathers, and their fathers before them ever left the litter. But it is now up to us to end. We will take our fleet through the remnants of the old Federation in order to join with our ideological comrades in their great crusade to bring peace once again to the galaxy. We will pass those who will laugh at our diminutive sizes and they will be the first to taste our claws and our fangs and find out fist hand just what we Cattusians are made of. Afterwards, while they are drifting in their wreckage, the only sound they will here will be that of our laughter as we leave them in our wake. They will find out first hand that the biggest punches come in smallest packages. It is now time, Comrades, for us to make our mark on the universe. Today Comrades, we fly into history!” Cheers erupted all across the ship and Le’on could picture the same thing happening around the small strike fleet that he commanded as well as the Cattusian Home Fleet that would be staying behind to guard the system; the ships that were all staying behind in the event that Le’on failed. He let the crews have their moment of cheer (it was good for morale, which was ever important in these dark days) before speaking up once again. “Task Fleet Harpoon: Engage engines, Engage Cloaking Devices, and move out!” he ordered. At once the ICS Days of Thunder, as well as her nine escorts (all refitted Federation Defiant Classes), broke apart from the main fleet and shimmered into invisibility in order to head out on their mission, many of the crews leaving the planet of their birth for the first, and last, time. Le’on watched on the holotable as Cattus shrunk into the distance. It was a beautiful world and he marveled at the fact that the damage that had been done to his chosen homeworld didn’t look as bad from a distance. He switched the holotable back to the standard fleet readout view. Yes, it would definitely be an event that would be remembered in galactic history... one way or another... TBC... "Reflections of Things to Come" With Benedict "Max" Maxwell, MD Bridge, USS Osler, In Vulcan Sector, 2402 The last bit of repairs were just about done to the Tac-Com station that exploded during their last run. Lt. Sarush's death was a major blow to the man sitting in the Big Chair was concerned. S/he stuck by the Skipper through thick and thin, even when they didn't agree on the quickly unraveling political situation in what was then the Federation. He was bleakly aware that he would need to replace the now deceased Hermat. Looking around his time and war beaten bridge, Lt. Commander Benedict "Max" Maxwell took stock in his current situation. He had a ship that had been shot at just for having the prefix "USS" in front of it's name. He was still a part of someone's Starfleet, although he wasn't sure day to day which side he was really on. Truthfully, the fifty-one year old took his ship took his hospital ship wherever they were needed...which was pretty much almost everywhere these days. When he and Victory got out of Medical School together, never in their wildest dreams did they believe that this would be the world they were going to live in. Sure the war had raged on even back then, but when the armistice was struck, everyone had held a glimmer of hope. But as all things, the armistice was broken and ultimately, the Federation was no more. Now there were two factions: The Hawks and the Doves, who pecked and clawed at each other like starved birds in an open cage. The real predators were not the Hydrans, the Breen, or even the T'Kith'Kin, but themselves. The Engineering techs had finished their repairs now, and one of them handed a PADD for Max's signature approval. When they left, he was left alone on the Bridge. The low beeping from his chair indicating that there were messages waiting for him, but the tone itself indicated that none of them were a priority. They can wait, dammit, he thought bitterly. He walked over to the Ops terminal and activated the now replaced viewscreen. A tactical map of the quadrant appeared. It's what the bridge crew looked at most of the time now. It was always a good idea to know where your friends (and possible enemies) were at a given time. With continuously updated information from relay posts along what was Federation space, the Osler knew which areas to skirt, and which ones were safe to cross. Everyone was busy somewhere repairing something or another, while the medical staff continued to do what they did best: practice the ancient art of healing with very modern tools and techniques. He figured that he should take a trip down to Primary Sickbay and see how his latest refugees were doing. He promised safe passage to Al'Klei'sh, but would have to speak to "Old Fork" to see if he could seal the deal with his planet's government. The ship wasn't going anywhere, with the Vulcans being hospitable enough to allow his ship to dock and receive repairs, restock, and if they were lucky, new personnel. So after another glance around, Max left the bridge and made his way below decks. "Professor Who?" MomQuest X "Pluto Again" Fact was it would be winter for the next century and a half or so during the tiny planets long lonely trip around the sun. Oh, and I did say planet. The scientific surveys of the mid 21st century settled the ongoing debate for once and for all and in a spectacularly unscientific fashion, the original nay-sayers found themselves quickly tarred and feathered and ran out of town. But all that was in the past, and nowadays the dark planet was known system wide for its equally dark and seedy underworld. Robbers and rapists. Mercenaries and Muggers. Kleptos and Klingons. All found refuge and sanctuary in the underground labyrinths that pulsed and glowed with a life of their own far beneath the cold snowy surfaces of the planet. King of the underworld was undoubtedly the man known as Yuri Alexandrovitch Morochenko, Russian immigrant turned opportunist and ultimate founder of one of the most popular nightclubs in the solar system. They called him Mr. Pluto, and in his place anything was possible. The music was a loud synthesis of driving techno rhythms fused with the screaming intensity of dark metal growls. Bright neon lights danced and jumped in tune to the beat, flashing their way across the waves of humanity dancing and writhing on the speckled dance floor. The dance mob was like a single underground creature. Moving and undulating in tune with the lights and sounds. Here far beneath the snow covered craters above, they came to mate, reject, meet, and deny all in the same night as many times as possible. It was to this world that Victor Krieghoff and Allison Jimsdottir had come, hot on the trail of clues left by the missing Rebecca von Ernst. Mysterious deposits into Plutos highly secretive banking institutions had opened up under the account passwords provided by Holli von Ernst, and now the line of purchases had led them to Morochenko's bar. It hadn't been in vain. Some quick bribes by Allison, and some equally quick threats by Victor had loosen Ned several lips, and it was quickly discovered that yes indeed…..a tiny redhead had been by the month before and had in fact hired a contract shuttle. A shuttle….to where? The question had been asked. To Andor of course….the front lines in the war, to rendezvous with a starship. Which starship? The Enterprise.
That was an hour ago, and flushed with victory and hypnotized by the driving rhythms of the dance floor, the pair had settled down for a quick break. That was about to change however, as down from the winding stairs that lead back to the surface a group of Federal agents appeared, making there way across the floor towards them. "Finished your drink?" Victor asked pleasantly, nodding towards Allison, and ignoring the three men clustered around her. "I think it's time to leave." "Fifteen." MomQuest XI "Enterprise"
" I am not a Committee!!!" Allison von Ernst bounced off the bulkhead as the latest photon blast threatened to rock the tiny Warp sled to pieces. "Then sit down and let me fly this thing." Corgan spat back, twisting the craft into a downward spinning spiral hoping to temporarily throw off the pursuit. "Still back there Krieghoff?" "Except for my breakfast….yes." The grim man looked slightly green, but maybe that was the glow from the various emergency lights and dials that lit up the cabin like a neon arcade. "This will be over soon, yes?" James Lionel Corgan bounced his head slightly in indecisive frustration, "Ah…well if they kill us yeah…it'll be all over quick, but you'll pardon me if I try and drag this out a bit. You still watching the horizontal stabilizers kiddo?" In the copilots seat, Allison made a face. "Okay….kiddo wasn't appropriate when I was sixteen, it sure isn't…." WHAM!!! "….zark that was a close one…..it sure isn't appropriate now!" "Cant tell you how much I'm enjoying these little family get togethers darlin'. " James grinned ad gunned the oversized engines some more. "Next time lets visit the Grand Canyon like normal folks."
The Warp Sled and its slightly battered passengers were making system fall on the outer edges of the Andor star system. Braking out of warp and back into Einstein universe they had been promptly jumped by a trio of Police cutters evidently tipped off to their presence by the ever persistent Agent Rhinestone. "Cant tell you what this is doing for my career darlin'." Corgan's fingers played across the control surfaces. "Death of Federal agents….Evading arrest….more violations of the Temporal Prime directive than I can count….." "Yeah yeah yeah." Alli waved her hand. "That's what you get for not spending more time with me growing up." "Don't!" James warned, holding up a threatening finger. "You haven't even been born yet kiddo but that doesn't mean I still cant take you across my knee." "Okay that is wrong on just so many levels." "I TOLD you to watch that stabilizer!" WHAM!! BLANG!!! "See….now look what you did? Now they got us in a crossfire!" "Don't try and guilt trip me dad. Once we find mom I'm telling." "Are you two bloody well finished?" The electronic voice of Mary Poppins the Horta cut across the bickering, "I've half a mind to take the lot of you across my knees if I had any…..and Victor Krieghoff if you cant hold your cookies please be so kind as to look the other way." Corgan almost grinned in spite of himself. This is what had been missing from his life for a long time now…..a little life and death excitement. He could feel the responsiveness of the Warp Sled's huge sublight engines, feel the pounding of the Police cutter's near misses…thrill in amazement again at the strength of his daughter…a daughter he hadn't even conceived yet. He shook his head. A daughter he might never conceive at this rate…not with darling Mika in his life…and certainly not if his quirky old friend Rebecca von Ernst was supposed to be the mother. Sex? With skinny Rebecca? BLANG!!! Yes….a quiet trip to the Grand Canyon would be nice once his life stopped spinning. "Ever had any kids Mary?" he inquired over his shoulder, throwing the Sled into another high-g turn. "We Horta only reproduce very 30,000 years Luv." the rock replied. "I like to think I'm saving myself for the right guy." Allison snorted. "She's shacking up with a nerd." "A what?" James raised an eyebrow. "One of the tech weenies from the Geology department." Alli nattered. "buck teeth, thick glasses….its all very unseemly." Mary tsked. "No accounting for taste luv. What Percy and I have is beautiful and special." Alli rolled her eyes. "Ok….Now I'm going to need one of Victors barf bags." "Beautiful that is, unlike you and your bloody fighter pilot" The Horta added. "What?" Alli gasped, scandalized. Corgan actually whipped his head around taking his eyes off he controls. "Wait? You're dating a fighter pilot?!" "Jimmy…mind the road." Victor erped. "Ohmygawd….that was such a long time ago." Alli rolled her eyes. BANG!!!! "Ooooh Samurai my love….Oh how do I love thee Samurai…."Mary mocked, "Listened to that bloody nonsense for days let me tell you." Alli swiveled her chair around, "You shush up." "HIS NAME WAS SAMURAI?" Corgan was still behind the curve. "Road Jimmy." "It was his nickname Hel-lo!" Alli huffed, completely forgetting about the stabilizewr she was supposed to be minding. "And besides I was a kid….that was four years ago!" "Technically just last month from our eyes luv." Mary sniffed. "You should have heard this love song she composed for him….quite a vulgar little piece." "My daughter is not allowed to date fighter pilots names Samurai!" James declared authoritatively. WHANGO!!!!! "Actually I'm kind of wishing we had a fighter pilot her right now to pilot this thing so we don't die." Victor observed. "Oh get over it dad,"…….are we done escaping yet?" "Getting there." Corgan shrugged wearily, "Approaching the inner system now and passing several warning buoys…..you sure this is a good idea?" "Nope…..got a better one?" "No but….." the flashing red alarm on the proximity console drew everyone's attention. "Shit…something big coming in from in front of us on Intercept. A Starship…aint no way I'm outrunning that!" "No need to." Alli breathed leaning forward into the window and watching the sleek grey shape emerging out of the darkness, "We're here…It's the Enterprise……" ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Agent John Rhinestone absentmindedly rubbed the still healing scar on his left jaw. A quick stopover in the infirmary following the disastrous shootout three days ago had fixed most of the major damage, but his jaw still itched like the devil. There'd be time to go back and fix that after this whole mess was over. Drumming his fingers impatiently while the Police cutter went through its final docking maneuvers with the USS Enterprise, Rhinestone found himself wondering if this…his third visit to a starship in as many weeks was going to be any smoother than the last two affairs. His first stop over in the Galaxy had resulted in the unplanned shootout in Concorde Station, and while Captain T'Vara had proved quite helpful, his efforts to question Krieghoff and Jimsdottir had proved fruitless. The Zeus had been a disaster. Not only had the pair escaped again, but the resulting investigation had resulted in having the poor investigators world turned upside-down as the conspiracies of Admiral Hoth came back to haunt the Fleet long after his death. Now at last however, the suspects and their new allies had been seen entering the Main shuttle bay of the USS Enterprise not an hour ago, and the flanking Police Cutters had stayed in the area making sure that nobody flew off…or beamed off the ship in the interim. The Enterprise itself was staying pretty quiet on the subject, but now with Rhinestones arrival, he had the authority to board the ship itself and present his demands to it famous captain in person. He itched his jaw again as the cutter finally settled into place, trying to control his nerves as the big-engined Warp-Sled of the Jimsdottir gang was clearly visible not 20 meters away. "I want two guards on that Sled at all times." he pointed to his compatriots. "Two more by the Entranceway to the Shuttlebay. I don't care what the fleet weenies say, but nobody boards her…and for damn sure nobody leaves in her." Greeting him was a large frowning Klingon, although upon further reflection tht description was probably redundant. Allowing himself to be trundled into a whooshing turbo lift, Rhinestone was lost in thoughts until he found himself in a large conference lounge alone with the stern faced visage of Picard himself. The Captain was seated at the end of a long table, arms crossed gently over his chest, and watching Rhinestone carefully. Gleaming under the overhead lights, a single PADD sat untouched in the center of the table. ~~Shit~~ Rhinestone cursed inwardly. ~~The bastards brought extra copies of the brainwashing devices with them.~~ "Captain Picard," he began moving forward hand outstretched, "Thank you for meeting me like this, my name is Agent…." "Agent John Rhinestone yes." Picard interrupted softly, his arms remained crossed, not deigning to meet the offered hand. "It seems we have a lot to talk about sir." ~~Crap.~~ "Very well." he swallowed hard, sinking slowly into a seat. "I suppose the first order of business would be the status of escaping fugitives I have tracked to your ship. Temporal Affairs….." "We are way beyond issues of a Temporal Affairs investigation Agent Rhinestone." Picard replied quickly, his eyes glancing towards the PADD. "Ah…yes. Well, nevertheless Captain, Temporal Affairs has jurisdiction and the authority to search this starship for said fugitives, with your kind permission of course." "That will not be necessary," Picard sighed, "I have them currently in custody…locked in the brig of course, yes Mr. Worf?" "Aye sir." The big Klingon spoke from the shadows. "I placed them there myself." "Really?" Rhinestone almost felt a pressure easing from his chest. Perhaps this would be easier than he expected. "Well that's quite thoughtful of you Captain, just let me signal my cutter and we'll arrange a transport to my holding cell." "No…not quite yet I think." Picard sighed, leaning back in his chair, "there are as I said a few other issues I wish to raise first Investigator." "Oh?" "Indeed. First of all of course is your presence in this system….you do realize of course due to the war and the nearness of enemy forces that Andor has been named a no-fly zone. WE are preparing a defencinve line here you understand." "NO-fly? Oh…yes of course Captain, however I think you'll find that as a Federation agent my jurisdiction does allow me to …." "Perhaps." Picard sniffed. "I similarly had this conversation with these so called fugitives in this matter. Are you aware perhaps that to a person, all of them are active duty members of Starfleet?" "Huh?" "Yes…I looked it up. To a person all are currently assigned as crew to the USS GALAXY. Captain M'Kantu's ship I believe." "Uhhhh….I think Captain T'vara has taken over recently." Rhinestone blathered, confused where this was going. "T'vara? Indeed. Well no matter." Picard reached out and sipped from a steaming cup and saucer. "The point is however that as members of Starfleet, the Federation then being in a period of war, and ourselves then being in a declared active combat zone." Picard paused, "I did mention that Andor was on the front lines correct?" Rhinestone was already starting to get that sinking feeling of bein set up. "Ah…yes sir…the No-Fly zone. Imminent invasion…all that." "Ah yes." Picard looked marginally pleased. "Well in such circumstances, said fugitives would find themselves under the sole jurisdiction of the Senior On-Sit military commander. Oh Mr. Worf….could you check please to see who the senior officer present in the Andor system is at the moment?" The Klingon looked puzzled for a moment before casting a glare at Rhinestone and answering, "That would by you sir. As Commander of the Task Force in a war zone you take seniority." Picards eyes twinkled. His new XO wasn't quite up to speed in playing the little subtle word games as Riker had been, but he was coming along nicely. "Ah yes…thank you Number One. " he nodded, before turning back to Rhinestone and dropping all pretense of humor. "So you see, Investigator. Things are a bit different out her on the front lines….and frankly….I chose not to recognize Temporal Affairs in these matters at present. Especially…" he patted the PADD carefully, "Especially in light of new revelations that have recently been made known to me." Rhinestone blanched. "Look Captain…its not like you think sir, Im only tryin got do my job." "Your job sir!?" Picard snapped incredulously, "Frankly, I would find that excuse a little more patatable were you to claim ignorance of the moral can of worms this device opens. Maybe then I could dismiss you as a dull-headed underling merely going about his duties. But this….this sir is an abomination! You've turned an innocent girl into an abomination!" "I didn't…." "No no…of course you didn't deliver the device, nor design the programming in the first place." Picard waved his arm, "but you sir…knowing full well what it is, are trying to return her to said bondage, and I use the word bondage specifically for that is what you offer her…slavery of a sort wher she does not even know she is chained." Picard paused, and pointed steadily, "You offend me sir. I would rather you be an ignorant boob than a willing accomplice…going along to get along." Rhinestone furrowed his brows angrily. "Look captain. I'm sorry we don't see eye to eye here, but I am not part of your Starfleet, and frankly I don't particularly care what your opinion is of me. I've been assigned…quite legally mind you, to bring in these fugitives for questioning. If you want to play jurisdiction games for the time being while you keep them in your brig fine….I can settle this soon enough via subspace, but for the time being they are not leaving this ship or this system without me!" Picard sat his saucer down, finding he no longer had the appetite for it. "This system?" he intoned as if confused. "To what are you referring to?" Again with the chilled spine, "The Andor system…" Rhinestone began, looking up suddenly at the windows behind the tale. Star streaks. "Ahh…no….warp space?" "Indeed….the moment you came aboard. Necessities of the war effort I'm afraid….Temporal Affairs has no authority over the movement orders of individual starships. I'm afraid you and your fellow agents will have to be our guest for awhile until such time as Enterprise completes its patrol of the area." "I'm a prisoner?" "Not at all." Picard frowned, "I said guests, although I do find your objection to captivity curious given your current endeavors. It is not a good feeling to be out of control of things is it Investigator?" Rhinestone sighed, sinking back and covering his face wearily with his hands. "She's not even here anymore is she?" "She is not." Picard replied sternly. "Your guards were detained and they left the ship right before we went to warp. I've given them the location of Captain von Ernst and sent them on their way. I have no doubt in your ability to track them Investigator, but …well…this at least gives them a head start to right this nightmare scenario." "I'll be reporting this Captain." "Indeed you should, but considering this device and all." Picard nodded, "I doubt you will find many open channels of inquiry. Little interest in creating a fuss over a decorated starship captain in a time of war I'm afraid." "This wont stop here." "No Investigator." Picard sighed sadly, turning to look out amongst the stars….."No, I am afraid it will not." MomQuest XII
Twenty Years ago, a young Betazoid Telepath of incredible power was recruited by the Federation to assist in making first contact with a previously unknown species of space-going alien. The Life form...known as Tin Man to its discoverers, was an ancient creature as big as a Starship who had traveled the stellar void since the dawn of time. The Betazoid, a powerful but troubled young man names Tam Elbrun had grown up under the horrible crush of thoughts of all those around him, indeed almost going insane from their intrusive onslaught. His only peace, he once mentioned to old friend Deanna Troi, was his time spent on the world of Chandra V. "Lovely people the Chandrans." he told her. "Their minds as peaceful as a meadow....Do you know they have a beautiful three day ceremony just for saying 'Hello'."
The peace of the Chandrans had not diminished since that time. It had started the moment the tiny Warp Sled had made system fall, popping back into Einstein's Universe on the edge of a golden star system; Somehow the crew felt good. Not ecstatic, not delirious per se, but the deeper they moved into the Chandra system, the more they just felt….less tense. Less worried about their pursuers. Less apprehensive about what they would find. Even now as they descended through the azure atmosphere of the fifth planet, Allison could almost feel the weariness and oppression lift from her shoulders. And there was music. Nothing audible, but some sort of sense of soft singing that echoed in her skull, almost causing her to want to hum along. The passengers exchanged glances when they suddenly realized they were all humming along to a tune they all 'knew'….yet could not even consciously hear. It was the Song of the Chandrans.
Though not inherently telepathic, the tightly ordered crystalline thoughts of the Chandrans were such that even normal humans could pick up on their inner calm and reason. Such was their peace that the natural vibrations of their crystal brains resonated into a worldwide symphony of thought that instantly brought order to where there was once discord and strife.
Chandra was where you came to lay down you r troubles. Chandra was where you could finally throw off the concerns and horrors of your past, where the citizens would welcome you openly, calling you one of their own. Chandra was where....at last Allison hoped....she might find her own small measure of peace and answers. If there were no answers….then maybe perhaps she would not mind the questions so much anymore. As the Warp Sled gently kissed the ground in the shadow of a mile high waterfall....it seemed those hopes would not be in vain. Chandra V seemed to be a world of light, music and color. Massive quartz crystal mountains thrust their way miles into the atmosphere, sparkling in the golden sunlight, and glowing with their own internal fire. The air itself seemed to sing, the wind blowing a soft lullaby as it whipped through the lush grass beneath their feet, while overhead, great glider-beasts called to one another with voices that would make a tenor weep with its beauty. Above it all was the resonance of the Chandran thoughts. A chorus in tune with the song of their natural world, their calm echoing off the mountains, and whispering within their skulls. It was not oppressive, or distracting, but rather intoxicating and warm. As subtle as a fall rain, as powerful as a rushing wind. Chandra V was a world like unto no other. The shuttle hatch hissed open, and as the small party stepped blinking into the golden sun, the war-weary girl from Iceland almost forgot why she had come.
So beautiful. she breathed, not knowing if she spoke aloud or not. The musician within her cried out to join the symphony of the morning wondering idly how her years and years of study could ever compare to the simple song of the wind through the trees. James Corgan was similarly moved, his own tortured soul, his own talent for music and verse giving rise to a cathartic wellspring of emotion from deep within. He could only reach out for his daughters hand in silence, not surprised at all to find it already extended and waiting for his own. They weren't sure how long they has stood there after they landed...maybe moments...maybe a day or so, before a tall thin figure glided towards them across the soft grass.
The Chandrans themselves were tall, almost angelic beings of graceful thinness, their skin an alabaster smoothness of marble features, upswept cheekbones, and spidery soft fingers. Their skin was a strange amalgam of mineral and flesh, and the effect was as if a great marble statue was striding across the grasses singing as it came. They were humanoid, but spidery thin, and with great ovoid eyes of onyx blackness. Their brains, the Federation database proclaimed were pure crystal, and glowed with an inner light and beauty.
For the first time Alli knew what it was like to read another beings thoughts...and they were beautiful. The Chandran looked down at the tiny humans and smiled a soft welcome. "Hello." it said simply.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The trip across the fields towards the settlement was a journey of sheer joy. The tall Chandra guiding them across open meadows, and gently pointing out any area of interest to the tiny visitors. Their questions were bubbling childlike inquiries....what made the sky sing....why did the mountains glow.....and was there really a three day ceremony for saying hello? Indeed there was it seemed. Everything around them was part of it. From the chorus of the skies to the babbling brooks, to the patient guidance of the Chandran itself.....all of it was part of saying 'hello'.
The whole world it seemed was welcoming Allison home. Home. Her face fell a bit at the thought, and Alli allowed her eyes to drop and her blond hair to fall across her face as a shroud. *Be Strong* The Chandran soothed her, lifting her chin with a crystal finger. *We know why you are here Allison Daughter of James. * She never could remember if it spoke the words, or she just knew what it was thinking. "You do?" *Of course child.* The Chandrans face was one of infinite sorrow and concern. *Do not be troubled, for I tell you know your journey has already been successful. She is here.* Alli didn't know whether to laugh, or cheer, or simply sit and watch the clouds go by.....it would all be okay. She was here. Mom.
The building was carved into the very heart of the crystal hills themselves, a silver tipped edifice whose very walls glowed with an inner light, and the floor beneath them murmured a silent song of healing.
