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Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 1 | 2100 hrs | The Charred Archive
Last post by Dumedion -
[LT Vanya | Research Library | Deck 15 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Nesota Kynnovan

The library had seen better days, although it had endured the battle without direct damage. Blown out EPS conduits, and the scorch marks they left behind, dotted the walls. More than a few shelves had been emptied of PaDDs —  more than one stasis field had shorted out, or lost power completely —  it was difficult to say for sure which. Likely both. Still, the data-cores remained undamaged, and in working order, once power had been rerouted. With her own memory engrams filled with gaps like Swiss cheese, Vanya valued the information stored here and in Thea herself more than ever.

So, she set about tidying it up; however, that inevitably led to reading, which…led to more reading. Information absorption was one thing, a need that all sentient beings possessed, whether they realized it or not; as a cybernetic organism — developed to be weaponized against the Tal Shiar’s enemies, no less — Vanya was more curious than most.

Knowledge was power, so the old saying went.

The music was an addition requested simply to fill the silence on a whim; Vanya didn’t really require more distraction but also didn’t particularly possess the endurance to subject her auditory receptors to the subtle, low-range harmonics of the ship’s powered down warp core. While some might have found it relaxing, or, at the least, ignorable — it was the absence of the usually vibrant hum that she disliked.

And so, the music played.

Vanya read, cleaned, and read some more.

The interesting bit about random track play was that Vanya hadn’t selected a genre, or time, or even species-specific performances; she’d asked Thea for music, completely randomized from the AI’s considerable databank...

Enter: “Smooth Criminal”

“Oh my,” Vanya grinned. She froze, legs slightly bent, hands raised – waiting. She didn’t move until the performer’s iconic “OW!” set the whole thing off: shoulders popped inward with the beat as her legs wiggled, one hand out, fingers splayed except the pinky and thumb. She stepped off, in beat, one long leg kicked out rapidly as her hand spun about.

Then she sang along after a rapid, full 360 spin:

“As he came into the window - It was a sound of a crescendo,
He came into her apartment - He left the bloodstains on the carpet,
She ran underneath the table - He could see she was unable
So she ran into the bedroom - She was struck down, it was her doom,”

Her step increased during the chorus; rapid flutters moving inward and out again, as her shoulders rotated and arms waved slowly next to her body. She’d seen the ancient holovid footage of the dance choreography and was delighted to discover that she remembered it all without flaw.

Her favorite part was the leaning; it was difficult to do, even without the heels she currently had on. Of course, she’d much rather go barefoot, but there had been concerns brought up about certain dress codes and regulations – blah blah blah – so of course, Vanya played along.

Her dance completed with another signature “OW!”, after her arm snapped up like a gun, legs bent, like she was leaning on the toes of one booted foot; a particularly marvelous few minutes spent for entertainment. She set about reading once more, humming along, without missing a beat.

Then a voice rose over the beat, as the song inevitably faded to a close.

“Pause music please,” Vanya pouted in the silence that reigned, hands on her hips as she slowly turned, searching for the speaker. She watched his head appear from the other side of a bookcase as he bent to retrieve something from the deck; human male, thin, with an unruly tangle of dark hair – attractive, but obviously uncomfortable. That last observation seemed to be a staple for the entire species; she still hadn’t discovered why – the reasons tended to vary moment to moment.

Unidentified humanoid – initiate data collection immediately.

“Ooh, new person!” The synthetic’s eyes widened with excitement as soon as she met his gaze, then she proceeded to quickly scamper towards him with absolutely no warning at all, to assist with the broken pieces scattered across the floor with a warm friendly smile. The entire motion took less time than he had to straiten back up.

She flashed him her friendliest smile.

“Hello there, cutie. I’m Vanya; what’s your name? Are you new? Well, your new to me,” she giggled, “you must tell me all about you darling – who you are, what you do, everything.”
2
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0255] The Cost of Continuity
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Deck 01 | Executive Officer's Office | USS Theurgy ] @P.C. Haring

Cross had settled himself behind the desk again, though the distinction between sitting and actually settling was becoming increasingly academic. There was always another report. Another personnel request. Another problem that had apparently decided the Theurgy was the most convenient place in the quadrant to become someone else's responsibility. And in the case of Hathev standing there, it was also to keep space between them. She'd come to him in an offical capacity and he did not want to violate that for either of them by giving in to any physical desires for affection.

Hathev's request, however, stopped him. His pale eyes lifted from the PADD in front of him and fixed on her.

"Intelligence."

He repeated the word quietly, not because he had failed to understand it, but because he was considering it.

Of all the things Hathev might have requested, it was not the one he had expected. She was capable, certainly. More than capable. Her particular talents had proven useful often enough that Cross had stopped thinking of them as exceptional and simply begun accounting for them whenever a situation became complicated. Which, given their lives, was frequently.

