Star Trek: Theurgy

USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

February 27, 2018, 11:49:14 AM

[ USS Endeavour NCC-71805 | Federation Starship | Nebula-class | 1300 hrs. ] Attn: @Top Hat @Blue Zephyr @YasyraTrill @TrexelCat @patches


Captain's Log, supplemental. I cannot shake the feeling that there is something wrong with Starfleet Command.

I have not told any of the crew, not even my trusted First Officer, but I find it strange how this persecution of the Theurgy has been handled. While I can understand that a rouge A.I. ship - a tool of the shapeshifter Jien Ives or not - is of paramount interest to destroy since it's a multivector dreadnought... the confidential sub-set of orders confounds me. For while my ship has yet to be drafted for Task Force Archeron, I have still been told - at the threat of treason - that if we should encounter the ship, the A.I. might spread to other starship computers, and that I should not establish a communication link with it. At first glance, that might seem a wise precaution, but why would Command threaten its Captains in that fashion?

I remember the Dominion War, where us Commanding Officers were given the latitude to do our best for the war effort, but since then, it's like they can't trust us to do anything, managing how we command our ships to a level that I haven't see-

Computer, pause log.

- Captain Amasov, Commanding Officer, USS Endeavour

Under the command of Captain Amasov, the USS Endeavour NCC-71805 was a 24^th century Nebula-class starship, and it was en-route to Starbase 84 in late February when it suddenly vanished, never heard from again. That day, Captain Amasov had emerged from his Ready Room at the call from the Second Officer, and as he looked at the viewscreen... he had known it was the end.

For out there, in a sector just adjacent to the Azure Nebula, they beheld the dreaded shape of the greatest known threat to Federation space. The immediate questions came to mind. How could it be there? How had it appeared in he backyard of the Alpha Quadrant? Amasov swallowed, knowing that those questions could not get their answers at that hour, and raked his mind for the proper course of action. "Red Alert! Shields up!"

"Aye, Captain," said his tactical officer. Yet Amasov was already directing himself to the helm.

"Get us out of here, now! Maximum warp!" he called, but it was too late.

"Negative, they have a tractor beam locked on us. They are stopping us from engaging warp. Some kind of jamming field, sir. I can't do anything!"

There was a static roar on the intercom, clearly foreign in origin - the signal wedged into their systems like a blade. Then, the words Amasov had hoped never to hear again boomed across all decks of the Endeavour.

[WE ARE THE BORG. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR SHIP. WE WILL ADD YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTURE WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.]

Numbly, Amasov seated himself in his chair, raising a trembling hand to his lips, knowing that there was little more he could do.

Then, something came over him. A kind of resolute anger that made his trembling hand clench in to a fist. With teeth bared, he rose to his feet again. He refused to surrender his crew. Not one soul aboard the Endeavour would surrender, if he led the way - showed them the spirit of defiance that had earned him his command. They looked to him as their leader, and he would give them all what they would want in such a moment - when all hope was lost.

"Arm all torpedoes. Reroute power to phasers. Fire at will! Fire everything we have!" he said, then rounded on Ops. "Give me a priority link to Captain Ian Hawthorne on Starbase 84. Transmit our coordinates and send him this message. We have engaged to Borg, and we request all available starships to converge on ou-"

The first barrage of enemy fire connected with the hull, and Captain Amasov was thrown off his feet.

---

OOC: I figured I would write a starter for all those who write crew from the Endeavour, so that you can depict the destruction of the ship prior to Episode 05. Have fun! Edit: Added a time-tag for you guys. This happens at 1300 hrs. Middle of alpha shift, that is.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #1 – February 28, 2018, 04:05:23 PM

[LCdr Blue Tiran | First Officer Quarters | Calm Before the Storm | USS Endeavour]

Blue had only recently finished her shift.  It was a long, hard, trudge back up to the First Officer Quarters that she and Ranaan shared.  It seemed pointless to have another bed that was labeled to her, much less a whole Department Head Quarters, when she just spent her days and nights in his.  With a long sigh she palmed open the door and was greeted with the familiar sight of their Quarters.  It was an amalgamation of both of their personalities.  There was the stark cleanliness, nearly military aspect, of Ducote's places in the Quarters.  The mismatched all over methods of Blue Tiran.  Both of them had some kind of .. ebb and flow, yin and yang to it. 

She knew that she still drove him nuts and there wasn't a week that went by she didn't hear him cursing in Brazilian because he sat on one of her tools that she had carelessly left on the couch during one of her working sessions.  One would think, after a year of being together, she would be better at picking up her shit and putting it away.  He had even installed a large storage system on the bulk head for her to keep all her shit in.  Somehow, it still managed to wedge itself between the cushions and later reminded him of her presence when she wasn't even in the room.

Dual duty.

Blue put Albert on her desk, strewn with spare parts, wires, conduits, and various things that were only half put together in an attempt for Albert's upgrade.  She plugged him into his charging station and his eyes lit up blue so that she knew he was charging, and she tossed her PADD down. 

Food.

She most often forgot to eat, but she was actually hungry today.  “Albert, when does Ducote's shift end.” she asked as she headed for the replicator and got herself some quesadillas filled with chicken, peppers, and more cheese than a cow could probably make in a day.  It has .. vegetables... she reminded herself so that if Ducote asked her later if she ate anything healthy today she would not have to lie.  Turning as Albert chirped from her desk she read the information on his screen and sighed. 

He would still be a while.  Blue slumped on the couch and picked up one gooey tortilla covered concoction before putting her boots up on the coffee table.  One of Ranaan's pet peeves but he wasn't there for the moment.  “Screen on.” she said as the screen turned on and she flipped through various terrible TV choices before she found something interesting.  Some old school, twentieth century non-sense.  She relaxed back into the couch and took a bite of the steaming hot food.  It reminded her of the food back at home.  Not of home, that would not have been a good memory but food was always welcome.

Blue woke up, untold minutes later with the klaxxon alarms going off, the red hue of the red-alert lights flashing in her Quarters.  For  moment, Blue sat there groggily.  Her eyes shifted over to the chronometer to gather the time.  There was still a half-eaten quesadilla wedge in her hand and the plate was barely half empty.  Blue's brain took a moment to reconnected with reality.  The screen was still playing the show she had started earlier.  Slowly, she got up brushing a hand through her curls.

“Albert status.” she said as she looked over at the owl that was just about fully charged.  The mechanical owl chirped at her.  “Yeah, I get that it's red alert, that much I know, but why.” 

[WE ARE THE BORG. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR SHIP. WE WILL ADD YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTURE WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.] 

The... seven fucks....

Fear pooled in the pit of her stomach as she bit her lower lip.  She knew that didn't bode well.  Ran... her mind instantly went to thoughts of him.  The Endeavour had already fought the Borg, twice, if she wasn't mistaken.  She doubted that the Captain would let them just surrender, this would be a fight.  Likely one they wouldn't win.  Blue swallowed heavily, she didn't want to be assimilated or whatever it was they would do to someone like her.  She was smart and crafty but she would be tortured with a hive like mind. 

“Where's Ranaan.” she asked the small owl as she walked over to him, dinner left forgotten on the couch headed to the desk. 

Chirp

“He's in Engineering?  Deck.. 22.” she looked at the small screen underneath a panel that was on Albert's chest.  A diagram of the ship showed Ducote's location with a small red blinking dot on the blueprints.

He's probably looking for me. she thought to herself and swallowed heavily. 

I should badge him.  … no .. no he has a job to do.  Fuck!  I have a job to do.  I need to get my shit together so that I can help out.  I have no doubt we're about to go to fucking war and for fuck sure my department will not fall the fuck behind.  Turning she grabbed her bag and put some tools in it that she might need.  She didn't want to have to replicate anything, and besides that, she needed to have a full set of everything so she could keep them going as long as possible.

Fear made her fingers shake slightly.  She had a lot to lose, a lot to lose and Blue Tiran would make the Borg regret the day they fucking messed with her Endeavour.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #2 – March 03, 2018, 07:23:00 PM

[ Cmdr Ranaan Ducote | Deflector Control | Deck 22 | USS Endeavour ] Attn: @YasyraTrill @TrexelCat  @patches @Blue Zephyr

"Look, Lieutenant, I don't care if you don't like him. You're both professionals with a job to do. Have the Chief rearrange your rotas if you want, but I'm not about to cave and have him relegated to somewhere else on the ship in which he will be less useful, just because you can't suck it up."

Lately, it seemed that every time he went on a walkabout of the ship, he either came across or was called to some new and interesting spat between the crew. It was honestly growing tiresome. Such was a personnel administrator's life, he supposed. He far preferred his bridge duty rotations, where he got to exercise the "Executive" part of his official title. My own fault for preferring to be hands-on, I suppose. I should just delegate most of this to the division chiefs...

He didn't want to be the Distant Brass, though, either. Deep down, he knew he was just grousing to himself.

"Sir, I'm saying he's a disruptive element. Half his time is spent sabotaging me-"

"Really. So Commander Tiran has been made aware?"

"Well-"

"I see. Go on."

The younger man, an unjoined Trill, squirmed. Ducote's face remained impassive.

"He does sabotage my work, sir. I have proof."

The XO sighed. "Send it to Tiran; copy me in."

Distantly, Ranaan felt a twinge of something. A gestalt of surprise and apprehension seized the minds he could feel at the very edges of his lately-blunted perception - perhaps nearest the front of the ship. Only a mass reaction would allow him to detect it at all, any more. Most poignant was the single impression he felt from Amasov, all the way up on the bridge, who he could detect thanks to familiarity alone. What on Earth-

The red alert klaxons sounded as the inertial dampeners hiccoughed - a tractor beam? Ducote returned his gaze to the lieutenant in front of him. "Get to your sta-"

[WE ARE THE BORG. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR SHIP. WE WILL ADD YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTURE WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.]

The bottom dropped out of Ducote's gut. "Move!" he barked, making as good as his word himself and heading for the lifts. The ambient noise, physical and mental, stepped up by an order of magnitude. The hum of redirected power towards their shields and weapons, followed shortly by the tell-tale thumps through the hull frame as torpedoes were launched.

He ran pell-mell down the corridors as he made for the bridge, sliding past other officers and crew as they hurried to general quarters. The ship rocked with a colossal impact, throwing Ducote to the deck. Instinct closed his mind to the outside, reflex trying to save him the pain of others. Swearing as he fought to regain his feet, he felt more than heard more torpedo launches before the most sickening sound yet:

The decreasing pitch and discordant tones of an overloaded, depowering shield generator.

Ducote had never realised what it felt like to choose between ways to die. Not even on the Starbase. Assimilation? Shrapnel injury? Decompression? Plasma burns? Survival seemed a forlorn hope.

The next series of impacts slammed into the hull directly. Even his mental barriers couldn't deflect the weight of fear from those nearby; not that it mattered too much. It matched his own. Once again, he found himself picking himself up from the deck. Miraculously, the worst he had so far were bruises. Thank you, God.

From somewhere to his right, at a corridor junction, he heard a ripping phaser blast. Ducote's head snapped around at the words that followed.

"Intruder aler-"

The warning was punctuated by a scream that raised the hairs on his neck. They were being boarded; evidently some of the work done by their Tactical department had depleted the numbers on the Borg vessel. With some effort, he reopened his wider perceptions again, focusing hard on one person as he tried (mostly in vain) to filter out the noise around him. Where are you, Blue..

It was almost a welfare check more than anything else; for now, he'd settle for knowing she was still alive. But he wasn't about to let her be assimilated either. He had never really been able to express it, but she'd been so good for him by giving him someone who he could trust and build a link with, that he couldn't imagine retreating into a shell again without her. He'd go insane, locked up inside his own skull like some sort of mundane. He didn't know how non-telepathic races did it.

He found her, more or less, but that was enough. At the end of the corridor he was on was a turbolift - Ducote dove for it, ordering it to take him to the crew decks.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #3 – March 03, 2018, 08:58:28 PM

[Lt R'Rori | Main Sickbay | 1300 hrs. | USS Endeavour]

R'Rori stood next to one of the doctors outside the door to the Chief Medical Officer's office, enjoying a momentary lull in their conversation swapping stories from previous shore leaves. S/he felt as if hir life was positively boring static compared to the more colorful and varied stories that the good Doctor was able to tell and so most of it was hir listening and asking questions to prod him along. It was a natural position for hir to be in by now, having molded hirself into what seemed like the ideal sounding board for people to talk to rather than talk with. It was also a tendency of hirs that s/he avoided thinking about too much.