There was no word in the Chandran language for Hospital, or illness. There were only those that needed aid, and those that helped them. Any private home could be a place of healing. Any citizen could be a physician. So in tuned were the gentle Chandrans that there very souls were a balm to those around them. Still, this castle under the hills was specialized in the sense that the patients within were all alien to this singing world. Humans. Vulcans. Even Klingons seeking peace for their troubled souls found shelter within the crystal castle. It was here, 20 years ago the Betazoid Tam Elbrun had sought treatment here, finding peace within its quartz walls. Passing through the open gates, the small party passed many other of the great marble Chandrans, each singing a gentle 'Hello' as they passed, and each it seemed escorting a tiny human patient like a watchful guardian. The patients were dressed in what seemed to be soft white gowns of a sort, and Alli could almost hear the stress melting away from their hearts as they shuffled on by.
The companions found themselves led into the small office of one of these 'healers', the ceremony of 'Hello' continuing as they were made quite comfortable in special human sized chairs and provided with light refreshments that simply sparkled on their tongues. Hovering overhead, the tall marble faced physician introduced himself as simply 'Tallith', and while not strictly a healer in the human sense, they were more than welcome to call him 'Doctor' if it helped. Fidgeting a bit in her chair, (which was hard to do since it was indeed quite comfortable) Alli spoke first. "Doctor?" she asked, her voice small and desperate. "My mother....is she here. I .. I really need to know."
*She is* it answered. *She is and you will see her very soon* it lay a reassuring hand upon her tiny shoulder. *There are questions you want answered first however, and in the best interest of your mothers recovery, it would be best to address them first.*
There was an obvious first question. "Is this.....this is a Mental hospital?"
A small smile. *If this was your world....it would be. I am afraid we Chandran's still do not completely understand the appellation or the stigma that goes with it in your culture* The doctor paused, *However, rest assured that here we are simply trying to bring peace to your mothers mind at last, and for that there is no shame to be felt. * * To answer your next question* it continued *She is not 'crazy'. She is simply herself, and burdened by the responsibility that entails.* Looking across the assembled group the Doctor seemed to drink in their worries and thoughts. *You know many of the answers already my friends. Much of what has befallen your comrade is not of her own doing, but that is too simplistic of an explanation. She is special in her own right, and there is much that needs be revealed before we join her.* Turning its onyx eyes towards Victor Krieghoff, The Doctor reassured his own concerned thoughts. *Do not let your heart be troubled Victor son of Klaus. Your presence here shall not have the effect you so fear. For what are you but Death? And what in life unites us all but that single shared experience?*
Looking back down at Allison, and with infinite kindness it asked. *Tell me child, what do you know of Rebecca daughter of Holli?* Alli' s initial answer, "She's my mom," seemed to simple, and she corrected it with "She's sad...she's always sad. Even when I was growing up and we were laughing and playing.....she was always so sad." Alli shook her head. "I used to think it was because she missed my dad," she stole a glance at Corgan, "But I've come to realize that its beyond that.....there seems to be something always on her mind."
The Doctor smiled and nodded. *Truly you have diagnosed the problem without even realizing it child. Our children know us best it seems.* Turning to the group as a whole the Chandran continued *What of the woman Rebecca. What of her skills and traits? What is special about her that have brought you her friends together across the galaxy through blood and sorrow? Why the conflict?* "She's valuable." James stated flatly. "Valuable to Starfleet." *She is valuable to us all child.* the doctor corrected, *What is the root of this value?* Mentioning her combat skills seemed almost vulgar in this building of light and peace, but James did anyways. "She's a killer....she can compute any solution to any fight." The Chandran seemed wounded by the language, but simply breathed a musical sigh. *Of sorts, you are all killers. I see blood on all your souls, but again in this place such a fate is but a little thing. For Rebecca however her gift was not for death..….* "The math." Allison interrupted, hating the way her own human voice cut across the musical tones of the kind physician. "She's a whiz at math. That's how she computes all her tactics." * We draw nearer the solution* The Chandran nodded, *You are your mothers daughter child, and know you this: that your music and her math and directly kin. For what is music but what math sounds like? The beauty of a harmonic phrase or a simple equation are indistinguishable. * *However for all her skills, except for the presence of one additional trait, Rebecca would be no more than merely a typical mathematical scientist. Brilliant....but not deadly. There is one more flaw within her that tears at her soul.* For long moments the group looked within themselves, searching their own memories of the tiny redhead named Rebecca, each seeking out a solution to her doom. Her shyness? Her Fear? Her social awkwardness? *All symptoms of the disease.* assured the Chandran. It was James who came up with the answer. "Her memory. " he said simply. "She's got a photographic memory. That's why she can do all these equations so quickly in her head and keep the numbers straight. Anybody else would need a sheet of paper or something to assist them in working it out." Allison frowned. "But lots of people have perfect memories." she argued. "Maybe not lots of humans, but most Vulcans do, as well as other alien species. What's the big deal? " * Child it is the difference between Perfect recall.....and Perpetual recall. * The Chandran almost looked as if it was going to cry. *A Vulcan as you say has the ability to store and retrieve information much akin to a computer…filing and sorting. If one needs to remember something, the memory is called up, and thereafter filed away when complete.* It cocked its head sideways in a strange manner, * I believe the old human Computer terminology was RAM memory? Use it briefly, then dump it? However what happened when the Processor never dumped RAM? What happens when you process everything all at once…….and never stop?*
The Chandran allowed a brief silence before turning towards James Corgan. *You lost your parents aboard a starship.* it announced simply, not sharing how it knew this information. *You mourned them yes?* James jumped slightly at the change in direction. "Mourned? Of course. Fucking tore me apart. I screamed for weeks." *But not now?* "Of course not…I miss them but….well I don't hurt anymore really" Seemingly satisfied, The Chandran turned to Victor and asked. *You fell in love. Long after you thought it was not possible yes?* A nod. *You are in love now….but no longer 'falling into love' No butterflies in the stomach. No feelings of fear mixed with joy, flushed skin, doubt, hope and anticipation all mixed together correct?*
Ignoring the answer again, Allison was next. *You had such hope for finding your father…..you had such disappointment at the truth……you had such anticipation for returning home, and thereafter felt the horror at what you found there. * Leaning down, the marble giant stooped so it could stare Alli straight in the eyes. * You have cried, and laughed, and fought, and been stabbed with a knife, and felt the joys of music stirring within your soul.* It said. *How do you feel now?* Alli frowned, "I don't understand…I remember all that…its my life…but now I'm just a bit numb and confused. But yes…I felt all of that, good and bad, ant one time or the other. WE all have."
*Indeed.* The Chandra Doctor returned to its full height. *Have you ever felt it all at once?* He studied the group intently *Has anyone ever felt it constantly? Has anyone ever dealt with it every second of every day of their lives?*
The Doctor sighed again. *Rebecca, daughter of Holli, lost her father to disease when she was eight years old. Every day since then has been the day of that funeral. Rebecca daughter of Holli was tortured and tormented by her peers at Starfleet Academy when she was only 19 years old. Every day since then she has lived in the fear and humiliation of those times as if they were current.* It continued. * She suffers her rape every day…..she experiences the pain of a broken arm everyday….she feels the pangs of first love every moment of every day* It looked again at Corgan *As well as the sorrow of losing that love in the exact same instant.* "A rape?" Allison asked. "Mom was raped?" *In a manner of speaking. A female of your species assaulted her once long ago. Is that not true Corgan?* "Nilani Khan." The man frowned. "We were only Ensigns on the Galaxy at that time. I had just met Rebecca…it was one of my first investigations as a new security officer. She still remembers that?" *Everyday….Every battle fought. Every crewmember killed, she experiences it today and everyday as it is happening.* It explained . *She does not remember information and retrieve it from some chemical memory bank, she is in perpetual recall, in a sense experiencing every emotion, pain, and joy from her past as if it was occurring right now.* Looking ant Corgan it asked . *How would you feel if today was the day of your parents funeral? What if everyday was that day, and the pain of loss never faded away to heal?* *What if the various injuries and broken bones you have experienced were happening right now? You experienced sharp pain, but the bone heals and the pain is gone leaving only a memory of pain. What if the actual feeling never left?*
Sighing at last and setting heavily into its own giant sized chair, the Doctor shook its great head. *Most cannot remember the past…..your mother is driven mad not simply by the fact she cannot forget it….but that she cannot stop experiencing it.* There was silence as the group considered what was being said. *But enough talk now….shall we go and meet her?* OOC: Takes place in the Present Timeline. "Coming to Terms" 1st Lt. Branwen London Lt. JG Man'darr Maivia Man'darr stepped into his and Branwen's Quarters when he spotted Branwen on the nearby Sofa. The day had been long as he helped to set up and conduct several training exercises within the department. "How was your day?" "Fine." She managed to get out between gasps. Life without the breather was getting more difficult by the hour and she was very glad today had been a day without patients. Because Bran knew she couldn't see anyone feeling like this. She could only hope that this mind over matter stuff would kick in soon and make life bearable for her again. Man'darr studied his wife for a moment. "Are you having trouble breathing?" Lying was no use. "A little… it will.. pass." Man'darr knew his wife needed the breather and he admired her for not wanting to use it. However, she was not capellan, and it was unfair for him to have his wife not use it, even though he hated the sight of the thing, Branwen needed the device. "Why don't you use the breather?" She hesitated but Bran was tired. "Because I know how… much you… dislike it." "I may not like it." he began as he sat down next to Branwen. "But your health is more important to me, and I hate to see you suffering." She gave him a cautious look. The things he had said when they were prisoners were still not completely forgotten. 'I … can do… it." Bran gasped for breath. "You look as if you are about to pass out, Branwen. I will not get upset if you use the breather." "I didn't… take it… home." She managed to get out. "You… sure?" "Yes, I am sure. Do you wish to retrieve it, or should I?" "I… can.. do it." Bran got to her feet and almost immediately fell down on the couch again, totally spent. "I will get it. Stay here and rest," Man'darr instructed. **** A few minutes later, Man'darr returned with the mask and handed it to Branwen. "Here you are." "Thank you." She put it on as remembered from the hospital. Bran hated every moment of having to do this. "It is better. What did Max say?" She smiled. "He was expecting you would need the breather and had it ready when I arrived." Man'darr was beginning to wonder if his wife would ever return to normal, genetic-wise. "Is there anything you need?" "I would like you to hold me, Dar." She said, not sure what the answer would be. "Of course," he replied as he held her. Though he hated the breather, he was sure it would only be temporary. With a smile on her face she snuggled up to him, this is what she had missed most, the closeness of having a partner to build on, to always trust. Maybe it wasn't too late for them to get that back. He seemed to be really trying to understand her and to make concessions. "It should be over soon now." "I hope so. I do not like seeing you suffering, Branwen." "I don't like to be suffering. We never had a chance to have a normal married life before all of this started. I want to begin anew, as if we were newlyweds." She said sinking into his arms. "That sounds good to me," he replied as Branwen laid against him as he enjoyed the warmth of her body against his. "Maybe even a honeymoon?" "I would like that." "Then let's plan lover. As soon as I have got this thing under control, we will take a nice break." "That sounds good." FINEM RESPICE I (Look to the End)
In the 24th Century USS GALAXY
"More tea perhaps?" "No thank you….I'm not really much of a tea drinker" "Really….I find that rather odd. Most people aboard starships seem to drink tea." "Um…excuse me Miss, but is it really therapeutic for you to be calling me odd?" Laughing lightly , the counselor set down the silver tea tray and stirred her own cup of Earl Grey Goodness. (Recommended by 4 out of 5 starship captains) "We haven't really begun yet my dear, but I take your point. Can I get you something else then?" "Gotta Diet Fizzy?" "Diet? I thought that Dr. Burton was trying to put some meat back on your bones Allison. " "Hey…just for the taste of it lady."
The counseling offices aboard the USS Galaxy were painted in the typical drab Starfleet Beige, complete with soft lighting, nondescript artwork hanging on the walls and a hidden speaker oozing a light jazz nonsense that grated on Allison's nerves. The whole atmosphere was designed to put the mentally aberrant at ease with their surrounding and therefore more willing to spill their guts to the counselor. Mentally aberrant or no however, Allison found it annoying. "Also can we kill the music? I'm more of a Rock and Roll kinda girl…or at least I used to be." Silencing the speakers with a smile, the counselor leaned back and cradled the warmth of her delicate cup and saucer. The young woman before her fidgeted a bit on the soft couch and clenched and unclenched her tiny fists regularly, clearly under stress. "Take some deep breaths." the counselor suggested. "This is only an informal session…I've been asked by Dr. Burton to just talk to you about some recent trauma in your life. The source of your numerous scars and injuries for example. They seem to be all but healed, but as you know the associated mental trauma is not so easily smoothed over and erased." "Yeah." Alli allowed. She had a lot on her mind currently, and frankly these little sessions were really cutting into her things to do, but part of the agreement that allowed her to keep watch over her mother on ship was that she agree to this assessment. Had it really only been a week since her return from Chandra V? She could still hear the planet singing in the back of her mind, and in a way there would always be an empty part of her soul until she could one day return. But that was the past, and caring for her Mother was the future, and if that meant braving a volley of photon torpedoes…or mud wrestling an angry Klingon…or even (horror of horrors) signing up for counseling sessions. Well that was the price to pay. "Lets start at the beginning." The counselor suggested. "Captain T'vara has already cleared me for the time-traveling aspects of your adventures, so no need to worry about that . I understand you were born in the 25th century ?" "24th really." Allison breathed. It was actually a relief to let it out. "Going to be born next year actually if you wanted to buy me a present… but yeah…I lived in the 25th century. 2402 was when I left." "And that was to travel back in time here…to find your father?" "James Corgan yah….only that didn't turn out so well. Lots of different issues, but lets just say that at length I decided to go back home." "Back to the future….by way of a time slingshot Correct?" "Yup….did a little end run around a stable black hole…..hey you seem pretty smart for a shrink and all." The Counselor frowned slightly, reminding herself that killing her patient was not therapeutic. "Yes…quite. So then you were doing a slingshot around the singularity to get back to 2402 right? How was the trip?" Allison almost cried. "Horrible. It wasn't like I left it. My home was beautiful and green…..I was 16 years old and in the prime of my life…but what I found was a horror….a nightmare."
"Oh really." this sounded interesting. "Start at the beginning please…what exactly happened to you in the future?" "Well," said Allison. "It happened like this………"
++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++ (Three weeks ago)
Like always, traveling through the time warp was a surreal nightmare of color and hallucinations that blurred the reality of Allison von Ernst's (age 16) world. The Warp Shuttle, Oded's Aggravation bucked and leaped through the gravitational eddies around the black hole, using the powerful singularity as the engine necessary to trigger the time-breakaway slingshot that would send her hurtling back into the future and home. As the bulkheads around her threatened to rattle themselves to dust, Alli had to admit to a bit of trepidation, and not a little bit of sheer nausea. Sure Mom had done the complex gravitational computations herself, thus ensuring the safety of the ride, but when the hallucinations of time-travels had humpback whales coming out of the walls, it was easy to lose a little faith in your situation. In Allison mind eye a spinning tunnel stretched away into infinity before her and at its end, arms open wide in welcome was the smiling warm-faced welcome of her dear mother. Waiting….just waiting to welcome her darling and downright zarky daughter back to their Icelandic homestead and serve her a plate of warm cookies. Mmmmmm…cookies. I'm coming momma…I'm on my way. Alli didn't know if she said it aloud, or if it was the whales singing in her ears again, but the Rebecca at the end of the tunnel opened her arms even wider in anticipation…. The Aggravations breakaway engines fired, spinning itself out of the Singularities crushing grip, and with a swirl of colors that you could almost taste, Alli shot forward in time. 2385.….2387.…2390.… The tiny digital readout on the console before her spun the years by quickly, while all around her seemed to melt away into an ocean of warmth and sound. 2395...2398...2399.… She was getting closer now. I'm coming Momma I'm coming! The whales sang. The colors danced. The Rebecca at the end of the tunnel opened her mouth to shout a greeting.
2400.…2401.….2.….4.…..0.….2.….
There was a violent wrenching and a surprised yelp from Alli, as if the Aggravation suddenly hit some sort of interstellar pothole. Finding herself thrown violently against the four point straps Allison was only beginning to think to herself that the sudden rattling noise from the engine compartment couldn't be good when all of the sudden the warm fuzzy reality of her universe seemed to melt away into a morass of shadow and horror. The little humpback whales no longer sang….they shrieked, their high pitched songs rising in fervor to an anguished cry for mercy, the sounds penetrating Allison's mind. The colors bled into a red sticky puddle of darkness that flashed across the tiny cabin, tearing tiny holes in Allison that she could almost feel, gasping in sudden pain. Worst of all the Rebecca at the end of the tunnel…mouth opened to welcome her daughter, screamed instead.. She screamed… And screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed until it seemed that all that Allison ever knew was the screaming that ripped the very flesh from her bones, and still she screamed. The Rebecca vision burst into flames, pink flesh exploding from her frail bones, and still she screamed. Stop it stop it stop it! Alli still dint know if she spoke aloud….probably not for there was no sound in the universe save for the scream. This is how it always was….since the beginning of time ther was only the scream. Her mother was nothing but a charred mass of blackened bones at the end of the tunnel of shadows and still the sound pierced her soul……there was nothing to do except join it. Allison opened her own mouth to scream, but with another huge lurch, the sound changed. The scream was new….alien….inhuman. It came from her mouth, but was not of her own voice. Someone else was wailing in her mind, shrieking in a pain and sadness and futility that would never end. It was horrible. For this scream somehow was no illusion. The bulkheads around her faded away into the slipstream of time, and Allison tumbled alone through the void of bleeding shadows.
And then…it was over. The whirlpool of pain ripped away the world and with a startled yelp Allison found herself tumbling through the air. She barely had time to register that she was falling before with cold splash, her hip smacked into the cold wet ground, jarring her to her very bones. ~~Holy freaking Zark that hurt!~~ she rubbed her injured pride, struggling to make her eyes adjust to the darkness around her. ~~This was a new skirt spuff it, and don't tell me I broke a heel!~ Vowing solemnly to never ever even contemplate dropping acid for as long as she lived, The cute 16 year old peered into the nothingness trying to make sense of her surroundings. Where am I ….what happened to the shuttle…who turned out the lights…why am I wet…and most importantly of all, is my hair still okay? Reaching down with her hands, Allison slapped cold wet concrete beneath her. Not deep….merely a surface layer of frigid water sliming its way across the floor. It smelt old and putrid. "Hello?" she croaked, suddenly aware her throat was raw….perhaps the screaming had been her all along. As her eyes adjusted, it quickly became apparent that all was not completely dark…in fact soon Alli was able to envision herself in the center of a gargantuan circular room whose egg shaped dome stretched far above her, extending into the shadows above. "Hel-lo!" she repeated, voice echoing as if in some hollow well. The looming spidery buttresses arching overhead did not reply, mocking her in her smallness. ~~~Well if this isn't a zarking mess.~~~ Alli sighed. A brand new skirt ruined by this icky water, and Hel-lo…can you say that the creep factor on this room rates a Spinal Tap Eleven! Hand on hips, she scanned the middle distance, and was surprised to see that the huge chamber was not empty after all. Not a hundred feet from her, partially shrouded in the gloom was some sort of block of machinery that even now was beginning to glow with some sort of sick eldritch glow. ~~Ahh…a pay-phone I hope.~~ Alli, ever the optimist sighed. Bemoaning the damage she was doing to her zarky little heels, the teenager splashed over to the twist of metal scanning for anything that looked familiar. ~~Phone phone…..Alli needs a phone.~~ she hummed to herself, silently getting depressed that it was starting to look like something more out of Frankenstein's lab. Frankenstein's…..Holy CRAP! Allison took a little leap back as the random thought suddenly congealed itself into reality. The twists of metal and the sick glowing taking recognizable shape before her astonished eyes. This was Frankenstein's lab. There was a body imbedded there…lost amongst the tubes and pipes, and gears of machinery. A body twisted and cold, bent in impossible shapes and pierced by a thousand wires and drains. Alli's hands shot to her face, containing the unwanted gasp that echoed off the brooding walls. Ohmygawd….is it alive….is she alive? For it was female now she could tell, every second her eyes adjusting to the horrible darkness, making her long for blind ignorance once again. She was alive….translucent organs throbbed visibly through tattered skin, while broken fingers twitched rhythmically with the humming of the machine, vile liquids oozed from tiny drains. She was Andorian, Allison could tell…or at least she once was. The sleek blue skin faded into a sickly grey, and that once silver mane lay stringy and oily, plastered to a tortured scalp. "Hey….um…hey." Alli trembled, coming closer. "Are you okay?" Stupid question. "Hey…Im gonna get you out of there…Im gonna find you some help….somewhere in here." Finding a subtle bravery within her, Allison took one final step closer, hoping to brush that tangled spider web of hair from the woman's face. Her hand froze in recognition before she got there, the Andorian woman's eyes flashing open in blind insanity. "Oh dear god in heaven where am I?" the whisper tore itself from Allis' soul. "Mika." FINEM RESPICE II (Look to the End)
In the 25th Century
"Oh dear god in heaven where am I?" the whisper tore itself from Allis' soul. "Mika." For a long time Allison didn't know if the screams were her own or Mika's.
When the screaming turned to coughing… And the coughing turned to crying…. The crying eventually turned to a fitful sleep filled with dark visions and fitful twitches. It would all be over when she woke up of course. The green fields of Lake Myvatn would be there waiting for her. Mom's warm cookies would be there to tempt her with their chocolately aroma. And the struggles and hardships of the last year aboard the USS Galaxy would be a distant and easily forgotten memory. But shadows gnawed at the edges of her dreams. Mutilated Mika, chittering insanely to herself haunted Alli's visions and even in sleep she knew that she was deceiving herself.
Maybe minutes passed….maybe hours. Occasionally she would awake, and whenever her eyes opened, there was Mika, gibbering and drooling, fingers twitching in the midst of her metallic tomb. "Go away." she pleaded with the universe, drifting off again into slumber. Wake up.
WAKE UP!!
Armored hands seized her by her shirt ripping Allison from her sleep and slamming her painfully back against the Mika Machine for closer inspection. "HUMAN! WHAT IS YOUR DESIGNATION HUMAN!??!" Dazzlingly bright lights burned into Allison's blinking eyes, behind which she made a host of large figures hovering over her form. "What…who.." she managed, dazed by the sudden pain and shock.
"I said your NAME BITCH!!" powered arms slammed her frail frame back again into the machine, setting poor Mika gibbering anew. Wincing in pain, Allison's first impression was that the man was over seven feet tall, but as the light moved slightly to reduce its glare, she could see that what she was facing was a squad of ordinary humans clad in phaser-scored combat armor that wrapped their frames with white plasti-steel plates crisscrossed with various nicks and cuts and scorch marks from near misses. Soldiers. There were six of them in all she could see, gathered in a low crouching circle about the Mika Machine, their huge rifles and evil looking melee weapons held low and ready against any possible threat. ~~Not me.~~ Alli realized. Their furtive glances and weapons tracking were angled outward into the darkness of the egg shaped dome. Something out there was enough to intimidate these grizzled warriors, the notion of which made Alli want to pee herself.
"WOMAN!" the man slamming her against the machine warned in a low evil tone, "I'm giving you one last chance before I throw your skinny little ass to the dogs. What's your fucking name!?" he spat angrily, his sweaty face framed by greasy hair, and his breath hot and vulgar on her neck. "Al…Allison." she barely whispered not knowing if the evil sneer that suddenly crossed the man's dripping face was a good sign or not. "Sonofabitch boys…it really is her." he glancing back over his shoulder. "Right on time." "And laying right by the TimePortal just like the boss said." a second voice answered, slapping the cold metal of the Mika Machine "Amazing. Simply Amazing" A third scoffed…holding his huge automatic weapon low and ready. "Since when is anything the boss does surprising anymore? If I was told the sun wasn't coming up tomorrow, I'd fucking sell my stock in sunscreen" The six laughed vulgarly, and the leader relaxed his armored grip a bit, allowing Allis dangling feet to once more touch the filthy floor.
Deciding take advantage of their distraction and run for it, Allison barely made it a few steps before something cold and hard reached out to sweep her off her feet and down into the muck. "Fucking don't move bitch!" a fierce voice commanded her as she was blinded by a blazing light. "We've come took damn far to collect you von Erst so don't make us shoot your stupid ass." "My name…..you know my last name?" Alli reeled, trying to regain her footing, still dazed by the blow. The question amused the squad whose soft laughter echoed evilly in the hollow dome.