He leaned back slightly in the chair, studying her expression. There was hesitation there. Subtle enough that most people would miss it. Cross did not.

"You've already spoken with Pierce?" The question was rhetorical, and he knew it. Hathev had said as much. Still, there was something reassuringly methodical about confirming the obvious. His prosthetic fingers tapped once against the arm of the chair. "Then I assume this isn't an impulsive decision."

A faint pause followed. His mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

"That would have been concerning."

Cross looked away briefly, toward the viewport. Beyond it, the stars remained indifferent to their recent victory, their losses, their political rehabilitation, and whatever new disaster was undoubtedly waiting for them just beyond sensor range.

They were back. Officially. The thought should have been comforting. Instead, Cross found it deeply suspicious.

"For months," he said at last, "we survived because we had information that Starfleet either did not possess... or did not want to acknowledge." His gaze returned to Hathev. "The Infested operated in shadows, within institutions that were supposed to protect the Federation. We learned rather painfully what happens when you assume the people providing you with information are necessarily on your side." His jaw tightened. "And now we're back within the Federation. But I fail to see how that makes intelligence gathering less important."

If anything, it made it more important. They had spent too long outside the system looking in. Now they were being invited—or perhaps permitted—back inside it. There would be new alliances, political expectations, old enemies with newly legitimate uniforms, and people who had spent months deciding precisely what the crew of the Theurgy represented.

Heroes.

Traitors.

Embarrassments.

Assets.

The labels would depend entirely upon who was speaking.

Cross folded his hands on the desk. "We have no idea what we're going to encounter next. Being officially welcomed back into the Federation doesn't mean we're suddenly operating in a safer environment. It means the environment has become more complicated." His expression hardened slightly. "And complicated situations have a tendency to become dangerous before anyone bothers informing the Executive Officer, or in my case, the ACTING XO." That earned the faintest trace of dry irritation in his voice. "We are going to need every advantage we can get if we're going to stay ahead of whatever comes next.  Your experience, your analytical capabilities, and your... particular ability to notice things others overlook would be valuable to Intelligence." Cross's eyes narrowed just slightly. "Especially now."

He picked up the PADD on his desk and activated it. "Consider this your authorization." His gaze remained on hers. "You have permission to pursue the joint duty assignment with Lieutenant Commander Pierce and Intelligence. Coordinate the details of your responsibilities with her, but I expect your primary duties not to suffer as a consequence. Though, knowing you, I'm reasonably confident Pierce will be the one complaining that you're doing too much."
3
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 02 [ 1015 hrs ] Calcium Deficiency
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Corpsman Ehfva Feynri | Lab Four | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] @TWilkins

He had come off the far side of the plinth. His hands were on the console now, spread flat, and she doubted he knew they were there. Whatever fence he had built after she took his wrists, he had walked straight through it without noticing, and she filed that away with the rest: he was not fragile, he was fenced. Different construction entirely. She had been reading bodies for ninety-two years and she had still gotten his wrong within four minutes of meeting him.

Among the Okashii Atama you took a patient's hands without discussion, because discussion was slower than helping. Ninety-two years, and she was still handing people buckets they had not asked for. She would ask next time. That was cheaper than an apology and considerably more use to him.

"Bohrium," she said, and let it sit in her mouth a moment. "There may be a hundred loose atoms of it between here and the Beta Quadrant, and every one of them will be gone before you finish saying the word. If you fed it to your creature you would only kill it faster."

She stood, and put her boot against the chair, and rolled it across the deck plating toward him so that it arrived on its own and nothing of hers had to come within reach.

"Sit down, if you like. You have been at attention since the corridor." She took a deep breath, catching the lingering scent of his earlier anger. “I will not approach.”

She turned back to the display and pulled the internal scan up, rotating it until the second lesion sat center-screen. Her hand went to her hair, tucked it behind the ear, and the hair came loose again before she had finished the gesture. This shape had never cooperated on that point.

"Strontium is the element you were reaching for. Group two, one row below calcium. It deposits into skeletal matrix in a dozen species. If the problem were only the material, strontium is where I would begin,” she angled a look at him and gave a respectful nod, “and you would have found it yourself if you’d been looking at the chart, no doubt." He could take the compliment or leave it; she did not intend to dress it up. "The problem is not the material."

The pointer moved up the throat, to the pale seam of cauterized tissue.

"This is the regulator. It tells the body where to put what it drinks and when to stop putting it there. The Savi took a very small knife to it and were very careful about where they set the blade. Pour strontium down that animal's throat until the tank runs dry and it will sit in the gut doing nothing at all. It would starve with a full stomach."

Potato had rolled itself upright while she spoke and now sat facing the display, head canted, its enormous eyes tracking the rotation of the scan.

