USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log
Stardate: 60902.01 - 60902.07 |
Logs |
| "Damages, Past and Present"
by Cap'n T'risia The engine room was a mess. The Black Pearl's engine room was commonly a mess, but in this instance, the vital heart of the small starship was particularly dire. Emergency lights were on, giving the room a reddish cast, and everywhere, consoles sparked, and dangling cables provided navigational hazards at random intervals. The floor was littered with rubble and other discarded, broken technology. Into this mess of wreckage, this Dante's Inferno of technological achievement, the fable Cap'n T'risia, most notorious pirate of the spaceways, limped with her signature cane, toward a heavily shielded alcove. Upon reaching it, she found her tactical officer, Mr. Lucas Walker, the first human she had met on board the Galaxy, all those years ago. Amidst the rubble, he still looked distinguished, in his vest, frock coat, and high boots. He had been examining a large, frequently modified piece of machinery that seethed with a large portion of the ship's power. The cloaking device. The Black Pearl's heart, that most advanced of components that allowed it to slip into the shadows after looting. He looked up, and said in his usual cool tones, "Cap'n. Just checking things out here. Arr." T'risia nodded, her Vulcan features their usual implacable, emotionless state. "Indeed. Why else would you have summoned me to Engineering, Mr. Walker?" Walker had stopped stuttering at this sort of thing years ago. Still, he needed a moment to pause. T'risia had changed so much, what with the piracy, the erratic behavior, for a Vulcan...it was easy to forget that really, underneath it all, she hadn't changed a bit. She was still more than not, a creature of pure logic. Certainly obssessive, but then, she had always been. After the pause he said, "Of course. The cloaking device is functioning, for now, but we seriously need to make port, for repairs. The flow of power to the device is really the problem. One of these conduits could blow any time, from the overload due to rerouting..." "And then we would be revealed. Never a good thing, for the Black Pearl." T'risia said this as usual, as if she were discussing the weather. She added, as an afterthought, "Arrr." Walker nodded. "With our current condition...low power, ablative armor depleted, two shield generators shot, and our warp core at sixty percent, that would not be very good for us, Cap'n. Not in the least." He looked thoughtful...something was wrong, but he couldn't place it. T'risia nodeed thoughtfully. "No, it would not. Make sure that the cloak remains active, even if we have to cut the Pearl's speed. It would be more logical to take time, undetected, then progress exposed. Arr." It struck Walker suddenly. "You arent weraing your hat, and coat, Cap'n!" "Indeed." Lucas thought about this, in a moment. She had never shown up on deck dressed other than in her uniform, so to speak, ratty as it was. The old hat, the coat with its meaningless medals...they were what defined the mission, part of the obsession. They were part of what held the concept of the Black Pearl together. "Um...I guess I'm more commenting on why, Cap'n. I mean...you're never out of character, as it were. Youre always...well, piratey." T'risia nodded her head, and leaned heavily on her ubiquitous cane. "Indeed. I had a consultation with Ms. Widdlestein. I had thought it logical to inform her of some of the mission that i have been undertaking. She seemed to feel that it might not be the most logical course. Thusly, I am re-evaluating our overall purpose. Arr." Lucas crossed the space between them, a sensitive look on his face. He knew their mission, as obscure as it was, had something to due with 8-Ball Hunter. Everyone did. She always had that damn compass, with its map, and that hologram of how the woman looked all those years ago. T'risia herself looked more or less the same, being Vulcan. His blue eyes regarded the woman carefully, thinking of what to say next. T'risia continued her speech. "We are making port at Vulcan It appears that our relations with Mr. Krieghoff are at something of an impasse, so that is the friendliest port we can make for repairs and sale of our goods." "What did Sam say to you?" Walker's expression showed real concern, his matured features, handsome, his hand running through his thinning sandy hair. "It appeared that she did not approve of the motivations that I have." "8-Ball Hunter," was Lucas' slightly pained reply. T'risia's piercing green eyes locked with his. "Yes. You know?" Everyone did. Everyone had seen the damn compass. Lucas, in his cabin, had hated it. Hated her...8-Ball. He had been infatuated with T'risia since she came to the Galaxy, a confused Vulcan national who was fascinated by Terran culture. Somehow, he had never gotten through to her... "I know," he said to her, his voice low. T'risia did not reply, her face its customary expressionless mask. "Cap'n...T'risia....she didn't care about you as much as you did. As much as you do...all this..." He gestured around him, indicating the Pearl, and the extent she had gone to...for what? What did it mean? What could the end of it be? "I do not know of emotions, Mr. Walker. However, I do know that one must do what the believe to be logical, what they believe to be right. This...it is logical to me. From a certain point of view. As I said, I am re-evaluating portions of the overall mission. I would not wish the crew to lose their motivation." Lucas looked at her, meaningfully. His eyes strained to say something. "T'risia...I..." He halted short of what was in his heart. The vulcan woman tilter her head, uncomprehending, as she had all those times. For years, upon years. Had she done the same with Hunter? Or was it another way. She waited, patient and implacable, and without emotion. Walker never finished his thought. "Looking Ahead" by Cap'n T'risia The Vulcan sat, once again in her antique leather chair, in the Ready Room. She had exhausted her personal supply of Rum, and leaned back heavily in the chair, consideing the sculpted head of her cane, with its odd shaped handle and quillions. She thought, her mind attempting to expand, and find a new path...a new direction to achieve her goals. It had seemed so simple, of course, except for the fact that she was dealing with a non linear system, within which she could not control key variables, such as the locations of information, or more importantly, the actions of other individuals. She could only control her own actions carefully enough...and therein lay the problem. If she could eliminate the interference factor...then the knowledge she sought would emerge. She could locate the individual who had the information she needed, and finally plot the course to the Ellison Base. Initial review of the data cores looted suggested that she would not have the precious scrap of data she needed, and once again, be thwarted. At the same time, Widdlestein, her trusted right hand, seemed to doubt her motives at least...if not the actual goal. The idea of no bounty seemed anathema to her... And the Time Commision from the 29th Century would continue to be a problem. every time infraction she made, they appeared, to attempt to discipline or correct her. Certainly, she had dealth with them logically, but they were a continued, uncontrolled element. The door chime rang. "Enter!" she shouted, followed by a half hearted "aaar..." Mr. Lucas Walker strode in, ever the picture of composed propriety, and sat down. "Cap'n....you dont look so good." She arched a brow, and said simply, "You could not have known that before entering. Thusly, logic indicates that there is another motive to this conversation." Lucas leaned forward, and said, intently, "Yes. There are rumors running about below decks....that the whole mission, that all of this has to do with Lt. Hunter. Is that true?" "It was you who commented on the compass, Mr. Walker." He wasn't suprised at the evasion. He had, in fact, expected it. "Yes, I did. We've all known about it, and the...preoccupation you have with her. However...if we had some idea what you intended, in the long run, it would raise morale. Sure, we're all doing well, and have a better lifestyle than most, but...it's reminiscent of Moby Dick, in its way." T'risia was composed, but clearly the vast amounts of rum had taken a toll on even her astounding Vulcan metabolism. Her green eyes were slightly unfocused. "Indeed. Is there a point that you are attempting to make?" She studied the head of her cane, wondering if it needed modification. Something to add to the comfort. "Well, yes," he said, more loudly, and standing. Expressing his feelings, which ran deeply. "It's just that youre living in the past, T'risia! You have to plot a course for this ship, wherever it goes, that plans on our futures!" As he said, "our futures", it was clear that to some extent, he meant T'risia and himself. She nodded, and leaned forward, slightly uncoordinated. Her mind grasped something that he had said, something about the furture, but is slid through like quicksilver. It was somehow connected to her earlier thoughts about the 29th century....but the train eluded her. Composing herself, she looked at him in the eye. "You are correct. My quest, for Ellison Base, would provide a window into the past. Perhaps nothing more. However....I should think that it is not the only window." She paused, her mind racing with possibility. She could almost grasp a new thread, a new direction... Finally, a logical train snapped into focus, and she had gotten it. "You wish me to plot a course for the ship that focuses on our futures? The good of the ship, found in where we are going? With looting, of course?" "It's never been about looting for me T'risia. In your..." he paused, having been ready to say "heart." Thinking a moment, he softly finished, "Inside, you know that. But the others enjoy profit...the lifestyle." T'risia suddenly shoved everything off of her desk, with a clatter. "I require many things. Firstly, we must repair the Pearl. Our next course will take us where none have gone before...and will certainly be preoccupied with our futures. I will require all new PADDs, and a dedicated workstation from engineering, as well as..." She looked to the chart on the wall. The one that had ruled everything, for so long. "I will need a new chart. Replicate the paper for it, immediately." Lucas Walker, for his part, misinterpreted this flurry of activity. He felt that she was finally letting go, instead of realizing that she had found a new way to chase after her proverbial whale. "I will also require all data on solar slingshot time calculations on file. Loot the cores we have, and everything on file. Process it all into the dedicated workstation, and make it happen immediately? Saavy? Arr" At that, she put her hat back on her head, and struggled into her heavy coat....back in uniform. Lucas smiled, thinking that she was getting better. "Aye, Cap'n!" He turned to leave, to get the orders fulfilled. "And Mr. Walker...I will need more Rum." “Proposal”
Colonel Branwen London, commanding USS Trafalgar Lt. Col. Wayne “Biggs” Duke (NPC written by Betred)
<USS Trafalgar, enroute to Vulcan>
One of the great things about being a force group commander is that you can scrounge while lying in your bed. Biggs Duke was loathe to admit it, as preparing to propose to your pregnant lover was a mission that should have more personal involvement, but he just hurt to damn much to move around. Biggs had summoned his trusted aide Nokumora and assigned him the task of obtaining from somewhere – anywhere, a suitable dinner, candles, and a bottle of champagne. Sneeky Nokumora had accomplished the task admirably, although the candles bore a passing resemblance to ration-pac heater tabs.