"Three minutes Major." one called gruffly, looking up from a glowing scanner screen, "Damn fleeties already inside the perimeter." "Copy that Hassle." the leader grit his teeth,. Reaching down he hauled Allison painfully out of the murk, his steel fingers leaving angry welts across her arm. "On yer feet blondie….we aint out of this yet." He spat into the slimy water causing the light from his suit-light casting strange shadows across his greasy face. "I know you." Alli blurted out even before she consciously came to the realization. "I've seen you before." The 'Major' turned toward her, grey eyes narrowed, but allowing Alli a closer look at his pockmarked cheeks, scarred from a lifetime of bad skin and acne. "Yeah…I'd fucking say you do know me, although I'm surprised you remember…never gave me much of a second glance back on the Galaxy." Percy Preston. The skinny geology nerd with the bad acne that had been dating her roommate Mary Poppins. The uber-cool Alli really hadn't given the little runt a second glance back then, but the man before her was no 19 year old dweeb in thick glasses. Major Preston was a 40 year old veteran with a shaggy mane of greased hair, and a scraggly unshaven jaw. Scars covered the portions of his skin not covered by the dingy white armor, and it was apparent from the way he held his huge rifle that the days of nerd hood were long ago erased. "Welcome to the 25th Century blondie." Preston cocked his head. "Welcome home bitch." "Major…two minutes out…we gotta move." the man with the scanner had a squeak of fear rising in his voice, and Alli could see the squad getting antsy…their hands griping their guns more tightly. Any further explanation from Major Prston would have to wait "Right….lets go….our extract is bearing 270 across the courtyard. Jester….Stepho….take point, Fran, you're rear guard….we're moving out people." Hurling Allison up like a piece of baggage across his shoulder the 'Major' set the pace, splashing his huge armored boots back across the domes interior and out into the outside world. Alli took several blinking moments before her eyes adjusted back to the daylight, realizing with growing horror that she preferred the darkness. Great twisted ruins rose on all sides of her, spires of rusting junk reaching skyward like rotting fingers of a long dead corpse. A city. A ruined city blasted to hell and gone where nothing but brick and rusting metal remained. A light grey dust covered every exposed surface of the ground and rubble. The squads tromping steps raising little dust clouds that hung in the still air, choking Alli with its dryness. ~Ash.~~ she realize sneezing the grey particles out. ~the world is coated in ash.~ "What…what planet is this? " she choked, bouncing painfully on the sharp armored shoulders of the Major. "Where are we?" "San Francisco." came the horrifyingly bland reply. "Hawklsy Industries California branch…deep inside Dove Territory." The major spat angrily onto the ash covered wreckage of a long dead air car. "We came a long way to collect you sweets, so don't fucking do anything stupid." ~~Earth?~~~ Alli breathed in horror. The shattered ruins took on new, familiar shapes and she could begin to make familiar outlines of buildings ruined long ago. The Transamerica building….or half of it anyway. Golden gate….gone?
The once famous steep hills were a morass of brick and cement. Sharp metal edges pulling and tugging at their every step, and low hung dark clouds threatening a late afternoon acid rain. Everything was eerily quiet. A deadly quiet in fact, as the squad of armored soldiers slowly and warily made their way forward. The point men…Jester and Stepho tested the clattering rubble with the toes of their metal boots, their great automatic rifles at the ready and searching for threats. It was too quiet. Jester took another step across the ash covered yard, and in a sizzling blaze of electric lightning, the armored man exploded before Allison's eyes showering her with blood and bone splinters even as the rest of the squad was already diving for cover. "SNIPER!!!" someone called out, as yet another blindingly white beam hissed through the air shattering a low retainer wall. "Kal….Sniper on the roof…2-2-5." Major Preston was shouting orders, pointing with one metal glove while the other shoved Allison deeper into the dirt. "Get the 90-Watt on him! Stepho….Fran go left and right on three to provide surprising fire. GO!" Unquestioningly the biggest of the soldiers broke out his huge 90-Watt auto-plasma and after ratcheting back a fresh charge, began spraying the building across the street with screaming hot needles of light. POK POK POK The beams chewed up masonry and metal alike, tearing great holes in the siding and scattering a cloud of dust and fragments into the deadly air. "Get some!! Get some!!" the Warrior screamed. KAZKT! The white hot lance of fire from the sniper returned fire, blistering the air. Hassle…the man with the hand scanner cursed, and clapped the Major on the shoulder to get his attention. "Planetary drop in process Major!!" he screamed over the weapons fire. "Centered on our location! Fleet com shows the Doves just jumped in with a massive Task Force, Assault ships are already inbound!" "Fuck, I said this was a bad idea." Preston cursed, pushing the struggling Alli even harder into the jagged rubble. "Keep your damn head down blondie before somebody melts it clan off! Stepho you got 'im?"
"Second floor…third from the edge Major! Defilade! I aint got a shot from here!" "Fran?" "On target!" the woman warrior had her eyes tight against the glowing sights of her 40Watt Rifle. Just keep his fucking head down a few more seconds….
A thunderous crack echoed across the ruins, and while Kal on the big 90 kept up his chattering suppressive fire for a few more moments, it was obvious the incoming fire had ceased. Jumping upright, Preston hauled a soiled and bleeding Allison to her feet, "Move people move! " he dragged her painfully across the shattered roads, losing one of her expensive shoes in the process. "What's the story Hassle?" "Extract is delayed…." the man shouted back as they ran, "USS Liberty got cut off when the Birdies jumped in, they're reconfiguring for a shallower orbit." Slamming into the alley wall just past the now destroyed sniper nest, the squad crouched warily taking stock of the situation. One man down, and their escape route cut off. Tossed down into the shards of glass and masonry at their feet, Allison was already a mass of tiny cuts and bruises, begrudging the warriors for their armor. She was halfheartedly pushing a mass of blond hair out of her face when she realized they were not alone on the alley. "Zark…Percy….there's people under the rubble!" "Where" weapons trained around, finding a huddle of ash-covered youngsters lying prostrate against the wreckage, blending in almost perfectly except for their haunted eyes that watched carefully out from under ragged mops of hair. "Oh hell blondie them's just skinnies…don't worry bout them." "Skinnies?" Alli rolled around the unfamiliar term. "They're children." This brought a sharp sarcastic bark of laughter. "Children? Shit Alli this is fucking Earth. Aint no children here…just skinnies and whatever damn army happens to be marching across it at the moment. They're just watching us, but wont make a move so long as they see we got weapons right?" "BOO!" Kal…the big warrior made a quick gesture with is gun at the grey children. They didn't even blink. "Yah…anyways…just don't turn your back on em right….otherwise you'll be skinny stew before you can blink." Allison was horrified….."They eat people?" Preston shrugged. "They're hungry." He sucked his cheeks in to make the point. "Thats horrible!" "That Earth." Preston sniffed. For a rich girl raised in the heart of the Federation….the concept didn't even remotely compute for Alli. What had happened to her world? Who was fighting whom? Why were people starving in a land of replicator technology, and more importantly, how the hell had she gotten mixed up in all this? "Cant stay here Major." Hassle was fussing with his scanner again. "Major fleet action is shaping up in orbit…Boss isnt sure when she can extract us yet." "Crap…and the Doves…..ground forces?" Hassle nodded. "On their way. Assault ships inbound our position. Fleet managed to get off a few of our own transports so it looks like we're going to have to slug it out on the ground for awhile. We're to rendezvous with our guys on the old Academy grounds…delivery of the girl is still of primary importance." ~~Me?~~ Alli was confused, ~~Why are they going through so much trouble because of me?~~ Pounding the ash covered pavement with his steel glove, Percy Preston, ex-geologist turned armored commando considered his options. Inbound enemy ground forces on the way, and a new battle in orbit of unknown proportions. Was it worth it? He glanced skyward into the fading light of day. Low toxic clouds covered the world in a semi-permanent haze, but in his minds eye he could almost make out the flashes and lights of the fleet above.
==============
Low Earth Orbit was a morass of shattered hulks and broken hulls…the garbage dump of a long dead fleet scattered like tumbling refuse across the sky. Twisting and turning in their own course of destruction, the rag-tag fleets zipped in a an out of the debris fields, dodging the larger chunks of metal and at time shields flaring when something more reasonable smacked off the bow. The orders of battle were still shaping up, that is to say that more and more ships were dropping out of warp into the inner solar system as the call to action brought the hunters out of the woodwork so to speak to descend on Sector 001. In the 25th Century nobody could afford huge happy fleets anymore, so one made do with what one had. There hadn't been a new starship come down the slipways in over five years now, and those that did exist were mere shadows of their former selves. However both sides…the Hawks and Doves and been quite resourceful in cannibalizing those that were there resulting in patchwork starships bristling with guns and armor that had never been designed for them. No matter so long as they killed well enough, and when the battle was over, their various engineers would descend like hives of cannibalistic parasites to strip the dead and reconfigure their own mount once more.
Into this maze of tumbling rust and junk, spun the USS Pegasus…Captain Alexandra Lee at the helm representing the vanguard of the Dove forces. It was she who had tracked the Hawk USS Liberty back to Earth and raised the alarm to bring in reinforcements. USS Trafalgar under Branwen London responded first, as well as the USS Hercules under Captain Daniels. However, even as the Doves were making arrangement to land their own ground troops the Hawks responded led initially by the 181st FighterWing operating off of carriers hidden in the outer solar system. Colonel Nathan Everett delivered the orders to his compatriots…hold the line! Hawk Reinforcements were on the way! Including the BOSS! The Boss! Though outnumbered the Hawks felt a surge of confidence…..Though vastly superior the Dove forces felt a twinge of doubt. When the Hawk Boss got here, anything could happen. Amid the wreckage and the long dead starships, the two fleets came together…drawn by their mutual hatred and need to kill and kill and kill. Drawn to Dance upon the grave of the long dead Federation. Before the day was out , new hulks would spin endlessly in Earth orbit. It was the 25th Century. "Arrr....Set Course for....Earth!" The slender woman sat in her familiar chair, within the Ready Room that had been her place of study for many years now. The room was decorated with costly Terran antiques, from her heavy wooden desk, and plush leather chair, to the bookshelves and nautical materials that surrounded her. The shelves were lines with a hodgepodge of literature, and stacks of books were around the room where shelves would not hold. Her walls were wood paneled, giving the feel of a nautical vessel, and the wooden desk littered with paper charts, notes, and PADDs. A small computer workstation was atop the desk. The figure bent over the desk, working with intent in her gliitering green eyes, was no less anachronistic. Her clothes were from another time, behinning with her tall black rolltop boots and shabby brown leather pants, to her white blouse, and dark colored vest. Over this, she wore a frock coat in the style of 16th century Terran Europe, the lapel adorned with so many ribbons and medals it was unclear where one ended, and the other began. Her sharp Vulcan features were obvious, as a bandana held her long black tresses from her face, and a battered Tricorn hat with a skull upon it, adorned her head above it. She took the ceremonial Rum, poured herself some, and drank the foul beverage. Her studies had shown that a ration of Rum was vital to the performance of any proper Terran pirate vessel. As it was, the Black Pearl, her broken down, refitted and cobbled together pirate vessel had become one of the last bastions of Terran culture. T'risia's collection, and subsequent trading, had preserved much of the history that had rapidly become lost, with the fall of Earth, and subsequent descent into barbarism. Mr. Krieghoff had allowed her drop points for non vital cargo, and these caches were virtual museums of the lost. Still...she had not found that thing she had sought so dearly. The secret lay, she knew, in the databanks of Starfleet Command, or even in Federation Starship computer cores....but thus far, she could not find it. She looked to the wall, with it's hand drawn charts of space, with the course plot from so long ago. If only she could find that fabled world, she could achieve--- The comlink interrupted her reverie. "Captain T'risia, there is a large amount of ship to ship activity in the Sol system....Federation ships, over Earth!" The male voice sounded excited, even agitated, but T'risia's expression, grave and unemotional, did not change. "Ahem," was all she said, with a raised eyebrow. A flustered sound came forth and then, "Arrr.." "Arrr." Was T'risia's ceremonial response. "Um...Cap'n...we're sightin' the....scurvy dogs....of the Federation...unleashin' their cannon in the port of Earth! The spyglass shows many for...a plunderin'." The young man said the words as if he were taking a vocabulary test in a foreign language. T'risia nodded. "Are repairs complete, then?" "Aye, Cap'n." She nodded once more, and stood, putting aside her work, and taking up her antique cane, leaning upon it. The Pearl could loot many a computer core, and take compatible parts off the hulks. Being a refitted Defiant class hulk herself, the Pearl could do with some new Fed hardware. "And the cloak? It has been refitted again to my new specifications?" She asked this as she ducked under a dangling optical data cable, never repaired. "Aye Cap'n." T'risia nodded again to herself. Since aquiring the Romulan device, she had continually advanced upon it's design, giving the Pearl the most technologically superior cloaking device in the quadrant. Harsh times forced the continued refinement, as the Pearl had few friends. She paused, and took a moment to consult the compass she carried. Within it, on the top surface, were all of her notes, and the map, incomplete, to the planet she sought. Beneath it, springing to life, was her old holo of Lt. Hunter, long since passed. T'risia snapped it shut, and stepped forth onto the bridge, her cane making clanking noises on the deck, which also had a wood over surface. As she went to her chair, in the center, with it's high back and plush leather, she shoved off the partially assimilated monkey that ran about the ship, with a screech from the beast. To the helm, she said, "Engage the cloak, and set course for...Earth." She paused, and added, "There be plunder aplenty," in her deadpan, emotionless fashion. "Aye, Cap'n!" In space, the matte black outer hull of the Black Pearl, already hard to see against the dark of space, faded to nothingness. (OOC: I apologize for the backpost, but this really needed to get out before the current mission. So, this takes place after The Maltese Eptgac series.) T'Pei blinked. This was unexpected. But then, where Lieutenant Hunter was concerned, logic seemed to simply not apply. Considering briefly, the Vulcan settled on the response that seemed least likely to produce a violent reaction. "Hello." 8-ball did so, glancing around the quarters as she went. Nothing had changed much. Vulcans didn't seem overly keen on updating posters. She shifted her weight from one foot to another, cursing herself for even being here. "So," she said awkwardly. "Uh. How's it been? Nice to see you." Now, though, the Lieutenant was here in her quarters, asking to start training again. Despite her distrust of Vulcans, and her clear dislike of T'Pei. Despite her extremely strong feelings on the matter. And that, T'Pei reflected, took great strength of character. Even if it took Vulcans a while to admit that their logic was flawed, once they admitted it to themselves, there was no pride holding them back from admitting it to others. "I believe, Lieutenant, that a middle ground can be found. One which can help you gain control, without...changing who you are." "Oh," 8-ball said, a little taken aback. She had been pretty sure begging or something equally lousy would be called for. Not that she was above begging. If begging would save her life, 8-ball was all for it. Dignity was for people who weren't smart enough to have survival skills. Still, begging a Vulcan to make her more Vulcan was just . . . lame. It was lame, and 8-ball didn't want to have any part of it. "Well, okay, then," 8-ball said. She was trying to decide how to follow that up when T'Pei continued. "Well, uh, that's okay," 8-ball said. "And I guess . . . I wasn't very . . . um . . helpful about the whole thing myself. So . . . we both did some no-no's. That's cool. We're being very adult about the whole thing. So . . ." and here 8-ball floundered. "What do we do now?" An excellent question. The simple answer was to resume training. T'Pei would try to respect Lieutenant Hunter's human upbringing and Lieutenant Hunter would...well, try, period. Of course, the simple answer was too simple. The Lieutenant had decades of resentment to overcome, and T'Pei, quite frankly, was not a shining beacon of understanding when it came to anti-Vulcan Vulcans. Developing trust and understanding took time, and to date, the two women had barely exchanged any words that did not involve meditation or the Lieutenant's teddy bear... Coming to a solution, T'Pei unconsciously de-arched her eyebrow. "Would you care for a meal, Lieutenant?" “Kitty Calvary” Star Captain Le’on Khatowren, Commanding Officer; ICS Days of Thunder. ========== Combat Information Center ICS Days of Thunder, Cattusian Flagship. Sol System – Somewhere between Mars and Burning Terra… “The situation looks grim sir…” Commander Spellman reported as he pulled up the tactical map of the Sol System. “Damn…” Le’on breathed. “No wonder negotiations failed. It seems that they never took place and people started shooting at each other.” The communications officer piped up. “Sir, multiple distress calls coming in from all over the system. From both Federation factions.” Le’on stared at the tactical map for a minute before coming to a decision. “Trace each distress call back to each ship, paint them as friendly, enemy, or neutral.” He said. “And then find out who in blazes we have here.” Spellman nodded as the information came back almost instantly. The holotable frizzled a bit and he smacked it on the side with his paw and it immediately righted itself. He shot an apologetic look at Le’on. “Sorry sir…” he said. Le’on shrugged it off. “Could be worse, it could be that old Klingon cloaking device that we have strapped in back in engineering.” He said with a feral grin. He then looked at the refreshed readout; the situation was looking grim for the Doves in which the Cattusians had tossed their lot with, keeping with their taller cousins on Cait. The Pegasus, the Trafalgar, the Hercules, and the Liberty were all in the thick of things with the Hawk Fleet. Out in the edge of the vicious interstellar melee all sat the massive USS Vesuvius, circling as if to keep the Doves inside of Mars orbit. “A Hyperion Class!?” Le’on exclaimed, rocking back in his chair at this revelation. “I didn’t think any of those survived the war…” he breathed. Those things were twice the size of a Sovereign. “She’s tagging with a Hawk IFF Transponder.” The ship’s tactical officer observed. “Notify the fleet.” Le’on said decisively, “We’re taking that big boy out.” He punched in a few commands at the holotable and then strapped himself into his command chair. “Communications, get word to the Dove Fleet that we’re here and that we’ll try and punch a hole through to them. And attune our own Transponders so that the Dove Fleet do not think that we’re targets.” “Aye sir.” The communications officer replied. “Sending message now” “Drop cloak and engage the Vesuvius!” Le’on ordered. “Fire for effect!” At once, all ten Cattusian ships dropped out of cloak and lit up the space between them and the Vesuvius, which out classed and out matched the entire Task Fleet put together. Standard Phasers and Pulse Phasers lanced out, hits reigning down on the unsuspecting ship from the direction that they obviously weren’t expecting. The Vesuvius did not lay dormant for long. It’s phasers answered back in kind, shooting into the group of Cattusian ships. The Cattusian ships split apart, but not without one ship bearing the brunt of the punishment. Le’on could do nothing but watch as the small Defiant Class ship’s shields flared, then buckled, and then failed altogether. Le’on admired that ship’s captain tenacity as he kept the ship pointed straight at the Vesuvius, turning his ship into a giant projectile. The small ship impacted against the Vesuvius’ shields while the rest of her sister ships flew on by with phasers blazing. The Vesuvius lurched to one side under the impact and its own shields failed, unable to cope with that much damage at once. But her phasers were still deadly as it continued its deadly rain of fire onto the Cattusians. Another ship fell under the Vesuvius’ deadly guns. This one was not even able to follow in their comrade’s pawsteps as its core erupted, snuffing them all out of existence. The Cattusians all came around at once, and as a pack of wild cats, descended upon their prey. This time, with no shields to hinder the shots, they hit hull and penetrated inside. “Open up with torpedoes!” Le’on howled. “Finish him off!” “With pleasure…” Spellman replied as he relayed the orders. This time, blue and red warheads erupted out of the small fleet. Explosions appeared all around the hull. “That did it sir.” Spellman said. “Her core’s going up and there’s escape pods coming out.” “Get the fleet clear, ignore the pods…” Le’on said. “Regroup and head for Terra.” He then smiled as he watched the Vesuvius explode into a brilliant fireball. “Send message to Dove Fleet. Tell them that we’ve splashed one Hawk Ship and are looking for more prey.” All in all, two Defiant Class starships for one Hyperion Class starship was a fair trade in his opinion. If one was keeping score, that was about 200 Cattusians to about 2000 Hawks of mixed species. A fair trade for the Kitty Calvary indeed. "Mix Up" Ens. Alexandra Lee Ens. Paul McAllister
Alex took her duty jacket off and tossed it onto a nearby chair, which was followed by her dropping into the seat. It had been a long day for her--especially upon repairing a mechanical parrot of all things. It was a bit strange to see her bunk mate Susan Delphino gone, as they had gotten along pretty well. She had been transferred off ship to a new assignment following the games. Alex had to admit that it was rather nice to have her own quarters. She stood and made her way to the lavatory, removing her uniform in the process. The only thing she wanted to do at the moment was to take a shower and simply relax as she made her way to the Sonic shower. A few minutes later, she stepped from the shower, making her way to her to her dresser located next to her bed. She neglected any coverings as she was presently the only person occupying the quarters. She then heard a shuffling sound and immediately opened her eyes, which grew bigger at the sight of what stood before her. What stood before her was the disheveled personage of Paul David McAllister. In one hand he carried two cases, in the other a PADD. Polly the Parrot, newly restored by the gorgeous and wonderfully nude woman standing in front of him, sat on his shoulder.
Almost every man fantasizes about what they would say when presented with divine beauty. Some men are lucky enough to be able to act on those fantasies. Paul McAllister didn't consider himself to be one of those men.
Paul did know how to react to groupies who ran at him shedding attire. But this woman was no empty headed groupie. He knew he should turn around; he willed himself to turn around, but his feet had stopped receiving messages from management.
Just what DO you say to a naked woman you've just met? "Wow," Paul managed. "You're magnificent!"
Polly whistled appreciatively.
Alex quickly ducked back into the lavatory and snatched a towel as she wrapped it around her body. Satisfied the towel fit snugly and covered the necessary parts, she stepped back out, her face red with embarrassment. She fought to speak, feeling very vulnerable at the moment. The man before her was a rather handsome man. She wondered what god or divine entity she had angered to be caught in the nude a second time in less than two weeks. "Th...thank you....um, what are you doing here?"
Without the image of a nude Alex Lee to root him to the spot, Paul had managed to turn away from the lavatory. He realized in doing this he may take a phaser shot in the back, and was relieved when Alex spoke to him instead of contacting Security.
He peeked over his parrotless shoulder, saw that Alex had wrapped herself in a towel, and decided that as big as his Hawaiian shirt was, it was not going to conceal his reaction. Nudity was beauty – but clothing, even a towel, that's what made woman sexy.
Paul raised the PADD and waived it in Alex's general direction. "According to the quartermaster, this is my room assignment. I'm sure there's been a mistake…." 'By all things holy,' thought McAllister, 'I hope not.'
"What?" she asked, rushing over and snatching the PADD. "There has to be some mistake." Looking over the PADD, she had hoped the man had simply read the assignment wrong. She then saw her quarters listed as his new quarters assignment. "You have got to be kidding me!"
"Deck 13, Section 12 Alpha, Room 1328," recited McAllister. He still had not turned around. 'Think of Grandma, think of Grandma,' he recited in his head, unsuccessfully willing certain body parts to become less apparent. "Is there someone we can call to verify?" he asked.
"Sure...and why are you still turned around? I'm dressed," she explained as she walked around, not liking the man having his back turned. Her eyes went wide when she noticed the large bulge in the man's pants. 'Wow,' she thought and shook her head slightly, not wanting to embarrass the man. 'Keep eye contact,' she mentally told herself.
She activated a local comm terminal. "Quartermaster’s Office," she instructed the computer.
"Petty Officer Maro speaking. How may I help...you?" the Bolian said, surprised at seeing the image of the human female dressed only in a towel on his monitor.
"I'm Ensign Alexandra Lee and I believe you made a mistake. You've assigned an Ensign McAllister to my quarters. Ensign McAllister is a man and I am a woman."
PO Maro typed in a few commands into a terminal off screen and was quiet for a moment before turning his attention back to Ensign Lee. "I'm sorry ma'am. This apparently will have to suffice as there is not enough room to place Ensign McAllister anywhere else and you were the only one with the available space. I'll see what I can do, but for now...you're just simply going to have to make do until a spot opens up, ma'am. Anything else I can help you with ma'am?"
"Yes, could you at least assign an engineering team to modify the quarters some until a spot opens up so I can have some privacy?"
"I'll have to send that request up the chain of command, ma'am as I am not authorized to make changes to quarters. Only the Operations Chief, XO, and CO can make that call, ma'am."
Alex sighed out of frustration. "Fine, thanks for nothing, bye," she cut off communications, before turning back to face McAllister. "Guess you're stuck here," she replied.
While Alex was speaking with the Quartermaster's office, Paul did his best not to notice the way her hair moved when she shook her head, or how the towel that hugged her body slipped here and rose there as she moved. Thinking of his sainted grandmother was not helping
Fortunately, one of most men's top ten deflation events is hearing "Guess you're stuck here." Not as ego damaging as "Are you in yet?" but Alex's words at least calmed Paul down to the point were he could walk more or less normally.
Setting his cases down, he moved towards her with his hand extended. "I'm Paul – do you prefer Alexandra or Lee?"
Alex smiled as it wasn't McAllister's fault that they had been assigned together. "Most people just call me Alex," she said as she struck her hand out. Not realizing all the recent sudden movements had loosened the towel, she shook McAllister's hand, and the towel fell down around her feet.