When the doctor spoke up again, it was to excuse himself from the conversation as he had duties to attend to. Even with what was a successfully and fairly quiet mission, the medical staff kept themselves busy with routine medical visits, minor injuries from work and play, and whatnot. R'Rori knew hir own staff were all either sleeping or attending to work in some manner at the moment. This was hir scheduled break, usually hir lunch. Today was going to be a new recipe that one of the Operations enlisted crew gave hir, some version of a "ratatouille", a hearty stew from France on Earth. It seemed interesting.

S/he was about to head to hir office to replicate it when the lights changed and the klaxon began sounding red alert. Ears folded back in alarm as the medical staff sprang into action, the doctor in charge spitting out orders as the nurses began readying for casualties.

[WE ARE THE BORG. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR SHIP. WE WILL ADD YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTURE WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.] 

Shit.

R'Rori had never been on a ship in combat. S/he knew what s/he would be expected to do - it had been drilled into hir throughout hir career, but hir career had also been spent in relative safety behind Federation lines, dealing with the wounded or with people bored with patrols.  Armed confrontations were a thing other people handled. S/he just dealt with the aftermath, which could be horrific enough.

The torpedo barrage shook hir back to hir senses. Shaking hir head, s/he looked around to ground hirself. S/he felt the vibrations from the Endeavour's struggle to stay afloat, heard the medical staff's staccato as they took in the first of the wound, saw the Security officers that were taking up positions at the entrance to Sickbay and readying to repel boards, smelled and tasted the fear and anxiety of the people around hir. Hir heart was going a mile a minute, but R'Rori forced hirself to breathe, consciously bringing forth the meditative habits s/he practiced in hir off hours.

S/he would be expected to help the medical staff, assisting in triage and keeping people calm.

How am I supposed to do that when I can barely keep myself calm? I thought we chased out all the Borg!

One of the nurses spotted hir and waved hir over before pointing at dermal regenerator near them. The signal was clear and R'Rori dutifully grabbed it and handed it to the nurse wordlessly, Hir place was here, at least for now. S/he tried to smile reassuringly to the wounded crew member. One of the younger ones, only a couple years out of training.

"It'll be okay." S/he lied, taking on once more the veneer of the calm and collected counselor. "The Captain will get us out of this."

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #4 – March 04, 2018, 12:02:09 AM

[ Ensign Laurel Okhala | Bridge- Helm Control | USS Endeavour | 1300 hrs. ] attn: @Top Hat @Blue Zephyr @TrexelCat @patches @Auctor Lucan

Observing on the bridge was one of Laurel's favorite new duties, just short of when she actually got to sit at the helm. Watching C'Rusar closely, she allowed herself a moment to reflect on how far she had come in the last year and a half aboard the Endeavour. Asst. Chief CONN Officer was a long way from department peon, and she sometimes still couldn't believe that this wasn't all some cruel joke. That soon C'Rusar would find a reason to demote her back to department janitor. Still, she would enjoy it while it lasted.

Most of the time she thoroughly enjoyed her time observing during alpha shift, today though she was feeling . . . antsy. The latest communique with her father had left her nervous and certain that their were Tal'Shiar around every corner. From her station beside C'Rusar, Laurel ran another visual sweep of the Nebula outside only to pause.

"Sir," she leant into C'Rusar, "Something's not right, look here." She pointed to an area just off port where the strange reading of disruption was coming from. "What could it . . . "

"I think you're right, ensign. Captain to the Bridge." C'Rusar commed just as the looming form of a Borg cube emerged like a ghost from the Nebual. Chaos erupted after that, orders were shouted as she and C'Rusar worked to try and get the ship free of the tractor beam they were locked in.

[WE ARE THE BORG. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR SHIP. WE WILL ADD YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTURE WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.] 

Ice seemed to replace the blood in Laurel's veins as she doubled her efforts at the controls.

She heard the command for weapons as the first borage of enemy fire rocked the bridge. C'Rusar screamed as his fur and whiskers smoldered and he slumped over the panel, and Laurel's vision went momentarily dark as her face smashed into the corner of the helm control as she was buffeted from her chair. Struggling to sit back up, she heaved C'Rusar's still form off of the controls, trying not to think about what that stillness might mean.

Assessing the damage she noticed that they were still attempting warp. Well if that wasn't working, maybe the opposite. Laurel engaged the external inertial dampeners to bring them to full stop, before she kicked them back off and re-engaged warp. They didn't go to warp but it was enough to force them out of the tractor beam for the moment. Not thinking about the success, she immediately executed defense pattern omega-5, to get them positioned under the cube. Nodding to the dazed looking tactical officer to her right she put the ship into a roll to bring their weapons to bear in attack pattern delta-1 as the Endeavour skimmed  along the lower portion of the cube. Putting as much juice behind the engines as she could she angled them straight at the Nebula, hoping that the sensor addling effects would hamper the Borg in tracking them as she pushed the Endeavour in a dizzying display of twists, dips, turns and spins, trying to make them harder to hit while also allowing for retaliation and attempting to keep them out of tractor range. The Captain wanted them to fight, the crew would oblige.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #5 – March 13, 2018, 02:06:14 PM

[LCdr Blue Tiran | Won't Go Down Without a Fight | Fuck You Borg | Crew Decks | USS Endeavour]

Blue looked around the Quarters that she shared with Ranaan.  It was full of memories.  Full of fights, she couldn't count the amount of times that Security came to do a welfare check on them only to find them making out after a big fight.  They fought hard, loud, and neither of them gave up any room in the argument, but eventually both being fairly smart they realized that one or the other was right.  That or they just decided it didn't fucking matter anymore.  She did love him, he was everything to her.  He was the one that had pulled her out of the spiky and hardened shell that she had created for herself when she was very small.  When she had been abandoned by her family, that was what she had done to protect herself from the pain.  But he had wiggled into her life and found a way past all the barriers she used to keep nosy fuckers out of her business and straight into her heart.

It was very hard for her to voice emotions that weren't anger, rage, and annoyance.  But he had pulled her back out of that little ball of anger and showed her a bunch of other emotions that she had long since forgotten.  He had healed wounds that she had never even really comprehended and time and time again he was there for her.  In the beginning of their relationship she was certain that every fight he would leave her.  That he would tell her to get her shit and get the fuck out of his Quarters.  She wasn't worth the time and effort it took.  Every Brig visit, every report filed.. every disagreement.  Yet, each and every time he proved that wasn't the case.  When he pulled her in, and held her close.  He never had to say anything.  Never promised with words that he wouldn't leave, but it was like he could feel her getting to the edge of a panic attack at the mere thought of losing him.  The fight would dissolve and he would just hold her to him for the longest time.  They would get dressed and go to bed with him holding her tightly.

Over the years, he had slowly pushed that fear out of her mind.  Now when she was in the Brig, she waited with a smirk reserved just for him, for him to come retrieve her.  She reveled in the obligatory lecture on the way back to Quarters.  Knowing that he was solidly with her and she with him.

Shaking her head quickly she reminded herself that she really needed to get her shit together.  If they were being invaded by the Borg then she needed to have engines prepped, she needed to get her crew ready, she needed to be down on deck doing her fucking job not up here thinking about all the times that she and Ducote had.  She swallowed heavily and went over to the wall mounted storage system and pulled out several drawers leaving them wide open.  Ran will be pissed.. she thought for only a bare moment but sometimes, Blue thrilled in the fight, and left things out just because she knew that she would get the look.  Shoving her tools and favorite things in her messenger bag she turned to leave when a Chirp came from the desk.

Cannot believe I almost forgot that fucker, where is my mind. she thought as she turned to look at him and her brow rose.  “What do you mean he's moving?”

Chirp.

She sighed.  “Of course.. he's heading.. probably here.... “ she bit her lower lip as the Intruder Alert sounded.  She closed her eyes.  Her hands tightening around the desk where Albert sat.  She quickly unplugged his base and shoved it into her bag before she picked up Albert and tucked him underneath her arm.  For a moment she wondered if there was anything she needed to grab before she left but she couldn't think of anything.  She and Ran weren't gift givers, they pretty much just spent a lot of time together.  She had the only things that meant anything to her, materialistically, and she quickly rushed for the Quarters door and spilled out into the corridor. 

She rushed down the corridor, she didn't know what else to do but get to fucking work.  Staying in her Quarters would leave her assimilated and she would rather phaser her brains out than do that.  She knew that Ducote would probably feel the same way.  She rounded a corner and there he was.  She stopped for a moment, her eyes sizing him up.

“You look like shit run over twice.” she hissed out as she looked around him to check him out make sure that he wasn't wounded.  They weren't too close yet but as far as she could tell he wasn't hurt at this point.  She bit her lower lip as she rushed towards him. If it was the end of the fucking world this was the fucker she wanted to go down with.  Her mind played with fancy images of both of them, back to back with phasers blaring taking out as many Borg as they fucking could before they were fucked over.  She rushed over to him and put her arms around him tightly.  Which was awkward because she was still holding onto Albert as well.  Which was likely pressed uncomfortably into his abdomen as she inhaled his scent and took that one moment to bask in his presence.

She pulled back slightly.  “What's the plan.  Are we fighting?  Are we setting the warp drives to explode this fucker?  Do we have a plan?  What are we doing?  We are not all going to survive this fucking shit.” she said her voice was heavy, but she was the sort that dealt with her emotions by getting busy and getting her mind off the problem at hand.  Or on the problem at hand, as it was.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #6 – March 18, 2018, 07:29:46 PM

[ Lt. Kai Akoni | Mess Hall | USS Endeavour | 1300 hrs. ]

Kai was wandering down the corridor towards the mess hall. Last nights shift had be relatively uneventful, which had made the night feel about twice as long as it actually was. He had known that working night shifts was part of the usual shift rotation, but that hadn't made him feel any more awake.

He entered the doors of the mess hall and almost ran into Lt. Cross who had just been leaving.

"Surfing later on the holodeck?" Kai had asked inquisitively, almost not having given Cross a choice.

"Absolutely" Cross replied smiling.

Kai nodded at Cross and they both walked their separate ways. Even having known Cross for a year, Kai still found it odd to see a smiling Vulcan...even if Cross was only half Vulcan.

Kai proceeded to the replicator and mumbled out his order "Coffee, black". The replicator hummed to life and materialized the coffee cup with the steaming coffee inside. He had reached for the coffee cup and had just taken a sip when the red alert klaxons and lights came on, along with the eerie communique that was broadcast throughout the ship in the creepy mechanical voices..

[WE ARE THE BORG. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR SHIP. WE WILL ADD YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTURE WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.] 

The junior officers in the mess hall had looked to him for guidance momentarily, which Kai had noticed and acted on immediately.

"Report to your posts...NOW!"He barked at them as he had turned around and sprinted out of the mess hall. As he was sprinting towards the nearest turbolift to make his way to the bridge, he turned the corner and was thrown off his feet by the ship lurching forward. He landed face down on the corridor floor, unharmed by being thrown. He was helped up by someone who had just been running by at the same time. He resumed his course towards the turbolift, when he got reports of possible intruders near the shuttle bay.

Kai boarded the turbolift and gave it his destination. The turbolift wasn't operating as fast as he wanted, but then again, he thought that nothing would.

The turbolift reached its destination, and the doors slid open. Kai took one step off the turbolift and an explosion ripped through the corridor. It had blasted Kai, with extreme force, back into the empty turbolift and against the bulkhead. Kai was extremely dazed by this and lifted his right hand to feel his head. As soon as his hand touched his head, he felt something wet. Kai then pulled his hand back and noticed that it was covered in blood.

Kai collapsed to the ground as unconsciousness started to overcome him. He heard phaser fire which had faded into nothingness. His environment was getting darker. He laid his head down on the floor as he let the unconsciousness fully envelope him.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #7 – March 18, 2018, 08:21:46 PM

[ Lt. Cross | Mess Hall | USS Endeavour | 13:00hrs. ]

Cross had just finished his tea and had been making his way out of the mess hall to report to the bridge when he was almost bowled over by the enormous frame of his friend, Lt. Akoni. At 6'1" there weren't many people Cross had to look up at, but Kai was certainly one of them. The man's bulk all but blocked the doorframe, and Cross imagined if the door had been much smaller Kai might have had to turn sideways to pass through it. The thought had brought a smile to his face as his friend spoke.

"Surfing later on the holodeck?" Kai asked, making it sound more like an assumption than a query.

"Absolutely." Cross had replied to his friend with a smile before squeezing past him and making his way to the turbolift.

Having directed the lift to take him to the bridge, Cross had clasped his hands behind his back and let his mind wander for a moment. He always looked forward to surfing on the holodeck. He found catching waves was both relaxing and exhillarating, although he found watching Kai surf to be a little disconcerting. The fact that such a thin board could support such a large man on a liquid surface had never ceased to amaze him.

The turbolift had come to a stop, which had in turn brought his thoughts back to the present. The doors had just hissed open, and Cross had only had a momentary glance at the angular, mechanical-looking cube that was visible on the view screen when the ominous, digitized voice was heard throughout the ship.