Biggs did have two personal mission objectives that he could not delegate. Biggs was an orphan, a foster child lucky enough to have been adopted by a marine gunnery sergeant and his petty officer wife. His adoptive parents had died many years before, and Biggs spent the afternoon searching his quarters looking for the few personal effects they had left behind. Finding them stashed in a drawer in an old cigar tin, Biggs removed the engagement ring that had been his mother’s, leaving his fathers ID tags in the tin. The ring’s stone was chipped and loose in its setting, the band bent, but it would have to do.
His first mission accomplished, Biggs called on his Gunny to assist with the second, which was to practice getting down and up off of one knee without screaming in pain. After several tries and an early dosing of pain meds, Biggs was able to accomplish this task as well with only a minor grimace. Not perfect, but like the ring, it would have to do.
Rooting around in his closet, Biggs found the garment bag containing his dress uniform. Again with Gunny’s help, he donned the damn uncomfortable rig, complete medal miniatures that took up a fair portion of space over his left breast. With the bandage he wore, the pants were seriously tight, and standing in front of the mirror Biggs looked – big. He chuckled at this, remembering the days when cadets used to stuff socks in their pants; he had never done that, not because he didn’t want to, but because he could not master the slight of hand necessary to hide the socks when the pants came off – if you got lucky.
It was almost 1800.
Bran had gone home from work early today, she wanted to prepare for tonight. Luckily she had the items she wanted hanging around in her closet. Not the sort of stuff she would buy for herself but it had been a gift from her sisters. First was a tight corset to make her figure stand out although with the pregnancy she did not put it on too tight. On top of that went a strapless red dress that matched her hair perfectly. Said hair was coiffed on top of her head. Which took by far the most work. Panties and high heel shoes completed the ensemble. And of course an necklace. Again a gift from her sisters. Bran tried not to think about the fact that all other family heirlooms were now gone for ever. The compound in Wales were her family lived gone, with most of her brothers and sisters. She had not seen them for almost thirty years, but still… Only her elder sister and younger brother in Starfleet had survived.
As she walked the corridors to Biggs quarters Bran turned many a head, but one look from their colonel helped refrain them from saying anything to her face. At least some discipline was left. Nervous as hell she hit the chime.
The door slid open to reveal Duke standing in the doorway in the full dress uniform, sans sword, of a SF Marine Lieutenant Colonel. Glancing around his shoulder into his quarters, Bran could see a candle let table set for two people and little else, as the lights inside were dimmed.
Duke gaze took her in, from the top of her head down to her heels, then back up to linger not on her figure but on her eyes. He smiled, a bit uncertainly, then ushered her into the room. "Good evening," he said softly. "You look wonderful."
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” She did like a man in uniform. “My, seems like you went through a lot of trouble.”
"I had help," Duke replied. "Would you like a glass of champagne? I'm not sure where Sneeky found it, but it's real and it's chilled."
“Champagne, real champagne! I haven’t had that in ages. Didn’t know it even existed. She felt another pang of sadness. There would never be new stuff now. All that had ended for good.
Duke caught the look of sadness that came over Branwen's features. Holding the bottle up he said, "I suppose we could save it as a memento. Would you like something else?" He couldn't remember the last time he was this nervous.
“I like it Duke, it is a great idea, honey. And very thoughtful.” She came closer and gave him arm a squeeze to reassure him. Careful not to touch his flesh; sex was not an idea for either of them right now.
Duke gave Bran a quick peck on the cheek and worked on opening the campaign. "How did the rest of your day go?" he asked.
“Lot’s of paperwork. I thought I would catch up. With the temporary cure the crew is more or less behaving again. There are less incidents.”
The cork popped and Duke poured two glasses. Handing one to Bran, he raised his glass. "To old friends," he toasted.
“And new beginnings.” She finished looking into his eyes. “You and I can do this.”
"Do what exactly, dear?" asked Duke with a grin. He downed his drink and then held Bran's chair for her.
“What I hope you are going to propose for. Live together.” She grinned.
Duke was going to wait until after dinner to 'pop the question,' but since Bran was already on this subject, why not just get it over with? Holding on to Bran's chair, Duke made it down onto one knee. He reached into his pocket and presented his mother's battered ring.
"I'm hoping you'll do more than just that, Branwen London. This was my adopted mother's ring – but I want it to be yours. Will you marry me?"
She knew very well what that meant to him and blinked away a tear. “Yes my dear Duke, I would be honored to be your wife.” Bran couldn’t help herself and embraced him.
Duke had expected her answer; after all, this whole thing was originally Bran's idea. He had not planned to be embraced so fervently while off balance and on one knee. With a groan, Duke fell, barley able to twist his hips in time to avoid having his lover -- his fiancée land on his bandaged manhood. Now, with Branwen on top of him, he couldn't help but to inhale her scent, and this stirred a familiar reaction he was sure Doc Sentara would not necessarily approve of.
She had wanted to help him, say how sorry she was for making him fall, but suddenly the only thing Bran could think about were those lips. Seconds later they were locked and she was kissing him fervently.
Duke was overcome, and despite the pain in his groin returned Bran’s passionate kiss. He began to fumble for the clasps on her dress and succeeded in reaching her corset. A corset? In this age? How the hell does this thing come off?
Lt. Colonel Biggs Duke knew that all successful missions had built in contingency plans for unexpected surprise attacks. Duke had planned this mission well. He had authorized the monitoring of his quarters by the Vulcan nurse who had taken care of him in sickbay. When the nurse observed that Bran and Duke were powerless to disengage, she entered Duke’s quarters, hypospray ready.
Duke was just beginning to succeed with the damn corset when his lover was unceremoniously removed from on top of him, and the nurse gave him shot of Doc Sentara’s sex-sedative. Two med techs came into the room with her, and assisted Bran and Duke back to their chairs.
All of this was accomplished without the Vulcan even raising an eyebrow – the antics of the humans aboard the Trafalgar has ceased to surprise her long ago. Ensuring her patients were once again in control of themselves, she retreated back to a remote monitoring station to resume observing the cumbersome mating-marriage ritual her commanding officer was engaged in.
“Oh my god.” Bran groaned. “This is so embarrassing. How am I ever going to get the respect of the crew back?” Her face was very crimson red and the mood of the evening completely gone.
"Bran, I know it's a bit embarrassing, but with half the crew infected I doubt you will lose their respect. They're probably concerned about what you think of them." He picked up his mother's ring from where it had dropped next to the table and held it out to her. With a shy smile because of her mood he said, "I think that little ruckus on the floor was a yes, but I'd like you to wear this if you could -- Mama was about the same size so it should fit, and maybe on Vulcan we can get you a real diamond." He was trying to be charming and failing miserably.
His touching sincerity really got to her and she smiled. “I want to touch you again but I won’t. Love, it is beautiful as it is. This has much more meaning then some brand new ring. This has family history, I would not want to change a thing.”
"Well, if I'm gonna put this thing on your finger, you're going to have to at least extend your hand," Duke smiled. "I think I can control my carnal urges for another couple of minutes."
“And the shots help too.” She held out her hand. “Poor baby. Although you don’t have to forgo for a month, I still don’t know how I am going to survive that. Especially not if we move in together.”
Duke slid the battered ring onto Bran's finger. "Maybe we shouldn't live together until after the ceremony. Isn't supposed to be bad luck to see the bride naked before the wedding, or something like that? We have a lot of plans to make -- both personal and professional; a month could go by quickly."
He sounded doubtful even to himself. Up until now, their relationship had been more physical than spiritual. Take away the booty calls, and he wasn't sure what he would actually talk to Bran about; but, he knew he had better develop the warm and fuzzy skill set because he did know there was a certain point in parenthood when sex became an optional secondary past time. Like when the baby is born.