Paul took Alex's hand in his own and brought it gently to his lips. The feel of his warm and gentle kiss sent an electric tingle down Alex's spine. A small whispery sigh escaped her parted lips. Paul's eyes followed the curve of her shoulder down her golden arm to where his lips still gently caressed the back of Alex's hand. As he released her hand, his penetrating gaze moved back to the throbbing vein at her throat, then down to the full firm flesh of her breasts, then back to the deep and green pools that were Alex's eyes.
Not breaking eye contact, Paul knelt and retrieved Alex's discarded towel. He slowly raised the towel, slightly damp and warm, to caress the back of Alex's graceful calves, up to her perfectly formed ass, drawing her gently towards him. Paul draped the towel across Alex's shoulders, leaning towards her upraised rose colored… "Mix Up" Part 2 Ens. Alexandra Lee Ens. Paul McAllister Not breaking eye contact, Paul knelt and retrieved Alex's discarded towel. He slowly raised the towel, slightly damp and warm, to caress the back of Alex's graceful calves, up to her perfectly formed ass, drawing her gently towards him. Paul draped the towel across Alex's shoulders, leaning towards her upraised rose colored…
Chirp!
Paul blinked and the momentary dream was gone. He quickly dropped Alex's hand and turned towards the door. "I, uh, that will be Abbot and Hardy with the rest of my stuff." McAllister stumbled towards the door. "I'll keep them busy outside. Oh, and Alex? You dropped your towel."
Alex was wide-eyed and quickly knelt and picked up her towel and wrapped it around her, her face glowing red with embarrassment as she dashed to the lavatory, snatching a gray t-shirt and tan casual pants from the nearby dresser. She quickly dressed into her chosen clothes before stepping back into the living quarters. She let out a sigh. She had flashed the newest member to the Galaxy's crew not once but twice. She closed her eyes and decided to at least help Paul move in. She opened the door to find Paul and two other men standing just outside the door. "Anything I can help with?" she asked.
Abbot and Hardy looked at each other dumbstruck. 'This was the new guy's roommate?' thought Abbot. 'Maybe he has earned that Walther PPK!' McAllister smiled at Alex and lifting Polly the Parrot off his shoulder, he handed her to Alex. Polly went willingly, grasping Alex's hand gently with her claws and clicking her beak appreciatively. "She knows you're a friend," said McAllister. "Could you take her inside while I set up her cage?"
"Oh, um, sure," she replied, looking at the mechanical bird.
McAllister's belongings were bulky, but not numerous. Trombone, secret identity case, and whatnot were soon stowed to Alex's satisfaction.
"Alex, you've been a great sport with all of this," said McAllister. "I really appreciate all your help with Polly and the room situation and all. Please, let me buy you dinner as a gesture of thanks?"
"Oh, well, sure. Why not?" Perhaps the new roommate wouldn't be as bad as she originally thought. "Clearing Customs, Part 2" or "The Great Galaxy Bird Chase"
Lt(jg) T'Pei Ens. Paul McAllister Crewman Abbot (NPC) Crewman Hardy (NPC)
Soundtrack: "Wish Liszt (Toy Shop Madness)" – Trans-Siberian Orchestra http://wm.atlrec.com/tso/thelostchristmaseve/wishtliszt-wma-full.wma
<A Cargo Bay, USS Galaxy>
Abbot laughed. "James Bond's gun?" he asked.
Paul grinned. "Exactly!"
"I don't get it," said Hardy.
"Definitely command school material," replied McAllister.
Before Abbot could repeatedly explain the reference to the confused Hardy, Polly the Parrot woke. Noticing that her cage was open, and not recognizing where she was, Polly immediately took flight.
"Oh, shit," exclaimed McAllister. "The damn bird's out!"
Polly the Parrot has been marketed as the epitome of children's toys – which also made her a wonderfully useful spy gadget. Polly could operate in several different modes; as a simple mechanical parrot, programmed to mimic the those long-lived birds of the tropics; as a baby/nanny sitter, programmed to record in HD audio and video her surroundings to better allow parents to watch their wayward offspring – great for recon missions with the addition IR & UV scanning technology; and in sleep mode, where she looked all the world like a not so warm and fuzzy stuffed bird.
To this, the techno-wizards at Starfleet Intelligence had added one other capability – an attack mode. A variety of chemical agents could be loaded into the bird, now officially known as the Flight Capable Recon, Retrieval and Chemical Attack Device, Portable, Parrot Version, Mark II, which when sprayed in the same manner as avian defecation could produce --- well, whatever side effects chemical can produce.
The Flight Capable Recon, Retrieval – the damn bird could also accept a "personality" program that allowed it to recognize its owner and surroundings, and limited mission parameters. The program could not be too extravagant; after all, Polly did have a bird's brain. This program was not installed in Polly when she woke in response to Crewman Hardy's repeated poking and prodding of her cage.
Fortunately, Polly the Parrot was programmed to awake from sleep mode into parrot mode; a simple child's toy that could fly. Without her higher electronics, she did not possess the transmission capacity to trigger the cargo bay doors, and her mass and erratic flight was not recognizable by the door's motion detector.
Unfortunately, a large bald man in a loud Hawaiian shirt is of more than sufficient mass to trigger a motion sensor when running after an escaped mechanical parrot.
Polly flew out of the cargo bay, banked left, increased throttle, and was soon zooming down the passageway at almost top speed. Leading the pursuit was Crewman Hardy, sprinting as if his hair was on fire and his ass was catching. Following Hardy was McAllister, moving with an eerie grace, his shirt flapping in the breeze. Last, with his face flushed and his cheeks pumping like bellows, came Crewman Abbot, who at least had the foresight to grab what looked like a large butterfly net that he carried a port arms as his boots thudded on the deck.
McAllister was lost, trusting in Hardy to keep Polly in sight. While on holiday he had studied various files on Galaxy's crew and exploits, but had not paid much attention to the ship's actual design. The Galaxy class was certainly not an Akira class, and Paul had only served on Akrias. After several twists and turns, Paul was certain he'd never find his way back to the cargo bay again.
"Oy! McAllister!" came a shout from behind. Paul shot a quick look over his shoulder to see the butterfly net sailing in his direction like a spear.
"I. Can't. Keep. Up," Abbot wheezed, breathing like a Lamaze coach overdosed on caffeine. Paul snatched the net out of the air and shouting his thanks turned and charged off after Hardy.
McAllister rounded the next corner and stopped short. It was a dead end corridor with the telltale doors of a turbolift at one end and Crewman Hardy at the other. Trapped in the middle was a Vulcan woman in an Operations Department uniform. Coming in for a landing on the only stationary perch available – the Vulcan's shoulder – was Polly the Parrot.
Paul ran past Hardy brandishing his net. "Hey! You with the ears!" he panted. "Can you grab my bird?" "You with the ears...?" T'Pei repeated incredulously, turning around to see a human male in a bright blue shirt running at her full tilt waving a large net over his head. "There is no bir--Aahhh!!" Reaching her target, Polly had tried to land on T'Pei's shoulder, but as the Vulcan turned around, the landing space had disappeared, and the panicked parrot had latched her talons onto the closest thing available...which just happened to be T'Pei's hair. Stumbling backwards, she swung her arms to knock the bird away, but Polly held on with a desperate death grip, beating her wings wildly. The Vulcan herself was trapped in the middle of a tornado of flying feathers and strands of her own thick, black hair. Through the overwhelming background soundtrack of screeching mechanical parrot, T'Pei's keen ears gradually began to register another sound. "....nonononononono..." Finally getting a hold of Polly's foot, T'Pei managed to peel off two of the claws and the parrot let go with that foot, flying up into the air, still tethered to T'Pei's head by a long clump of hair. "...nonostopitpleasenonostopyou'llhurther!" Whump! T'Pei slammed into the ground rear first, and from flat on her back, looked up at the wide eyes of the blue-shirted man now sitting on her chest. Except, it was rather hard to see him, though the net. With one last screech, Polly finally let go and flew straight into the turbolift, past the exiting ensign. "...haaaach," T'Pei mumbled. Abbot puffed around the corner and skidded to a halt in time to see McAllister land on the Vulcan’s chest. “Uffda, that’s got to hurt,” he exclaimed, panting for breath. Hardy was doubled over laughing so hard he couldn’t respond. McAllister rapidly took stock of his situation; all those years of intelligence training hadn’t gone to waste.
He was sitting on a beautiful woman’s chest, with Abbot’s net tangled in her hair. A beautiful VULCAN woman’s chest. A beautiful VULCAN OFFICER’S chest. A beautiful HIGHER RANKING OFFICER’S chest. And she did not appear to be amused. Chances for promotion to bigger and better things were diminishing rapidly.
“Greetings!” said McAllister, flashing his best smile. Ensuring careful placement of his hands, he removed the net entangling the Lieutenant’s hair and rolled of the woman’s chest. Jumping to his feet, he extended a hand to assist the officer to her feet.
“I apologize for running into you, Lieutenant.” Ignoring both his apology and the offered hand, T'Pei shot the strange man a deeply judgmental look. The Vulcan gingerly pushed herself to her feet, brushing the remains of the feathery indignity off of her Class A uniform. "What, exactly, is the meaning of this?" Paul glanced quickly at the feathery indignity the woman was brushing off her chest; after sitting on it uninvited it would not do at all to stare. “Um, that will come out with a little soda water, Ma’am.”
An eyebrow arched.
“Yes, Ma’am. Ensign McAllister, Paul McAllister, at your service, Ma’am. That was my parrot Polly, and the Crewmen and I,” Paul gestured over to where Abbot and Hardy stood, “the Crewman and I, well, she got loose and we’re trying to recapture her. Ma’am.”
“James Bond my ass,” snickered Abbot.
“I don’t get it,” replied Hardy. "The Great Galaxy Bird Chase, Part 2"
Captain Karyn Dallas Lt.(jg) T'Pei Ens. McAllister Crewman Abbot (NPC) Crewman Hardy (NPC)
“Yes, Ma’am. Ensign McAllister, Paul McAllister, at your service, Ma’am. That was my parrot Polly, and the Crewmen and I,” Paul gestured over to where Abbot and Hardy stood, “the Crewman and I, well, she got loose and we’re trying to recapture her. Ma’am.”
“James Bond my ass,” snickered Abbot.
“I don’t get it,” replied Hardy.
Um, excuse me?" The ensign from the turbolift snorted with suppressed chuckles, clenching her fists to keep from breaking down entirely. "If you are looking for your parrot, I think that turbolift was going to the bridge."
Oh crap, the bridge? This got better and better. McAllister turned to T'Pei, trying to avoid being hit by Vulcan disapproval rays. "I guess I'm coming with you?"
<Turbolift 1>
Most people assumed there was very little Starfleet officers feared. This was especially true when it came to Starfleet Captains, whom the public frequently learned about after the most harrowing ordeals were long over. Tales of a Starfleet Captain's exploits (at least of those captains worth remembering, anyway) were filled with life and death struggles, bravery in the face of extreme danger, or in the case of those more diplomatically inclined, case after case of Starfleet captains reaching out to new life forms in peace and friendship, no matter how daunting those life forms appeared to be.
Alas, this was not destined to be one of those tales.
It happened so fast, Captain Karyn Dallas had no time to register what it was that was coming toward her, let alone what to do about it. By the time she recognized what had joined her in the lift, what Karyn thought to be a very agitated and very real parrot, they were alone and moving again. The bird must have hit the touchpad inadvertently during his (her? it?) erratic entry.
What the poor creature didn't know was that Karyn was deathly afraid of most animals, especially of the flying variety, on account of the fact the grav-chair bound woman was brought to a zoo by her father as a child and forced to stay (this was before she'd been given her gravchair) as birds and other screeching creatures moved around her.
Her heart thumping loudly in her chest, the Starfleet Captain and Chief Counselor's eyes darted around the lift, looking for an escape. Fortunately, the lift was programmed to stop at the next deck if no other voice commands were given. Karyn hadn't done so, for fear of attracting the bird's attention.
Unfortunately, at the very moment Karyn realized her escape was near, the very agitated and very noisy parrot must have noticed her very shiny rank pips. On her collar.
The last thing Karyn saw, or more precisely, the last thing she allowed herself to see before screwing her eyes closed tightly, was the birds talons heading straight for her neck, its beak open, ready to attack what it must have thought was its next meal.
Unable to contain herself, she roared, "OH SHIT!!!!!"at the top of her lungs, just as the turbolift doors opened.
Turns out, Karyn was not only psychologically minded, but psychically minded as well.
<Turbolift 2>
"So...." McAllister said, breaking the silence in the turbolift, "This might not be the best of circumstances, but I didn't catch your name?"
There was a bit of a pause. "T'Pei."
"Ah, well. Hi." McAllister was temporarily saved from further awkwardness by the swooshing of the turbolift doors as they reached the bridge. Bracing himself for disaster, the bald man rushed out, the net held high, ready for action.
Except, there was no action. And the funny looks they were all getting suggested that there hadn't been any in the recent past.
Which meant McAllister was standing in front of the bridge crew in a Hawaiian shirt for no good reason.
"It would appear that the Ensign was mistaken," T'Pei observed, shooting a stern look at the tactical Ensign who whispered, "What happened to her uniform?" Chris Daniels couldn't help it at that point, bursting into chuckles, which spread across the bridge like wildfire. This was, by far, the most colorful thing to occur on the bridge since T'Vara had taken the reigns.
"I think I'll go now," McAllister stammered, backing towards the turbolift where Abbot and Hardy were collapsed against the wall in laughter. "Nice to meet you. Thanks for um, slowing Polly down."
An eyebrow arched sharply.
And then he turned and fled. "Dinner with Almais”
Ens. Paul McAllister Ens. Alexandra Lee
Soundtrack: "Linus and Lucy" – Vince Guaraldi http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UP3AT14HrOI&feature=related
<Room 1328, USS Galaxy>
"Alex, you've been a great sport with all of this," said McAllister. "I really appreciate all your help with Polly and the room situation and all. Please, let me buy you dinner as a gesture of thanks?"
"Oh, well, sure. Why not?" Perhaps the new roommate wouldn't be as bad as she originally thought.
"Great!" responded Paul. He glanced at his disheveled appearance. He'd already blown his chance at a good first impression; going to dinner in a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and sandals would not do. With a smile he added, "I think you've already had a shower -- mind if I grab one and change?"
Alex smiled. "Sure."
Paul was rummaging through a bag he had left on his bunk. He extracted some isoliner chips and walked over to the room's computer terminal. Sliding a chip into the slot, he waited for it to be accepted by the computer's security protocols. After a brief moment, the machine signaled it was ready.
"Computer, recognize McAllister, Paul David."
"Working"
"Access account Cayman-007- Epsilon"
"Accessing."
"Transfer to personal on-board account for Ensign Paul McAllister."
"Authorization?" asked the computer. "Agent 86," answered McAllister. "Verification code 'Pirate.'"
"Transfer completed."
Alex had watched Paul as he finished instructing the computer. "What are you doing?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, as she approached Paul.
"Nothing sinister," replied Paul with an embarrassed smile. "In my life before the 'Fleet I managed to get some songs published, and that little bit of hocus-pocus transferred my royalty account to the ship's computer."
Paul slid another chip into the replicator. "Computer, clothing, File Casablanca One" Turning to Alex, he added, "It would really be a bummer to invite you dinner and not have the necessaries."
Alex smiled. She had a feeling she was going to get along well with Paul. "Should I change into something nicer?" she asked.
'Why do women always ask difficult questions,' thought Paul. He could tell the truth -- that he quite liked the way Alex bounced in her causal attire -- but he wasn't sure his brain could handle the strain of continued blood loss. "I think you would look good in just about anything," Paul choose his words carefully. "Casablanca One is a bit more formal than what you have on now, but it's really your choice."
Alex kept her smile. "Thank you. I suppose this will do," she replied, looking down at her shirt. After all, they were going to Ten-Forward, not some fancy restaurant. Not that she minded Ten-Forward. She went there regularly to relax after her duty shift.
Paul considered changing his choice of wardrobe to be more in keeping with Alex's look, then figured to each his own. He grabbed his replicated clothing and entered the lavatory, closing the door. A moment later, he opened the door and handed out to Alex what he thought was a swimming suit.
Alex's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "We're going swimming?"
Paul's voice was muffled from behind the door. "I couldn't keep up with you! No, just didn't want to mess your suit up."
Alex chuckled. "Thanks," she replied grabbing the suit.
A short while later, Paul emerged from the lavatory, clean, refreshed, with a bit more spring in his step then he had been capable of on entering. He was dressed in black slacks, a spotless white shirt complete with black bow tie, and a white dinner jacket. His eye patch was gone, his mustache freshly trimmed. Except for the hair (more on the face, none on the top), he looked like the character Rick from the old "motion picture" Casablanca.
"So, where's a good place to eat on this boat?" he asked.
Alex was impressed with Paul's wardrobe, making him even more handsome as he looked good in a suit. ”Just Ten-Forward...but I think you may be a bit out-dressed for even that."
Paul chuckled. "A musician is never out-dressed. Besides, if I'm with you, I have to look my best or no one will come close to noticing me."
Alex blushed. "Thank you."
"You're most welcome," said Paul. Rummaging again through his satchel, he pulled out a small black case. Sensing Alex's curiosity, he held it out to her. "It's a portable keyboard. Doesn't have the best sound in the world, but then you can't carry a Grand in one hand either."
"You're a musician?" Alex inquired, as the two exited their quarters.
"I was, until I got suckered into this gig," replied Paul, reminding himself to make eye contact and not stare too much at the jiggling going on under her shirt. He extended the crook of his arm, offering his elbow to his new roommate. "You'll have to lead the way -- I'm still a bit lost on this boat."
Alex took Paul's arm and chuckled. "Just follow me, then."
"How did you get suckered?"
'What is amazing,' thought Paul 'is she seems totally unaware of the effect she has on me.' He concentrated on making conversation. "Not suckered, really. The Borg attacked my family. After that, I felt I needed to do something more useful then tickling the ivories."
"How about you?" he asked. "When did you get interested in engineering?"
"I've pretty much always been an engineer. Since I can remember, I've took things apart and tried to put them back together again...though not always successfully. My Parents wanted the best education possible for me, so I attended the Engineering Course at New Paris University. After I saw the devastation the Breen did to San Francisco during the war, I applied to and was accepted into Starfleet Academy against the wishes of my mom and dad, as they wanted me to get a job at a large Engineering Company instead."
"Would probably be safer for you," commented Paul, "but then I'd never have met you and Polly would just be kitty food." He chuckled at the recollection of the "Security Kitty" attempting to eat his mechanical parrot.
The two soon arrived at Ten-Forward, and entered.
Paul paused for a moment at the entrance, causing Alex to stumble. He put his arm around her waist to steady her. His gaze flickered about the room quickly, and then steadied on her once more. "That table in the corner seems nice," he said. It also provided an excellent view of the entrance, and was against the bulkhead, but those were considerations he didn't think Alex would be interested in.
"Seems good," she replied.
As they approached the table, Paul regretfully removed his hand from Alex's waist and held out a chair for her to sit in, hoping that she would recognize that good manners was not a statement of male superiority.
"Thank you," she said, sitting. "You are quite the gentleman, Paul."
Paul smiled at her, accepting the compliment. He seated himself before continuing, "My Grandma was the type of lady who would walk up to a table in a restaurant and if someone didn't hold her chair out for her, she would stare down the youngest male in the party until they got the message. There's a family story that says she walked out on her first date with Grandpa 'cause he didn't hold the door for her." Paul smiled again -- 'Gods,' he thought, 'she's making me giddy.'
A Bolian waitress appeared at their table wanting their order. "I'll have a vodka martini, shaken, not stirred," replied Paul. "Alex, what would you like?"
"I'll have a Samarian Sunrise."
After the waitress took their drink orders, the conversation seemed to lag a bit. It had been a long while since Paul had really wanted to impress a woman and his casual flirts seemed to fly right over Alex's head. He hoped she wasn't bored shitless.
"About the room," Paul began, at the same moment Alex began to talk. Paul laughed. "Ladies first," he said.
"So, tell me about your parrot? How long have you had him?" She knew the basic specifications due to working on him after it flew into an exposed EPS Relay
"Polly started as a gimmick I used to use on stage," Paul replied. "That would be about five years ago or so."
"I still find it amazing that his Central Processor mimics that of a real parrot."
"Technical Operations can do some amazing things," Paul agreed. The waitress returned with their drinks and asked if they wanted to order any food. Paul waved to Alex, not having any idea what this Ten-Forward might serve.
"I'll just have a steak, eight ounce, with steamed vegetables."
"I'll have the same," Paul told the waitress. As she turned to go, Paul added, "Wait a minute, miss. What's your name?"
"Almais," she answered, uncertain.
Paul smiled. "Almais, after my friend and I have dinner, I thought I might play a little music for the patrons -- an impromptu jam session. Could you check with the manager and make sure that would be alright?"
Almais looked around Paul and Alex's table, wondering what he or the young engineer would be playing music on. Not seeing anything readily apparent, she just nodded. "I'll check."
"Thanks, Almais." Paul winked at her and she flashed a smile as she walked away with a bit more sway in her hips than before.
Paul turned his attention back to his dinner companion. "Alex, I know you like to swim -- I saw your performance in the games -- but what else do you like to do for fun?"
"You...saw my performance? So I suppose today would have been the second time you've seen me naked, then?" her face was blushing red now. Paul reached over the table and took Alex's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Well, to be technically accurate, the second and third time." Paul's smile was genuine. "But that will be our secret, eh?" He squeezed her hand again in letting go. "You shouldn't be embarrassed, I walked in on you, remember? Hey, if it will make you feel any better, I'll jump out of the shower tomorrow and drop MY towel." He jumped up and struck an outlandish 'he-man' pose. "What you think -- model material?"
Alex let out a laugh. “That wouldn't be that bad," she heard herself blurt out before she caught herself. Paul laughed with Alex, and then laughed even harder when he turned to find Almais the waitress looking at him incuriously, holding their dinners on a tray. He quickly found his seat.
Dinner was dinner. There's not much good that can be said about replicated dead bovine, no matter how steamy the vegetables or the conversation.
"The management says that as long as there are no customer complaints, you may play a few numbers," Almais told Paul as she cleared their dishes.
Paul winked at Alex and reached under their table to retrieve his portable keyboard. Unrolling it on the table, he explained to Alex how it worked, and then began to play a perennial favorite.
Chopsticks.
Crew seated in the table surrounding them began to snicker, and Alex was starting to become embarrassed for Paul. But when the tune turned into a little jazz ditty with a beat you could dance to, if you really wanted, folks began to clap along.
Paul played a few numbers of his own, took two requests from the audience and one from Alex and was done. With a bow to his audience, and to his beautiful dinner companion, Alex and Paul left Ten-Forward for a walk about the ship.
Alex pointed out various items of interest; not always neglecting that Paul's gaze was as often on her as it was on the items of interest she was describing. They toured the arboretum and several of the crew lounges, but Paul declined Alex's offer to see Engineering, telling her that he didn't want either of them to have to think about work.
Eventually, they returned to their quarters.