[WE ARE THE BORG. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR SHIP. WE WILL ADD YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTURE WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.]

Cross surged forward towards the tactical console. The violent curse Cross uttered in Cardassian was translated to "Fuck!" by the universal translator.

The Captain had called for shields, and the tactical officer at the station had just finished following the order when Cross shoved him aside. Cross heard the Captain's orders, "Arm all torpedoes. Reroute power to phasers. Fire at will! Fire everything we have!", and quickly moved himself to action.

Cross' fingers danced across the tactical console, and had just finished firing the first salvo from the phaser banks when when Borg's first barrage connected with the Endeavour's hull. He had only just managed to keep himself upright following the violent impact. Cross was only vaguely aware of Captain Amasov picking himself up off the deck as he launched a full spread of torpedoes, intent on doing as much damage as he could to the Cube before the Endeavour went down.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #8 – March 23, 2018, 10:27:32 AM

[ Ensign Laurel Okhala | Bridge- Helm Control | 1302 hrs | USS Endeavour ] Attn: @Blue Zephyr @patches @Top Hat @Fife @trevorvw @TrexelCat

Another explosion rocked their failing shields as Laurel banked the Endeavour hard to port in an attempt to avoid a large piece of a destroyed ship they had not picked up on sensors earlier. Risking a glance over at Lt. Cross she tried to get a read for what he needed as far as maneuvering, but trying to communicate over the klaxons of red alert was difficult, made more so by the now steady beat of a war drum that pounded from behind her left eye, threatening nausea.

"Bring us about Ensign, get us in firing range!" the Captain's rough voice cut through the din sharply. Laurel grunted in agreement before attempting another run, fast and low, offering Cross the best shot she could without making them an easy target to fall back into the tractor beam. It was then that a new call came up from Deck 22. Commander Ducote sent it through. Borg boarders had managed to get aboard before Laurel and Cross could get them out of range. "Kllhwnia!" she swore harshly enough that her translator didn't catch the meaning.

"Don't worry about that right now, keep firing." Captain Amasov's voice once again grounded her straying thoughts. She was sure she had, at the very least, a moderate concussion, but with no time to think on it she frustratedly wiped verdant blood from her eyes and squinted to bring herself back in focus. . Laurel felt glad that C'Rusar and Ducote had basically had her memorizing attack and defense patterns for the last month and a half, so that she could put the Endeavour through her paces even with her focus suffering so severely.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #9 – March 23, 2018, 07:36:42 PM

[ Cmdr Ranaan Ducote | Corridors | Saucer Section | USS Endeavour ] Attn: @TrexelCat @patches @Blue Zephyr @trevorvw @Fife @YasyraTrill

The lift jammed shortly after it turned into one of the transverse passages through the hull; the computer neglected to inform him of the cause after he picked himself up from the corner of the little car. He forced the doors open to see a corridor that had suffered somewhat under the Borg barrage - a couple of the support members had fallen to the deck and dragged various cable trunks and fluid lines with them. A small fire (mundane, non-plasma thankfully) licked out from an inspection panel. He could hear more phaser shots and screams from deeper into this section.

"Enraba-me," he swore as he tapped his badge. "Bridge, Ducote. The Borg have boarded in force. Intruding teams across engineering and saucer hulls."

The noise of weapon fire seemed to be closing towards him, so he keyed open one of the sparse weapons lockers available in the crew sections of the ship. He strapped a holster to his waist and set the phaser to randomly cycle through its frequency and nutation range so he could hopefully get a few more useful shots in. He rounded the corner into a wide cross-junction in time to witness the last of a four-man Security team be pinned against a bulkhead and a pair of assimilation tubules puncture her neck.

"Hey!"

Ranaan fired at the one (of five!) who was currently injecting the young ensign, only for a translucent green shield to absorb his shot. The other four drones turned towards him, raising their tool arms. "Ai, merda na minha boca," he growled as he turned back the way he came, breaking into a run and taking a detour around the damaged gangway.

He forwent the next turbolift in favour of the nearest stairwell; moving slower was still preferable to being trapped in a box, powerless to help any of the other crew. As he plunged through the gas from a venting conduit, he manually changed his phaser settings - if the Borg had figured out what algorithms the weapons used to do it automatically, he might get a shot in thanks to the analogue approach. Or he'd just hit a shield again. No way to tell, yet.

C'mon Blue, don't walk into an ambush before I can get to you...

She shared his suite on deck 8, in one of the two Command staterooms. The room was certainly spacious compared even to the other officer quarters on the ship; having someone to share them with helped them feel more comfortable. As he hauled himself up the stairs, swinging around the bends on the rail, he couldn't help but remember all the stupid fights they'd had about her spreading her tools around every flat surface in the rooms, and the fluff everywhere that he just about tolerated, and a million tiny things that shouldn't have mattered. Hell, there had even been a spat about twinkie crumbs in the bedsheets before they'd reported for duty this morning.

Christ. Twinkies!

A blue '8' marked the right level. He shouldered his way through the doors, heedless of whether there might be a brace of drones on the other side of it, and pelted towards his quarters. His breath was becoming ragged, but a certain spiky mental impression was growing stronger, and-

Blue.

The strength nearly left his legs in his relief. He almost laughed at the way she looked him up and down. "You look like shit run over twice."

"Well," he said, gallows humour at last reasserting itself. "It's been an emotional afternoon."

Albert - that fucking bird, he realised, with a tolerant sort of exasperated amusement - dug into his side as she seized him around the middle. His own arms went around her shoulders, indulging in the moment of comfort before they released each other again.

"What's the plan. Are we fighting? Are we setting the warp drives to explode this fucker? Do we have a plan? What are we doing? We are not all going to survive this fucking shit."

Ranaan winced at her just saying it out loud like that. There was nothing he could do about it, either, which made it worse. "No, we're not. But you will, if it kills me. We're fighting for right now, but a Borg ship this deep in our territory has to be a Cube. There's only so much we can do-" the hybrid's head snapped to one side, looking into the middle distance, as he felt another spike of something on the next deck. Another assimilation victim, maybe. "I expect the evac alarm to go any minute."

The XO took a moment to drink in every detail of his fiancée's face. He had made sure she was safe, for now, but there were still hundreds of others aboard despite the Borg's best efforts so far. Though, worryingly, there were entire swathes of the ship he could no longer feel at all - whether that was due to his own defences coming up in reflex or because there simply weren't any more people there to pick up was a matter for debate.

"Get to section six." The escape pods on this deck. "The path between here and there is clear for now. I'll send anyone else I find after you and then I'll follow when I can. I love you. Go."

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #10 – March 24, 2018, 03:45:29 PM

[LCdr Blue Tiran | Don't Say It | I Hate You – I Love You | USS Borg Assimilation Central]
@TrexelCat @Fife @YasyraTrill @Top Hat @patches @trevorvw

An emotional afternoon.

Understatement of the year.

Her eyes raked him, she loved him so much that sometimes it hurt.  She knew that he could tell how she felt about him.  He was amazing, and he could read her like an open book.  He had been someone that could just get her.  Now, everything was up in the air.  She didn't want to leave him but she could see his face.  She knew what he was going to do.  Warring between First Officer Ducote and Fiance Ranaan.  She saw this war from time to time.  It wasn't often, but it was usually when she was in trouble, which happened more than she liked.  It wasn't as though she tried to be in trouble, honestly, she didn't.  She tried not to bring out First Officer Ducote more than she had to.

He hugged her.  Blue buried her face into his chest.  The one that always offered her comfort, the arms that were always open for her, the place she rested her head in the middle of the night or when they watched a show together.  She could hear his heart, accelerated in it's beat, likely because of the situation and he had come out of the stairwell and not the lift, which meant stairs were a thing.  She pulled back and looked up at him, he was.. everything to her. Her world.  Her heart.

There were so many things she had never told him, not in words, anyway.

She knew that she had picked at a sore spot with her blunt nature, not that she should have really expected anything else.  Blue was the person that she was and wasn't the sort to alter herself despite the circumstances.  She didn't care about holding back.  The situation sucked massive hairy matted ball sacks and there was no reason to sugar coat that shit what so ever.  She swallowed heavily as he looked down at her.  His big dark eyes.  His face, that jawline...

Now is not the time Blue Tiran and you fucking know it. she chastised herself.

Then he spoke.  Her brow rose.  She didn't like that comment.  She would.  Not they would.  Her heart sunk straight into her stomach.  A lead weight.  She hated that look on his face, the one that said he was going to have to put his ship first.  She always knew it would come first.  He was a First Officer, this ship was his baby, but she really wanted him with her.  She wanted him to come with her, to take his hand and drag his over dedicated ass to the fucking escape pod and boot his ass in there.  But, she knew he would never forgive himself if he didn't do everything he could to save as many people as possible.

She bit her lower lip as he told her that the evac alarm was likely moments away.

This could be the last time I see him. she reminded herself but that was not what she wanted to think about.  It was stuck in her mind none the less. 

Then the words came.  'Get to section six.'  Her eyes widened.  No.  No I'm not going.  I can't.  I won't... she knew that she couldn't say it out loud.  She couldn't do that to him.  He was not just her boss, he was her heart, but also she knew that he would never be able to do his job if she kept him here.  If she threw a fit and made him fight with her.  Now was not the time to fight even though she kind of wanted to.  She wanted to be selfish and keep him.  She wanted to tell him to screw the rest of the damn ship.  They could escape together, and do something.  They could tell the rest of the fucking universe to get the fuck off and go.

He wouldn't do that though, she knew that.

And honestly, neither would she.

He told her to go, and that he would find her as he got other people down to the escape pod.  She searched his face.  Memorizing every line, every small wrinkle, every show of stress.  Every slightly grey hair.  She loved all of them.  Every single aspect of the man that stood in front of her. 

“I love you..”  Her eyes widened.

It wasn't that he hadn't told her before, but it felt far more like a good bye with the words ringing in her ears.  She could feel her eyes burning slightly as she bit her lower lip again.  It wasn't common for her, to feel so insecure in herself and what was going on.  He told her to go.  For a moment, her eyes just searching his face.  She couldn't quite find her voice for a moment.  She sighed softly and her shoulders slumped.

“Promise?” she whispered softly.  She knew he couldn't really promise, but even the lie was easier to believe than anything else.  She didn't know what to think, she didn't know what to do.  She didn't.. she didn't want to leave him.  He was her world, didn't he know that?  How could he ask this?  How could he tell her to go and leave everything open ended!?  She didn't understand his thinking.

He was in protector mode.

She knew that.  First Officer Ducote on duty, Ranaan Ducote coloring the fact that he loved her.  Her lower lip trembled slightly.  Traitor. she called to it as she got herself under control.  She pulled herself up on her tip toes and took Ducote's face in her hand kissing him deeply, hungrily, pouring all of her emotions into the kiss.  The fear of losing him, the fear of him not making it, the fear of her not making it.  She broke it, breathing heavily.

Emotions coloring her voice as she spoke.  “If you get assimilated I will hack your mother fucking ass until you're my personal fucking slave for the rest of your Borg existence.” she whispered softly against his lips.  “I...”  she pulled back, her eyes searching his.  “I love you.” she whispered, she didn't say it often, probably once before now.  Most of the time he just .. knew.  Swallowing heavily, she searched his face one more time before she turned and headed past him to the stairs.  Her stomach was heavy, her legs were lead. 

One more look over her shoulder before he was out of sight.

“I'll be waiting.”

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #11 – March 24, 2018, 07:10:10 PM

[ Lt. Cross | Bridge – Tactical | USS Endeavour ] @TrexelCat @YasyraTrill @Top Hat @patches @trevorvw

The violent impact of Borg fire threw Cross out of his chair, his face impacting the edge of his console as he fell. He’d felt a crunch from his nose, followed by a flash of pain, but dragged himself back up into his chair, turning his attention back to the tactical controls. He could feel blood streaming from his nose, and saw green drops falling on his uniform as he quickly finished re-modulating the ship’s phasers. That done, Cross readied another volley of torpedoes.

Cross saw Ensign Okhala glance at him and gave her a nod, noticing the blood on her face as well. She had done one hell of a job getting them free of the tractor beam, but now was not the time for congratulations. There would be time for that later.

If anyone is still alive later… Cross thought darkly as Captain Amasov called for Ensign OKhala to make another run at the Cube. That thought had only enraged Cross. He cared for the Endeavour and many of the people aboard her, and now it seemed the Endeavour was pretty well screwed, her crew along with her.

As Ensign Okhala brought the Endeavour in for another run, coming in low at high speed, Cross fired 3 bursts with the ship’s phasers and launched another spread of torpedoes. The first phaser burst managed to do some damage to the cube, but the second and third bursts were ineffective as the Borg’s shields adapted yet again. Cross hissed through clenched teeth and worked furiously to re-modulate the ship’s weapons yet again, programming them rotate their modulation in a random sequence after each shot was fired.