"You may ask me next whether we can put the regulator back. The answer is no. Eight centimeters separate the two lesions. Repair one and you are working within a hand's width of the other, and the other is the trigger for the fangs, I know that much as least from the incident report. I will not hand that back to it; three bulkheads from a hundred people."

She reached over and tapped the plinth's edge control twice, dropping the field to its lowest cycle. The creature lifted one paw and tapped the inside of the field. Twice. Ehfva did not remark on it. She logged the time, the sequence, and the interval by hand on her PADD rather than dictating them, and decided she would think about what that meant later.

"There is a third road, Ensign. You stop trying to repair the animal and you replace the function beside it."

She unfastened her collar and drew it down two centimeters. Below the notch of the collarbone, riding the muscle, sat a raised surgical line no longer than a thumb. They’d left it like that for easy access should repairs be required later on.

"Arven put a device in me. My forms did not come back because he mended what the Savi cut. It cannot be mended. The bioengineer, Hirek tr’Aimne, built me something that does the work the cut part used to do, and now I have my shapes again." She refastened the collar. "It requires recharging before I can shift to other forms, meaning I can’t shift as readily as I used to, but at least I can shift."

She let it go at that and turned back to the analyzer.

"A regulatory shunt is a smaller problem than a genome. It has to sit somewhere the creature cannot reach with its own mouth, which, given that mouth, is a genuine engineering constraint, and it has to be calibrated against a metabolism no one in the Federation has troubled to chart. Eight weeks is enough time to chart it and devise the shunt, though I will need to request support from Specialist tr’Aimne in that area. I do not intend to lie to you. This may not work."

Potato tapped the field again. Once. Then it lay down flat with its paws tucked beneath its chin and watched the pair of them with an expression that could have meant absolutely anything.
4
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [ 0800 hrs ] Maybe By Next Tuesday
Last post by joshs1000 -
[CPO Avandar Lok | Flight Deck | Fighter Assault Bay | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Ellen Fitz @Hans Applegate @Brutus @Dumedion @Eirual
[Show/Hide]

It was a beautiful sight, clean, spotless, everything aligned, even the lighting was just right. Lok beamed to himself, hands resting on his hips as he observed the repaired fighter bay, back up to a Starfleet standard that the Ferasan was familiar with. Something caught the corner of his eye. What was this? A wrench out of place? He picked up the polished chrome tool and examined it. A standard issue Starfleet Mark One 60 centimeter pipe wrench, made the same way for over 200 years now. Lok racked his brain as to why this tool was carelessly left out on a portable workbench, disrupting the surgical line of tools upon its polished clean top. It would come to him eventually.

The flight deck was mostly empty at this point, in both crew and spacecraft. The only crew present were there to conduct the required daily inspections of the remaining eight fighters or simply keep the place sparkling. The rest were off-duty either back in their quarters, elsewhere on the ship, or even on the station, though he had heard of hostility towards several Theurgy crewmembers. None towards his guys yet, but he knew they knew he would take care of any such “bullies”.

Still enjoying his cleaned up deck, Lok’s ears perked up at the arrival of a large group of echoing footsteps and boisterous conversation. He turned to see who it was and spotted the five entrants in Starfleet uniforms with white shirts. Pilots. Lok was about to turn back around and ignore them when he realized he didn’t recognize any of them and had been told directly by Janus that for the moment they wouldn’t have any new pilots for a little bit. Granted Janus could have been wrong, these could have been replacements sent to reform the devastated Wolves. However, the direction they were walking and the fact they didn’t seem particularly interested in talking to him or even looking at the row of dormant fighters made him curious.

He watched the group continue on a straight line directly into the starboard maintenance bay. Where they kept the Reaver fighter from the future ship. An explicitly off limits vessel - THAT ONE OF THEM WAS CLIMBING ON!

“Hey! You there, clear off that and get on this deck!” Lok shouted, his voice boomed in the cavernous bay.

The group of pilots turned around in surprise but their grimaces and hostile eyes showed clear annoyance. The one who had started to climb onto the Reaver took his time getting down while Lok stomped his way across the flight deck.

“Now now Crewman, we have permission to be here from Commander Vance,” responded the apparent leader of the group, a human lieutenant, “I was told to inspect this thing then fly it to the Station.”

“That’s Chief to you and nothing leaves my deck without my say so - sir,” the ‘sir’ was so bolted on as to be considered an afterthought.

“Look -  Chief - I’m ordering you to spot this spacecraft immediately, I’m flying it out of here.”

“I have no prior authorization from Flight Ops for this craft to leave, it stays, sir.”

“Are you disobeying my orders?”

“No sir, I simply cannot allow you to touch this craft without prior authorization from my superiors.”

“I’m giving you the order now, and you will do it or I will confine you and find somebody on this rotten tub that can.”

By this point the two had closed the distance, the little posse of pilots seemed to be backing up their human leader, though Lok noted how the rest were all rather young ensigns. No doubt followers seeking his approval.