"Let's eat," he said. Profound thought not involving the best way to blow something up made him hungry; besides, thinking of sex wasn't helping matters, especially for Bran. Duke realized there were many things she could do to please him during her month of 'light duty,' but wasn't sure there were many things he could do to please her without violating doctor's orders.
“I think we are past the stage of seeing each other naked,” she smiled. “And I would like to spend as much time as possible with you to really get to know you. There is so much we still have to learn about each other. About our pasts. I would like that very much.”
"Alright then. I can have my things moved to your place as soon as you’re able to um, well, as soon as the Doc says that's okay. But I'd like to keep this cabin if at all possible. That way poker night won't stink up your place."
“Of course,” she said. “You need your own place. I really don’t want to wait a month. Even if it means sleeping in different beds for now.”
Duke smiled. "Thanks. We don't have to wait a month to get hitched if you don't want to, but I don't think we can squeeze another bunk into your quarters -- they're bigger than mine, but not by that much. So, what kind of ceremony did you have in mind?"
“Something simple, I guess. I am not in the mood for a party after the destruction of earth. I lost too much family, not that we were close, but still. Nothing religious either.”
They ate for a few moments in silence before Duke was comfortable asking, "Did you have anything particular in mind for a honeymoon?"
“No, I doubt we will get time off for one for the next few months at least. When we do I want to go somewhere quiet were we can really …”
Branwen’s eyes twinkled in the candlelight, but her reply was cut off when the Trafalgar shuddered and the battery powered emergency lighting came on. Both officers looked wide-eyed at each other for a brief moment, then immediately tapped their com badges.
The badges did not chirp – shipboard communications was off-line. Duke jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain that emanated from his groin, and quickly accessed the storage locker where he kept his field equipment. He grabbed two field communication units from the locker, tossing one to Bran.
Duke managed to get his ear bud in first. Listening to the frantic chatter of his marines told him all he needed to know.
The Trafalgar was under attack. “Name That Tune” Ronnie "Jazz" Patterson (NPC by Betred) Jazz and Paul were seated in the ship's lounge, waiting for Alex to finish up with some ship's business so she could join them for dinner. A crewman approached their table, handing McAllister a message PADD. Paul scanned the message, and then handed the device to Jazz. The Hiram Davis Experience Reunion Tour was going to be short one member. **** <Runabout Unicorn, detached from USS Pegasus> Pleasure is a commodity. Doves defend, Hawks blow up planets, traders trade and in the shadows – in the shadows, players play both ends against the middle and hope to survive another day. But when the battle is over, when or lose, the participants just want a little pleasure to make their efforts seem worthwhile. Food and drink, sleep or sex, games of all sorts – this is what the pleasure ship Lady Luck offered her patrons, with no questions asked. The Orion Syndicate owned several vessels that sailed the stars, officially neutral, that offered to all a brief respite – for a price. Pleasure is a commodity, for sale or barter, but never for free. Jazz was alone in the runabout, on autopilot, with the course set to the next known coordinates of the Lady Luck. McAllister had balked at this, not wanting Jazz to travel alone with no one to watch his back. Jazz gently reminded Paul that no one had been watching his back for years and that McAllister was in no shape to be in the field just yet. Captain Lee had been another minor obstacle to Jazz's mission; turning over a Fleet runabout in fairly good condition to a down on his luck sax player was a tough sell, but together Paul and Jazz convinced Alex it was the right thing to do. The Lucky Lady did have some rules, and one of those was "no ships of the line." The Lady would cater to their crews, but they had to come by shuttle or tug or freighter – no big guns allowed. The Unicorn had been repainted and given minor alterations to appear less functional than it actually was and to disguise it origin. Still, with only one occupant, it was downright palatial accommodations for Jazz. He was sitting in the main cabin, running some riffs on his battered saxophone when the Unicorn's computer announced they were at the programmed coordinates. Jazz instructed the computer to broadcast a special IFF signal that would announce to the Lady that he was waiting her arrival, and what goods he had to trade. In a day, or a week, the Lady Luck would arrive. Jazz continued to play, content to wait. Pleasure was a commodity, and patience still a virtue, even in these troubled time. <Pleasure Vessel “Lady Luck”> The Lounge used to have a name but it never took, now it was just called The Lounge and that was more than enough for the patrons that passed through it. Except for the drunks, the average time spent in the place was about twenty minutes tops - just enough time for money to change hands, for whatever you were buying to be purchased. It was a bad gig for a musician who wanted to get noticed. It was perfect, however, if they didn't. The tiny blonde on the stage winked as he took his seat but continued to sing, her voice the very anthem of the Lady Luck - sultry with an undertone of danger. Since the audience was otherwise occupied, she spent the time throwing coy looks his way, Jazz obviously being the most attention she'd had in a long time. When the song was over, she motioned to the others that she would be taking a break and then joined him at the table. "That was fun, Jazzy," Laura said with a charming smile. Her speaking voice was sweet, the very opposite of what she had just been selling. "I'd forgotten what it was like to have someone paying attention.” Jazz stood and enveloped her in his arms in greeting. "Look at you! Saucy as ever!" He lowered his voice as he gestured with his eyes at two men sitting in a corner booth. "And I'm not the only one paying attention. Why don't I buy you a drink and you can tell me what you've been up to?" "A Samarian Sunset would be lovely," She said. "As for what I've been up to, you're looking at it. It's not much but it pays the bills." Jazz ordered drinks for both of them. "Yeah, that is getting harder and harder to do these days." The two friends made awkward small talk until their drinks arrived. Laura took a sip of her drink. "Now the question is, what are you doing here? And please don't say you're here to buy the merchandise. My poor heart just couldn't bear it." The big man chuckled, "Then, girl -- your heart's in great shape; I can't afford any of the merchandise the Lady is selling. Little time, fewer credits." He lightly kicked the case on the floor at his feet. "I'm just passing through; thought I might play a few sets -- see if you can still jam." Her blue eyes narrowed. "Baby, I could set this stage on fire if I wanted to." Jazz leaned in towards Laura and turned the rumbling bass down on his voice. "Look, luv -- rumor has it that you've rattled the wrong cages on this boat. And before you get all bent, there's a reason I've been keeping an ear out on you. I can offer you a way out of this mess if some of the other rumors I've heard are true." The singer pouted. "Some people have no sense of humor. What did you have in mind?" Jazz leaned back with a grin on his face. "Baby, that's because the common folk just don't understand us musicians. Critics tell me you used to do a mean rendition of "Fly Like an Eagle" back when that 20th century revival was pop'in. Can you still do that tune?” "It's like a bicycle, Jazzy. You never really forget." "Got another dude who says he saw you do a private gig for some bangers a while back, some really old Quiet Riot stuff from the same revival -- you still up for that sort of thing?" Laura shrugged. "It's not my forte but I can, sure." "Here's why I'm checkin the resume, luv. Ever hear of TANSTAAFL?" She shook her head. "No. That some new group?" Jazz looked shocked. "You've never heard of TANSTAAFL? Well, they were kinda eccentric. Anyway, the ivory guy from TANSTAAFL put together a little group that I had the pleasure to play with awhile back -- the Hiram Davis Experience. He'd like to put us out there again, sort Jazz's eyes teared up for a second, then he smiled again. "I told the old man about you, and he's interested in hearing your pipes. HDE's music can really make a difference, ya know?" "I'm sorry about Bonnie," Laura said, rubbing his arm lightly before picking up her drink and considering. "It sounds like an interesting gig but I'm rather picky about the venues I play in." Jazz pointedly looked about the Lounge then raised an eyebrow at Laura as he signaled the waitress for another round. Laura laughed. "I happen to like dives." He waited until the waitress left. "Okay, you've heard my pitch. So let's reverse; you tell me what you're looking for -- but answer me this first. Is the food in this dive any good? 