“Captain, the Borg have adapted to our phasers again, I’m attempting to re-modulate,” Cross called out over the klaxons. He turned his head slightly towards Captain Amasov to make himself heard but kept his eyes on the console as he worked, “Shields are at 16%. Torpedo launcher 2 is damaged and inoperative. The aft phasers are offline.” Cross turned his head to face Captain Amasov properly, “We may only get one more run, Sir.”

Commander Ducote had reported Borg intruders aboard throughout engineering and the saucer, and growing fear had caused Cross’ chest to tighten for a moment. His attention was snapped back to the present as Captain Amasov ordered them to ignore the boarding parties and press the attack on the cube.

He knows this is a losing battle… Cross thought grimly, gritting his teeth. We can't hold out against the Borg much longer...

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #12 – March 29, 2018, 05:11:23 PM

[Lt. JG Khelleshar sh'Zenne |  1300hrs | Deck 5 Jefferies tubes | USS Endeavour]
@TrexelCat @patches  @Blue Zephyr @trevorvw @Fife @YasyraTrill @Top Hat

Shar was humming a song as she crawled through one of the Jefferies tubes on Deck 5. She had spent most of her childhood underground, winding through tunnels on a daily basis, maybe that's why she felt at home in the narrow tubes. She took over all the tasks which involved that kind of work and her fellow crew and the Chief didn't mind. That also allowed her to spend some of her work schedule as me-time,  alone. She had discovered that no matter how hard she tried, it was almost impossible to be alone in a starship. So, she doubly enjoyed her labor on the tubes.

She stopped in front of bulkhead C-291 and used the scanner to do a routine check of the EPS relay. Everything seemed to work as it should, but she knew that the lights in the adjacent corridor were still flickering. She frowned and advanced a few more meters until she reached the C-292 bulkhead. "Ah, here you are, sneaky bastard!" she said and grinned while she uncoupled the defective relay.

The chirp of her combadge startled her. [Counselor R'rori to Junior Lieutenant Shar, remember your weekly appointment when your shift ends]. Shar rolled her eyes but quickly answered "Aye, acknowledged" plainly said. She would have preferred to avoid the appointment this week: she didn't really want to justify her behavior again. It had been a tough week

Shar drummed her fingers on one of the plasma pipes when the repair was finished. The conduit answered, resonating musically, with a twitting sound. The andorian's antennae shuddered slightly, satisfied. A couple of weeks ago, she had discovered that the Jefferies in C-sec had awesome acoustics. She planned to use her next break looking for an junction that allowed her to sit: her sister had sent her the last hits of Thonolan Blues Media and she NEEDED a good place to listen to them.

With that thought in mind, she retraced her steps (if they could be called that) to the ladder that spread down to deck 6. Then, the ship shook savagely. Shar didn't have time to think what was happening, she simply lost her grip and fell down the vertical duct. Subsequent impacts on the hull made her fall even more spectacular, so much so that Shar almost appreciated the thump on the deck plating. Almost.

She stayed still few momments, sprawled and gasping. Half of her nerves cried out in pain, and the others were numbed. She wasn't sure which of the two options she disliked most. The next shake of the ship was different: she was sure that the Endeavour had been caught by a tractor beam. At the same time, her ears were filled with the howl of the red alert. "What the fuck?" she groaned as she spun around and crawled in the search of the closest access to the hallway, mostly disoriented.

She poured into the hallway and tried to remain standing, leaning against the bulkhead. Then, an ominous voice bellowed through the static of the ship's intercom:

[WE ARE THE BORG. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR SHIP. WE WILL ADD YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTURE WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.]

Shar froze.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #13 – March 31, 2018, 02:24:38 AM

[ Captain Amasov | Bridge | USS Endeavour ] @YasyraTrill @Blue Zephyr @Numen @patches @Top Hat @trevorvw @TrexelCat

“Helm, bring us about! Line us up for one more run!” Iron determination could be heard in Captain Amasov’s voice as he bellowed orders from the Captain’s chair, white knuckled hands gripping the armrests. “Tactical, fire as soon as we’re in weapon’s range! Anything we have left!” Amasov turned his head slightly towards the Operations station, but his eyes remained fixed on the viewscreen and the Borg cube which loomed before them. “Ops, did the message get through to Starbase 84? Have they acknowledged?” Amasov demanded, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice with the final question. The Lieutenant at Ops shook her head as she raised her voice to be heard over the noise. “The message was sent, Captian, but no word yet from Captain Hawthorne. It’s poss…”

The Ops officer’s report was cut short as Endeavour shuddered under the impact of another Borg attack. The Ops console erupted in a firework show of sparks and discharging energy, sending the Bolian Lieutenant reeling away, hands clutching at her burned face. On hearing the blast, Amasov finally tore his eyes away from the viewscreen and turned towards Ops. Upon seeing the Lieutenant on the floor, burns marring the light blue skin of her face and hands, Captain Amasov swore and slapped his chest, activating his combadge. “Amasov to Sickbay, medical emergency. I need a medical team to the bridge.” A moment later the Chief Medical Officer’s voice could be heard. “We’re a little busy down here right now, Sir!” The Chief Medical Officer remonstrated, his voice sounding strained, “I can’t really spare any…”

“I don’t have time to argue, Doctor! Send anyone you can spare! Amasov out.”

The connection to sickbay terminated as Amasov turned his attention back to the viewscreen once more. There was nothing more he could do for the injured Ops officer at this moment, he had an entire ship to worry about. Captain Amasov inhaled deeply, steeling himself for the fight to come, and addressed Ensign Okhala at the CONN.

“Ensign Okhala, take us in!”

---

[ Lt. Cross | Bridge | USS Endeavour ]

Cross barely heard the blast of the Ops console or the Bolian’s cries over the din on the bridge. He worked furiously at the tactical console, changing the frequency and modulation of the ship’s phasers yet again in preparation for the coming attack.

As Ensign Okhala brought them into weapon’s range, he looked up at the viewscreen and fired another salvo at the Borg cube. He watched as the torpedoes sped through space and the phaser shots ripped towards their target. He watched the first beam from the ship’s phasers strike the cube, and the following beam impact the Borg shields without effect, the shields having adapted to the phasers yet again. The photon torpedoes were being affected by the Borg’s subspace and electromagnetic fields, and were no longer tracking targets properly, and exploding before reaching their target.

<Fuck!> Cross growled angrily through gritted teeth. A tendril of fear encircled his chest, making his breathing shallow and his pulse quicken as he turned his head towards Captain Amasov. He had to shout to be heard over the wail of the klaxon, and the sounds of their ship being rocked by Borg fire. “Captain, our weapons are no longer having any effect on the cube. Torpedoes are ineffective as well. Shields are failing.” Cross could see resignation in Captain Amasov’s eyes as he continued his report, “There are hull breaches on multiple decks. Some forcefields are in place, but deck 8 is in total vacuum. Casualty reports are coming in from all over the ship, as well as reports of crewmembers being assimilated by drone boarding parties. Sir…” Cross paused.

Glancing around, his eyes met with Ensign Okhala’s briefly as they swept the bridge, taking in the battered and injured crew, the damage to the bridge. Some electrical component in the ceiling must have overloaded at some point, because sparks were periodically raining down between Cross and Captain Amasov, leaving little tracers in Cross’ vision as his gaze settled on their Captain again. “Sir, the Endeavour has fallen. She’s coming apart at the seams…” Cross hated the taste of the words as they left his mouth, a flavor like bile. The fear and sense of hopelessness that was gripping his chest was becoming ever tighter.

As Cross watched, Amasov’s jaw tightened and his hand moved to his combadge. His voice had taken on a grim tone when he next spoke. “All hands, this is the Captain. Abandon ship. Proceed to the nearest escape pods immediately…”

“I repeat, abandon ship.”

---

OOC: Hope everyone is ok with this. Let me know if anyone wants anything changed. @patches I thought this would be a good way to get R'Rori moving towards the bridge?

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #14 – April 02, 2018, 08:31:27 PM

[Lt. JG Khelleshar sh'Zenne | Deck 6 corridors | USS Endeavour] @TrexelCat  @patches  @Blue Zephyr  @trevorvw  @Fife  @YasyraTrill  @Top Hat
[Show/Hide]

The high-pitched squeal of the COMM badge drove her out of her daze [All Operations Officers, report position to the Ops Chief! NOW!] The little device roared in the husky voice of Commander Vasiliev. Shar put her hand on her chest to address her position on deck ... Which deck? The fall still disoriented her, and while she knew that the vertical ducts didn’t span more than one or two levels, it wasn’t clear how many decks she had fallen. If she guided herself by the forcefulness of the impact, then ... well she preferred not to think about it. The starship reared again, shaking wildly the corridor, and hurling her against the bulkheads. Sparks began to fall from a bursting lamp while Shar tried to protect herself from the electric rain, raising her arm over her antennae. She moved forward as well as she could through the unstable corridor, a corridor indistinguishable of any other of the saucer area: gray bulkheads, cream floor embroidered by a couple of red lines that…wait ... RED ... red lines in C section... The andorian antennae suddenly stood up. It could only be either desk 6 or 12. And no matter how proud she was of her endurance, she knew that she couldn’t have survived a seven-desk-fall. Well, maybe she could had made it, only a few seconds turned into a bloody blue mass, resembling an omelet with extra of broken bones and engineering tools as side-dish. She carried on, running towards the nearest turbolift meanwhile she tried to answer the summons of her boss "Junior Lieutenant Shar reporting from section C, desk fiv ... SIX" she corrected herself at the last moment, fearing she had lost the few neurons that still worked in her brain with the impact "... on my way to my post in ...." [Don’t dare made it, Frost-Leek!] interrupted the Chief [we have a hole the size of Baikal lake on deck 8, move your blue puny ass to section H, NOW!]

The roar of her superior made her change direction immediately and she trotted limping again, back where she was being required. Albeit she progressed through the corridors, she could verify that she had been lucky: section C was internal enough to haven’t received too much damage, but as she approached to the hulk she began to be surrounded by fallen panels, busted EPSs, hanging wires and failing lights. Black stains resulted of the passage of plasma fire, indefinable debris and red puddles blurred the anodyne aisles turning them into a macabre scene. Shar crossed paths with several crew members who were rushing in other directions, most with pale faces and a determined look, without daring either of them to interrupt the path of the others or ask for information. Some of them dragged wounded people and a heavily armed security group moved parallel to Shar until they diverted at a crossroads. Altogether they looked like a group of redbats dazzled by the sudden entrance of the light in a cave, flying confused and blinded by the trap that had been their home.

She tried to remove this image from her mind when she turned the last intersection to get to section H. The corridor's condition worsened ostentatiously: she immersed herself in a scene of madness: the corridor plasma pipes burned fiercely, illuminating everything with a blinding white-blue glare. Commander Vasiliev tried to control the fire with little success, his hardy figure surrounded by smoke and flames, dwarfed by the magnitude of the flames. The Russian spun around coughing as he wiped his forehead with a ham-like arm, his balding head beaded with sweat and soot. A crooked smile broke his broad face when he glimpsed Shar, then the commander chuckled relieved and greeted her throwing an extinguisher to her chest that almost knocked her down. The andorian felt the air leave her lungs when the metallic cylinder hit her battered ribs, but somehow she managed to grab the device at the last moment and put herself side by side with her superior. The commander simply pointed out a couple of areas from the hell that roared in the corridor, unable to be heard over the sound of the flames.