Alex had enjoyed her time with Paul thus far and she was exhausted, but she had a lot of fun, especially listening to Paul's music while in Ten Forward. "I've had a wonderful time, Paul." "Running Quiet" "Pegasus" Captain Alexandra Lee (2402)
Standing in the center of the bridge was a woman wearing a black uniform with red bordering and four gold pips on her collar. He medium-brown hair was worn up. With her arms crossed, she issued orders as the view screen displayed an array of phaser and torpedo fire streaking across in every direction in the space above Earth. The Pegasus was among the last of the new class of vessels to be commissioned by Starfleet before the civil war ripped what Starfleet and the Federation, had stood for. The bridge glowed red from the Alert Panels and the lights were dimmed, giving a menacing appearance as the bridge crew manned their stations. With such late technology, the Pegasus was a constant target by both Hawk and Pirate forces. Captain Lee had always kept the ship at a high state of alert for that very reason. She would never allow herself, crew, and ship to be caught off guard, as she could only imagine what would be done with her and her crew were the Pegasus to ever fall into enemy hands. She remembered the days when she was happy just being an engineer....and then the war happened. To her, that was the worst day of her life. She had been the Chief Engineer aboard the Bismarck, when it came under surprise attack by Hawk Forces. She had lost Jonathan--her only son, lost the will to conceive anymore children due to a disruptor blast to the abdomen when troops boarded the Bismarck. And...she had lost her husband, Paul McAllister. She hadn't lost him physically, but rather emotionally. Only two months later, they had parted ways. Now, she fought the Hawks and Pirate forces who mostly preyed on the weak and unsuspecting relentlessly. She, unlike many other starship captains in this time ran a tight, disciplined ship, still adhering to Starfleet's Code...a code many considered lost and worthless. "Target the Bozeman's left nacelle, and fire. Full weapons.," Lee ordered in an eerily calm voice. She had learned that it was best to remain calm during a battle as the commander. That calmness was contagious, allowing the other officers around her to remain calm and perform their jobs better. Phasers burned white hot as they lashed out, striking the the nacelle of the Bozeman, ripping through the nacelle's protective structure and grid. Warp plasma spew forth from the damaged nacelle. "Target the plasma and fire a single torpedo," Lee ordered. The tactical officer did as instructed. Upon reaching it determined destination, the warhead detonated. The resulting explosion ignited the plasma, back into the nacelle. This reaction caused an instant overload before the Bozeman's computer could react and detect the feedback. The result was the devastating destruction of the left nacelle, only to to nearly be immediately followed by the explosion of the Bozeman. "Good job," Lee commented upon seeing the destruction of the Bozeman on the view screen. "Change course to 235 mark 21. Engage the USS Mars." "Aye, captain," the flight officer responded, while punching commands into her console. The Pegasus banked hard and lashed out again with its phasers against the USS Mars, rocking the smaller vessel. Again, the barrage of phasers was too much as the impacts overloaded the shields and tore through the hull. One phaser ripped through the the lower portion of Deck 12 and through the main bridge, vaporizing any crew who were unfortunate to be in its way, which included the entire bridge crew. The next phaser ripped directly into Engineering and the warp core, sending the USS Mars into a large ball of fire before being quickly snuffed out in the vacuum of space. The Pegasus rocked hard upon a barrage of phaser fire from the Liberty. "Helm, evasive manevers, Epsilon Delta One. Return fire on the Liberty." "...and the battle rages" Captain Alexandra Lee Weapons lashed out at the Liberty as the ship moved into low orbit to rendezvous with the upcoming drop ships from the surface of Earth. Smaller vessels moved in to provide cover for the Liberty. The Pegasus' phasers seemed to lash out in every arc, inflecting multiple hits on the smaller vessel before they exploded. <USS Liberty> "Aye, sir," Lieutenant Rico, the Security Chief responded as he relayed the information to transporter control. Man'darr remained seated in the XO chair as the captain issued orders. This war had seemed to go on forever...he was not the once angry and aggressive man he had once been. Time and regrets of the past had tamed that anger. His new love interest stood at the aft of the bridge in a intelligence issued grey and black uniform with shoulder length blond hair and the rank of a lieutenant commander. He had first met Lieutenant Commander Nina Litterest when he first reported aboard the Liberty and they had gotten along very well ever since "Transporters are locked on," Rico replied from the tactical console. "Begin transport with all availiable transporters," Captain Draxx commanded. "Lay down heavy fire in three-hundred and sixty degree arc. All phasers!" The liberty dropped its shields as the Marines and soldiers that had been on the planet were transported immedaitely back aboard. "The Commandos are back aboard, captain." "Raise shields! Destroy those dropships and get us the hell out of here!" Draxx ordered, standing from his command vessel. Phasers from the Liberty struck their targets, instantly destroying the drop ships before banking hard and engaging its warp engines. In the space above Earth, the battle continued to rage as Hawk Forces covered the retreat of the Liberty. The Pegasus continued to push its attack as the Intrepid Class USS Intrepid strafed by the Pegasus. "Lock weapons onto the Intrepid and open fire!" Alex commanded. Phasers struck the fast moving Intepid Class vessel several times before ripping into its hull and shearing off a nacelle. "They're dead in the water, captain," announced Lieutenant Amanda Jameson at the tactical console. "Leave them, we have to continue to push them back!" Lee ordered. "Aye ma'am...ma'am...word intercepted over comm...I believe the one the Hawks refer to as BOSS is here." Alex was looking forward to this fight. "Finally...engage them." "The Battle of Sector 001: Beginning" As the cloaked Black Pearl approached the fighting above the pale blue world of Earth, T'risia was fascinated by the sheer volume of combatants, all bickering over what was for now, a shattered world. The Tactical display was set to present the IFF signatures of the "Hawks" as a red, and the "Doves" as blue. Several basically unaligned ships seemed to be taking sides, and based on their attack patterns, the Vulcan woman declared such ships either Hawk or Dove, friend or foe. She leaned back in the high wooden chair, with it's now embedded ship's systems, and took another drink of the ever present Rum. Mr. Lucas Walker was seated at the Tactical station, having come to her early after the fall of the Federation. He had merely been seeking his old crewmate, to think of better times, and had found the Pearl already rushing forth, attempting the mad quest that lined the walls of the Ready Room. T'risia called back to him, in the ship's traditional fashion. "Arrr. Mr. Walker, the cloak...she be holding true?" she could just as easily have been discussing the weather, for all that she was detached. "Arr," said the sandy haired gentleman, now a dignified man, no longer the youthful Ensign that she had known so long ago. "So far, no ships have registered our presence. Arr." "It be good, for sure," replied the Captain, as her piercing green eyes took in the viewscreen. "Arrr. Helm...be bringing us in to within two thousand kilometers of that scurvy ship." As she said this she stood, stepped over a litter of fallen isolinear processing matrix, and pointed to a red spot on the helm tactical display. "The USS Cairo?" asked the new recruit, blanching a bit at the display of the larger, Excelsior class vessel. He paled slightly, and laid in the course. "Um...aye, aye...Arrr." T'risia leaned back in her seat, after returning to it, and called out, "Mr. Walker. Activate the IFF transponder, and let the Doves know that for today, we be friendly to them." "Arrr. Aye, Cap'n...it'll go on right after we decloak." "It would not be logical for it to activate before we decloak, would it?" Walker was always puzzled at these moments. Where T'risia seemed like not a day had passed since she did paperwork on board the Galaxy, the total Vulcan fundamentalist. "Er....no...um...it wouldn't." "Then logic dictates that it should be as you have said, after the cloak is rendered inactive. Proceed as such." Nervously, the young helm officer announced, "Um...Arrr? We have reached a following position behind the Cairo, and are holding relative to her motion. Cap'n." For a moment, the Pegasus caught T'risia's eyes, on the Tactical Display. Such an up to date, well maintained vessel. Surely, its computer core held what she sought? Perhaps, but for today, it appeared she was on the same side as Captain Lee, as dictated by her agreement with the remaining Governors of Vulcan. Dismissing the thought, she called out, "Tactical, disengage cloak. Power up entire forward weapons array and fire upon my mark." As Mr. Walker proceeded to fulfill these orders, the space around the ship shimmered, and warbled, forming the shape of a highly modified Defiant class ship. Its matte black silhouette was emblazoned with a single skull, with a red bandana and crossed sabres behind it. The ship's sensor scattering cover armor rendered it stealthy even without the cloak, as did the visually deceptive black paint. Unlike its Captain, the ship itself seemed to radiate anger, perhaps as a vessel for the emotions that the Vulcan herself could not have. "Cloak off!" Mr. Walker shouted. "Weapons Hot! IFF Functional!" "Arrr, Mr. Walker." At the sound of T'risia's "arrr" of confirmation, the ship's weapons array errupted forth its full fury on the relatively unshielded rear section of the out of date USS Cairo. The blow was awful, and crippling to the craft, tearing apart the port side warp nacelle, and seriously damaging her engineering section. T'risia nodded in emotionless satisfaction. "Beam out any intact computer cores. Download what you can during a real time stream, while our shields are lowered." For the moment, as per T'risia's orders, they would be putting their faith in the craft sensor repellent skin, and ablative armor systems. A faith that after a few moments, was proven somewhat misplaced. Mr. Walker's deep voice alerted the bridge crew, "Hawk incoming, to the port side! IFF reads Bellorophon, Intrepid Class!" T'risia turned her head to Mr. Walker, and said, calmly, "Did you know that the first Intrepid, a Constitution class vessel, had a crew entirely composed of Vulcans?" Mr. Walker's eyes widened, incredulously, and the ship rocked slightly as the ablative armor took some of the abuse. "No Cap'n! But...we are under attack!" The ship rocked slightly again. "Indeed we are...is the transport complete?" Checking his board, the dignified Tactical Officer nodded. "Yes! Data stream incoming still." "Give it another few moments...the cores we recived might be damaged. Return fire, in the meantime. Arrr." Looking as unperturbed as ever, T'risia had another slug of rum, as the ship listed slightly to starboard from the hits scored on her. Even with the ablative armor, things were getting a little bad. "Their shields are holding! Ablative armor to sixty percent!" Mr. Walker seemed highly agitated. "Might I remind you, T'risia, that although the Doves might not shoot at us, they certainly wont help us at all?!" T'risia, calmly, looked to her chair controls, rapidly did some calculations, despite the rocking of the craft. She knew that the way sensors slid off the craft was giving her a bit of time, to risk on the longer download, but she needed to move on. Finishing her plan, she responded to Mr. Walker. "Arrr. The sea helps those who help themselves, mate. Arrr." She tapped the transmit button on her chair. "Implement this course, exactly as transmitted to you, right now, Helm!" she ordered. The Helmsman hesitated. Mr. Walker called out, "New Sensor contact! Unidentified vessel....bad sensor lock, falling into position to port of Bellorophon, toward Sol! Ablative armor at Forty eight percent!" "Now Helm," said T'risia, with a raised eyebrow. "Engage the warp drive along the indicated course. As I said, the sea helps those who help themselves." Insane, was the one word that the helmsman thought, as he engaged the drive to warp 1.5, and followed the odd, looping course around the sun, bring the Pearl to a stop almost at their starting point, somewhat toward sol, and at the port side of the Bellorophon. "Mr. Walker, fire all weapons at the Bellorophon, on my mark. Arrr." Again, the full fury of the heavily modified, overpowered array opened up, on a virtually unshielded section of the ship. The badly maintained Hawk craft had not the advantage of ablative armor, and the damage was extensive. "Begin salvage of computer cores, and any functioning parts for trade or repair. Make it quick." As she calmly said this, an indistinct black craft on the viewer, the Bellorophon's target, streaked toward sol at warp. The helmsman pointed to the viewer, and indicated..."That was us!" T'risia sighed. "As I said, the sea helps those who help themselves. A specifically calculated solar slingshot maneuve allowed us to come to our own rescue. And now, being successful, we may move onward. You must stop thinking three dimensionally, helmsman." Mr. Walker announced, "Salvage....er...looting complete, Cap'n. Maybe we can call that move the T'risia Maneuver?" T'risia arched an eyebrow. Her own driving mission had forced her to learn much about temporal mechanics, and still she failed. At least it had its use in the present, however. "Raise the cloak, Mr. Walker...until we find a new target. And as for the T'risia Maneuver....who remains to care?" Her eyes went back to her compass, and her quest. "Hailing Frequencies...Arrr." Things were calm amidst the storm, on the now cloaked Black Pearl, as she searched for opportunity for bounty amidst the spaceways of Sector 001. The two confirmed assualts and cripplings of Hawk vessels ensured the crew a good share of payment from the Vulcan Governors on the Dove side, despite the awful state of that world as well. It certainly was not Earth... T'risia dismissed the thought, and had some more rum. "Mr. Walker, record a burst transmission. Arr." Mr. Walker looked confused, but after the time slip move, which proved to be genius, he did not feel like arguing at the moment. If Sam Widdlestein were on the bridge, she would do so, but she was no dout regenerating the ablative armor, to some degree... "Arrr. Recording, Cap'n." T'risia composed herself for the video feed, knowing that she did have the appropriate amount of eyeliner, and that her hat was at a proper jaunty angle. Her medals clanked and jangled as she moved, and sensing his cue, the partially assimilated monkey leapt to her shoulder. "Arrr. I be speaking to the Cap'n of the Pegasus, you scurvy dog. In this matter here, we be working for the same side, it seems. It would be the most logical, then, for us to run together, for the shorter term, as the Whale itself be surfacing." Without any indication of why, or that she was going to to do, she swept the monkey off her shoulder and hurled it across the room. Its borg shields rendered the impact meaningless. "I will not drop my cloak near your vessel without a confirmation, you know. We can work together for the better of your half, or not at all. For the duration of the truce between us, Pegasus, she'll not be a prize for us. Arr." She saluted the screen with her Rum, and raised her othe rhand in the Vulcan salute. She did not say, "Peace and long life," for those were certainly in short supply. Certainly for 8-ball. Mr. Walker said, "Recording complete, Cap'n." "Send it. And let us see if they can determine how to reply, given our cloak." "If You Want Blood (You've Got It)" "Distress Call" With Benedict "Max" Maxwell, MD In the vicinity of Vulcan... Max never made it to his destination. =/\=Receiving numerous priority distress calls,=/\= the computer announced. "Belay prior destination, New destination: Bridge." Within fifteen seconds, Max was back on the bridge. "Computer, Yellow Alert!" Immediately the bridge lights dimmed and the thin strip of wall paneling began to strobe yellow, while the computer announced general quarters throughout the ship. Within two minutes, the bridge crew had all of their posts manned, with someone from another shift taking the deceased Tac/Com Officer's station off to Max's rear and right. "Confirmed," the Vulcan officer said. Max quickly pulled up her name in his mind as one Ensign T'Qing. "There is action occurring in Sector 001, near Earth." The very mention of his former homeworld brought a pang of agony to Max. His mother was still on Earth when... "Do we know who's fighting?" he asked. Better to avoid the Hydrans or the Breen as the Osler was but an Olympic Class vessel, one of only three to be produced before all hell broke loose. Even with some modifications to improve the ship's chances of surviving an attack (two phaser batteries were added at the expense of two surgical suites), he wasn't putting his ship, crew, and refugees in peril. "According to the message origins, it would appear to be the Hawks and the Doves, sir," was the momentary reply. Fuck me, Max swore silently. He took a moment to weigh his own options, then spoke to the bridge crew. "Options?" he queried. His First Officer, Lt. Doralex spoke up. "We do have refugees on board. It may not be such a bad idea to stick around Vulcan for a while longer before we try to make our way to Al'Klei'sh to off-load them." "It would be more logical to respond as our mission is to render aid to whomever may request it," Ens. T'Qing rebutted. "We should go, Skipper," piped up MCPO Porter at the Conn. "It's what we do, right?" There were murmurs of agreement around the bridge and Max felt the dull ache in his head getting a little worse. He would have loved to rush in and do what he has done best during the past few years: provide unbiased, bilateral care to anyone and everyone, be they Dove or Hawk. The problem in his mind would be the refugees, and their safety. He struggled with the risk versus benefit that compounded this situation. Finally, he came to a decision. "Red Alert, Conn, set course for Earth, maximum warp. XO, I want you to see to it that the refugees are placed in the safest parts of the ship. I want their safety to be of paramount importance." When the Bolian nodded and left the bridge, Max turned back to Porter. "You may engage when Engineering reports ready, Master Chief." Porter nodded, and when the "green light" was affirmed by a notification on his panel, took the ship into warp speed. "One MC," Max ordered. The Tac/Com Officer nodded at him and he addressed the ship. "This is the Skipper," he began. He never felt comfortable saying that he was the Captain, even though he was the master of the Osler when her "real" CO as well as the XO were killed a few years back during an attack by the Breen. He had been the Second Officer at the time, and barely got the rest of the crew out of that situation with their skin intact. Even he bore the scars of that brutal day on his arms and chest. And he still wore the Medical teal uniform, refusing to wear the red of Command. "We will be responding to numerous distress calls near Earth. There is a high likelihood that we may be fired upon if we're mistaken for an enemy when we arrive. I would like everyone to be prepared for numerous trauma patients. Medical Hazard Teams one through five gear up and be prepared to hot-transport. Medical staff, prepare your care centers for numerous incoming. I intend to take you all once more into harm's way. This is the Skipper. That is all." Terminating the channel himself through his armchair controls, Lt. Commander Benedict Maxwell watched the tactical display on his screen and began to silently note who would be there.
"Dangerous Games" Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila - Fleet Intelligence ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Warp Shuttle KittyKat - Sector 001 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ "Status of the cloak?" "The same as when you asked two minutes ago," a slightly sarcastic voice "Shut it Aurora!" Rafael snapped as he pulled himself from the cramped "Not as yet, most everyone in the vicinity has other things on their mind, Aiming his wristlight at the floor Rafael picked his way between discarded "Where did I leave the spare EPS linkages?" He asked irritably, looking at "How should I know?" The ships computer answered in an equally pissed off Grumbling at the tone the ship was taking with him Rafael rubbed his bare "Running." Aurora replied simply, "oh, and she's awake by the way. Why did "Will you relax, I know what I'm doing!" Wondering who oh why he'd upgraded "Where are we?" The young Trill asked, smiling at him as she stretched. "The ass end of nowhere," he muttered as he tossed her his jacket, aiming Watching impassively as she slid to the floor with a thud he sighed as he Deliberately not looking at the young woman's face Rafael got to work. It Taking hold of the creature he sliced the neural cord that connected it to Dropping the squirming thing into a stasis pod he'd prepared while she'd She wanted to live obviously, she wanted the drug that would save her from Now was the moment in all the old holo-dramas where someone said sorry, or Why waste the oxygen. Picking up her commbadge, she hadn't missed it obviously, he dropped in into Priming the explosive he put it in her symbiont pouch beside the commbadge. "She's not dead yet Raf." The computer answered gently, "couldn't you.." "Now damn it," he muttered tonelessly, "that grenade's on a timer!" Staring As the transporter effect surrounded her he found himself regretting more "Fuck it!" he muttered suddenly once she was gone, realising he didn't even "Plotting course. You sure there'll be a buyer there? Last time we were "You kidding me? Ever since Trill fell these slugs are worth a damn "As soon as we get to Feron locate the nearest Hawk ship and send this weeks "They'll want something this time." Aurora reminded him. "Hell, get a data packet together, give 'em those codes we got last month. It was enough to give him a constant headache. "Get us out of here Aurora." He ordered the computer tiredly, "and wake me "Yes Rafael. Don't you want to stay and see what happens here?" Casting a look out the window as he stood Rafael shrugged. "Who cares, On the other hand though she would have talked all the way to Feron. This Opening the bed side cupboard he pulled out a plant and set it on the floor. The plant didn't exactly stop dreams, but at least he didn't remember them Sometimes, not remembering was enough for now. Those Who Can Go Home Again... Artim Shivar <Bridge, LNWV Resolved, Convoy Assembly Area near Pacifica> "Commodore, the last of the Benzite ships is in position, we should be able to depart soon. As soon as the Erdans finish their lunch." "Very good Ms Kwan. And do make sure Shipmaster Nibbletoe makes good on his promise to send me over one of his famous pies. Without the laxitive this time", a young sounding voice echoed from the command chair. A command chair which more like a throne when one considered that it was designed for someone a fair bit taller then its current occupant. That occupant being Artim Shivar. For the past few years Artim had been in command of the Resolved, a ship of the rather nacent League of Non-Aligned worlds which was formed on Pacifica a few short months after the collapse of the Federation. Its membership was varied and included old Federation members such as the Benzites as well as other races such as the Antedeans and Pakleds, and the mysterious new Erdan. The Erdan were a rather diminutive people, the tallest of their number approaching a meter in height. But what they lacked in size they made up for in technological know how and it was they who'd rebuilt alot of the old Starfleet vessels the League had acquired into ships that could rival the latest warships. Such was the case of the Resolved, an old Steamrunner-class vessel which had now been made into a formidable escort ship. "Sir, that Antedean transport is hailing again. His offer is now up to 200 bars to let him join the convoy.", Artim's fellow Miran and comm officer Suzy Kwan chimed in. "Tell the fishhead that I can't take another one. We only have 5 escort ships for 21 merchant vessels and we're strectched thin as it is. Unless he can buy us a Hydran Supercarrier or a Borg Cube, he's out.", Artim replied. Where they were going the 5 ships he had probably wouldn't even be enough to protect the necessary ships for the convoy, much less the three additional ships the League Council insisted they take along. "He's asking where we could be going that could be so dangerous. Pirate attacks are down in this sector.", Kwan seemed to be asking the question herself too. For security reasons the destination of the convoy was known only to the captains of each ship. Each captain was hand selected by the League Mercentile Board and the League Defense Fleet so that the secrecy could be ensured. Not even Artim's own crew knew where they were going. "Just tell him no and if he tries to bribe me again our torpedo targeting system might...malfunction", Artim replied. "Right sir. The Erdans say they're ready to go." "All ships have formed up Commodore." A deep breath from his breather broke up the Resolved's Benzite XO's speech. "Orders?" " Right then. We're already 37 hours late so lets get moving. Ms Kwan, give the signal to engage at Warp 7 towards our primary destination" "Which is?", the helmsman asked. "Set course for Sector 001. Our destination is Earth" "Don't Make Us Have You Walk The Airlock..." The Captain of the Black Pearl sat in her Big Chair, amidst the chaos of the Battle of Sector 001, awaiting a return hail from her burst transmission. She drummed her fingers on the arms of the chair, an affected gesture that she adopted as something that most Pirates in film had tended to do. The ship was safely cloaked, and evasive tactics had kept her clear of stray shots and scans. Simply, all the other craft engaged were too busy to deal with the possibility of a ship that they couldn't see. Which was fine. Waiting for a return hail from the Pegasus, should one ever come, gave Ms. Widdlestein time below decks to autoreplicate and magnetically apply new ablative armor plates, for the next time the ship was unshielded, while looting or decloaking. Her stat board showed the plating restored to 62 percent of full, which was impressive work, to say the least. The Pearl had been somewhat battered in the T'risia Maneuver. As her computer like, if slightly unstable mind began to computer the probability of an arrival from the Temporal Integrity Commission, a shimmer off to the starboard side of the Bridge caught her attention. It was, in fact, the expected Temporal Beam In, from the 29th Century. Mr. Walker, unperturbed, called out, "Cap'n, we have visitors." T'risia stood, leaning on her cane, and nodded. The Pearl had flirted with time travel before, and would again, given her own mission. The Vulcan woman did not sigh, nor show any outward appearance of annoyance, but her green eyes took in the officious figure. Accountants from the future, really. "Arrr. You must be from the Temporal Integrity Commission?" The agent, in relatively casual dress from his time period held up an identification of some kind, meaningless of course, in 2402. He seemed nervous, moreso than most Terrans, and said, "Agent Franks. You've just had a minor timeslip?" "Aye, you be most right on that front," acknowledged the Captain, her eyes keeping track of tactical and the comm board. "This is...ahem...your ship's latest in a numerous string of infractions..." T'risia nodded. It would be foolhardy to deny it, in fact, she had been expecting the visit. "Perhaps we can resolve this matter to satisfaction elsewhere?" "I'd...er...rather not leave the bridge." Agent Franks seemed only too nervous about that. "I assure you, that there is no airlock in my Ready Room." The Vulcan woman almost seemed her completely rational self, of old as she said it. Nostalgia took back Mr. Walker as he observed the not so subtle change. "There isn't," Mr. Walker added, trying to be helpful. "Um...well, that would be fine, I suppose." As soon as he agreed, T'risia announced, "Mr. Walker, alert me if the comms become active. You are in command," and walked to her Ready Room, the door swooshing upon at her approach, her cane loudly hitting the deck with each step. As Agent Franks nervously followed her, she sat down in the high backed plush leather chair at her desk. She steepled her hands in front of her, and began to speak. "No doubt, you wish to undo the timeslip before that time event becomes too closely wrapped into the network of these events, and thus is inextricable from the timeline." "Um...yes, that's exactly it..." Franks was highly confused...her had been told that the Pearl's captain was irrational, and unstable, but this person, aside from her manner of dress, seemed totally reasonable. As cool and unemotional as any Vulcan. "Indeed. Please, look about the Ready Room. Obviously, as an Agent of the Time Commission, you can infer what I seek?" As she invited him to do so, the man looked about, his brown eyes scrutinizing star charts, plotted corses, dates, and four dimensional vortices. He stood and walked to one map in particular, the path of a Constitution class vessel from the 23rd Century. "The Ellison Base? That can't be permitted! The potential to cause paradox alone, to unravel solidified time...!" The official from the 29th Century sputtered to a halt. "Please sir, take a seat. I have not yet uncovered its location, so your concerns are illogical. Speaking of logic, we have a few moments, might you have a drink, and speak with me on a matter of logic?" Confused again, but seeing that yes, she was correct...without the coordinates, the sole problem was the one that he had come back in time for. And seeing that the Captain was not on the bridge, the ship could easily be damaged beyond repair in the raging battle around them, saving him the trouble. "No drink, please. I'm on duty." "Indeed," began T'risia. "You are from the far future, correct?" "I can't say exactly when. Temporal Prime Directive." "Of course," she said as she opened a drawer, and left it open. She poured herself some more Rum. "Centuries, though, correct?" "Yes," agreed Franks. This woman wasn't unreasonable at all. It must have been a file error. "So, you have yet to be born. You do not exist within this time period at all, do you?" "No, ma'am. I don't see what---" She cut him off with a hand gesture. "So would you say that people who do not exist have rights?" "What? What are you talking about?" "A philosophical point, sir...would you say that people who do not exist, such as my friend 8-ball, have rights?" Perhaps she was a bit unstable. Discussing philosophy when youre about to be hauled in on Time Directive infractions, with a battle raging...."No, imaginary people don't have rights." He was a bit annoyed. "And you have already conceded that you do not exist, and will not for several hundred years. Thus, logically, from my perspective in time, you are an imaginary person." Fraanks was disconcerted. "Well, obviously not! I'm sitting right here!" T'risia nodded. "An unfortunate paradox that I shall have to resolve. Now...once again, from my perspective, you are an imaginary person. And you yourself conceded that people who do not exist, or exist only in the imagination, do not have rights." Standing, Franks decided to bring the matter to a conclusion. "Sure I did, but really, I don't see---" T'risia's hand dipped back into the still open desk drawer, producing a wicked looking Klingon Disruptor pistol. She immediately fired it, slowly and painfully vaporizing the Time Commission accountant. "Then, since you did not exist, I did not vaporize you. Or at worst, I vaporized an imaginary being, who had no rights preventing it. Very good." Her eyebrow arched, and quirked, and she pounded the Rum. "Arrr." Standing, she opened her compass, and looked at the star chart in miniature. She limped to the door of the room, on her cane, and as the door swooshed open, said to her precioius holo image, "You do have rights. Or at least, you will again." Mr. Walker turned to the doorway. "What was that Cap'n?" T'risia adjusted her battered tricorn hat. "Nothing, Mr. Walker." She gestured grandly. "I just sent that accountant back to Narnia where the remora belongs. Arrrr..." She made her way back to the Big Chair, stepping over debris, and under dangling Optical Cables. Under his breath, the helmsman muttered, "At least no one walked the airlock today..." "Why I Fight" "Approach To Danger" With Benedict "Max" Maxwell, MD Bridge "Skipper, we're approaching the outer Earth system," announced MCPO Porter. "Take us out of warp, approach at three-quarters IMpulse, Master Chief." He was about to say something else when he noticed something on the tactical display. "T'Qing, that contact-" "Already on it, sir," she replied quickly. The tactical display changed and a representation of the ship's class blossomed to reality. "Pulsar Class, the USS Liberty to be precise." He's here, Max thought with a blinding pulse of sudden hate. "Is the Trafalgar here as well," he asked. "Yes, she is." After mulling things over in his mind for less than a minute, he stood up and motioned for the Tac/Com Officer to open a channel. "This is Ben Maxwell of the USS Osler, responding to distress signals received. Is medical assistance needed at this time?" "Morning Routine" Colonel Nathan "Outlaw" Everett [Several Hours Before the Battle of Sector 001] Every day started the same way. The alarm would go off at precisely the same minute each morning, and He would throw off his blanket, exposing both himself and the pretty The pain would wrack his body every morning, and he would practically His hands would begin shaking about halfway between the two. By the time he'd enter the bathroom and open the small cabinet mounted Today was not a good day. His hands grasped at the hypospray, but his fingers refused to His jaw clenched, and his eyes squeezed shut as he fought his As the pain grew, so did the fear. As noble a sentiment as it was, he It was several minutes before he began to feel like himself again, and The comm system suddenly chimed, and the room was filled with the Nathan sighed and laid his head back against the wall again, his eyes "The Gorn Who Cried Wolf" Lord Th'Khiss K'aa, Dominar of the Red Crest Gorn Council Chambers, S'sgarnon Prime "She'sss a pathetic runtling!", the large Gorn armored in the ebony of The Gorn assembly rippled with hisses, and all eyes focused on the From his kneeling dias, Th'Khiss K'aa rose to address his peers. "The "Sssurvive what, exactly?" Lord Slesssh, while considerably older "Our non-Agression pactsss are iron-clad - the Gorn fear no-one." K'aa brought his upper lip back from his fangs slowly. "Ah yesss, our "Becausssse they were weak!", Slessh hissed from behind his fangs. "Becuasssse they were divided", K'aa countered. "The Hawksss and The Council chamber rippled with excited hissing, but the sweetest "We mussst learn from the Federation'sss collapssse", K'aa thundered As K'aa left the Council chambers, he could still hear the excited When he thought of his own training amongst the Federation, he paused He also knew that he was in a unique position to rapidly influence the That, and the heat he absorbed from the twin suns of his homeworld, "Raptors in Ebony" Elrin "Fox" Kit'ari - Ebon Hawk 1 with Thomas "Falco" Lombardi <SS Ebon Hawk, Crew Lounge> "Full house. Pay up Slippy" the gruff voice of Thomas Lombardi was accompanied by a toothy grin though not as toothy as the scowl he was getting from his Gorn wingman. "I swear you're cheatin again Falco, and if you are…", the Gorn was half growling at the human "Chill out Slippy, you're still winning. You've taken most of my money anyway" the juvenile looking Caitian said as he placed his hand on the gorn's tail "That's because you have a horrible poker face Peppy. I can practically read your hand from the thumping of your tail." the Gorn replied as she sat back down. "Whaaat! And speaking of tails has anyone seen our big orange one? I need Fox to get in so I'm not the worst player here!" Peppy's head started darting to and fro as if he was looking for a mouse…or more chips. "You know Fox, he's always quiet after a raid. Probably off praying to that Ester fella again." "Its Astor Falco and if you must know I was putting my bird back together…and I can't stand when Peppy is losing money. He gets crazy.", another voice said as it entered the lounge as if on cue. The vulpine member of the team had changed out of his work jumpsuit back into the black leather flight jacket that the rest of the Ebon Hawks normally wore. Without missing a beat he pushed a couple of keys on the replicator and a cup of hot coffee appeared. "Yeah, fortunately for us Peppy is a far better pilot then a poker player or else we wouldn't have made it out of that last scrape.", Falco said getting up while giving the 'kitten' a rub on the top of the head. "Well foxy wouldn't have hired me otherwise! And that last one was tough. Thankfully the boss got us those fancy sensor jammer thingies!" Peppy responded undeterred. "That and the fact the 225th is incompetent ever since Ellis took over I hated that man!", Falco added. "Simmer down guys, we got through it because we worked as a team even though Slippy wanted to eat the depot manager." Elrin said calmly. He was still getting used to this command thing but he seemed to be getting good. Only a firm hand could keep this bunch together. "The worm was hitting on me. I don't understand how your mammal mating rituals can ever attract a mate. He would have been a good meal.", Slippy responded as she started shuffling the cards for another hand. "I wouldn't bother Slip, we'll be approaching the minefield soon. I would like to get back to the nest in one piece or else Vic is going to kill me. I'm going topside for the run in.", the vulpinoid looked back with an authoritative look. It would be good to get some rest back at what was now the Ebon Hawk's new home...and Elrin's new home. He wanted to go back but since the bugs ovd in it wasn't exactly safe. But Vic had been good to him an offered him a new home and a new purpose..and he was enjoying it. Except for his uniforms...they chafed his tail.