'Twas a long flight in." "Nachos are decent," Laura said. She watched the swirl of colors in her drink for a moment. "I'm not sure if I want to play for the Fleeters, Ronnie. That's one big fat mess I've been trying to steer clear of for some time." "It's the big fat mess that this is all about; we don't think it should be happening this way..." Jazz's reply was interrupted by the appearance of the two men from the corner booth. One was short and thin, with wispy reddish hair worn long. His partner was more Jazz sized, barrel chested, with long black hair hanging loose around his shoulders. Jazz looked at the big man and grinned slowly. "Something tells me you're not here to take my nacho order." Big man smiled, said nothing. The shorter of the pair slid into the booth on Laura's side, forcing her to move closer to Jazz. Big man attempted the same thing, and almost landed on his ass when Jazz didn't slide. Big man was not amused, and he opened his jacket to reveal the butt of a phaser coming out of his waistband. Jazz slid closer to Laura. "See what I mean about no sense of humor," She muttered. "The sign outside this joint says you'd be singing tonight," began Shorty. "But ever since this guy comes in, I don't hear no singing. I figure that means you're done. So, now's a good time to see Izzy about that favor you owe." Laura glanced at Jazz. "I'm thinking something classic like ... Stuck in the Middle with You." "Or, maybe Another One Bites The Dust?" asked Jazz. Her elbow struck out, connecting solidly with the red headed thug's nose. Trusting Jazz to deal with the Big Man, Laura quickly jumped in his lap, knee grinding down, and grabbed hold of his ear. The thug howled and Laura smiled. "I don't like being threatened." She ripped his ear off. Big Man reached for his phaser, but Jazz's hand was quicker. Jazz grasped Big Man's hand where he found it, around the grip of his weapon. Not allowing the phaser to clear the man's pants, Jazz forced Big Man's fingers closer to the activation stud. The cords in both men's neck stood out as they silently struggled, and then with a characteristic whine, the phaser fired at point blank range into Big Man's balls. His head hit the table with a dull thud. "Never stick the business end in your pants," said Jazz. Laura looked down at her bloodied hands with distaste before wiping them on the booth. "Tell me more about this new gig." Jazz grabbed Laura by the hand and helped her out of the booth. I've got transportation -- you need to grab anything before we exit this stage?" "Nope." "Playboy Mommy" thought, I was supposed to be the sane one. "Bat'leth Diplomacy" K'aa **** Arel sat down in front of the console and waited until the room was [But hopefully pleasssant after you've heard what I have to ssssay], She knew that by human standards she looked like a mess; it was [A favor, Arel], the image frowned, then after a brief pause, K'aa Arel raised both eyebrows. "That would be a miracle all right." [Perhapsss 'miracle' isss sssomething of an underssstatement.] The relationship between the Empire and Gorn Confederation had never At his desk, K'aa leaned forward and the image on Arel's screen He leaned back, and smugly allowed his throat-bag to inflate. [I want the Hydran ssstation and shipyardssss at the old Romulan "Ambitious," Arel admitted. "But the Empire will never allow a fleet. [One ship? Againssst a Hydran sssstrongoint? Hmmm... if age hasssn't "I can't speak for the Empire, K'aa," She replied. "But I imagine the K'aa's large bulbous eyes narrowed to thin slits of pale gold as he It took a few minutes for the call to go through. "Kala," Arel There was a pregnant pause as Kala eyed the pair who appeared on her "Smith," she replied flatly, "what do you want?" she asked bluntly. "Not me," Arel replied. "Him." Kala's gaze shifted across the screen and came to rest on the grainy [Passsage through Klingon ssspace to the Hydran frontier for a Gorn "As if that would make any difference," Kala retorted icily. Leaning "What's in it for us?" she queried eying the amphibian with distaste. [You mean assside from the 'honor of gloriouss battle and the chance Kala snorted, "We need no aid in the pursuit of victory, especially [I'll show you a new way to wage war], K'aa snarled. [We will be "That's an excellent way to ask for help, K'aa," Arel said dryly. The Gorn opened his maw with his fangs exposed, but paused before With the moment's hesitation before wither of the females replied, "MURDER IN THE DARK"
Somewhere in Deep Space
"This is stupid...we should just blow through them and kick their little hinys." "Aye ma'am....full speed ahead....damn the torpedos and kicking Hiney's....is that an order?" Rebecca von Ersnt made a stupid face at Panic and slumped lower in her oversized command chair. Sometimes being an evil overlord had its drawbacks...namely in the form of snarky comments from the peanut gallery. "No....no...of course not, Im just saying it would be a lot more fun that way." "Certainly Ma'am." Panic noted. "However even in victory we're sure to take further damage to the engines...." "....and we're falling enough behind the Miranda as it is." Rebecca completed the thought in a huff. "You know Teresa...there's sometimes I really miss the Zeus. Noodles but that ship was wicked fast." "Not fast enough to escape Enterprise as it turned out ma'am." Rebecca scrunched her tiny freckled nose at the memory. "Yeah well....that was a special circumstance. How was I supposed to know his Chief engineer was going to reverse the polarity of nano-meson particle-whachama-call-its...I dont even know what all that technobabble means." she shook her head slowly, long red hair dancing about her thin shoulders. "I swear the way Picard pulls off these miracles on a weekly basis they ought to do a Tri-D show on him sometime." Panic rolled her eyes. "Yeah as if. The ongoing voyages of the Starship Enterprise with Jean Luc McYawn at the helm? Boooooring. What kind of nerds would watch that?" Ignoring the question, Rebecca leaned forward and adjusted the dials on her little mathematical repeater screens. Unlike the usual stream of multidimensional equations that usually scrolled by , for the most part all that appeared now was the simple random matrices of background stellar radiation. She leaned in, squinting her brown eyes. Every once and a while a scrolling quadratic equation appeared against the noise indicating an intermittent sensor contact somewhere out there in the darkness. Give her enough rope and she'd hang 'em. "Those noodleheads are closer now." she chewed her bottom lip, tossing the math over and aver in her head. "Three of them now?" "Most likely." Panic nodded. " Engine frequency crossection puts em as cruisers of some sort. Good bet they know we're here too. Shiva's too damn big to be sneaky even with the cloak. I'd say within a parsec minimum, burning antimatter for about Warp 6 or so." "What about our own repair status?" Rebecca asked. It wasn't often she bothered with the technical details of running the ship, preferring to just wading in and kicking ass....or 'hineys' as the case may be. However if she was ever going to catch the Miranda...ever going to rescue Allison she needed to avoid taking too much damage in the process. The news from Engineering was disappointing. "Warp 8 at best...but thats pushing it." Panic reported. "The Chief hopes we can keep her under Warp 5 until he finishes aligning the new crystals." Rebecca puffed a strand of red hair out of her face and cradled her chin in her tiny hands. "Just freaking wonderful." she sighed using language that would make her momma blush. "Okay we'll do this the old fashioned way. EMCOM status to max, and bear a little to starboard to keep em from surrounding us." "A 'little' to starboard?" Panic raised an eyebrow. She was used to receiving precise mathematical course corrections from her diminutive captain, not mere generalities. "Yeah a little....I dunno." she waved her arms in frustration. "I cant form a plot out of static. Get me a bit closer first okay? Lets take em out one at a time. " :::::::::::: :::::::::::: Somewhere...not a lightyear away Sovremmeny drifted in darkness. Impulse engines pulsed at a low throb, and even the running lights had been dimmed to minimal levels as the Dove Cruiser strained every sensor to peer across the great void of interstellar space. "Possible aspect change on contact Captain." Announced the blond haired tactical officer, his voice a respectful whisper. "Slight shift right to left.....da. Call it about a 20 degree shift off the baseline course." Nursing the tiny butt of a cigarette, (his sixth that day) Captain Gregoriy Alesandrovitch Rubachev hovered close over his tactical officer's shoulder. "A course shift Misha? What does this do for our projected intercept." Fiddling with a few dials, the young officer attempted to coax some sense out of the steady hiss of background radiation. "A moment please sir." he asked, focusing in on the thin green plot line barely visible against the static. "I still cannot guarantee you an exact range, but I'd put her within 80,000 AU based on rate of bearing changes. Also I can tell you this..." using a stylet he indicated a small reddish blur in the corner of the screen. "She's leaking plasma into the ultraviolet spectrum...not enough to penetrate her cloak, but I can almost guarantee she's got some sort of engine damage." Rubachev gave Misha's shoulder an encouraging squeeze and considered his options. "And the intercept?" he prodded again. He'd spent the last 6 hours creeping into his current ambush point, but this latest course change might undo all his careful work. "Its going to be close sir." Misha shrugged. "Call it a guess but maybe 40AU to starboard? " "Da." The captain grunted. He'd hoped to be able to sit dead in the water and let Shiva roll right over him before opening fire, but now it seemed that the big dreadnought was going to pass wide to his right. "Eto prosto pizdets unified fleet. Cloaks made things too complicated and sneaky. Rubachev almost longed for the old days where you just waded into the enemy line and started slugging it out. "This isn't a random course change." he decided. "The Red Witch must have been tipped off somehow." he pondered. "We're on silent running...its not us. She couldn't have picked us up. It must have been the rest of the flotilla that spooked her!" Reaching forward he twisted a dial..."Where are those damn fools?" Gently guiding the frustrated captains hands onto the correct controls, Misha expanded the search. "I only have a firm contact on Neustrashimy Comrade. She's burning Antimatter for well over Warp 8 and making a heck of a lot of racket out there....not quite as noisy as a dreadnought, but no doubt the Red Witch has her on scope." He indicated the long range map. "I know that Krivak, Vepr, and Knyaz Suvorov should be arrayed across a rough semi circle thusly...." he pointed. "But I don't have a trace on them at all. They're smaller than Shiva however and harder to pick up and....." As the young Russian spoke, a bright green plotline suddenly appeared out of the darkness, glowing with a brilliant light. "Contact Captain...its Vepr, bearing two two zero range 70,000 AU! Punching up to maximum power and Full Shields." The line glowed brilliantly as the image of a starship at full power shone across the sector for all to see. Even as the reports flooded in, the green trace started snaking back and forth across the screen indicating a warship undergoing violent maneuvering. "She's engaged with Shiva. Hooy na ny!!" Misha swore. "How did the Witch sneak up on her like that?" Rubachev was about to order an intercept course when suddenly the green tracing bloomedinto a final brilliant point of light before fading away into blackness. "Torpedo impacts Captain." Misha's face paled. "I'm picking up a matter antimatter surge....a warp core breach no doubt, bulkheads collapsing.....emergency beacons...Chyort voz'mi!" he swore, "Vepr, she's gone captain." Teh bridge of the Sovremmeny was quiet except for the quiet hiss of