They began to work on the furious fires, dealing with it what seemed an eternity: the andorian trying to placate the flames while the stocky man cut the flow of oxidant. It seemed like a lost battle, the bright flames stubbornly trying to consume the corridor until it reached the outer hull. The hall lights suddenly went out, but the fire was so large that hardly there were any difference. In a pitifully slow way, the tongues of fire diminished, leaving behind a blackened void that reached the nearest Jefferies. Shar slightly waved her antennae and spun to her superior, when she was interrupted by the voice of the captain which hardly arrived through the intercom of the starship, distorted by static and damaged electronics [... is the Captain… nearest... pod... I repeat, abandon the ship]

"Fucking shit!" Both officers called in unison with frustration. The stocky officer pushed the gawky andorian to starboard without consideration "We are close to shuttles H-95 to H-100, when we..." he didn’t finish the sentence and his hand, still pushing the back of the young officer, stiffened spasmodically. Shar turned around and looked at him, confused, and she found surprised that the human's eyes went from shock to horror, to finally became empty. "... Run, it's an order ..." The Russian muttered while he slid to the ground, revealing a couple of drones behind him. One of them removed his assimilation tubules from the back of the Ops Chief with mechanical indifference. The andorian listened to the blow of the body falling against the floorplates, stunned in place with the empty extinguisher in her hands. Shar threw it uselessly against the nearest enemy and stepped back without turn her back on the drones, trying to find a way out. She put her hand on her hip, looking for a phaser or a tool or something. Something to attack or defend herself with, something with what .... Offer a fight. "Resistance is futile" said the drones synchronized, without stop their martial stride to get through the fallen body of Commander Vassiliev. Shar felt her blood roaring in her ears as she retreated to the junction: adrenaline was rapidly taking control of her body and instead of the expected eruption of irrational energy, a cool calm settled over her. She couldn’t do anything there and the Borg blocked her way to the nearest escape pod. The Borg continued to move undisturbed towards her, extending their white hands again, ready to make the andorian share the fate of her superior. Shar quickly analyzed her surroundings and zigzagged, plunging to her left and dodging the Borg tubules by a hair. She ran down the corridor like a mad ant after stepping on an anthill and headed as quickly as she could to the nearest pod: she knew it was the only chance she had to escape.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #15 – April 03, 2018, 04:39:58 AM

[ Ensign Laurel Okhala | Bridge: Helm Control | USS Endeavour ] Attn: @patches @Blue Zephyr @Top Hat @Fife @Numen @trevorvw @Auctor Lucan

Laurel breathed deep as she swung the the Endeavour around to comply with the Captains order. Grim determination and focus fixed upon her face. 'Don't show your fear. Don't acknowledge it or give it power. Focus' She could hear her father's voice in the back of her mind. She put the Endeavour into a steep dive before bringing her to bear hard to starboard as she launched them into a quick attack run passed the cube once more. Watching wide eyed, as the Endeavour's weapons impacted harmlessly on the surface of the massive ship.

Swinging the ship around again she put her into evasive maneuvers to avoid more Borg boarders. Before trying to set them up for a final run, as she heard Cross and Amasov, argue tactics. Listening as yet another crew member was injured, and the call to medical was made. Hadn't they called for medical already? C'Rusar had been hit awhile ago? How long had they been at it? A minute? Three?

As her mind wondered to the injured she was jerked back into focus as the controls shuddered under her hands. "Imirrhlhhse!" she cursed so forcefully, that her translator glitched. She made a few quick calculations and brought them to a near full stop before plummeting, then kicking the engines into full impulse and climbing quickly to a point, then spinning them away from the enemy once more. They had narrowly avoided being trapped in that blasted tractor beam again. As her breathing returned after her brief panic, she heard something that made her heart stop.

"All hands, this is the Captain. Abandon ship. Proceed to the nearest escape pods immediately..." If she hadn't been on the bridge with him, she wouldn't have noticed the pure rage and worry that laced the captain's words and shown in his slightly swollen eyes. She jerked her look to the side to take in Cross' mirroring worry. "I repeat, abandon ship."

"Captain?!" She shouted, gripping the edge of the helm panel as the ship was rocked by another explosion, nearly bucking her out of her seat.

"Now Ensign. You too Lieutenant." He snapped at her an Cross. "Put her on an intercept course, Okhala, and get out of here."

With shaking hands, Laurel, plotted a confusing cross section of commands, for the Endeavour's computer to follow. Complete with another run passed a bunch of smaller ships in an attempt to make seem as though they were going to continue fighting, but really to give everyone more time to flee. Final she punched in the final command that would send the ship into the Cube at full impulse. 'Let their stupid shields repel that.' she thought viciously before standing on unsteady feet and moving to attempt to heft the still form of C'Rusar onto her shoulders. The bridge shifted sideways as she stood, and she had a feeling it had nothing to do with an explosion.

"Leave him, ensign. He's gone." The Captain's voice ordered through the haze. "Get to your escape pod. Go on." His voice shook slightly, Laurel didn't notice.[/i]

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #16 – April 05, 2018, 09:17:21 PM

[ Cmdr Ranaan Ducote | Corridors | Saucer Section | USS Endeavour ] Attn: @Blue Zephyr @patches @YasyraTrill @Fife @Numen

Watching the dawning realisation creep over Blue's face was the worst thing Ranaan had seen in a long time. The only thing he could readily bring to mind right now (perhaps primed by the situation?) was when he'd been forced to watch as a young Trill had been melted by a plasma fire centimetres away from him, separated by an emergency forcefield that he couldn't deactivate. If only it had stopped the sound of his screams, or the mental impression his agony/numbness had left on his empathy.

"Worse ways to go than slavery to Blue Tiran," he smirked, through long habit, not really invested in the joke.

"I... I love you."

That was a Big Thing for Blue to say. She normally trusted his abilities to let him know; he just nodded quickly and pressed his forehead to hers. His hands lingered on hers as they parted, before he pushed her gently towards the pods.

"I'll be waiting," were her parting words. He spared one wrenching glance over his shoulder to shout a last desperate command.

"Just go!"

He truly intended to follow her, but a not-insignificant part of him (the pragmatic part, he was dismayed to admit) calculated that going back into the bowels of the ship (even though that was his job, and one he'd ignored in favour of making sure his fiancée was safe) meant it wouldn't be likely he would be able to make it back to Blue. He squelched the thought, set his jaw, and tried not to hate himself.

[All hands, this is the Captain. Abandon ship.] Even though he'd expected it, the sound of the evacuation alarm sent a litre of ice through his veins. [Proceed to the nearest escape pods immediately. I repeat, abandon ship.]

Rounding a corner, he came upon a pair of blue-shirted science officers fleeing a group of Borg at the next junction. "Come on; this way! Section six, go," he said, raising his pistol again and praying the shot would bypass the Borg adaptation. The orange beam stabbed out, and perforated one of the drones thanks to its high setting. The energy input sent the cyborg sparking and twitching to the deck. Its compatriots objected - Ducote barely had time to throw himself into scant cover in a doorway before the space in which he'd been standing was filled with plasma bolts. The lurid green did remind him of something, though. He tapped into the wall console by his head, forcing an overload in the local EPS bus.

Santa Maria, I hope this works. And doesn't kill me.

The conduit between him and the advancing drones exploded in a wall of roiling green flame, throwing duranium shrapnel up and down the corridor. He risked waiting a few seconds, shielding his face against the heat wash with his arm, but none of the Borg came through the environmental hazard.

He backed up and ran around the compartment cluster, taking the next corridor, following the minds he could still detect with his empathy.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #17 – April 27, 2018, 02:09:05 AM

[ Lt. Cross | Bridge | USS Endeavour | Abandon Ship ] @YasyraTrill @Blue Zephyr @Numen @Top Hat Anyone else...

"Now Ensign. You too Lieutenant." Amasov barked at Ensign Okhala and Cross. "Put her on an intercept course, Okhala, and get out of here."

Cross gritted his teeth as he set what few remaining weapon systems the Endeavour had left to automatically target and fire repeatedly at the Borg cube while constantly rotating modulations. Cross hoped that between that and Okhala’s programmed evasive course, it would keep the Borg occupied and give the escape pods a chance to get clear. That done, he rose to his feet and had to grab the back of the seat to steady himself against the rocking of another impact against the Endeavour’s crumbling shields. The electrical relay in the ceiling continued to sputter electrical current, showering more sparks onto the already scorched deck of the Endeavour’s bridge. Cross heart felt heavy as he stepped away from his station, and the feeling that he had failed settled into his gut like a burning coal.

He turned his head to see Ensign Okhala rising unsteadily from her own seat, swaying slightly as though being thrown off balance by a non-existent impact on the ship. Blood was smeared on her face where she had apparently tried to wipe it out of her eyes. She moved towards C’Rusar’s still form, moving like someone who was intoxicated.

"Leave him, Ensign. He's gone." Cross heard Amasov’s voice address Okhala. "Get to your escape pod. Go on."

Cross approached Ensign Okhala and reached out a hand, taking hold of her arm to steady the half-Romulan. Okhala was quite a bit shorted than Cross was, and he had no difficulty supporting her as she swayed slightly. Okhala was still looking at C’Rusar’s motionless body lying on the deck.

“Come on, Ensign. Let’s get to the pods.” Cross said, gently turning her away from the sight of her fallen mentor. Even standing next to her, Cross had to raise his voice to be heard over the klaxon. As Cross steered Okhala towards the turbolift he saw the burned Ops Lieutenant crawling in the same direction. Cross let go of Okhala, trusting her to make it to the turbolift on her own now that she was moving, and rushed over to the sobbing Bolian Lieutenant. Cross dragged the woman to her feet and over to the turbolift.

“Deck three” Cross told the turbolift once the three of them were inside. Cross saw Captain Amasov sitting proudly in the center chair, back ramrod straight and hands gripping the armrests to keep him in his seat. The last Cross and the others saw of their Captiain was Amasov staring straight ahead at the viewscreen, which still displayed the Borg cube, as the turbolift doors slid shut.

The turbolift descended and opened it’s doors once it reached deck 3. The Bolian lieutenant staggered forward out of the turbolift as Cross turned toward Okhala to see how she was fairing. The scream alerted Cross that something wasn’t right. Cross’ head whipped around to reveal a Borg drone visible in the corridor through the doors of the turbolift. The drone had grabbed the Bolian Lieutenant by the arm, and was raising it’s other arm toward her neck. The Lieutenant’s scream was cut off abruptly as the drone extended tubules into her neck. Cross swore violently as he saw the Lieutenant spasm as the nanoprobes were introduced to her system. Fear seized Cross’ mind and made him feel as though his heart had stopped beating.

“<Fucking shit!> Computer, close turbolift doors!” Cross roared. “Now!” All he could think of was to get the barrier of the doors between himself, Okhala and the corridor. Something to shield them from the horrific sight of the drone assimilating the Bolian Ops officer. There was nothing he or Ensign Okhala could do for her. The doors slid shut and Cross slumped back against the wall of the turbolift, managing to keep his legs under him despite the fact that they felt like jelly. Cross had seen death before, and doled it out himself on more than one occasion, but what he had just witnessed was not just death…

Damnit! Get a hold of yourself! Cross berated himself, taking a deep breath and shaking his head, trying to dispel the fear that had gripped him so completely. You still have to get to the pods if you don’t want to end up like that Bolian. Cross glanced at the Ensign standing next to him and took a deep breath before speaking.

“Computer, deck 6.” Cross said, and a moment later he felt the turbolift descending once again.

The Bolian Lieutenant’s scream still seemed to echo in Cross’ mind.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #18 – April 27, 2018, 11:03:14 PM

[Ensign Laurel Okhala | Turbolift | USS Endeavour | Abandon Ship ] Attn: @Fife @patches @Numen @Blue Zephyr @Top Hat

Eyes wide in barely contained shock and horror, Laurel collapsed further against the side of the turbolift, the sound of the Ops officer's screams ringing in her head with the pounding in her temples. <Fvadt> She breathed out.

As they continued on Laurel lurched forward and barely caught herself as the lift shuddered to a halt and the lights flickered on to only the emergency light. "That can't be a good sign." She muttered and looked over at Cross. "Looks like we might need to take the stairs, sir." Her voice shook with nerves that she couldn't quite hide. She pushed off the wall and tested the steadiness of her footing. Finding it sub optimal was not surprising but she felt she could handle it. Checking to see that Cross heard her, she moved forward to the doors and began to open them manually.

Finally, the doors released with an ominous hiss, onto a partially destroyed corridor. The force field seemed to be holding but it did not make the unease of seeing such things any easier. "I guess that explains why the turbolift stopped." She slurred as she turned on wobbly knees to look at Cross. "I think we better get out of here as quick as possible, sir."

"Laurel!" The concussed ensign almost fell in her attempt at turning so quickly, to see a bloodied, slightly singed, Ensign Egon Julbi rushing toward them from around a corner. "What are you doing here? Captain said to get to the escape pods." His voice was horse and shook with nerves. Glancing passed her he took notice of Cross, "Sir, we have to get out of here, the Borg boarders have been advancing, I got split off from the rest of my team." Egon had not removed his hands from Laurel's shoulders while he spoke to the other officer and his eyes flickered back to her face with every other breathe he took. As he finished speaking one hand slid to her neck to cradle her head, thumb swiping at the blood on the side of her face. "You two look worse for wear." He chuckled humorlessly.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #19 – May 03, 2018, 03:08:54 PM

[LtJr. Khelleshar sh'Zenne | | Deck 6 corridors | USS Endeavour]
Attn: @TrexelCat  @patches  @Blue Zephyr  @Fife  @YasyraTrill l  @Top Hat @trevorvw @everyone who must be around here
[Show/Hide]

At first, she simply ran as fast as she could, trying to ignore the pain in her knee. Shar only oughted to leave the Borg behind, just enough to get oriented and drew up a new action plan. She turned to port at the next junction, jumped over a heap of debris and stumbled slightly as she fell on her injured knee. The andorian frowned, fearing that if she came face-to-face with the Borgs again, an act as stupid as this would condemn her. She must survive, she had to get to one of the escape pods and get out of the hell that Endeavour had become. Shar crossed a corridor blackened by the flames, a fire different from the one she had helped suffocate herself. She slowed her pace and looked around: the charred corridor seemed to have received a direct impact, but the hull had endured. Not so the plasma conduits, which should have burst. The bulk plates on the port tack were mere scraps of twisted metal, like a diseased and blackened plant spreading all around the corridor. In the middle of the corridor, a pair of unrecognizable bodies told the story of those who had had the bad luck of being in the wrong place at the time of impact. Shar couldn't even be sure what species they had belonged to, they were just two twisted black humanoid figures. A part of her felt sorry for those unfortunates: Would she know them? Would she have shared their food with them in the canteen? Would they be from her same department? But as bad as she felt, she couldn't do anything for them, they were beyond any help. Perhaps it would have been the best for them: between an accidental death and being assimilated into the Collective, the andorian woman was clear about her choice.