“The Messenger, Part 1” ==================== Outside of Sanctuary Rocky Mountain Region, North American Continent Scorched Earth On top of a hill on Scorched Earth, The Messenger stood looking to the sky. There was another battle raging in the space overhead much like has happened time and time again over the past few years. Another starfleet, another army, all who have come to plant their flag into the soil and claim Earth as their own. The Messenger watched the flashes of light above through the blood red sky as if it were the most normal thing in the universe. At one point in time, he would’ve cared who it was and with what faction or what race they belonged to. Now, he had more important matters to attend to. His eyes settled to the horizon where the sun was going down in the west. It made the sky look even more red than it usually was during the normal daylight hours. Weapons of Mass Destruction and Orbital Bombardments tend to have that kind of an effect on atmosphere. The Messenger wept at the destruction that had been wroght onto his home soil; destruction that in a way he had helped bring about. If anything, this hill that he now stood on was a testament to that. He had been making his penence ever since. Save as many as he could. That was all he could do now. That was all anyone who called themselves civilized could do now. The Messenger readjusted his shades slightly as the warm wind shifted them off of his face a bit. He then rolled his shoulders to ease his tension a bit and heard the old material that made up his black trench coat crackle a bit. He was in his fifties now, by normal reckoning, at times he felt like his actual recored ages. Physically though, he was in better shape than many men half of his age. He chuckled ruefully; its not the years that gets you, it’s the milage. He felt the wind shift a bit, and that’s when he caught scent of someone standing behind him. “Yes child?” he asked without even looking back. The young woman who had hesitantly walked up cleared her throat. He’d smelled her homemade perfume when the wind brought it to him. “Excuse me Messenger,” she said in a small voice. “But it is time. The Don is asking for you.” “Why me in particular?” he asked, even though deep down he knew what the answer was. “He won’t let anyone else administer Last Rights but you.” “Tell the Godfather that I will be there shortly. I need to finish my monthly ritual.” He said, dismissing her with a slight wave of the hand. The girl looked curiosly to the ground in front of him, back up at him, and then left in a hurry. The Messenger grabbed up the shovel and finished clearing off the last piece of soil and then plunged it into the ground nearby where it would sit for another thirty days when he would return. After some brushing off with his hands, he decided that his memorial looked good and he nodded with approval. An old friend of his once said that Chief Engineers and Commanding Officers get attached to the ships that they first served out those respective posts as such. In which case, that counted doubly true for him and the ship that he served as both. There were only two ships in his life that he’d served on that he felt truly at home on. There was only one that he counted as his. Now that ship was long buried. He turned away from the small memorial and walked down the hill to where he knew an access hatch could take him below into the Sanctuary. He’d know exactly where it was if he were both blind and deaf. The memorial he left behind him was simply an exposed piece of hull of an Intrepid-Class ship long forgotten by many but him; USS Astalder, NCC-76351-A. The ship that he was both Chief Engineer and then later Captain of. “The Messenger, Part 2” ==================== Sanctuary, Corleone Estate Rocky Mountain Region, North American Continent Scorched Earth The Messenger was stopped right outside of the house he was heading to by two thugs at the front door. “Remove your weapons.” They ordered. The Messenger made no move to do so. He never removed his weapons, not for anyone. He kept his dual blades in their scabbards and his dual plasma shotguns strapped to those scabbards on the harness on his back at all times. “You’re new soldatis, aren’t you?” he asked with a hint of amusements. “The Don says that no one goes in with weapons. Ever.” One of them said, cracking his knuckles menacingly. A new voice came from inside the doorway. “The Don also trusts this man with his life more than any other.” Don Jonathon Corleone said softly. The Messenger bowed and kissed Jonathon’s hand. “Godfather.” He said respectfully. “Come now,” Jonathon said, beckoning him into the house. “There is no need to stand on such propriety with me. After all, the Family would be nothing but a memory if it were not for you moving us here.” “You are the one who runs Sanctuary, I just provided you with the locale.” The Messenger said simply. “Yes… your old ship on top of an old cavern system. Very ingenious.” “Not that I had planned it that way.” “The best laid plans, eh?” Jonathon said, smirking. “My father would have given the Family to you had you simply asked when you had first returned.” “At the time I felt that Starfleet was my calling, not the Family. Now, I’m not too sure.” The Messenger sighed. “Things happen as the Lord intends I guess.” He then switched subjects. “I take it that PaPa’s health is getting worse?” Jonathon nodded grimly. “It is only a matter of time now. The Doctors say that he will not survive the night.” “Why not have Father Michaels administer the Rites?” “You know that he wants you to do so.” Jonathon said, opening a door for the Messenger to step through. “And that he wants you here anyways. Why do you think that the Family and the Church have both strove to keep you here recently?” “And here I thought it was my charming personality.” The Messenger said wryly as he entered the room. The crowd inside parted respectfully for him as he came in. He had a clear path to the elder Corleone, who saw him and smiled. “My son…” he said, holding up his arms to him. The Godfather had practically adopted him when the Messenger first showed up to the Family all those years ago when he had literally nothing. “Godfather…” The Messenger said out of respect for the former Don, tears now streaming out from under his shades. “PaPa…” he said even softer as he knelt at his bedside. Vito Corleone II smiled at him and patted his cheek. “I have no regrets. I am ready to leave this hellish place and go on to a better place.” He said. The Messenger looked up at the doctor standing on the other side of the bed. The doctor just shook his head mournfully and walked off. “Please, I am ready.” Corleone said, bringing his attention back. The Messenger reached up and wiped the tears out of his eyes and then stood up. After composing himself, he took out his rosary and his Holy Book that contained the Book of Common Prayer and the Bible. He crossed the air above the dying man. He then opened up his trench coat enough for Corleone to see his Priest Collar around his neck and began to administer the Rites. After taking Corleone’s final confession (by kneeling down so that he could whisper it into his ear) he administered the absolution, and then blessed him. After that, he took out a small vial of wine and a piece of bread from the black nylon utility belt on his waist, and gave him communion. Finally content, Corleone smiled as he closed his eyes, lay back, and silently passed away. The Messenger then crossed himself and said a prayer for all gathered. “In this hellish world, it’s probably the best way any of us can hope to go.” He said. No one could argue with that. With his job done, The Messenger turned to leave. Jonathon caught his arm at the elbow. “You’re not going to stay for the funeral?” “I’ve done my duty, both as a member of the Church and the Family. Father Michaels can oversee the burial.” The Messenger said, looking down at Jonathon’s hand and then up into his eyes. “I have work to do.” “Where this time?” “West. To whatever is left of San Francisco. Fighting has flared up again and you can be sure that whatever is left of Starfleet will be battling for that miserable piece of rock that they used to call Headquarters. Someone has to deliver the civilians to safety since neither of the Factions really care in anything else but beating the snot out of each other.” Jonathon released his arm and nodded. “Always looking at the picture bigger than mine.” The Messenger placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Don’t sell your self short. You keep an eye on the bigger picture; it’s just that I have to look beyond the bigger picture. God be with you, brother.” With that, he left the room and then the estate, past the two goons who were having a contest seeing who could glare at him harder. He ignored them and continued walking until he hit the outside air. The sun had since settled, plunging the world into darkness once again. Up above, the battle for control of the space above Earth still raged on. He caught explosions every now and then and saw the fiery debris as they rained down on to the planet, but otherwise didn’t pay it any mind. That part of his life was past. Now, he was the Messenger. And he had a job to do. “When it comes to peace…” Star Captain Le’on Khatowren, Commanding Officer; ICS Days of Thunder. ========== Combat Information Center ICS Days of Thunder, Cattusian Flagship Just inside of Martian Orbit heading towards Burning Terra The communications officer spoke up. “Receiving a new transmission sir. Burst Transmission coming from near the Pegasus.” The comm. officer paused as he listened more into his headset. “Definitely not a distress call, nor one identifying the sender as either Hawk or Dove.” “Hm…” Le’on said. “Time to Terran Orbit?” he asked Salem. Salem glanced at the chronometer ticking off in the corner of the tactical display. “Roughly ten minutes.” “Alright then, let’s see it.” Le’on’s jaw then dropped as he saw a Vulcan that he’d not seen in at least a decade. “Holy Great Cat Mother…” he breathed as he slowly rose from his seat to look at the communication. The Vulcan, a former security officer of his that he knew as T'risia, appeared in what looked to be a ridiculous pirate outfit with a partially assimilated monkey leapt to her shoulder. "Arrr. I be speaking to the Cap'n of the Pegasus, you scurvy dog. In this matter here, we be working for the same side, it seems. It would be the most logical, then, for us to run together, for the shorter term, as the Whale itself be surfacing. I will not drop my cloak near your vessel without a confirmation, you know. We can work together for the better of your half, or not at all. For the duration of the truce between us, Pegasus, she'll not be a prize for us. Arr." She then saluted the screen with her mug (was that actually rum she had?), and raised her other hand in the Vulcan salute. “You know her sir?” Salem asked cautiously. “I did… long time ago…” Le’on then shook his head to clear the confusion. “Have we gotten a hold of the Pegasus or any other Dove Ship yet?” “Negative sir.” The comm. officer replied. “Continue broadcasting, let them know that we’re coming in and we’re coming in hot.” “New contacts!” the calico at tactical sounded off suddenly. “Bearing zero-one-five, mark seven.” He said as he painted the targets in bright red. “Miranda Class Cruisers running Hawk IFF Transponders” “Confirmed, they’re hailing us to stand down and prepare to be boarded.” The comm. officer added. “Vulcan Pirate will have to wait.” Le’on muttered, strapping himself back into his command chair. “Log her in the vicinity of the Pegasus and tag her neutral. If she even looks at a Dove ship wrong, we’ll blow her to dust.” He’d deal with his former comrade in security later. Now he had more pressing matters at hand. “Tell the Mirandas what they can go do with their boarding parties.” The comm. officer relayed his commander’s orders and then piped up again. “Sir, they’re insisting or they’re going to attack and board us.” Le’on let out a bark of laughter. “I would like to see them try.” He said with glee. “Target lead ship. Fire torpedoes.” Blue pinpricks of light flew out from the Days of Thunder and her escorts. The lead Miranda, with shields already paper thin, blew up almost instantly. The other two peeled off in separate directions trying to flee, both now firing all the phasers and photon torpedoes that they could at the advancing Cattusian Task fleet. The Cattusians fielded the blows easily with only minor shield damage. The two Mirandas soon joined their lead ship as an expanding ball of debris left in their wake. “Nothing will stop us form reaching our comrades…” Le’on said resolutely. “What about Hawk Boss?” The communications officer asked. “If Hawk Boss were here, then maybe I’d be concerned.” “Then be concerned sir…” Once More, with Feeling: Prologue
Lt. Cmdr. T'Pei, USS Hercules T'Pei stopped abruptly when she realized that she was unconsciously rubbing the pattern of the memory ceremony, a ceremony which she could no longer perform. The string of beads fell back to rest with the others that adorned her hair, making a soft metallic clink that had become so ubiquitous that even in the current silence, none of the other officers reacted. Stopping herself from checking the screens again, she turned to study the Captain, trying to gauge his mood. His shoulders looked ready to snap from tension. Inaction had always bothered Daniels, especially when it was by choice rather than necessity. T'Pei had repeatedly reminded him, most recently yesterday, that inaction could often be the most logical strategy, allowing the enemy to get to the most ideal position for you to strike, but as always, Chris had smiled and responded "I know, T'Pei, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." As if sensing her scrutiny, Chris glanced at her, a small smile briefly threatening to overtake his frown. It was a boyish grin--one of the few personal traits that had survived years of war, brutality and betrayal they had all lived through. Then it was gone, and T'Pei returned her attention to her station. Nothing. And then, nothing suddenly turned into a long stream of data. "Captain," the Vulcan woman said, her eyes flashing back and forth across code in front of her. "We have intercepted an encrypted transmission from the Charybdis sector." T'Pei breathed in, finally finding the information she had been searching for. "Sir, it's from the Viper." "Thank you Miss T'Pei." Daniels' voice was lighter, holding that hint of a smile that had eluded him earlier, and T'Pei could almost feel his shoulders relaxing as he turned them towards his XO. "Haight." "Yes sir." "I want all senior staff in the briefing room at 1300 hours." The Captain returned his gaze towards his Chief of Operations. "You have two hours. Figure out what it says." Director Valentina "Eve" Kyznetsova ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Working ........ Welcome, Director. Please state query. ====Opening: Historical and Statistic Database==== DOA Centrix: DOA Centrix Encompases 2 complete fleet yard complexes, as well as numerous refineries and manufactories for non-replicatable materials. Centrix relies on supplies from various nearby solar systems for raw/natural resources such as dylithium and titanium. Compensation for shipments of such is technical services and support for all ranges of industry and technology. Payment for services rendered by DOA facilities must be in usable resources and/or salvage. Examples are a bottle's worth of Antimatter, salvaged warp coils, fresh produce from arboretums/botanical gardens, a crate of EPS relays, etc. Centrix Services Provided: Fleet yard services are provided either single issue contract or 'fly through' care. In both cases up front payment of material for services rendered is required. Cost of additional services or unanticipated expences are negotiated during the initial contract. Technical services are rendered by contract - planetary bodies may be issued recuring contracts; companies, individuals, and unbased, mobile, and/or military organizations are single issue contracts which must be renegotiated once the original service term has expired. The only exception to the above is military organizations officialy governed by the planetary body to which the contract is issued. As with Fleet Yards, Technical Service Contracts state prenegotiated prices of additional or unexpected services which may be incured. ******** NOTE ******** Information Services are rendered in the form of local Librarium access. Vessels will dock at one of the fleet yard structures or the system starbase. Standard rate fees will apply for any and all ships that enter inner system perimeters, payable prior to entry or upon docking at the local starbase. Failure to render payment no later than docking may include but are not limited to: expulsion from DOA territory, confiscation of vessel and incarceration of crew, or termination of services to parent organization. ******** NOTE ********
Opening: Historical and Statistic Database. DOA Primus: located to the Galactic West of Gorn Territory, and centrally located within unaligned territories. Acts as the primary repository and distribution of information and technological services for Galactic South. Constructed in previously uninhabited system L-845, re-designated DOA Primus. DOA Primus Secundus (Second planet) is home to a massive Bynar colony, formed when Breen forces began chewing through western Federation space. 60% of the Bynar population transplanted their planetary computer network onto DOA Primus Secundus in order to maintain their society. DOA Primus Triplex (Third planet) is Class K, and home to a planetary spanning information archive and retrieval complex. roughly 80% of the oceanless surface has been covered into towering computer complexes, subteranean vaults, and vast sprawling hab zones where various DOA personnel are housed. Most of these personnel are maintenance and administrators for Triplex. Primus Services provided:
Opening: Historical and Statistical Database. Department: Omega Alpha declared it's Neutrality quickly. Statements of said neutrality, as well as the effective "DMZ" status similar to that of Ferenginar were announced at aproximately the same time. Violators were quickly and harshly dealt with as stated in the DOA charter, and as such there have been only a few cases of violations in the last 8 years. The Director, Valentina Kyznetsova, has stated that she is neutral in the contemporary conflicts, though it is clear she has Dove leanings. Despite her preferences, she will not tollerate discrimination against anyone save for DOA Code Violators. Hawks are just as welcome inside DOA territory for the purpose of repair and refit as Doves, though necessity requires segregation to prevent inter-crew hostilities. DOA was initially formed from the Starfleet Intelligence Technical Operations Division and the Starfleet Corp of Engineers. When the Bynars broadcast their distress, the fledgling entity came to their assistance; Bynar computing technology has founded the basis for many of DOA's storage and archiving repositories, as well as automated management protocols and systems. Bynars have also been partially responsible for the development of a unique IFF transponder that to date cannot be replicated, thus ensuring DOA's interstellar identity. Due to the predilections of the Director towards Equal Opportunity, there are few persons or races who have been denied services or employment; most of these have been due to complete incompetence or verifiable dishonesty. An Information Super Highway links DOA Primus with DOA Centrix. This conduit is composed mainly of direct transmition subspace relays placed in sequence at only a few light years separation. It's purpose is to connect the two hubs of DOA activity and information, allowing the Right hand to know what the Left is doing, and vice versa. This also allows for the rapid sharing of information from one DOA to the other. For some unfathomable reason, both the Breen and the Klingons have elected not to breech this conduit of information, resulting in a tenative buffer zone between the closest reaches of the two empires. Perhaps both Empires recognize and respect the value of the information the DOA posesses and shares, or perhaps they are merely biding their time. Entry Ends. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Val closed her violet eyes as she leaned back in her chair, the terminal on her desk closing down. Contrary to those around her, the Director hadn't aged a day since she'd first been pulled from stasis in the 24th Century. Others had grown older, grayer, slower .... many people she'd considered friends had died over the last decade and a half of fighting. Needless deaths. But Valentina hadn't aged, and it has taught her something. Technology and Information will never grow old. Certainly it may become obsolete, outmoded, and machines can break. But Technology and information will never become as useless as the aged humanoids of the Galaxy do. And it must be preserved at all costs. It was to this end that Val had founded DOA. She used her background in SFI, and a little bit of ingenuity she owed to Saul Bental, to create the beginings of the entity that her fledgling cooperative had begun. The addition of the SCE, followed by the Bynars, only further cemented the position DOA held within what was left of the Alpha and Beta quadrants. When everyone had blasted themselves into the stone age of interstellar technology, Valentina would be there with the DOA. She would fulfill her namesake, "Eve" and repopulate the stars. Not with her own progeny, but with he sciences and teachings she had been able to preserve. The entirety of the Memory Prime database resided on DOA Primus, well out of the way of the Core World political bickering. Primus held archives Centrix was not privy to, due to the volatile nature of the information. Valentina herself had made sure certain sections of the various Core World computer archives had been damaged beyond recovery and repair to ensure she held the only copies of such dangerous knowledge. It was information she would not broker to anyone, regardless of the price offered. Unlike Sisko, Valentina believed she had no price. So far, she's right. “Dreams No One Can See” Or “Rehab’s a Bitch”
Paul McAllister, Former Commander SFI
Soundtrack: “Santiago” – Loreena McKennitt, The Mask and the Mirror http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1AcESk7JBA
(OOC: Takes place after “Music Without Sound”)
<SS Vienna>
McAllister, exhausted, had passed out after attempting to drive out his demons, his muses, with music he could not longer hear.