hydrogen radiation. Somewhere out there in the darkness a sister starship had died a violent death. Crept up on by an invisible killer that still prowled the night. Based on the death of the Vepr they had a good fix on where Shiva was, but every minute that passed put more and more uncertainty on where she went next, or who her next victim was. Unfortunately the death throes of the far off Vepr had 'muddied the waters' so to speak by flooding the sector with antimatter noise behind which the great Shiva could make good her withdrawal. Its would be another hour before sensors were tuned in a again to pierce her cloak. Rubachev stroked his beard wearily. One by one they were no match for a dreadnought, their only hope lay in combining their strength. The Flotilla had dispersed to locate the elusive foe, and now, thanks to Vepr's sacrifice they knew exactly where she was. "Prepare to come about Misha." he sighed, "Plot an intercept course for the last know position of the Vepr…the rest of the flotilla should be doing the same. Its time to end this hunt." "The Sisiutl and the Hawk" “Hawk” Command Center, Alpha Centauri “Admiral?” “Admiral?” “Admiral Hoth?” “Hmm…? Jurgen Hoth’s eyes cracked slowly to see the ever-worried face “Incoming diplomatic communiqué, Admiral.” “So? Direct it to the Diplomatic Corps. I’m a strategist, not a “It’s addressed specifically to you, Admiral.” “Chen… damnit… just…” “It’s K’aa.” The sound of the name caused the old man’s heart to skip a beat, and “K’aa.” It was a statement, not a question, but Chen nodded briskly. Diedre Chen nodded, and left her superior to make his own efforts out ~Damnit!~ Jurgen Hoth was, of course very familiar with Th’Khiss K’aa. In 2382 At the Wolf School’s graduating ceremonies, Th’Khiss K’aa chose to As the Admiral hauled himself out of his warm bed, he wondered why “Ensign.” [Ssstill unable to grasssp the obviousss Admiral], a deep basso hissed This time, Hoth could feel the acid reach the base of his throat and [You didn’t think she’d do it so sssoon, did you?}, the voice The gritty sleep in Hoth’s eyes and the ever-present ache along his [To break a world… and to expossse her humanity. She baresss her “What was the Earth to you, Ensign?”, Hoth grated as his temper [And amongssst the Kwakwaka'wakw, Hoth]. K’aa’s voice was quieter The white noise of the static remained after the Gorn had cut the "Oh the Irony, II" "The Island Part 7" Captain Jaal Jaxom ==USS Panther== Jaal cleared his throat. "Well…" he began, "We're not using a nuclear Jaal looked around the room measuring everyone's reaction. "Anyone That started the whole argument over again…. This time it was more about ethics than engineering. Captain Jaxom listened as intently as he did before with an even There were a lot of things that could go wrong with the plan. But the Ethically, it could be argued that what they were discussing was a Jaal argued that it couldn't kill the entire population of a planet When it seemed all the arguing was finished and it was agreed that "Mesta," Jaal calmly stared her down, "We have precious little Mesta's black irises bore into the Trill captain. Net'wa, the ship's operations officer called over the speaker. "Sir, Jaal tapped his commbadge, "Route it here." He stood and adjusted the The screen flickered, showed static, then a text notice came into Sojor was the first to comment on it. "Well, now we know what Elaithin "I'd kill to retrieve one of my own," the Panther's chief engineer "But I doubt you'd destroy a planet in a fit of rage if you couldn't," Tupuk shifted in his chair, "It seems Von Ernst is losing touch with "Possibly," Jaal agreed tentatively rubbing his chin in thought. "Every bounty hunter on this side of the Galaxy is going to be gunning Jaal's hands were steepled with his forefingers pointing to his lip as
"The Island Part 8" Captain Jaal Jaxom Captain Daneel Olivaw ==USS Panther's Ready Room== "You want me to what??" Olivaw asked incredulously. "I need you and your team to go and help Elaithin," Jaal stated again flatly. Daneel's pained expression told unspoken volumes. By now, every bounty The two friends had been close since their shared years at Starfleet Jaal considered his friend's words. True, the Eldridge was in bad It was also true that Daneel's ship was in bad shape. Bad enough a few Despite Daneel's Betazoid senses, at times like this, Jaal could read Kopak, the third member of the 'Trio of Trouble', was on Vulcan. The Naturally, there were a few exceptions to the rule such as Jaal's Daneel tiredly slumped onto the couch in the corner of the ready room. On cue the chime rang from the Panther's bridge, "Captain, you have an Jaal tapped his commbadge and responded, "I'll take it in here Net'wa." The Panther's captain grinned at his visitor. Daneel shook his head. "I might be able to read people's thoughts, but Jaal shrugged, "My dad always said he'd take luck over skill any day." Once the commlink protocols were checked and confirmed, the third "It is good to see you again Captain," he greeted Jaal. "Daneel is here too," Jaal replied with a smile. "Then it is good to see you both. I trust you've both managed to stay Daneel stepped around Jaal's desk so Kopak could see them both, "You The only hint of expression on Kopak's face was the blink of his eyes. "Getting straight to the point as always," Jaal's smile faded. "What's up?" "What looked like a nuclear explosion destroyed a Hawk settlement," "And with the recent demolishing of Earth I'm sure you were all a bit "To say the least," Kopak confirmed. Jaal's brow knit deep on his forehead. "Hercules is Chris Daniel's On the screen, one of Kopak's eyebrows rose. "Obviously to provoke a reaction." "You're as bad as my tactical officer," Jaal quipped. "I'll take that as a compliment," Kopak answered across the ether. Getting back to the point of the call, Daneel asked, "So what's the Kopak answered, "Our own planetary defenses are being shored up. No "No Hawks 'or' Doves then," Daneel postulated. "Sounds like no anyone," Jaal added. "Exactly," Kopak confirmed. "My vessel has been relegated to patrol "That means you won't be leaving home anytime soon, correct?" Jaal asked. "Only if an attack by a member of the Triad endangers our "Thanks for the heads up," Jaal stated sincerely. Kopak nodded once and the connection was cut. Once the screen receded into it's niche in the desk, Jaal stood and Daneel stayed where he was for a moment studying his old friend. He Jaal spun around sharply on his heel, "The terrans always have the Daneel raised his eyebrows in surprise. His usually sullen friend The Betazoid made a throwing motion with his right arm, "And when that "That's the part that bothers me the most," Jaal spoke quietly. "What's that?" Daneel asked. "The part about nothing being spared." The two former Starfleet officers considered that for some time before Earth hadn't been lucky at all. Where would Shiva splatter the shit next? "Daneel," Jaal said suddenly, "I know your ship is in bad shape but I Daneel's face clearly showed he didn't like the idea but he nodded "It's time we pull all our allies together and go after Von Ernst "And how, exactly, do you plan on doing that?" Daneel asked not "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve." Jaal replied, but now with his Daneel's expression was not one of confidence. "What are you going to "Ya know… That might not be a bad idea." Jaal knew that wouldn't Jaal kept his thoughts silent for the moment. "So, you'll head to Dove Daneel was silent with his own thoughts for a moment before answering. Jaal smiled at his old friend, "That's all we're asking for." The two men embraced and patting each other on the back. "Fly safe." "You as well old buddy." When the good-byes were said Captain Olivaw tapped his commbadge. "Coming to aid" Captain Alexandra Lee Captain Alexandra Lee sat in her ready room when her comm badge chirped. =/\=Captain. We have an incoming message from Starfleet Command.=/\= =/\=Patch it through to my ready room. Lee, out.=/\= Alex tapped the command on her desk that activated the terminal as it slid up from its position within the polished oak desk. The message was a simple encrypted text message only. ============================================================================= ENCRYPTION DATA ALPHA DELTA ONE-FIVE-NINE-ONE From: Starfleet Command To: Captain Alexandra Lee; USS Pegasus; Commanding
Captain Lee, you are instructed to proceed at best possible speed to present coordinates of the Starship USS Miranda to render any and all assistance required. Multiple Hawk vessels as well as a few unidentified vessels are believed to be en route. Defend the Miranda and its crew at all costs. God speed. END MESSAGE Alex sighed. She had innocent civilians aboard that did not deserve to go into combat. Yet, she still had no other place for them. "Damn," she breathed. =/\=Captain Lee to Ensign Cathers, set a course for the Miranda and engage at maximum warp. Set Alert Condition to Yellow. Captain Lee, out.=/\= She knew the Pegasus was a major target of the Hawk Faction as well several bounty hunters that were no doubt that of the unidentified vessels after the destruction of one of their more important shipyards. She had even learned that the Orion Syndicate had placed a hefty price on her to be brought to them alive, so they could make a huge earning by selling her to the Hawks. Repairs would not be completed for another day...yet, she had her orders. She had long ago wished this war had never started. War changed people, made them less-caring. She had had her share or pain, loss, and hardships during this war as many people had. Yet, unlike many of those people, she did her best to remain positive. To be that beacon of light in the darkness. She had never betrayed the principles in which she had been drilled into her at Starfleet Academy. Long ago, she had taken an oath the day of being admitted into the Academy. '...to protect and seek out all life...to uphold the Prime Directive....to defend the Federation against all enemies foreign, and domestic....' She would not betray them now. Luckily Cargo Bay Three sat deep within the ship and would be safe from enemy fire. Her thoughts then turned to Paul--her husband. She cared alot for him, and she loved him deeply. She knew he hated to be back in Starfleet again..but what she didn't like was him getting his 'band' back together and on board her ship nonetheless. She wondered if Paul was right about his theories on why the Federation lost the Triad War and how the Federation was ripped into two sides, or if he was simply crazy. 'No,' she thought. 'He may be alot of things, but Paul isn't crazy. Damn this war...damn it all.'