She passed carefully over the bodies, trying not to step on them, it was the least respect she could give them. When she got over them, she swallowed, trying not to look back again. But she did it. One of the corpses seemed to extend its charred hand towards her, pointing in her direction, maybe accusing her not helping them when she could. She didn't know why, but she couldn't help feeling bit more guilty. So she shook her head, trying to erase those ominous thoughts and looked forward again, towards... Towards the Borg who were advancing in her direction from the other side of the corridor. "Resistance is futile" they said. Shar was beginning to hate that phrase more than anything.

She turned again, ready to retrace her steps, but found that the other side of the aisle was blocked by more enemies. She was trapped. Her antennae began to quiver, as she looked around, looking for a way out, a weapon, something. I can't die like that, I can not. Her eyes found again the blackened hole in the wall. The service tunnels. Moved by the adrenaline, she dived forward, scratching the shoulder of her uniform in the scraps of metal.

The Jefferies again. She couldn't help but chuckled at the irony of the situation: she had been born in a mine and spent half of her life in tunnels and, now, it seemed that she was going to die in another tunnel left behind by the Guardians. It seemed that this weird way of dying ran in the family. She compose a toothy smile and wriggled forward, amid the spoils of the explosion. If she was going to die in that damn tube, she was going to do it causing trouble. She crawled through the burned tube what seemed like an eternity: every time she tried to turn in an intersection or take one of the exits, everytime, she found remains that blocked them or fallen cables that prevented her from moving forward or with bulkplates welded to the wall by the heat of the plasma fire. It seemed the flames had spread through the Jefferies, sweeping everything in its path, fed by the plasma of one section after another until it had left nothing, only a blackened hole with an only way to continue. So Shar stubbornly crushed the antennae over her skull and kept going, letting out a snarl every time she had to put the weight on her injured knee.

When she least expected it, the tube ended: the hull had disappeared and the only thing that prevented the andorian from rushing into the void of space was a flickering force field. She knelt on the edge of the Jefferies and stuck her head out to see the hallway on the other side. She couldn't reach the other side of the tube, but if she stretched her legs enough maybe she could reach the corridor. She rocked back and forth to give herself momentum and jumped to the aisle. At least she could be on her feet again.

To her surprise, when she looked around she found herself next to one of the turbolifts with a group of battered crew in front of it. A security officer, a young woman with her head bathed in green blood and a red-shirt with shaved hair. The latter sounded familiar, but her accelerated mind couldn't connect the dots and find his name. Wait, that's it. She approached them limping slightly, but determined. She had it. "Lieutenant Cross, sir" she greeted briefly. "We're up to the neck of Borg on this deck," she growled next, as she glanced at the two ensigns: he seemed lost and scared by the state of the young woman and she ... oh boy, if Shar had thought she was disoriented and worn out when she was in the Jefferies, she was as good as gold in comparison. Either way, they couldn't remain still there. She took the romulan girl under the armpits, waiting for the security crewman to do the same for the other side. "We have to move fast sir. I'm pretty sure that pods H-95 to H-100 are still around but there are more and more enemies on board "

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #20 – May 07, 2018, 09:11:05 PM

[ Lt. Cross | Deck 6 | USS Endeavour | Abandon Ship ] Attn: @Numen @YasyraTrill @patches @Top Hat @trevorvw Anyone else...

Under normal circumstances Ensigns Julbi and Okhala’s display of affection would have made Cross feel uncomfortable. Most things related to relationships did. But this could hardly be called normal circumstances. Under the current circumstances, Cross barely noticed. His attention was focused on the sudden appearance of a tall Andorian who had just jumped into the corridor, seemingly from somewhere in the missing portion of the hull. Cross guessed the operations officer must have taken the Jefferies tubes.

“Lieutenant Cross, sir, We’re up to the neck of Borg on this deck.” The Andorian said, helping Ensign Julbi support Okhala. "We have to move fast sir. I'm pretty sure that pods H-95 to H-100 are still around but there are more and more enemies on board "

Cross acknowledged the Andorian Lieutenant’s report with a nod and moved in front of Julbi and Okhala. He reached out and drew the phaser from the security officer’s holster. With the Borg boarding the ship they needed someone to be armed, and his were the only free hands in the group.

“Let’s get to those escape pods.” Was all he said before taking the lead and moving down the corridor, making sure not to get too far ahead of the other three. Several corridors later they came to the stretch that housed escape pods H-95 to H-100.

Or at least it had.

The housing for pod H100 stood empty, the pod having already ejected. The exterior bulkhead beyond H100 must have been hit by the Borg cube’s cutting beam, because the corridor which should have held H99 through H95 ended in yet another empty gap, the cold void of space was visible beyond the containment field that blocked their advance. 30 meters across the void the corridor could be seen intact, but the group had no way of crossing the distance.

“<Oh for fuck’s sake!>” Cross growled as he turned to look at the others. “We’ll have to go around. Let’s just hope the next section with H90 to 94 is still intact!”

Cross muttered another curse under his breath as he set off in the opposite direction, back-tracking in search of a way to circumvent the missing section of the ship. They had to hurry. The Endeavour would be starting it’s automated strafing run on the Borg cube at any moment, and Cross didn’t like the odds of the ship surviving the maneuver.

As they moved back the way they had come, they came to a T intersection. The corridor continued straight directly ahead of them, leading back towards the turbolifts, and a perpendicular corridor ran off to the left. The left corridor was the obvious option, both because it would lead deeper into the ship and let them skirt around the missing section of hull, and also due to the fact that there were 2 Borg drones advancing on them from the direction of the turbolifts. Cross let rip with yet another curse as he raised the phaser and fired, hoping to delay the drones as the three officers he was covering moved down the left hallway. The delay caused was minimal, as the phaser shot was absorbed by the Borg’s defensive field.

The drones did halt their advance however, raising their arms and bringing their weapon implants to a firing position. Cross threw himself down the left hallway, narrowly avoiding the discharge of the plasma weapons but landing hard on his left shoulder. A jolt of pain shot up his arm, and quickly turned to pain. He staggered hastily to his feet and hurried down the corridor after the others, glancing over his shoulder to watch for more Borg weapons fire.

---

OOC: I started writing this post going with what Shar had said, but then realized the escape pod in Tin Can Limbo is H93. Lol 

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #21 – June 03, 2018, 11:10:28 PM

[ Cmdr Ranaan Ducote | Corridors | USS Endeavour | Abandon Ship ] Attn: @Fife @Numen @YasyraTrill @patches @Blue Zephyr

The minutes crawled by, feeling like hours. Ducote wondered if his empathy was failing him, or he was simply going mad with the stress of the situation. Around him the ship shuddered and moaned - the last few manoeuvres of which she would be capable stressing the remaining intact load-bearing members of the superstructure - which provided an otherworldly aspect to his predicament. As his brain gave up trying to process what was going on, everything felt more and more like a dream. It contrasted oddly with the implacable knowledge that he was awake. There was no escape from it.

"Commander!" someone yelled nearby, heaving on a jammed door. Ranaan skidded to a halt, catching himself on the corner of a bulkhead before he slid off his feet.

"Ensign Nakamura," he said, as he jogged closer. "Why are you still-"

The reason the young ensign hadn't yet deigned to follow the evacuation order was clear enough once he approached; there was someone behind the buckled door she was trying to wrench open. Thinking about it, he was sure he'd heard a rumour floating through the ship's scuttlebutt that Jenn here was seeing... yes. Ensign th'Issix in Medical. There was a hand's-breadth gap in the door through which the lurid green of a plasma fire flickered, silhouetting the lanky Andorian's antennae and half his desperate expression.

"Please, sir, help us," Nakamura was saying. "The door won't budge, and the fire-"

"You have to get me out of here," the medic pleaded. "The heat's already unbearable, and the Borg are getting closer. Au'ro was on comms from deck nine but she was cut off and... and-"

Ducote held a hand up before the pair of them descended into hysteria, as he looked around the door frame to judge the state of it. Something must have made it past his professional mask and written itself across his face, because th'Issix made something of a strangled noise and quietly added another, "Please..."

Even through the narrow opening in the door, the heat from the fire was fierce. Ducote was trying to ignore the fatigue it was producing in the cold-climate nurse... but that did make it difficult not to remember the events of Starbase 157 and the plasma fires there. He kept his internal grimace at th'Issix' likely fate from his face this time... though for an instant that seemed like an eternity, the evacuation alarm sounded more like a male Ops officer directing civilian traffic away from ground zero, towards hazard bunkers, and pointing first responders in the right direction. The smell of broiled flesh drifted into his nose. Blinking, he surfaced from the flashback, ignoring the cold sweat on the back of his neck. "Alright, Ensign, let's see. On three?" She nodded. "Alright-" he counted down, and they heaved on the doors to try and pry them open. From the other side, th'Issix joined in.

The most they could elicit from the door was a small creak in the warped duranium panel.

There were a few more tries, and Ducote was about to call it off to try and look for another way, when he felt a sensation akin to pouring a bucket of slugs down one's shirt. It took him a second to realise it hadn't come from him, but the trapped Andorian. Ranaan looked into the sweating blue-skinned face and realised he was looking between his cohorts trying to help him, and staring at something down the corridor. Ducote looked over his shoulder, already suspecting what he'd find.

Another trio of drones were advancing on them. Casually, nonchalantly, confident the Starfleet crew were powerless against them. To prove it, they spoke as one:

"Resistance is futile."

"Quick!" cried Nakamura. "We have to get this door-"

"We aren't doing anything, Ensign," Ducote replied as he raised his phaser and peeled off a shot at the drones. Predictably, it glanced off an adapted energy shield. "Nearest escape pods are that way-" he pointed with his free hand, "- so go."

"But-"

"Immediately."

"I'm not going without him."

Ducote closed his eyes. The drones were only a handful of metres away. They hadn't bothered firing at them; evidently content to assimilate instead.  He grabbed a fistful of the ensign's gold-shouldered uniform and heaved her towards the direction he'd indicated. "Go!"

Another few shots, interspersed with him randomly mashing the setting buttons on the phaser, slowed the Borg advance. A little. But on they came.

"Commander."

The voice was quiet behind him. Resigned. A single glance confirmed what Ranaan could sense - the hooded eyes, depressed antennae. The straight posture despite the rising, intolerable heat and the palpable fear of the advancing drones. th'Issix was ready to die. But he was ready to do it on his own terms - not those of a heartless hive mind. Another glance showed him Nakamura's foot as she disappeared around the next corner. Ducote's shoulders sagged, but he wasted no time as he turned around.

"Godspeed, Kithaon th'Issix," Ducote said as he pushed the phaser through the gap in the door. The bright orange bolt contrasted sickly with the harlequin glow of the plasma fire as it burned through the than's throat and severed his spinal column at the base of his skull. Neural shock meant there was barely anything for his empathy to sense - his brain just dived into a coma almost immediately. Ranaan felt sick, as the body slumped to the deck. Like he'd just issued an execution to an innocent person.

But what else could I have done? Let him burn? Let them assimilate him?

And while the thought was fresh, he turned in time to see one of the drones raising its arm, a pair of tubules already sliding out of their housing in preparation to pump him full of nanites, and he bolted after Nakamura.

It didn't take him long to catch up.

"Is th'Iss-"

As she saw his face, the ensign gave up. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back in order to keep running to safety. "Was..." the deck shuddered with another impact, "- was it the fire, or did-" Nakamura's voice caught in her throat. "Did they..."

Ducote was silent for a second or two, before he decided how to answer her. "He-"

The explosion tore the bulkheads open in front of them, the bassy roar deafening him. As he pushed himself into a sitting position from where he lay on his back, he could just about make out the tap and tinkle of duranium shrapnel pattering to the deck further down the corridor. Ahead of him was a wall of fire, behind him were the Borg...