But one remained, the muse in black. To McAllister, this one brought to his fevered rest dreams of his past.
Dreams no one can see.
(Flashback – USS Bismark Sickbay, after Hawk attack)
“The poor bastard,” reported the medical officer. “He’ll live, but that’s about all I can say at this point. His skull’s been crushed, both legs fractured in three or more places, and…” the doctor paused.
“And what?” asked the XO.
“His hearing is gone.”
Later…
“Commander McAllister, I understand how you feel. But without your permission to place cybernetic implants directly into your brain, the external hearing aids are the best we can do.”
Later…
“Paul, I am so sorry, love, but we lost Jonathan in the attack…”
Later still…
“Commander, I’m sorry, but Alexandra can’t have more children. If we could have gotten to a starbase hospital in time…” ---
--- “Damn it, McAllister! It’s supposed to hurt. Rehab’s a bitch…” ---
--- “Paul,” she wailed. “I don’t blame you! Why won’t you hold me?” ---
--- Counselor’s Log: Patient McAllister still claims to have no memory of the events that occurred after the Hawk attack on the USS Bismark. The patient continues to harbor the idea that he is at fault for not reaching the engineering decks in time and preventing injury to his wife. However, official Fleet records of the attack record the Commander McAllister suffered third degree burns to his hands and severe scorching of his lung tissues while freeing Commander Lee-McAllister from a massive fire in Engineering. It was after accomplishing this feat that Alexandra McAllister regain consciousness and found her husband in need of cardio-pulmonary resuscitation. It was while performing CPR that she was shot, but still managed to get them both to a life pod and eventual rescue. In effect, they saved each other. When presenting this record to Patient McAllister, his response was, and I quote: “Bullshit. She saved me – I did nothing.”
--- “I’m sorry, Alex, he’s not here right now. Try the library, he’s been doing a lot of research there lately.”
--- “Commander, this continued comm traffic has to stop…”
And still later –
“Commander McAllister, Starfleet regrets to inform you of the death of your sister, Holley Rebecca McAllister on Stardate…”
Then –
Alex, my darling: Congratulations on your promotion to Captain and command of the Pegasus. You have earned this, and no one deserves this more. I wish this note could come at a better time, but…
…therefore, I resign my commission as Commander, Starfleet Intelligence, effective immediately. Please forward this notice to all appropriate and necessary parties….
PS: I love you, Lexi.
(Flash forwards – a luxury apartment building, 2401)
The Admiral entered her quarters, puzzled. She was certain she had not left any lights on. As the door closed, a familiar voice called to her from a dark corner of the room.
“Good Evening, Admiral.”
She turned towards the voice…and Paul David McAllister shot her in the back. He wanted her undivided attention.
Moving quickly, he rolled the Admiral over and ripped the comm badge from her uniform, tossing it across the room. The bullet from his Walther PPK -- he never understood why everyone thought the small antique weapon was a joke – had entered the Admiral’s back, fracturing the L5 vertebrae and tearing the spinal cord, causing instant paraplegia. The woman could no longer move her legs.
In pain, she called out to him, tried to crawl away.
“You killed my son,” said McAllister dispassionately. “And there you lie, almost as helpless as he was when he burned alive on the Bismark.”
Without words, she tried to deny his accusation.
McAllister touched his ears. “Sorry, Admiral. Your lips are moving, but I can’t hear what you say.” He fired twice more, taking no joy in watching the Admiral’s own ears disintegrate as blood drenched the white carpet. “That was for the music.”
She screamed soundlessly.
“No one can hear you, Admiral. You gave the staff the night off, didn’t you? Isn’t that right, Polly?”
The parrot recited the recording from the corner opposite where McAllister had been sitting in the Admiral’s favorite chair, waiting.
“You trained me to solve puzzles,” said McAllister. “I solved this one. I once told you I would never betray you. But not only did you assist in planning the attack on the Bismark – you had to take command of the ship yourself to insure it was done properly.”
McAllister removed the silencer from the PPK and holstered the weapon. From behind his white dinner jacket, he removed a disruptor – the same type of weapon that was used on his wife.
“Sorry, Admiral. Deal’s off.” McAllister aimed at her abdomen and fired. Tossing the pistol aside, he called out, “Polly. Self-destruct in five!” He turned, and left the Admiral’s apartment as silently as he had arrived.
As McAllister exited the building, Polly exploded. Yes, his mechanical friend would leave a trace, but he didn’t care anymore. Stepping off the sidewalk, he tripped, but caught himself with a painful twist of his knee.
“Rehab’s a bitch,” he said. --------------------------------
The black muse faded. McAllister’s mind was silent.
Music Without Sound. Once More, with Feeling 1: I've got a theory
Lt. Cmdr. T'Pei. Chief of Operations Lt. JG Talloc Balen, Operations
================================================ 1130 Hours
================================================
1240 Hours "Almost Routine" Capt. Chris Daniels Lt. Hans Lechtar, Intelligence Officer USS Hercules, Briefing Room, 1300 hours Once upon a time, the Hercules had been a pristine ship. Now, in the days of civil war and scrounging to keep every ship flying, function had taken precedence over form. The briefing room used to be a nice room. Now, years of use and no refurbishment had made it into a functional, but unkempt, area for the senior staff to plot their next move. The only thing that remained from the original decorations was a wooden model of the aircraft that bore the same name as his ship. He eyed his senior staff as the last of them sat down. All of them brought back memories from the past 7 years of his command, some he had known even longer. "What do you have, T'Pei?" T'Pei forced her voice to remain expressionless--her hands carefully folded, her posture as stiff as they expected it to be. 'As it is supposed to be,' she mentally corrected. "As you are aware, three days ago, we intercepted an encrypted transmission directed at the Hawk craft codenamed 'Viper'. Decoding this transmission revealed orders for the Viper to rendezvous at Sirius IX with an unnamed craft." "Most of us already knew that...so to have the old man call a staff meeting means something else happened." The voice was from LtCdr Aaron Fugazi, the ship's tactical officer. "Two hours ago, we intercepted a second transmission. Lieutenant Balen and I decoded this transmission utilizing the same methods as before." She typed in a series of commands, and the de-encrypted text appeared on a small screen. "That's impossible," Lieutenant Hans Lechtar said in his soft, almost monotone voice. "Dávila has already informed us that the only activity in this region relates to a weapons transfer. Not medical supplies." The Intelligence officer shook his head. "I know Dávila, and his intelligence has never been wrong. There must be some sort of mistake." Chris looked at the message and silently rubbed his wrist. What had once been a therapeutic motion 17 years ago was now an absentminded gesture made while he was in thought. Even when he had come to his own conclusions, he chose to remain silent. For one, it didn't frazzle T'Pei...and two, he liked to get all the inputs from his officers. That's what they were there for, after all. T'Pei waited quietly as the senior staff worked their way through the same thought process that she and Talloc had an hour and a half before. It was only when Commander Haight asserted that "It must be a trick" that she raised one small hand, silencing the group's murmuring and regaining their attention. "Yes, it seems logical to conclude that this message was meant to misinform us. On that assumption, we reexamined the code, and noticed the following." T'Pei pointed at the screen. "Inverting the de-encryption matrix for the first unit yields a different word. That same matrix is not effective for the remainder of the sequence; however, shifting the matrix by a different factor for each unit led to an entirely distinct message, in line with our prior intelligence." Haight whistled softly. "That seems nearly impossible to crack. How did you figure that out?" "The stardate given for the rendezvous in the second message was different from that given in the first, which caused us to examine both transmissions more closely. Once the conversion matrix was inverted, the given stardate supplied the factors for the remainder of the de-encryption." "So...what did it say?" the CMO asked tentatively. Oliver Hume looked far too young to be a department head; he looked far too young to be a Lieutenant, frankly, but when Lokeni's head injury in their last combat proved fatal, there was no other choice--with no Starfleet Academy, there was nobody else left to recruit.
"The transmissions were orders, but they were not directed at the Viper. The vessel they were intended for is due to receive a shipment of nuclear weapons and proceed to Vulcan. There were coordinates on the planet, as well." Jenna had started off life in Starfleet as a nervous 21 year old whom had the care of four children thrust upon her thanks to a vicious Gorn and some good samaritanship before being introduced to life aboard the USS Miranda. Now the former lead designer of the Hercules project was the Chief Engineer of the lead vessel... years after it rolled out of the ship yards. Trying to keep the ship running at a functional 'enough' state based off of what was salvaged to be of any viability was in itself a full time plus job... She looked on as the rest of the crew bantered amongst themselves regarding the possibilities of a Hawk ship bringing old-fashioned nuclear weapons to Vulcan... the brutality of the war was wearing on her, really. So far it had cost her happiness at a job, a home... and a husband. "Why?" The Stagnorian woman finally stammered out, blushing when she realized she was overheard. "Umm... uhhh... I mean, err... why would a Hawk ship do that, you know? Vulcan's neutral... last I checked... wouldn't they just be hurting themselves?" The room erupted completely. "They'll kill Doves wherever they can find them." "Maybe they aren't using them, they're just meeting another Hawk group on Vulcan to pass them off." "Maybe they're trying to attack a target and pin it on us?" "What if Vulcan's not their real destination? This could be another trick." Chris finally sat forward in his chair, and the staff grew quiet, knowing he was about to speak. "Intel, do we have any current information on the happenings on Vulcan in the next few days? Any indications of a potential target?" Lechtar sat up in his chair. "Nothing out of the ordinary on our side, sir. Aside from these messages and the information from Dávila there's been no unusual message traffic all week." "T'Pei, how long do we have to get to Vulcan?" "The orders in the transmission are for three days from now." "And how far away are we?" "At maximum warp, we will reach Vulcan in three days, seventeen hours, and nine minutes."
There it was. The Vulcan woman looked around the room at the other Senior Officers, internally burning with the shame of having been tricked, of having accepted the easy answer and putting innocent civilians at risk. Chris turned in his chair. "Jenna, got any extra horses in the warp core?"
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Sure, I keep them in a stall behind the damage control lock..." she caught herself red-handed covering her mouth in embarrassment about how easily the infamous Stagnorian sarcasm had snuck up on her. She gulped hard, before trying to regain 'some' sort of composure. "Umm... sorry Captain, I mean I'll do what I can sir... err... ma'am... no sir!"
Damn it, Pete had always been the one to correct her with those damned pronouns.
Chris smirked and turned a bit to the side. He'd known Jenna for a long time, so the sarcasm was expected. Nevertheless it was still entertaining. "Just give me the best you've got, hopefully we can catch these bastards before they can do any damage."
Jenna nodded sheepishly. "Yes Captain."
Daniels nodded softly and took a look around the room, even catching T'Pei's eyes, which was not a common occurrence. "So we're going after an unknown ship, with an unclear agenda, and we don't really know who will me meeting them at Vulcan." He smirked. "Sounds easy enough. Anyone got anything else?"
Nobody responded. After this many years, flying from combat to combat, there just wasn't that much to say anymore.
"Alright then. You know the drill. Prepare the ship to be combat ready when we drop out of warp. Let's hope we're not too late for the party." "Things That Are... Yet To Be?" Part One And waiting... "Sickbay ready" Lieutenant JG Victory, MD The years since the collapse of the Federation had been hard on The collapse of the Federation had crushed so many hopes and dreams Max was all she had left anymore. If it had not been for him she The previous Chief Medical Officer had died in her arms two years She had come to the conclusion some time ago that her artificial body Victory had not been surprised when yellow alert had been sounded, As soon as the intercom had gone silent orders were given, the "Sickbay stands ready, Max" She into the comm, her voice calm and Pushing her glasses back up her nose, she let her glowing crimson "Message Recieved....Arrr." Captain Alexandra Lee "Captain. We're receiving an incoming message, its recorded." 'Who would be sending a recorded message during battle?' Alex wondered. "Put it through." T'risia composed herself for the video feed, knowing that she did have the appropriate amount of eyeliner, and that her hat was at a proper jaunty angle. Her medals clanked and jangled as she moved, and sensing his cue, the partially assimilated monkey leapt to her shoulder. "Arrr. I be speaking to the Cap'n of the Pegasus, you scurvy dog. In this matter here, we be working for the same side, it seems. It would be the most logical, then, for us to run together, for the shorter term, as the Whale itself be surfacing." Without any indication of why, or that she was going to to do, she swept the monkey off her shoulder and hurled it across the room. Its borg shields rendered the impact meaningless. "I will not drop my cloak near your vessel without a confirmation, you know. We can work together for the better of your half, or not at all. For the duration of the truce between us, Pegasus, she'll not be a prize for us. Arr." Alex's first officer stood and approached next to her. "They're Pirates, captain. We can't trust them." "I know. Once they see an opening, they'll attack us...but in this battle, we could use every ship." The Pegasus rocked slightly from a weapons hit. "Shields down eighty-five percent, captain," announced the tactical officer. "Emergency power to shields. Return fire. Evasive Maneuver Alpha-Delta One-Five. Comm, trace that transmission from the lateral communication arrays." "Aye, captain," called a young female from one of the rear bridge consoles. After a minute, the comm officer replied. "I think I've got them, captain. Coordinates bearing two-eight-nine mark zero-one-five. About thirty thousand kilometers from our position." Breaking communication silence made it rather easy to trace it back to the source as cloaked vessel depended on all systems operating within specific parameters...which included not communicating with uncloaked vessels with a good sensor array. "Open a channel." Channel open, captain." "Captain T'risia, this is Captain Alexandra Lee of the USS Pegasus. We will accept your terms but know we will be watching our backs and the moment we believe you are going to attack us, we'll turn your vessel into space debris. It will be good working with you." On board her own craft, Mr. Walker alerted T'risia to an incoming hail. He played it on screen...as was porotocol. T'risia, for her part was impressed by the cleverness of the Dove Captain's crew in successfully sending her a message. To Mr. Walker, she said simply, realizing that the channel was open, "I assume that we are live? Arrr?" "Aye Cap'n...we be live," said Walker in the fashion of ship's protocol. "Cap'n Lee," began T'risia, taking yet another swig of rum. "Our terms will stand if you agree. I vow not to lay fire to your ship, the Pegasus, for the duration of this combat. It would be best to not make undue threats, however...the Pearl, she is small, but crewed by the clever." She adjusted her battered tricorn hat, with its skull logo upon it. "Have you a plan for the continued battle?" asked the emotionless woman. Her dark hair flowed behind her as she stood leaning on her cane. "Reports state that the biggest fish of all is soon to be in these waters...arrr." 'Who the hell talks like a pirate?' Alex thought to herself as the stared at the woman on the view screen. "Bring your vessel close in behind ours. At the last minute, decloak as we pull away. It should take their computers a second to register your presence. You should have enough time to launch weapons before they are prepared." T'risia considered that, more aware of the Pearl's capabilities than the Dove Captain could be. She took a moment of silence to fuss with her hat, and then struck her can upon the wooden deck planks of her craft. "Aye...it would certainly take some time for the bottom feeders to lock onto the Pearl. We be a slippery fish. Arrr." Standing and leaning heavily on her cane, she nodded her head. "We'll follow your lead in this, to be sure. It seems to be a clever enough plan, in the making." Her hands made gestures to her crew, off screen, indicating that they should proceed with the new compact. Alex nodded. "Good. Captain Lee, out." She turned to the helmsman. "Set an intercept course for the USS Rome." "Aye, ma'am." The Pegasus turned sharply, heading directly for the Galaxy Class vessel. Phaser fire rocked the Pegasus. "Shields down to seventy percent, captain," the tactical officer announced. "Steady...." On screen, the Rome grew in size quickly as the Pegasus approached. "Fire phasers and set evasive course!" T'risia, for her part, sat calmly in her Big Chair. Being a much smaller ship, the Pearl was able to follow in the wake of the Pegasus' warp nacelles, enjoying the cover as the larger, more current Starfleet vessel took the battering on her shields. T'risia's green eyes narrowed as she studied the Tactical display waiting for the precise moment to decloak her vessel and unleash the fury of her weapons array... [2402] “A Vanishing Of Stars”
Victor Krieghoff Angelienia Krieghoff
****
Xellos System Xellos IV Idrani City
Dinner had been excellent, the dancing wonderful and now, now that another day was over, and he could relax and let the responsibilities that he’d shouldered slip away for a time. Victor allowed himself a moment to reflect on the days when he’ thought that managing a single department on a starship was complex and daunting, and smiled, stopping short of wishing for those days to be back. You didn’t wish for the past, it was a waste of time; you just lived I the now and hoped for the future.
Still… In those days he wasn’t managing a planetary system, administrating a starport and small shipyard, providing for an ever-increasing number of refugees related to people that he’d served with years before, and, on top of that, leading a guerilla campaign against half of the Federation he’d served in his youth. Compared to that, a single department would be a task he could perform in his sleep.
He set his coffee down, frowned as an all too familiar sensation tickled the back of his mind, and opened the doors to the terrace, stepping outside to le the cool night air clear his head for what he was about to have to do. He’d done it so many times now, so many nights and days, that it was routine. With a deep breath, he pushed the memories of the day away, letting them go.
He had more important things to do now.
The stars were going out.
Victor stood on the terrace, head tilted back to look up at the night sky, and watched them fade into darkness.
Not literally, not the actual blazing balls of fusion fire that lit the heavens, their time was, by and large, still here and now. Some of them, of course, were dying – that happened now and then - but those weren’t the stars he was thinking of.
The stars he was watching wink out, the ones he’d stepped out onto the terrace of his home to concentrate on, were something else again.
They were souls.
His souls, the ones that had been given to him.
His people, new and old, friends and enemies, all souls that were his.
There was another battle taking place. A big one from the concentration of his souls that were there.
Dying.
Demanding his attention.
Demanding that he choose for them, choose to let them remain or to let them go.
“A credit for your thoughts, love.”
Slender arms slipped around his waist and a familiar head rested on his shoulder, the scent of his wife slipping into him, her embrace warming him, filling him, completing him.
“No one uses credits anymore,” he reminded her, eyes still on the sky. “Not even the Ferengi. It’s all trade now. Trade, barter… and theft.”
“I know,” she sighed sadly. “But that’s how the expression goes.” She was silent for a moment, holding him. “I miss them,” she said suddenly, in between Victor’s decision to let Lieutenant Charles Fortengrand, only an Ensign in Security the last time Victor had physically seen him, move on to whatever destination awaited him, and the one to forbid the departure of Senior Chief Pem Tallen, a medic who had once bandaged his arm back on the Galaxy when they were a junior Petty Officer. “I never thought about them back then,” she continued. “They were just there, you know? Them and all the other things we took for granted.”
“I miss them too,” he agreed, closing his eyes even though that did nothing to shut out the stars that were shining in his mind, the pinpricks of light that represented those that were his as they lived and loved and walked and flew… and died. “Every one of them, even the ones I didn’t care for. ” He watched another pinpoint wink out and let Vanessa McLauren, a shrewish Tactical Officer he’d met when she testified at his court martial a lifetime ago fade to nothingness.
Angelienia made a soft sound that might have been a sigh. “Do you think… do you think that they’ll be back? That we’ll see them again? Or that the children will?” She glanced down at Idrani City and the homes there, all filled with the children and families of friends that Victor had given refuge here when the collapse came.
Victor let Lt. Dan Restin, Warrant Officer Felcia Rather, and Torpedoman Second Phillipe Santoval wink out before answering, “I don’t know. Perhaps. Things do move in cycles, so possibly they’ll be back when things are different.” He considered that a moment longer while refusing permission for Dr. Bradley Keatinge, the man who had replaced Angelienia’s heart the first time. “It may take longer than even the children have, though. This isn’t happening the way it did the last time.”
“That was a different time, love,” she reminded him. “Why would you think that this War would be just like the last one?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I just hadn’t thought about it. I just assumed that the same things would happen all over again… which is silly, because I’m not who I was then, and I’m not doing the things I was the last time I watched the Universe go down in flames. That time I was helping it, feeding the fires that consumed it…”
“You’re not like that now,” she assured him. “You’re a warrior still, that’s true, but you’re fighting to protect now, not destroy. That makes all the difference.”
“I hope so,” he agreed. “I don’t want to be left alone living in a Universe gone dark.” He refused permission to Lt. Salok, Physician’s Mate Mary Andrews, and 1100110, a Bynar Computer Technician. “Not again.”
“Shhh….” Angelienia whispered, arms tightening around him. “That’s not going to happen. I’m here, and I won’t let that happen. No darkness for you, love.” She kissed his neck. “Come to bed, dear, it’s getting cold out here.”
“Yes,” he agreed, turning to kiss her. The kiss deepened, and he let her pull him back inside, feeling the familiar heat rising in him, the one that never grew old and that he never tired of. “No darkness for me, not again. No matter how hard things get, no darkness for me… because we’ll always be together. Always.”
Outside, visible to everyone that looked, the stars continued to twinkle in the clear night sky.
Inside, visible in the green sky that filled Victor’s mind, his souls continued to wink out.
As he and Angelienia made love, the part of him that had seen this all before weeded them carefully, saving the healers and the thinkers and the technicians and letting the warriors die, making his contribution to the war effort as he celebrated life. It wasn’t much, even with the commando raids he and his troops made from his base here in the Xellos System. Even with Elrin’s fighters and the few others he’d convinced to join him, they couldn’t engage capitol ships directly, couldn’t battle armies to a standstill… but perhaps what they could do, the raids and the sabotage and the rest, perhaps it would be enough.
Perhaps.
And if not….