“Ghosts of Mika” Location: Fleeing like hell in a beeline away from Sector 001 Captain's Log, Supplimental We've found no signs of my family, nor have we yet found a course of the ship that destroyed Earth or any sign of my daughter Allison, but have completed the rest of our objectives. Refugee movements have been plotted, camps have been sighted, and humanitarian supplies have been dropped off. On top of that, we were also able to acquire one other bonus objective; the retrieval of The Mika Machine. Our visit to Sector 001 has accomplished a lot, but at the same time there is much to be done. Therefore, we've set back out to the Argus Array to reestablish covert communications with Victor Krieghoff's faction. There we can both update each other. Though I have... concerns as to his motives, he is the only ally I have at this time that will be of any help. I hope the trip will be without incident, though I have my doubts. We ran into a Hawk patrol, and though we defeated the enemy vessels, the Stolen Heart suffered damage to its computer core. We're running on tertiary processing units, but without the computer core our ship can't move, can't fire and can't sustain life. If we don't find a way to keep the computer running, we'll be dead in space, and I'm afraid by now word has gone out about that Hawk patrol, and those that know will not be inclined to ignore my ship. God help us, but we can't let anyone stop us now. ***** “You better report and you better give me some good news.” James Corgan's abrupt entrance to the computer core room caught the small engineering crew by surprise, but just a moment. Too busy at their tasks, the engineers flipped visors back on, grabbed components and plasma welders, and continued back to work on the Stolen Heart's computer core. A civilian crew of former dockworkers, merchant marines and multi generational space boomers, the engineers didn't have much appreciation for former brass, but what they lacked in protocol they made up in pure skill and efficiency. With civilians, it was all about the work, everything else was secondary. On top of that, they had the very martial and efficient minded T'lan helping out. What few people knew about T'lan was that her minor in Starfleet was electronic engineering, and if she hadn't been a security officer she would have been working on duotronic circuitry for her entire career. She hunched over a circuit board, laser solderer in one hand and a magna-desoldering braid in the other. Halting her work, she removed her welding mask and approached James, weary and soot faced. So true was it with Chief Engineer Johan Schultz, whom left his work crew to greet the captain of the ship. A middle aged man with a receding brown hairline fought back from years with working under impossible deadlines and a twitch that came from caffeine and stimulant hyposprays, he shook Corgan's hand, his palms rough as sandpaper and smudge stained from soot of plasma welding and lubricant greases. Personal problems aside, like his stimulants and his dirtiness, he was as fine of Chief Engineer as James had ever known. Johan loved the Stolen Heart; it was as much his ship in spirit though T'lan and Corgan owned the deed, and would therefore do everything to keep her in space. The ship was his life, his home and his lover. Nobody would fight harder to keep her alive. Johan had the look of a mechanic that was about to deliver a vehicle's last rites, a sagged and shrugged shoulder that admitted defeat from a guy that was not used to knowing it. “I'd hate to say it.” Johan wiped the grease off his hands with a dirty rag, “The computer core is dead. You can't wake it up if two Orion Slave Girls climbed into it's bed.” “Shit.” James cursed under his breath, “I was afraid that would happen. How the hell did this happen to begin with?” T'lan gave the description, “James, from what I can track, two EPS conduits short circuited and blew out. That left an unimpeded surge to travel from our hit to shield grid six all the way to the power relays to the core. With the surge protectors overloaded the computer took a major hit. The odds of such an event in that exact sequence were 60000 to 1. We were the one.” “And now it's fucked us over.” James said, “So why are we still at warp? And how long do we have it?” Johan continued, “Our resident Vulcan here...” He patted T'lan on the shoulder. She didn't mind the greasy mark on her suit, “...she rigged up a few tertiary computer cores together to make up the equivalent processing power.” “It was easy, James. The memory banks were unaffected so all I had to do was transfer processing from the main to the secondary and tertiary cores. However James, that also means we have every computer core in the ship crunching numbers to keep the ship running. In good times the main core could have handled it all. As it stands... the secondary and tertiaries can barely keep the Stolen Heart moving in a straight line at warp. Anything more complex and the system will crash.” Johan added, “Providing we don't burn out any more processors. To crunch the numbers we had to overclock them well past spec, and it means we had to burn through processors like deuterium fuel.” “We've tried everything we can. Heatsinks out of scrap metal, running cooling lines through the tertiaries, we're even considering venting the computer core rooms and piping in freon or pure vacuum, but then we couldn't repair the systems as fast.” T'lan holstered her solderer, and let out a dejected sigh, “I do not want to admit defeat James, but the computer system will give out at any time.” James asked, “Then how long do we have?” Johan shrugged, “I dunno. An hour or two. Then we run out of processors and our computers roast alive, or we clock down and lose warp, and it'll take a couple hundred years to get home.” T'lan added, “That is if the Hawks don't find us and capture us first, making a two hundred year trip moot.” “And if we don't run out of life support first.” James rolled through his options. The Argus Array was a day away. He couldn't make it on time, barring a miracle. There was no choice. He would have to decide. “Let the computers cook. We got to get to safety. Make it happen you two.” “Sir, there is another option.” James halted. T'lan only said Sir when it was very important. “What is it, honey? Please, we're fucked unless we pull out all the stops. Tell me.” T'lan delivered bad news in her most stoic and unemotional Vulcan, which only happened when T'lan delivered James something he didn't like. He'd never seen her act so Vulcan in years, thought her incapable of it after her katra graft some years ago. It had to have been some bad news. And James was right. It was very bad news. “We have a computer core in our cargo bay, James.” T'lan said, clearly, crisply, leaving no doubt, “It is The Mika Machine. She can be used as our new computer core.” James refused. “No.” “James, we must.” “No. We can't do it. She's not meant to be a computer core. Plugging her in would be a risk. We wouldn't know the results.” “Sir, she is a biological CPU with enough teraquads to run three ships like ours. Calculating temporal shifts and monitoring alternate time lines was a much more difficult task than calculating a warp transit. To Mika's mind, they wouldn't be much different. And since her mind is more sophisticated than even the best AI with the best positronic net...” “We can't do it, T'lan.” James said tersely, forgetting he was speaking harshly to his wife, “And we never will.” “And why not?” James said grimly, “It would be wrong to use her.” “But the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one!” “And who decides that? Me? You? Cut the crap. Needs don't apply! You're talking about using Mika when she's incapable of making that decision. We would be using her against her will!” T'lan lost her grip on emotional control. She exploded, “SIR! Listen to reason! There's hardly a will leff! We will die if we don't replace the computer core. SHE IS OUR ONLY CHANCE! WE HAVE TO USE HER!” James didn't like the idea at all. He wanted to strangle the idea. He meet T'lan's fury with his own,“No way! Not a chance! They've done enough to the poor girl! They've mutilated her, chained her to a machine, used her as nothing more than a goddamn processor for a machine that could have destroyed our timeline! They enslaved her, T'lan! Mika, our Quadmate, our FIANCE!!! Have you forgotten how they violated her, never giving her rest for all those years?!” James pounded a console's keyboard with his fist, “I will not use her! I will not be a hypocrite by using her. I will not dishonour her memory by shackling her to my GODDAMN SHIP like a team of horses!!!” “BY SAREK'S SAKE JAMES! MIKA IS DEAD!!!!” Silence smothered the room, the witnesses of an epic fight between husband and wife, the end result a draw that left both combatants angry and saddened. The memory of Mika hung heavy, but the sting of guilt held a harder burden to carry. James wanted to be angry, wanted to stop anyone that would use The Mika Machine. ~”Hadn't she been used enough?”