Where is Jenn?

He couldn't see her. Couldn't sense her, either. He blinked the smoke out of his eyes a little, and saw a boot sticking out from under a pile of wrecked bulkhead and rebar. "Oh," he mumbled. "I see."

Stumbling to his feet, he staggered back down the corridor and took the last exit, away from where the drones were still making their plodding pursuit of him, mentally trying to make a route back to Blue's section of the crew decks so he could board her escape pod. Only now was he realising that the likely reason he couldn't sense any of the crew here was because they had either all evacuated, or were all casualties. Or worse.

But everywhere he went, he was met with forcefields, or collapsed corridors, or blast doors, or fused hatches. Every access he could find (that didn't involve trying to run past groups of drones) to the upper decks was gone. Even the drones seemed fewer now. Perhaps they were clearing out? The effort of assimilating the last of the Endeavour crew not deemed worth the energy spent by the Collective?

It was a strange hope to hold. Those new drones were his own crew just this morning.

Aft. The shuttle bay. There should still be something flyable there.

Ranaan tried to distract himself with the mundanities of survival. It only mostly worked.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #22 – September 29, 2018, 02:30:12 AM

[Lieutenant Elro Kobol | Main Sickbay | 1300 hrs. | USS Endeavour]

Elro smiled so softly that his lip barely shifted, the feeling of enjoyment spreading throughout his mind as a result of the respite in the conversation he was sharing with his colleague. Though, it wasn’t his enjoyment that he was experiencing, but rather, that of the Counselor's, rippling through him like water being swished in a glass. At first, he worried that he had bored the Counselor, that seeing the conversation draw to an end was the most enjoying thing about it. But then he caught a stray thought that made his lips curl up in an ever-so-slight smile.

Elro knew how strictly the Counselor liked to control their emotions. Even when he was trying to get something from R’Rori, it was rarely much more than he would get from say, a Vulcan. It was clear that the Counselor liked to keep the thoughts running through their head well under control. It had been that way since they had first met. But, on rare occasion, a stray thought did slip through, such as the one that he caught just as their conversation dwindled.

Just a hint of anticipation, intrigue even. Elro enjoyed the company of the Counselor, and knew well enough that lunch tended to fall on the same scheduled break every day. His smile grew in the slightest fraction as he realised that it was possibly the interest of trying a new meal that he was sensing from his collegue. As such, he politely excused himself from the conversation, giving the excuse that he still had some duties to attend to before heading back into his office and quietly closing the door. His shore leave may have been a little more interesting, but R’Rori certainly had the more exciting palate. Elro was much more comfortable sticking to the same foods, trying something new was always a bother for him. His stomach didn’t much enjoy change.

But an adventurous palate was far from the only reason that Elro held R’Rori in high regard. The main reason was an incredible ability that all Starfleet Counselors seemed to possess. Their ability to treat patients suffering from psychiatric distress to homesickness and everything in-between bewildered him. In his profession, he triaged, diagnosed and treated. He used every tool available, his eyes, his tricorder, biobeds, cortical monitors and countless other items he had access to throughout the medbay. A Counselor had the same steps, but didn’t have any of the equipment, or even the ability to view the problem. They had to rely on their training alone, asking the right questions, exploring the right therapies… Elro was glad to have R’Rori and the rest of the Counseling team aboard; it wasn’t something within his skill set. He was scientific, he needed to see and scan something to confirm it. He needed evidence…

But what he saw as the hardest part of counseling was the one similarity Elro had noticed across almost all of the species he had met. An unrelenting reluctance seek help with troubles that people deemed ‘personal’. It baffled him. An expert in stellar cartography wouldn’t try and disarm a tricobolt mine if there was a weapons specialist to hand. An warp field physicist wouldn’t try and remove his own appendix if he could see a medical officer. Yet so many stubborn members of their crew tried to solve their own complex emotional and psychiatric issues when a highly trained counselor was just a few decks away; most Federation vessels came with them as standard now. It was established procedure after the USS Voyager got stranded in the Delta-Quadrant without one for seven years…

Elro was glad that the responsibility of looking after those reluctant souls fell upon R’Rori rather than himself. Whilst he was a Betazoid, and his empathic and telepathic abilities would theoretically be a boon in such a situation, Elro believed that they most certainly weren’t; using psionic abilities to identify and diagnose psychiatric concerns was merely nurturing a talent for dependance. It wasn’t showing the individual what the issue was and how to avoid putting themself in that same situation once again.

Of course, that wasn’t to say Elro did not rely on his abilities. In fact, he found that keeping a fairly active sense of the emotions of those around him came naturally, it was just like a breeze blowing past when he wasn’t focussing too hard. Sometimes just knowing to give someone a smile in the corridor could make their seemingly impossible day get that little bit easier. On the other hand, knowing when someone was harboring hostile and potentially dangerous thoughts could mean the difference between a medical emergency and a hypospray to the side of the neck. But other than the small things, a smile, a kind word, occasionally adjusting his pose to emphasise his ballet muscles… He attempted not to get involved unless there was a genuine need involved: someone who posed a security risk, or genuinely needed help, or might be interested in going back to Elro’s quarters later that evening… But aside from genuine concerns, and the occasional personal hint… Elro made it his policy to not get involved.

“Tomato and Basil soup, hot.” He quietly infomed his replicator, the accompanying whirring sound passing quickly whilst he continued to review the results of a recent cell culture he had been investigating. Elro was well aware that using the CMO’s replicator for lunch was somewhat against ship protocol; his replicator was designed for use only for medical purposes. His justification was that, should he walk all the way to his quarters or the mess hall, then receive notification of a medical emergency, the time it took him to return to Sickbay could easily be the difference between a patient’s life and death.

He left the soup to cool for a moment, knowing that despite his tamperings and edits, the replicator still considered the command ‘hot’ to mean ‘will require oral dermal regeneration’. He settled back down at his desk, bringing up some information on his padd regarding how the radiation permeating the Azure Nebula would likely affect the crew, He was investigating to see if he could develop some form of inoculation. The Endeavour was heading for Starbase 84, but Starfleet Command were on high alert for the U.S.S Theurgy, and the Nebula seemed as good a place to hide as any.

The Azure Nebula was in close proximity to the Starbase, the radiation would interfere with any sensors, and it was over an area expansive enough to easily hide a starship as big as the Theurgy. If he could develop an inoculation to the radiation, it would make a search through the Nebula much easier. After all, despite the Theurgy’s improved sensors, they would be just as blind as any other ship as long as they were inside the Nebula. He planned to pitch his theory to Captain Amasov, as soon as he had an inoculation to deploy. Though he had to admit, judging from the preliminary results; any countermeasure he could conceive would be fairly difficult to develop.

It was as his eyes sifted through his padd, taking in the information as his mind theorising possible countermeasures, that he suddenly became aware of a debilitating sense of unease that drifted over him, followed by a buffeting wave of panic and terror. The emotional onslaught however, was the proverbial calm before the storm, as a following audio cue brought him silently to his feet, his face overcome with a grim expression as he identified the source of the terror, consciously attempting to dampen his paracortex in order to avoid getting caught in the resulting emotional maelstrom.

[WE ARE THE BORG. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR SHIP. WE WILL ADD YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTURE WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.]

He moved calmly yet swiftly as he exited his office, feeling cold beads of sweat start to form on the back of his neck, returning into the main medical bay, where his nursing staff all looked mortified, panic rising in them so clearly that he didn’t need the telepathic echos to identify their anxiety. He needed to manage his team, make them forget about the threat and focus on the task at hand. Keep them busy, that was the key. That’s what his old CMO on the Artemis would do whenever the situation started to darken. Keep the team occupied, don’t give them time to think.

“Get all the dermal regenerators ready, we’ll likely be dealing with exploding consoles and plasma burns across all decks. We’ll also need to replicate dermaline gel and make sure we have several analgesic compounds available, and all high-priority drugs incase of any serious injuries.” He calmly ordered them, waiting for them to respond to his commands before he tilted his head slightly to address the computer. “Computer activate Borg medical protocol, Chief Medical Officer’s authorisation Kobol -Seven-Five-Lambda-Three-Green.”

An authorisation code that all Chief Medical Officers dreaded providing. It permitted the replication of a neural toxin that would terminate the synaptic pathways within seconds. Euthanasia was considered the default treatment for assimilation. The only recorded ‘treatment’ for assimilation once nanoprobes had been injected, was an incident over 200 years ago in which a Denobulan found that Borg nanoprobes were particularly susceptible to omicron particles. Of course, had Starfleet not been so lax after the destruction of one of the Borg transwarp hubs and assigned more researchers to the task of finding a treatment, he might have had more options on the table. He had even conducted some basic research himself when he had been stationed on the Artemis, but a lot of the data surrounding Borg nanoprobes was classified; apparently they sold for an extortionate price on the black market; Ferangi in particular seemed to be keen on getting samples by any means necessary.

Regardless, he didn’t have any solid options to destroy the nanoprobes without also killing their host. And the process of severing a Borg drone from the hive was long-winded and dangerous. Unless the Captain pulled a miraculous feat of daring and got them out of harm's way, a safe distance from the cube, before the Borg boarded the ship, euthanasia would be his only option.

He just hoped his team would be able to stomach it.

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #23 – September 30, 2018, 01:46:17 AM

[Lieutenant Elro Kobol | Main Sickbay | 1304 hrs. | USS Endeavour]

“These burns aren’t severe.” Elro diagnosed aloud, glancing swiftly between the wound on his patient’s thigh and the medical tricorder bleating in his own hand. “I can give you a dose of metorapan now for the pain, but you’ll have to wait for the dermal regenerator…” He began, before he heard a shout from somewhere behind him, on the other side of the row of biobeds. He spun on the spot, hypospray still clutched in his grip, as he swiftly walked over to the newest patient.

His paracortex was perhaps as dampened as he could make it, and even then he could still feel the collective terror and panic of the ship buffeting against his mental walls like a strong gale trying to tear down an aged oak. His focus was only just strong enough to keep him from getting distracted by the constant drumming in his mind as he moved through the Sickbay, trying to only think about his next patient and his medical tricorder.

“Take this to the patient on biobed two.” He told a nurse as he passed her, all but forcing the hypospray into her hands as he continued moving, seeing the lifeless form of an ensign laying on his designated biobed, his face, neck and torso singed and bloody, fabric charred and frayed. As he approached close enough, his nose wrinkled of its own accord at the distasteful smell of burning meat. As smell he was unfortunately getting used to.

“He was near an EPS relay on deck four when the ship was hit by an energy discharge. It overloaded the circuit.” A Vulcan in yellow coloured uniform informed Elro calmly, one of her arms burned in the same way, whilst her other hand was positioned strategically close to her phaser… 

“Sir he’s going into cardiac arrest!” One of his nurses exclaimed, holding a medical tricorder in trembling hands as she clearly began to panic. Elro heard the sound of the biobed scanner alerting him a mere moment following her exclamation. A few of his staff were junior and this was no doubt the first time they had been in a medical emergency of this magnitude.

“I need two ccs of cordrazine.” Elro told her, watching her fumbling hands struggle between holding her tricorder and applying the crimson coloured drug into the hypospray. Meanwhile, his fingers were deftly tapping down onto the console attached to the biobed, checking the vital signs and ensuring that the nurse hadn’t made a misdiagnosis in her panic. She hadn’t. He allowed himself an inward smile that his team weren’t letting panic getting the best of them.

“Prepare a cortical stimulator.” He told the nurse as he took the hypospray from her, collecting the impliment as soon as she was within arms-reach and pressing it instantly to the side of his patient’s neck, his eyes not leaving the console the entire time to ensure that the administered treatment was successful. It was. But Elro didn’t even feel even a shred of satisfaction from it, even as the alarming noises coming from the biobed settled down. He had more patients waiting for him. There simply wasn’t time to give anyone a pat on the back, least of all himself. “Cardiopulmonary levels are returning to normal, use dermaline gel to treat the burns and monitor his vitals. Shout me if there are any changes.” He told the nurse as she returned with the cortical stimulator, leaving her with it as he turned to the Vulcan who had escorted the injured crewman to sickbay, recognising her from her medical examinations but not quite placing the name.

“Are you injured?” He asked her matter-of-factly.

“My burns are not severe, it would be illogical for you to spend time on me that would be better spent on other members of the crew.” She replied calmly, her expressionless face masking the obvious discomfort her arm must have been causing her. 

“You’re security and you can hold a phaser.” He replied as he held his medical tricorder to her wound and examined it carefully to make sure he didn’t miss anything. “Review that logic when we have boarding parties.” He replied, leading her to one of the dermal regenerators that had just been used to treat another wound and was momentarily available. Her wound wouldn’t take long.