…if not… then at least he’d have Angelienia with him when the universe went dark this time. “A Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy” Part I Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila – Fleet Intelligence ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Feron – Neutral World ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Neutral.. Hah! The only reason this mud ball was still neutral was that neither the Hawks nor the Doves were ready to fight each other over a world that had little if nothing to offer. No resources, no strategic value, and certainly nothing worth what it would cost to fight over. Entering orbit of the mud ball in question Rafael checked who else was present, there was a Hawk frigate in high orbit, with a Dove cruiser in an opposite orbit, both warily scanning each other, but maintaining the required separation as ordered by ground control. Not that the local cutters would have been able to do much if the two did decide to start fighting, but they were more interested in who was coming and going, not in fighting each other. Other than the two ships of the line there were a few freighters and a handful of shuttles, all carefully watching everyone else. Paranoia was a way of life. Feron did have one thing to offer really, somewhere where neither Hawk nor Dove could officially enter. Neutrality made for somewhere to talk, and even those two combatants needed somewhere like that once in a while. It was also the best place to shop. You could sell next to anything here as the local government were nothing but pawns of the shadow traders who really ran the place. Dropping the shuttle below standard orbit Rafael opened an audio only channel. “Illya, you there?” He asked simply, sending an identifier code at the same time. <= Didn’t expect you back so soon Thrai. => A deep male voice replied quickly, heavy on the sarcasm, using the cover name he knew Rafael by. “Business, what else. Is M’Zarch available?” Watching the ships in orbit he kept his cloak up, hoping none of them would see him. The last thing he wanted was either side to know he’d been here. <= Depends. You buying, selling or recreating? => “All.” He answered simply, keeping details to a minimum. <= I’ll get you clearance. Head for berth seventy one, for the usual fee of course. => “Of course. M’Zarch can add it to the business charges.” <= Agreed. Suggest you stay away from D’Neris. => Illya warned far too cheerfully. “Count on it. Landing now.” Cutting the channel he dropped the shuttle into the atmosphere with indecent haste. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Berth seventy one was essentially a pit dug out of the ground outside the slum city with a large wall built around it. It didn’t look like much but security was tight. One thing you could say about M’Zarch, if you paid enough, you got service. The sprawling slum that was the new capital of Feron was a blight on the surface, a collection of low structures that spread out for miles in every direction around the massive hive spire that had once been the shining gem of Feron architecture. The old hive housed the wealthy, the powerful and the self important, while the newer slums housed everyone else. The slums though were where all the important business on the planet took place. Passing the two mile high spire Rafael glanced at the monstrosity with a certain amount of contempt. They lived in there, closing their eyes to the universe outside and prayed everything would pass them by. Dropping into the haze that covered the slums Rafael noted the increased hydrocarbon levels, among other pollutants that hovered around the spire. The valley everything was built in practically had its own micro climate separate from the rest of the planet and years of unchecked pollution were beginning to take their toll. Deactivating the cloak only after he’d landed Rafael watched as the security screen flared into life above the shuttle. “Okay Aurora,” he muttered as he put all systems on standby, “full security lockdown, you know the drill.” “Check Raf. Watch yourself out there please.” The ships AI asked almost pleadingly. “Count on it.” Heading to the cargo hatch he paused to pick up a few things and carefully lowered the ramp, keeping a wary eye on the surroundings. As he’d hoped the bay was empty, but as with everything nowadays you just had to be careful. Unloading the antique motorbike he’d inherited along with the shuttle he sealed the ship and kicked the old bike into life. With a deep reverberating roar he sped from the bay. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Looking around the circular club casually Rafael wondered when M’Zarch would tire of the place and move business somewhere quieter. Pit fighting was noisy. The central pit was surrounded on the lowest level by dozens of private booths, guaranteeing a privacy found in few places on Feron for business in a public place. The upper five levels were all standing room only, with bars scattered about for species of all description. Food, drink, drugs and just about anything you could want was available from the bar, and if they didn’t have it, for a price they’d get it. The pit itself in the centre was huge, over fifty metres across, and the only well lit portion of the entire club, everywhere else dimly lit by reflected light or muted lamps.. Individual fights, teams, animals, if it could be killed it ended up in the pit as a contestant. Holo cams made sure everyone could see the action, but the booths made sure you were up close and personal. Wandering around the lower level Rafael looked for M’Zarch, a disreputable creature but one who could afford what he had for sale, and could likely provide what he needed. Plus, being the new owner of this joint it’d be around to watch over its latest acquisition. Ignoring the fight raging in the pit, a chaotic brawl between half a dozen Klingons he wandered slowly seeing who was present. The Klingons always wanted to fight first, and everyone let them, they were the prelude for the main bouts. Despite the noise from below snippets of conversation from the darkness floated past him as he walked. The recessed booths allowed you to see over them and into the pit, but behind them the darkened area surrounding the wall was lined with flunkies and guards, all with their own agendas and loyalties, each one warily watching who came and went. Spotting Illya stood by the steps leading down to one booth Rafael walked over to the Terran. Illya was M’Zarch’s assistant, trusted, as far as anyone like M’Zarch could trust anyone, and the person who decided if you got to see the boss. Opening his jacket as he stopped before Illya Rafael let the man scan and search him, allowing the guards to remove the disruptor, phaser, blaster and various other weapons from his person without complaint. Just the price of doing business. “M’zarch.” Rafael said neutrally as he stepped down into the booth and halted before a creature that looked like a cross between a Nasat and a Terran preying mantis. It was without a doubt one of the ugliest species he’d come across ever, and one of the most duplicitous. “Thrai.” The insectoid hissed in return, “I greet!” Indicating a bench with a mandible, “Lower self to rest. You eat?” Picking up a random body part from the table before it, the creature squirted digestive juices from an orifice in its lower thorax, and then began sucking on it as it was digested. Continuing to talk as it ate, not bad manners but just that its eating orifice was low on its thorax and separate from its mouth, “Fresh. Chemically untainted.” Looking at the hacked up body between them Rafael tried to identify what it used to be, glad he’d remembered nose filters. The smell of M’Zarchs digestive juices and raw flesh was enough to turn even his stomach. It wasn’t hard to determine the body had been a humanoid male, though on seeing the spots down the side of one leg he sat back, “No thanks M’Zarch, I’m allergic to Trill.” “Choice available.” M’Zarch offered. “I’m here to deal, not socialise M’Zarch.” Before the insect slaughtered someone else for the table Rafael switched to business. Last time M’Zarch had ordered take away it had taken Rafael a week to wash the blood off his clothes, Andorian blood ‘stained’! “Observe.” M’Zarch announced with a wave to the pit. “Su-Dai begins!” Tilting two of its four multifaceted eyes slightly to focus on the pit M’Zarch sat back. This was the problem with doing business with this creature here, every fight for it was more than a blood sport it was the lunch menu as well! Glancing down at the pit Rafael maintained his impassive expression as he watched a young Terran female enter from one direction, and opposite her a larger four armed Batarian. Both wore a mismatched collection of clothing and crude armour. The Batarian had a pair of short curved blades, almost sickle like in shape, while the girl had a pair of Klingon mek’leths. “Enjoy.” M’Zarch offered. “Wager?” “You sure you want to bet with me again?” Rafael cautioned him, “last time it got expensive.” “Risk acceptable. Both combatants skilled. Better odds.” It was probably as close as the creature could come to humour really. “Fair enough. How about double or nothing on my landing fees? On the girl to win.” It was a diplomatic wager. Double the fees would be a tidy sum for him. The loss though wouldn’t hurt him much. Better to play it safe really than risk a repeat of the last wager. He had no desire to have another running gun fight through the slums. “Wager agreed.” M’Zarch accepted, bobbing its head. “A Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy” Part II Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila – Fleet Intelligence ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Feron – Neutral World ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ “Wager agreed.” M’Zarch accepted, bobbing its head. Where the Klingons earlier had obviously been to the ‘scream and leap’ school of pit fighting these two were somewhat more skilled. For a moment they circled each other, the occasional feint and parry between them to test the other. The Batarian was bigger, with a slightly longer reach, and four arms didn’t hurt either, the girl though was fast and very agile, her manoeuvrability offsetting the Batarians lumbering strength. “She’s pretty good,” Rafael muttered after a moment, watching as the young woman charged the Batarian with her pair of mek’leths then danced back out of reach of his counter attack. “Who owns her?” “Erroneous conclusion. Null owner.” M’Zarch answered absently, turning all four eyes to the contest. “That won’t last long.” Someone would buy her sooner or later, whether she liked it or not. Watching as the Batarian, using all four arms, launched a complex attack each arm a windmill of motion, making the girl back off and parry all the arms. Rafael winced imperceptibly as one of the sickles opened a long gash in her side. As the Batarian’s face broke into a grin at the first blood and the cheers from the crowd he swung all four arms simultaneously, hoping for a swift end now she was leaking blood all over the floor, the girl however simply dropped suddenly, falling under his arms and letting them flail over her head. Launching her own attack she brought one mek’leth up into his left knee, shearing the kneecap away in a spray of blood that caused him to howl in agony. Collapsing involuntarily he grabbed her with his two free arms and brought both his sickle like weapons in to finish her, instead though he found himself dropping the weapons, the strength in his limbs draining. Looking down he saw what the girl had done with her second mek’leth, as he had collapsed, she had brought it up directly into his chest. Letting the body fall to the floor the girl retrieved her weapons as the crowd above applauded the win. They would have preferred a longer fight, or a slower kill, but there was always the next fight. “Wager concluded. Fees waived. Three solar days?” M’Zarch offered. ~ Cheap Drannit! ~ Rafael muttered to himself, he’d listed five days for the bay. Three free days wasn’t too bad though. Satisfied that M’Zarchs lunch order was concluded Rafael turned his mind to business. “Agreed. Here’s what I’m after,” sliding a PADD over the table he sat back, there wasn’t much point watching the body language of the insect, so far no one had that figured out. “Extensive. Work required to accumulate. Cost addition.” Raising a mandible M’Zarch clicked loudly as it spoke. “Frak you M’Zarch,” Rafael snapped, “even with overheads the slug is worth ‘twice’ what’s on that list, and you know it!” “Expense. Time. Fund limitation. Arrangement? Negotiation?” The tone in the cheap translator M’Zarch used was obvious, and an opening Rafael had hoped for. “Negotiate, yes.” He replied after a moment with a nod, reaching over he tapped the PADD and switched to another file, “information retrieval, the list is here. Possible?” Damn the insect, its speech was infectious. “Decision affirmative.” M’Zarch agreed after studying the file for a moment. “One other thing.” Looking at the pit where the girl was collecting the tokens thrown into the pit for her, “throw her in as well. I’ll buy her.” “Current self ownership. Purchase not without risks.” M’zarch warned with a click of its lower mandibles. “C’mon M’Zarch, when did someone being free stop you from selling them. Stick a slave collar on her and deliver her with ownership papers and we’re done, the slug is yours.” It was an offer it couldn’t refuse really, for the price of enslaving the kid it got the slug, and it’d likely double its money easily on this one. “Affirmative. Transaction approved.” M’Zarch agreed readily, obviously thinking the same. “You buy. You sell. Recreation required?” Looking down into the pit Rafael smirked, “I think I just bought recreation pal.” “Conclusion of business. Transaction satisfactory. Goods delivered prior to solar days end.” Turning its attention away from Rafael M’Zarch examined the PADD and began twittering in its own high pitched language into a comm unit, hopefully making arrangements for delivery of goods and not taking a hit out on Rafael. Standing Rafael walked out without another word, social graces with the insectoid race were bizarre, and they had no word for ‘goodbye’ which suited him just fine. Collecting his equipment from Illya outside the booth he left quickly. Despite the nasal filters the air in the booth had left a rancid taste in his mouth, and whether it was caused by the creature or its meal he wasn’t quite sure. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Returning to the KittyKat sometime later Rafael cast an eye over the assembled boxes and the guards around them carefully, hand on his disruptor he walked slowly over to one of the men. Also, sat sullenly on one of the boxes was the girl from the pit, now sporting a shiny new slave collar which appeared to have been affixed with some force if the new bruises on her face were anything to go by. Speaking with one of the guards in a low tone for a moment Rafael ignored the girl as he opened a tricorder and scanned the crates around him, then opening the cargo hatch he entered the shuttle, stowing his bike carelessly against the wall before he dragged the pod containing the Trill symbiont out and let the guard scan it. “Looks good,” the Romulan confirmed after a moment. Holding out a PADD he tilted his head in the direction of the girl, “here’re her papers and the info you asked for. Are we done?” Accepting the PADD Rafael scanned the data quickly and nodded, “Yup, we’re done.” Watching as the guards warily left with the pod Rafael turned to the girl, “Make yourself useful,” he snapped, “start loading.” Obviously angry, she stood and threw a bag onto the ramp then began dragging the boxes aboard under Rafael’s watchful eye. Hand on his disruptor Rafael kept watch as she loaded the ship, keeping his eyes on the entrances to the landing bay and the sky above. Once she was done Rafael waved her aboard, kicking her bag further into the bay as the ramp closed. Turning to face the girl once the ramp was closed he sighed, “Drokk! What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” He asked in a tired tone, “When I told you to infiltrate M’Zarch’s business I didn’t mean in the Pit!” “Nice to see you too dad.” Miranda Burton said as she slumped against a wall then slid onto the floor. “There was no ‘way’ I was gonna tend bar in ‘that’ place,” she snapped, “You know what else they expect you to serve!” “Fair point,” he agreed dryly, “you couldn’t get a job on his staff though?” He asked as he sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “He wasn’t hiring, though after I put a couple of his guards down in my ‘interview’ he offered me a spot in the pit, so I thought fuck it at least I’m in.” Rubbing her neck where the new collar was irritating it she looked up at him, “thanks for buying me dad.” She added softly. “No problem kid.” Looking at his daughter for a second he felt the familiar pain, she so reminded him of her mother. She was barely fifteen years old, but she had grown up a lot these last few years. As had everyone really. Tugging very gently on the collar about her throat Miranda looked up at her father, “Did you want me to keep this on?” She asked curiously. “It might come in useful, slaves are wary of talking to owners. There’re a few places it might open doors for you.” It was a good idea, though it would mean most everyone on the planets they went to would treat her like she didn’t exist. “Not a problem. Just do me a favour and get rid of the explosives please. A shock collar is fine, but I’d rather not walk around with a bomb on my neck. So, what’s next?” She asked, sounding tired. “That depends on you,” Rafael answered. “Did you get it?” Squirming gently Miranda stuck a hand down her trousers and after a moment of searching pulled out a data rod from somewhere, “Everything and more dad, M’Zarch’s been playing both sides more than you. It’s dealing with Doves, Hawks, Hydrans, Syndicate, Breen. Fuck, that thing’s dealing with people I’ve never heard of.” Dropping the rod into his jacket pocket she stood, “I’m gonna go shower and fix a few bruises, that is if the showers are working?” “Sonics are,” he confirmed, “When you’re done we’ll get on some of the repairs.” Retrieving the data rod he slid it into his PADD, “Good work Mira.” “Just hope it was worth it.” She tossed over her shoulder as she walked away. “Me too,” he muttered softly as she left, “your mother would kill me if anything happened to you!” "Song of Ice" Cmdr. Arel Smith **** Rura'Penthe **** The mines of Rura'Penthe hadn't run for years, in part because the The hall was unguarded. Arel removed her goggles and tossed them in Two guards sat by the fire playing dice and swapping tales of glory; "You came," Kaa'lak said as he stomped his way over to her. "Said I would," She replied, measuring the room with her eyes. Kaa'lak said nothing so she turned to the pens and headed straight for Arel turned back to the guards. "I'll see him now." The younger guard looked to Kaa'lak who simply grunted and Arel moved The warden's office was dimly lit and colder than the previous room. From his couch, the old Warden lifted his head long enough to see what "Early," Arel said, rubbing her hands together. "Morning." The Warden closed his eyes. "Took your sweet time getting here." She wanted to tell him that Jii hadn't wanted to let her go or that "Not like you to be indecisive, Alena." "Arel," She reminded him. "I'm Arel." His face managed to flush and she wished she hadn't said anything. "Yes. Arel." Arel took a hand that felt like ice, not that her own hand was much "No, it's not," He growled and she had to agree. None of it was really The man opened his eyes. "I'm ready." Arel bit back her own sigh, nodded, and then drew her knife from it's He smiled. "I've always been proud of you, 'Rel." Arel thought about how once that would have been all she would have "Today is good day to die," Allen Smith whispered. When the Hegh'bat was done, Arel placed her knife in his hand and Arel pulled the gloves over her blood stained hands. Of the two of "You're in charge now," Arel said when she stepped back into the bay. The younger Klingon looked to Kaa'lath who merely nodded his She walked quickly down the hall, scooped up her goggles, and hit the "Come with me or die here," Arel said when she was finished. Covered with the filth and dust of his long captivity, there was still pride. Eaten and gnawed at for years by Klingon Lice and maggots, there was Leaning now over the shoulders of his benefactor, drinking in both the "Liebchen," whispered Jan Hoffman Spengler, free at last. "We really "Here there be Monsters"
San Francisco Starfleet Academy
Night had fallen on the old city of San Francisco and as the sun set behind the rolling toxic clouds on the horizon, the shattered maze of twisted metal and concrete took on a more macabre, deadly life. The Skinnies were out in force. Wayward half-starved children-turned-cannibals, scurried and scampered over hidden back alley trails like a pack of rats, ambushing the unwary, and tearing into their flesh before the screaming even stopped. There would be a bonanza come morning. Ground forces from both the Hawk and Dove factions were making combat drops all over southern California, and once they had finished slaughtering each other the Skinnies would have their day. It was the way of things on 25th Century Earth.
Pressed tightly against what remained of the old Starfleet Academy Retaining wall, Major Percy Preston of the Hawks 25th Armored Infantry wondered idly how he was going to get out of this one. What had originally been planned to be a simple snatch and grab had evolved into an all out slugfest both in orbit and on the ground,, as the factions used every opportunity to turn each other into smoking corpses. Snatch and grab. His target was sleeping now. Young Allison von Ernst twitched reflexively, half buried in the hastily dug foxhole at his feet. Mud and blood splattered the blond haired teenager, who only the morning before had woken up to breakfast on the USS Galaxy, and now barely 24 hours later….20 years later was the object of interest for two armies. Percy didn't know why the Boss wanted her, but he hadn't survived in this world by questioning the Boss's orders. When you were told to jump you jumped and asked 'how high' on the way up. The Doves probably didn't know either. Chances were they had merely been spotted by a scout ship and saw a good opportunity to wreak some havoc. Wonderful. Artillery was thundering in the heights now. One side or the other doing their damndest to shuffle around the piles of rubble that is all that remained of this once great city. Crackles of plasma rifles shimmered overhead as well. The white hot beams coloring strange patterns against the low hanging clouds, incinerating anything they touched. It was pretty almost. Idly Preston leaned forward with his Armored glove and picked up a random piece of rubble. Granite….with flecks of quartz in it. In another life young Preston had been a Starfleet officer and a promising geologist. No more. He tossed the rock away. Around him in a tiny semi-circle the rest of his squad was arranged in defensive positions. If the old gardener Boothsby had still be alive he'd have a fit to see his precious gardens turned into foxholes and trench lines, but Percy supposed he'd died in the orbital bombardment that leveled the Academy 3 years ago. That had been another of the Boss's ideas. To his left Hassle, with his ever present scanner cursed. "Shit boss. We got incoming. We gotta move, and I mean now!" "Belay that." Preston was already crawling quickly over to get a look at the scanner himself, "The extract is here, unless you want to get trapped on this damn planet." "But sir…." Preston angled the screen towards him, and felt the color drain from his face. Already across the grounds the steady metallic rumble of his enemies were heard. "Fucking Dragoons."
Dragoons. A product of the intense warfare that swept the Alpha Quadrant in the late 24th Century, these armored suits had taken the place of the usual tank corps in the Federation military. Ten feet tall and bristling with gears and weapons, these iron juggernauts were every infantry man's nightmare, and as the call went up and down the line of Preston's dug in troops, there were not a few amongst them who knew they had seen their last day. "Dragoons!! Dragoons!!" The Major yelled running back to his position. "Everybody up and on the line!!" The blond girl was awake now as well. Alarmed by the yelling and shuffling, she poked her head up above the foxhole rim, blue eye wide and wild with fright and confusion. "Getcher ass down girl." he showed her painfully back into the pit. If anything happened to her….. "Aint you ever seen a Dragoon before?" "A Dragon?" "No..not a Dragon…A DragOOn. Armored suit as big as a tank and twice as strong. If you don't keep that ass down it'll get bit clean off."
They came from across the old Academy parade grounds. Striding mechanically through the swirling toxic mists, gears clattering and squealing, heavy footsteps shredding the once loving tended turf. There were four of them. Four Dragoons against Prestons platoon of 30 armored infantry. It was not nearly going to be enough. Dug deep into their positions, the time for running had ended, and with a frustrated cry of rage, the Hawk Infantry opened up. Big Kal on the 90 Watt Plasma, chewed the air with the POK POK POK POK of his white hot needles of liquid light. Stirring up geysers of dirt and mud as he walked his fire onto target, the First Dragoon was enveloped in a blistering haze of firepower. Hot gasses gnawed deep into the hardened metal edges of the goliaths armor plating, but when the gunner stopped to swap out power packs the monster still stood. Blackened and smoking with an inner glow, but still quite functional, the great Ogre of steel raised the mammoth Gatling gun that made up its entire right arm. The barrels blurred into motions and with a low groaning Brrrrrrrrrrp of firepower, the air around th Hawk position was alive with the buzzing of hot light! Brass casings streamed like a waterfall from the gun's ejector port, falling tinkling to the mud in a shower of spent rage. It wasn't actual bullets they fired per se, but pre-charged plasma rounds. Rather than drain the Dragoons main engine with powering the weapons, the designers had opted for self contained charges that provided their own one shot before being discarded. This limited ammunition in a way, but left more capacity for maneuvering and light shielding. IT was the latter ability that came into play now, as the beleaguered infantry attempted to employ their anti-armor photon bazookas. An even half dozen were literally mowed into bloody pulps by the Gatling fire, but two round did manage to get fired off. One splattered harmlessly off the Dragoon point defense shielding in a bubble of blue light, but the second did slip through knocking the great beast off its feet. A ragged cheer began to rise, but died stillborn as with a squeak of twisted gears the great battle suit rose again. One hip joint was stiff and smoking, limiting mobility to a mere hobble, but that did nothing to limit its firepower. The rain of hornets began again, the injured Dragoon keeping heads down (or sawing them off) while the other three advanced at a leisurely stroll. Allison the was screaming the whole time, unable to even her own cries over the shriek of energy and explosions wailing overhead. Major Preston was literally sitting on her struggling to shove her deeper into the mud while at the same time directing the final defenses. One Dragoon was halted as it reached the Academy fountain, distracted by the angry 90Watt's chattering into its view sights, two intrepid infantrymen were able to approach and lay magnetic charges. The beast nova'd into a miniature sun of shattered metal, but alas for the two heros they likewise died at the hands of the fallen Dragoons compatriots. In the end there never was a doubt. One Giant injured and providing fire support…one demolished in a futile effort…the final two twisting this way and that shredding great swaths of mud and turf skyward as their great guns literally dug the Hawks out of their pathetic trench's. They were down to a half dozen men. The shredded corpses of the others never to be found again. Major Preston stayed as long as he could firing back with his pathetic 40Watt sidearm, all to no avail. It was apparent however the Dragoons took no interest in killing him, appearing to single out the remaining squad first before stomping their way up to the ex-geologist and his teenaged captive. As they shuddered and squealed to a stop, internal gears still rumbling, Percy realized he was alone and surrounded by the twin ogres. Power drained, he stood from the trench and set a defiant gaze on his face. Damned Doves…look what they did to his life…his Federation. And now to fail through no fault of his own merely due to their frazzing Dragoon Death Squads. The Boss would be pissed. He was mildly surprised when the Dragoon did not evaporate him into bone and blood, but instead hauled back and literally smacked him across the lawn into the old dead rose bushes. The last thing he remembered before fading into unconsciousness was the great beast leaning over the blond, its internal speaker booming. "ALLISON VON ERNST" it rattled extending a great armored hand, "WE'VE BEEN SENT BY ADMIRAL ELAITHIN…WE'RE HERE TO RESCUE YOU."
Oh no…the Boss would not be happy. "Better Things To Do" Captain Jaal Jaxom, USS Panther Captain Daneel Olivaw, USS Eldridge (ppc) ==Somewhere in Saturn's Rings...== The Eldridge's ready room was uncommonly clean. That said a lot about Jaal Jaxom was staring out the view port at his own ship. The Panther If a ship could actually find a starbase that would let it in, there Daneel rubbed his eyes wearily. "You know what I mean. Eventually Jaal spun around angrily, "No. I don't. I'm not going to sink to their Daneel sighed deeply. Being a Betazoid he could tell his fellow Jaal placed his hands on the desk and leaned in, "We're making Daneel stood trying to stay calm. Jaal had always been the stubborn Jaal backed off, folded his arms across his chest, and smiled a sly Daneel fumed. He knew without reading anyone's thoughts what Jaal was Jaal held his position as his eyes narrowed, "There's nothing wrong Daneel was about to come back with something snappy when his comm Both captain's interest was peaked. "What's happening?" Daneel asked "We're detecting multiple ships on long range. Communications between Jaal shook his head in disgust. "Birdbrains are at it again." Of course by 'birdbrains' he meant the Hawk and Dove factions of what Daneel looked at Jaal seriously. "Be careful Jaal. I can't admit it "Don't worry about me," Jaal told his him, "Just keep yourself alive. The Trill captain disappeared in a the familiar blue haze. Daneel watched him go for a moment then when the transporter effect The tactical officer spoke first, "Something is definitely going on in "Should we set course and go in sir?" the young helm officer asked anxiously. "No," Daneel stated, "We're staying here. The repairs on the dorsal Some of the crew was disappointed but they couldn't argue with their Meanwhile, on the Eldridge's twin, the Panther, Captain Jaxom was He was beamed directly to his bridge and landed in front of his "They're really mixin' it up on Earth. We've detected several Jaal nodded slowly. "We can't stay and play today. We've got a Jaal reached down and punched the numbers into the helm's navigation panel. "Heading Out" Captain Jaal Jaxom ==Bridge== Jaal sat in his command chair brooding over the events that caused the Politics be damned. Damned straight to hell! The Trill was not a politician but he had proven to be a capable 'Then why did they keep fighting each other?' He questioned himself ruefully. Ideologies? Piss on ideologies. Ideologies were what caused most of No one wanted to give up control fearing the other would take completely over. 'What a bunch of asshats,' Jaal thought as the Panther climbed slowly There were, of course, other things the Panther had acquired that The ship itself had it's share of ups and downs since Jaxom took over. The Panther had just gone to warp for the first of several rendezvous. When the ship decloaked to go to warp speed, it's IFF signal simply ~A Guy Walks into a Bar~ "Hey." 6909 |