~ He thought, keeping a flood of grief from overwhelming his mental dams. T'lan wasn't finished, “James, Mika is dead. She's been dead for years. You told me herself that wasn't Mika inside the machine. She has the mind of a child and the personality of something we don't totally understand, but there is no mistaking that this isn't Mika. That is only her body. The real Mika is dead. You have to let the notion of that... creature being Mika go. She's no longer sanctimonious. You're not violating her memory by using The Mika Machine in the here and now. But what you are doing is an anathema to the old Mika. You are perverting your love for her. You are treating her like an object nobody can touch. She would not want your love for her to be honoured by risking the lives of the crew who's responsibility you've put in your hands. James... listen to reason.” James fists tightened. How he wanted T'lan to be wrong, but knew she was dead right. “And how do you know she wants to be hooked up to the ship?” “I do not, but, to you think Mika wants to be kept in a glass tomb, blind to the world, while you play love songs to her every night?” James snarled, about to lose his temper for a second time, “That was below the belt you.... fuck.” “James?” T'lan showed some concern. James paused, breathing heavily, letting his fingers fall out of his palms. He was so upset with T'lan he'd just about crossed an unspeakable line. “I'm sorry.” He said, “I was out of line. On top of not being open to the Mika option... I just about called you a green blooded bitch to boot. Look... that was uncalled for. I am sorry.” “Sir, we are all under stress. I accept your apology.” T'lan soothed, “It is illogical to think we can keep our calm considering the events of the past few days. But my point still stands. We need The Mika Machine to save us. Please... give the order and we can hook her up. It might not work, but we can try.” “You know what you're asking me to do?” James reasoned, “I can't just deny that it's not her. It looks so much like her, and she even has some of Mika's personality quirks. I vowed not to hurt her again, just like I hurt everyone else.” Raising his chin, grimacing, keeping his lip stiff, he said, “We ask her first. She's still a person, if not in the conventional sense. Mika might be dead but what this new Mika is now didn't deserve the years of limbo and servitude. It still stands that the living, like the dead, need their dignity. We ask her. No compromises there. We ask her. Do I make myself clear?” T'lan nodded, “Yes sir. Clear.” "Good." James strengthened his point, "We both loved her. Lets honour her memory by surviving this mess." He ordered, “Wheel The Mika Machine in here then wake her up. We're going to have a talk, and if it goes well she might just save us.” “Soundcheck” Paul McAllister ------------------ <Runabout Unicorn> "So," Laura said, once they had set their course and were free of the "You picked up on things well enough," Jazz laughed. "And I never got "Coffee. Black." Jazz returned to the table with two steaming cups of coffee. "Here's the deal, Laura. The man I work for is Paul McAllister. He Laura sighed. "Bet the pay is lousy." "What pay isn't lousy these days? But there's more then credits in She chewed on her lip. "How much exposure do you expect the band to "Honestly, luv, I don't know," answered Jazz. "Bonnie always acted as Jazz covered Laura's hands with one of his own. "You need to know this "Great," Laura said dryly. She tapped on her coffee cup with her long Jazz leaned back in his chair. "You don't owe me anything, luv." "Couldn't have taken them both on my own," She replied. "Anything else "One last thing. Paul got hurt pretty bad when the war started -- lost "I'll ease up on my soprano." ---------------------------------------- <Shuttlebay, USS Pegasus> McAllister leaned heavily on his cane as he watched the Unicorn settle Paul had a lot on his mind, the least of which was Jazz's friend who The runabout docked, the hatch opened, and Jazz stepped out into the Following Jazz out of the runabout was a petite blonde woman in a form Jazz leaned into the woman and said something McAllister couldn't "Dude! How's it hangin?" asked Jazz by way of greeting. Jazz laughed, and his relief at seeing his old friend in good spirits "Hello," Laura said warmly, shaking his hand. "It's nice to meet you." McAllister examined Laura quickly as he shook her hand. If this lady "Jazz has told me so little about you," Paul joked. "Why don't I show "All right but there's not much to tell," Laura said, throwing a smile As they walked from the shuttlebay, McAllister glanced at Jazz who "I've been singing off and on for awhile now. Spent the last year and "If the Lady Luck was one of your better gigs, then I take it you've Her look was sly. "Some." He regarded her silently hoping for a bit more. Paul hated auditions, "So do you have specific places for us to tour or are we going to wing McAllister decided he could be cagey too. Politely ignoring Laura's Paul ushered Laura and Jazz into the room. Inside, the music was Jazz laughed. Setting his battered case on a nearby table, he withdrew Despite the pleasure at seeing his friends in their element, Laura Wincing, Paul switched to piano, and eased into the beginnings of a Nodding, Laura moved to the stage, taking up the microphone with Laura's on-stage presence was pure sex appeal, and that appeal was She turned, presumably to throw a dazzling smile at him, and frowned. The music ground to a screeching halt, with a reedy burp from Jazz's "What? A tricorder? Umm, sure somewhere around here," he responded. Laura took the tricorder but still held out her hand. "Gimmie." She McAllister frowned, uncertain if he wanted to trust his hearing aids "Try it now," She mouthed. Paul reached for the implants, but was stopped by Alicia who handed Laura shrugged and handed them over. Alicia examined the aids, then showed them to her husband, who also “It's just a temporary fix," Laura said. "The product is shoddy to Paul placed the small devices in his ears, then walked over to piano She nodded. "I can work on it later to fine tune it, if you'd like." Greg offered to shake hands with Laura apologetically. "I hope you "I told ya'll the chick was cool," Jazz huffed. "It's okay, Jazzy," The blonde said gently. "I understand. Should we “Let's try some acoustic," suggested Alicia, switching instruments. Jazz pulled up a stool for Laura, Greg did the same for his wife, and It was a sweet little song about loss and then finding yourself again Paul silently queried his team. He knew Jazz's vote, the man was McAllister grinned. "Looks like the job is yours -- at least on a Her lips twitched. "So when do I get my own dressing room, or is that Paul laughed. "Jazz, why don't you show the young lady to her "Saboteur" Commander Man'darr Maivia Colonel Branwen London Ensign Rowena London (NPC by Betred) <USS Trafalgar, Brig> The male figure stood over the deceased body of the marine lieutenant that had replaced Marine Captain Nokumora--his neck sliced by a plasma torch that he carried in the small engineering kit. He was far from any grease monkey of an engineer--he was an Intelligence Operative for the Hawks. The officer had been lax and lazy. He had been inserted into the ship, taking on a man's identity of a Ensign Thomas Davis, who had fallen in battle approximately three months ago. His appearance had been surgically altered to look like Ensign Davis. He had received the signal that the Capella was in position and ready to strike the unsuspecting crew of the Trafalgar. Walking over to the nearby terminal, he silently counted down the seconds until the nanites would activate and sabotage the systems until the computer would detect and destroy the infecting nanites. It would, by his calculations, be enough time to break out the surviving officers of the USS Liberty. On schedule the nanites woke from their slumber, accessing their primary program routine and initiated it as they sliced away at micro circuitry that dealt with the Trafalgar's weapons, shields, engines, and the brig systems with minute plasma torches. The lights throughout the Trafalgar blinked several times as the computer attempted desperately to automatically allocate auxiliary power to the failing systems. However, those command circuits had been severed as well by the tiny nanites. As the power failed completely, the forcefields to the Brig cells collapsed and the agent depressed the button, deactivating all of the shackles and secondary defense systems within the prison. Man'darr, now dressed in a prisoner uniform to cover his once naked body, jumped to his feet at seeing the forcefield drop and rushed to Nina's Cell to see her draped in a simple cloth and her body still marked by bruises as the agent quickly met with them. "We should get going. The USS Capella is on station to evacuate us." The sight of his lover having been beaten and abused, enraged him as he had never truly felt himself angered before. His immediate surge of Adrenaline surged through his body, causing the blood to be pumped faster and enlarging his veins, and tensing his muscles, which seemed to make the Capellan officer even bigger...and a hell of allot more meaner. "Are you alright?" Nina said nothing as she accepted the hand-held phaser from the agent. She felt ashamed and knew of Capellan customs involving rape of a female belonging to a Capellan Male, as tears began to flow down her cheeks. She also thought of her weakness at being interrogated and giving away valuable information. She loved Man'darr so much...she could not live with that shame any longer. Before the agent or Man'darr could react, she leveled the phaser at her head and fired. "Nina!" Man'darr cried out, grasping his deceased lover in his arms before she could hit the deck. **** Aboard the bridge of the USS Capella, Jill smiled at seeing the Trafalgar's shields, weapons, and engines go offline. "Decloak the ship, and execute a strafing run." The Defiant Class Vessel instantly decloaked and opened fire with its pulse phasers on the now defenseless vessel, ripping away at the ship's armor. ****
Trafalgar's marines continued to advance slowly, firing. One lucky shot caught the Agent in the chest and he went down.