“Even on a rotating frequency, it is unlikely a phaser would be much use should the Borg board the ship; they would adapt too quickly.” She replied, as Elro calibrated the device to mend the most severe of her wounds. When he activated it, the satisfying hum signalled him that he had a second to breathe, which he gladly took. His uniform felt sticky and he felt as though he had sweat a month of water in the past few minutes alone, the respite was valued. But the device made short work of the burns; one breath was all he was granted.

“That should be the worst of the damage repaired…” He replied, ignoring most of the Vulcan’s statement as he glanced around the sickbay. “You’re free too…” Elro was interrupted by a call over the comm.

“Amasov to Sickbay, medical emergency. I need a medical team to the bridge.” The Captain’s voice sounded torn and desperate through the comm, whilst Elro’s head filled with thousands of responses. The whole damned ship was a medical emergency. His team weren’t equipped to start running around all over the ship catering to every injury; they were at capacity as it was and some of the medical team were still unaccounted for. If he started scattering people do every deck he’d have no chance of catering to the demand of sickbay. 

“We’re a little busy down here right now, Sir!” He replied grimly. He didn’t have anyone he could spare. “I can’t really spare any…”

“I don’t have time to argue, Doctor! Send anyone you can spare! Amasov out.” Elro sighed inwardly. He had just said that he didn’t have anyone to spare.

“Nurse, report to the bridge on the double, see if any of the councillors are free to assist.” Elro responded aloud, gesturing for one of the other nurses, who was a little more experienced, to run in the direction of the bridge. Her not being in sickbay was an issue, but he certainly wasn’t going to start overruling the Captain in the middle of a Borg assault because it was a medical matter. “Any medical knowledge you have Lieut…” He began asking the Vulcan still stood next to him, before another flood of injuries came bursting through the Sickbay doors in a cacophony of shouts.

“We’ve got boarding parties!” Someone yelled above the din, but Elro could tell that from afar, making his breath hitch as he began pushing past everyone whom was in his way. One of the crewmen being carried in had a distinctive grey patch on his neck...

“Get him into the isolation unit now!” It was rare of Elro to raise his voice so, but he now had an active threat in his Sickbay. There was no telling how long assimilation would take. He took a hypospray from the replicator en-route to the isolation room and banished the escorting crewmen the second the patient was on the biobed.

“Doctor…” The man hoarsely murmured, trembling significantly as they tried to focus their eyes on Elro. “Please…” Elro didn’t want to look, but he knew the Ensign fairly well. They had mutual friends and had eaten dinner in the mess hall and spent time in the holodeck together more times than he cared to count in the past year. It took everything he had not to lie to the boy, tell him he would be fine. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Despite what humans seemed to think, Elro believed that someone dying deserved to know if they were in their final moments.

“There’s nothing I can do…” He breathed as he checked the hypospray contents. “But I promise that I will not let you become a drone.” Was the best condolence Elro could provide. A tear slipped down the boy’s face.

“I… I don’t… Want to…” The boy’s final words were robbed from him as Elro pressed the hypospray to his neck and watched his eyes fill with fear, before slowly fixing in a single point on the cold white ceiling. Elro didn’t know how he had convinced himself that euthanasia would be easy. His team were right not to be able to stomach it. He took a rasping breath and forced himself back under control. He would not lose his objectivity.

Despite his mental pep-talk, he felt considerably more vacant as he left the isolation room compared to when he had entered. He slowly turned, making a point of shutting the door behind him, returning to the chaos of the Sickbay and swallowing down his emotions. He needed to be focused more than ever.

But he couldn’t shake the thought that he had just taken a life. His mind started battling itself as he waded through the frantic web of bodies, had he killed someone or had he saved them? Life as a drone was no life to live, but it was more of a life than the Ensign had now… A strange rasping noise left his lips as he fought back tears. No. He had never lost his composure on duty, or ever, for that matter. His team needed him now more than ever and he would carry every ounce of strength he could muster until the Borg ripped it out of him.

His fist inadvertently clenched. Captain Amasov’s opinion of the Borg never felt so accurate. The Borg were as close to pure evil as any race the Federation had ever encountered…

“Doctor, we’ve got someone hit by a Borg energy discharge, it looks like some sort of neuroleptic shock…” One of the the nurses suddenly snapped him out of his stupor of fury, calling him over to a biobed, making him wade through the half a dozen or so crew members who were being treated on the floor in order to get there. He suddenly found his composure rush back; he had a patient to treat, to take all of his concentration. That was the key. He could curse the Borg when he wasn’t needed in Sickbay.

“I’ll need fithteen milligrams of synaptizine and try to…” He began, before another message sounded through the comm that made every feeling in his body do a somersault and settle into a pile of nausea, disbelief and crippling doubt.

[All hands, this is the Captain. Abandon ship. Proceed to the nearest escape pods immediately…] Sickbay fell almost silent at the sound of the Captain’s voice, the order no Captain ever wanted to give. [I repeat, ab... ship.] The transmission began crackling as the ship was hit with a jolt so hard that Elro stumbled forward into the corner of the biobed, feeling the air get forced out of his lungs from the impact.

Evacuation procedures. He wasn’t convinced anyone would be safer in escape pods, but if they could get the pods into the nebula it was conceivable that the Borg would be unable to track them. He imagined that was the plan. Not that radiation poisoning was much better than dying in an explosion… But it did buy them more time.

“Nurses escort all of the critical patients to the pods, anyone who can walk on your own two feet I'll need you to assist the medical staff. I need you all to move calmly and quickly and get these patients to safety as soon as you can. Keep them stable until we can rendezvous together once we’re all out of danger. Now get moving!” Making such demanding instructions wasn’t in Elro’s nature, but the crew seemed to get the message, working together almost instantly to evacuate as swiftly and efficiently as they possibly could. He could see their sheer terror, and his pep-talk was hardly remarkable… But they were coping. That was enough.
 
Meanwhile, Elro headed over to one of the hypospray stations and got the appropriate dose of synaptizine, moving back over to his patient and administering the drug as calmly as he would have if it had been him delivering a routine analgesic. He wasn’t letting someone else die to the Borg. Not whilst he was still breathing.

“Doctor!” A voice called to him, and he didn’t need to look up to identify it as the Vulcan he had just treated. He wracked his brain to remember her name. “You will be needed on the escape pods, you need to…”

“T’Pir, I need you to get me a cortical monitor; second draw from the bottom on the right side.” He interjected, remembering the Vulcan’s name as he wildly gestured to the closest medical station, his eyes continuing to  monitor vital signs and watching the immediate reaction the body of his patient had to the synaptizine.

“Doctor, it is essential that we evacuate now.” T’Pir retorted, though she provided the stimulator nonetheless, Elro deftly applying it before putting his arm around the crewman and supporting his weight as he carried him off of the biobed.

“It’s not ideal conditions to move him but we don’t have time to get a grav-lift.” He said aloud, possibly to himself rather than the Vulcan, before gesturing to a medkit on a nearby console that had been forgotten in the evacuation. “Bring that medkit, no doubt it’ll be needed.”

The Vulcan compiled and snatched up the medkit, taking the other side of the patient as the Doctor stopped to collect a pack from just inside his office, still supporting the weight of the crewman as he did so. The pair then swiftly exited Sickbay and hobbled into the sound of screams and explosions, moving as swiftly as they could given the circumstances.

They avoided strewn pieces of bulkhead, sparking conduits and running crewmen with little regard for the fact that there was a critical patient being all but dragged through the ship as they did so. His mind briefly wondered to the rest of the crew, who had managed to get to escape pods, who was currently undergoing assimilation, who was trapped somewhere screaming for help as the Borg closed in… He slowly closed his eyes for just a second, trying to mentally realign his thoughts in order of priority.
He was usually very controlled, calm and ordered. He’d not felt his thoughts run away from him like this in years, not since his teenage years at least.

Whether it was the combined chaos of an entire crew’s worth of extreme emotion, or perhaps just the stress on his system from such a fast paced triage… Or perhaps a simple factor of not having eaten…

Elro almost growled to himself. He was letting even the slightest thoughts distract him. Focus. He reminded himself, lowering down in order to manoeuvre the unconscious crewman through a broken door frame, rounding the corner to a set of pods he hoped were not yet occupied. He was glad that T’Pir was accompanying him. When they were out of danger, when his patient, and any others they found along the way were all stable, he needed desperately to take some time to meditate and realign his thoughts. T’Pir would hopefully be accommodating to guide him. It had admittedly been a considerably long while since his last session.

When?

He almost chucked to himself in an exhausted form of sarcasm, approaching the escape pod hatch as T’Pir relinquished her hold on the injured crewman, jogging ahead a few paces to open the door. Ushering the Doctor and his patient inside whilst scanning the deck for any signs of movement, friend or foe. What use was the word when anymore?

Elro took one quick glance back, looking at the torn panels on the walls, the exposed relays and sparking conduits. He counted dozens of singemarks throughout the corridor, with a trail of blood sliding against one of the walls. The Endeavour was a place he had called home for over a year. The Borg had ravaged it beyond recovery in a matter of minutes.

If.

Never when.

---

OCC: I apologise for the extortionate length of this one, I'll keep them shorter in future. I just wanted to get through the key milestones from the chapter as well as getting some of the feel of the frantic sickbay. Any feedback is of course appreciated!

Re: USS Endeavour: We Are the Borg

Reply #24 – October 12, 2018, 01:37:32 AM

[ LtJr. Khelleshar sh'Zenne | Deck 6 | corridors | USS Endeavour]][/color]


Att.: @Fife  @patches  @BZ  @pod-dwellers

Phaser shots echoed behind them, while that the andorian pushed herslef to carry the wounded woman as best she could. The red-shirt that held her other arm seemed more aware of the state of the ensign that the danger that was unfolding behind them, but Shar felt as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Still advancing, she turned her head slightly,just to see how Lieutenant Cross repeatedly fired at the Borg, the phaser blast crashing uselessly against the drones' shields.The Borg stopped notwithstanding  , raising their arms in their general direction. "Zztann!" She hissed through her teeth as she watched as the tactical officer dived to one side of the corridor. The shen rested a hand on the head of the ensign, forcing her to duck as the plasma shots crackled overhead. The ops. officer felt a flurry of heat dangerously close by and then she watched one of the bulkheads receive an impact. Just inches from where her head had been. Had she ducked a second later, she would have lost both antennae.

Crushing the appendages against her scalp with determination, shoulders and back bent to present a smaller target, Shar turned at the next intersection, trying to circle the gap in the hull that separated them from the scape pod. The wounded woman shuffled her feet, her head unsteady over her neck. With a frustrated grunt, Shar forced her to keep moving, almost suspended in midair. The security officer began to fuss at this, but Shar cut the protest with a poisonous gaze. She didn't have time for band-aids and kiss in the forehead and she didn't care about the squeamishness of a wannabe boyfriend of the... vulcan, romulan whatever that ensign was. They had to reach the pods as fast as possible and any delay could be fatal. So he must assumed that her roughness was better than be assimilated

Behind them the exchange of shots continued, only slowed down each time a corner stood between the runaways and their pursuers. Whatever Lt. Cross was doing to slow the Borg seemed to be working. To the eyes of the Andorian, their progress was so extremely slow that she expected one of the shots to hit them at any moment.

The ship suffered another jolt, surely another nearby discharge or a new pull of the tractor beam. The ensign staggered, dragging her porters with her. For a moment that seemed to stretch for too long, the three struggled to try to keep their balance and not fall over the bulkplates, to keep the bloodied woman on her unsteady feet. When Shar managed to straighten up again and look forward, she found herself with a sight she didn't expect: Counselor R'Rory was in the middle of the hall, ears folded back, tail dropped. S/he looked like the image that appeared under the definition of 'helplessness' in a caitian-standard dictionary. AAnother stray officer for their tatterdemalion group of fugitives. "Follow us!" hissed the andorian as she passed to hir side, not stopping her flight. Keeping the ensign moving was painful enough to risk stopping. Shar wasn't sure she could coerce her to run again if they stopped, which would mean the death of them all. Or something worse. They had to keep going.

Without looking whether the counselor was following her commands or not, she continued to move along a short stretch of corridor that led to the outer corridor. On their left, the flickering containment field allowed them to see the attacking Cube for a few seconds, looming ominously close over the Endeavour. To the right, the corridor was intact, and Khelleshar felt immediate relief at the sight that at least one of the escape pods was still available and, apparently from a distance, intact. Another crewmember stood motionless in front of the open door of the pod, without entering or moving away from it, facing the opposite side of the corridor. Shar frowned and clenched her teeth until they squeaked unpleasantly when she noticed some blue strokes in the hair of the human female. She was none other than The Beast herself.