Man'darr would not surrender this time..this time, it was payback. He quickly grabbed the agent's phaser and did the same trick as he had with the previous phaser and tossed it down the corridor again just as it exploded among the advancing Marines. The resulting explosion sent bodies of Marines in every direction. Man'darr jumped up and immediately rushed towards the group of Marines, delivering and uppercut to a wounded Marine struggling to stand. The vicious blow caused the Marine's head to snap backwards with such force, the Marine's spinal cord snapped as he collided against the nearby bulkhead. A female Marine screamed as she lunged at Man'darr with a K-bar. Man'darr took step to the right grabbing the woman's wrist with all of his strength, causing her to scream out in pain as she dropped the knife. Man'darr lifted the woman up, spun and slammed her against the bulkhead with his full weight, causing a several sickening cracks to be heard as her collar bones and vertebrae were shattered from the trauma.
"Nokumora, you've got CIC," Biggs ordered. "I want Team 3 to respond to the Bridge. Team 4 is with me." Duke left the control center, double-timing to the Brig. **** "Status report!" London barked. "What is the enemy vessel doing? Why haven't we opened fire?" "Evasive maneuvers," Branwen snapped. "And get me engineering, we need weapons and shields back now!" Jennifer tried feverishly to reroute power from the warp core to the phasers. Each circuit seemed to have been severed. "Damn," she muttered under her breath, as the Trafalgar was only able to use its maneuvering thrusters to attempt to evade the onslaught of fire coming from the Capella. The Trafalgar's computer however had now detected the source of its problem. The computer core had been installed with a defense system against nanites and now activated that system as an electrical current struck the nanites, overloading their processors, shutting the troublesome things down.
Jennifer was soon able to find an unsevered circuit due to the computer's defense system. "Weapons are powering back up, colonel!"
"Fire at will." The Colonel said seemingly extremely calm. "Continue the evasive maneuvers."
"Aye, colonel." Jennifer worked the controls as the phasers finished powering up. Phasers lashed out at the nimble and small defiant class USS Capella as it banked and rolled through the onslaught of phaser fire coming from the Trafalgar and returned fire with its pulse phasers.
London watched the battle on the screen as they were finally starting to hold their own against the other ship. ****
Man'darr looked at the deceased remains of the two response teams. Grabbing a few power cells and a pulse rifle, Man'darr continued to make his way down the corridor and away from the Brig area. He then saw the distant shadows of more incoming troops. He took a knee, took aim and fired.
Duke signaled for his team to take cover, then chose two members to advance and lay down suppression fire while a third prepared and lobbed three grenades.
Rowena came up to Biggs in a crouch. "You can't let him escape! He killed my brother!"
"Get down and shut up, girl!" growled Duke.
Man'darr spotted the grenades as they were tossed through the air. He did the unexpected. He would show them just how dangerous a Capellan really was in combat--he rushed forward, despite a phaser shot hitting him in the left shoulder. The adrenaline surging through his body numbed the pain receptors of his nerve endings. He only saw his target as he fired a steady stream from the pulse rifle, hitting the Marine that had launched the grenades three times. He would make them pay for what they had done to Nina with their blood and with that thought he let out a vicious war cry that rose above the weapons fire. The grenades exploded behind him, causing little harm.
Biggs had a clear shot at the charging Capellan, but before he could fire Rowena jumped up and in a rage ran to meet the man who had killed her brother, firing her phaser wildly.
Man'darr spotted the young woman charging towards her. Was she stupid, suicidal, or brave? Perhaps a bit of all, Man'darr thought as his hand clashed with Ro's wrist, causing her to drop the weapon. Man'darr's other hand grasped Ro's throat in a death grip just before cutting off and crushing the young girl's airway. The young girl struggled frantically but was no match against Man'darr's strength. "Cease fire!" shouted Duke. He signaled on his taccom -- "CIC, Tango 2. I need a sniper team, on the double!"
Man'darr noticed that the firing had stopped as he held Ro off the deck in front of him. He knew he could easily crush her neck, yet despite all of the anger that swelled within him at losing his lover, something held him back. Perhaps a small bit of him did not want to kill another child of Branwen's. "I killed your brother, but on this day, I will spare your life. The next time we meet, I will not be so merciful!" With that, he tossed Ro like a rag doll at Duke just as a transporter beam took a hold of Man'darr.
Biggs caught the unconsciousness Rowena but her momentum knocked him off balance and ruined his aim.
"Shit!" muttered Duke. "Frag damn motherfrackin shit!" ***** Man'darr soon materialized on the bridge of the USS Capella. "Good to have you back, bro!" Jill greeted with a grin before turning her attention back to the view screen as the Capella conducted another strafing run. "Open frequencies." "Frequencies open, captain."
"This is Captain Jill Maivia to Captain Bitch London. I have retrieved my brother from your vessel. You can surrender now or die!"
"Jill, long time…" Branwen said. Her ship was back up to speed and had a chance against the Capella, not that she was about to let Jill know that. "You got what you came for, run while you can now." The Colonel nodded to her tactical officer; within seconds they would go for the kill.
Jill looked sternly into the view screen. "Run? You and your pathetic crew of humans do not intimidate us. Allow me to send you on a one way trip to hell!" With that, she cut communications. "Target their bridge," Jill ordered. The Capella came in close and fast along the Trafalgar's dorsal side, opening fire with its pulse phasers and torpedoes.
On the bridge of the Trafalgar, the ship rocked hard with a few of the rear consoles overloading, showering those nearby with sparks, but the ship's shields were able to withstand most of the assault on the bridge. Jennifer worked the console, targeting the Trafalgar's phasers.
"Fire!" The Colonel commanded, as cool as possible in the command chair. "Try to target the weapons!"
"Aye, Colonel," Jennifer replied as she reworked the ship's targeting system to target the Capella's weapons. Hitting the weapon systems on a Defiant class was hard as they were small and well protected by armor.
Several phasers struck the USS Capella and it shook violently from the hits. "Captain Maivia, we are receiving a message from central to head after the USS Pegasus, which appears to be enroute to the USS Miranda," announced the capellan female at Operations.
Jill sighed in frustration. She wanted nothing but to see the Trafalgar go down in flames. "Appears this fight will have to wait another day," she said disgustedly. "Helm, take us out and lay in a course to intercept the USS Pegasus. Maximum warp." "Aye, captain."
Jill opened the communications to the Trafalgar. "Appears I have more urgent matters to attend but be warned that your death will be soon. Maivia, out." With that, the Capella banked hard to starboard and engaged its warp engines.
"Run all you can," Bran whispered. "One day I will get both of you." She came to her feet. "Status update. Any casualties?"
Jennifer ran the departmental status report check and in a few seconds received the results. "Ten security and fifteen Marines have been killed with five injured from the escape executed by the prisoner.... one of them is, your daughter, ma'am." It was a shame the Capella had ran. She would have loved to have another set of prisoners to interrogate.
Bran tensed, but she could not leave for sickbay now for a private matter. "Adams, when you have time can you find out for me how Rowena is doing? Is Colonel Duke all right? Get him on for his report, please."
Jennifer nodded. "Yes, ma'am. There is no word on the Colonel." Then she then saw Duke step onto the bridge. She too was worried for Ro, but the security of the ship came first. She continued to run post-battle checks on multiple systems throughout the ship. Duke was pissed off, sore, and after taking Rowena to sickbay, he found out he was wounded as well, having caught a piece of shrapnel in his right ass cheek. The Vulcan nurse had offered to take care of the small laceration, but Biggs had told her firmly that he didn't need any help. Seeing Branwen's look when he entered the Bridge, he immediately told her, "Ro will be alright. Dar could have killed her, but he didn't, just twisted her neck a bit. She'll be sore and can't talk for awhile, but she'll be fine."
The Colonel finally exhaled. "Have you told the doc to keep her now? He and I will have words; he should never have let her go. Casualties? Who did we lose?" It was the worst part of command.
"The prisoner escaped after taking out two squads of my men. It appears he had help from on board -- there is a dead man down there that needs a forensic examination when Doc Sentara gets done treating the wounded. Helped Man'darr escape and participated in the fire fight."
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