“I’m sorry sir, can’t help you.”

The Lieutenant laughed in exasperation, “You people really are something else, steal a ship, go on a killing spree, and the President gives you a pardon and some bullshit about worms or some shit taking over the Federation.You should be in prison for the rest of your lives hauling garbage!”

Lok felt his hands grip and heat building in his ears as his eyes narrowed. The Lieutenant shook his head.

“You know what, we can get it ourselves, stay out of our way.”

The Lieutenant turned to leave and started issuing orders for his little posse to spot the Reaver, while Lok doubted they could actually do it easily, considering they were only pilots, he could just have contacted Commanders Stark or Cross for help, he none the less made the most reckless decision in what would spiral into a rapid sequence of bad decisions.

“You aren’t doing shit!” Lok growled and grabbed the shoulder of the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant whipped around and attempted to remove Lok’s hand to which Lok attempted to forcefully stop. With the small scuffle starting to intensify the other pilots turned around and started to rush over and help. The Lieutenant, upon getting his right hand free, swung and struck Lok in the neck which, from the surprise, made the  large ferasan let go and take a step back. However the Lieutenant did not have much time to do or say anything else as Lok almost autonomically swung with the full force his massive furred arm could muster. There was a dull crack of something striking flesh, the Lieutenant crumpled into a heap on the floor.

Lok took a step forward to say something, his heart pounding, his breathing intensified, but stopped at the sight of blood dripping from the side of the lieutenant’s head onto the steel deck. A gnarly gash ran along the left side of the human’s head above the ear. Lok looked down at his right hand firmly gripping the chrome handle of that Starfleet Mark One 60 centimeter pipe wrench with blood on the jaws. His stomach dropped as he realized what he had done.

“Shit.” He mumbled as he squatted down to make sure the guy was still alive and was relieved somewhat to feel a pulse.

He tapped his badge, [Medical team to the Fighter Bay on the double. We have an emergency.]

[LT CMDR Thaaryn Tyr | Turbolift A | Deck 7 | Starbase 234]
[Show/Hide]

The turbolift music was cloying, something inoffensive to help cover the whirring noise of the lift as it made its journey through the station. Starfleet had started adding music to its turbolifts recently, the Judge Advocate’s Building on Earth was absolutely lousy with the noxious sound, and Thaaryn utterly hated it. It intruded on his thoughts, stymied his ideas, and derailed his concentration. Some of his best work was born out of a long quiet turbolift ride. However, he couldn’t let something like insufferably unobtrusive music distract him from what he was here to do, represent the vessel and crew of the Starship Theurgy.

He was no fool, he had seen the FNN coverage of the whole affair, from the dramatic escape from Earth to the President personally pardoning them for everything they had done. They were lauded as both traitors and heroes, their actions had sent ripples through Starfleet that could almost be considered to have caused a civil war in its ranks. Were you for or against Theurgy? Thaaryn, as usual, played his cards close to his chest, never revealing his true thoughts on the whole thing, frankly he had other things to worry about and thus it truly never entered his mind. That was at least until minutes after the live pardoning of the crew when he got a subspace message from an Admiral Anderson requesting Thaaryn represent Theurgy from the inevitable legal issues as well as the metaphorical and literal dissection of the ship and its crew. When Thaaryn asked why him specifically, Anderson revealed that he was impressed with his work during the War Crimes Tribunal and the zeal and thoroughness with which he worked as a defender for what on its face was a rather hopeless case. Despite the little voice in the back of his head telling him not to touch Theurgy with a ten meter pole, Thaaryn accepted.

He had to work fast though, Anderson indicated that it was likely the ship was to be torn apart for the advanced tech that it had acquired almost immediately and that there was a good chance the crew might be split up. Further several Federation councillors were urging their homeworlds to initiate their own prosecutions. It took him the better part of a day to gather the relevant case files. Starfleet v. Kirk et al was the primary basis for his case to protect the crew, though that required that this supposed Infested threat was actually provably real, the rest involved several other legal cases, a few less known Starfleet directives, and other precedents that would, if not clear everything up right away, at least stall things long enough that a more robust defense could be made. Of course nothing was guaranteed, a fact that Thaaryn found rather exhilarating as he poured through case files and everything Anderson had provided him on Theurgy and her most prominent crew.

The turbolift doors slid open onto the noisy docking ring. Theurgy had become the nucleus for just about all Starfleet activity on Starbase 234. As Thaaryn walked past pallets of equipment, hoping he was not too late and something important and engineery hadn’t been ripped out yet. He looked for someone who he guessed was not a member of Theurgy’s crew. He spotted a familiar face, Commander Stark, if his recollection of the dossiers that Anderson had provided was correct, but she would need to wait, first he needed to stop the work being carried out on the ship. At least for the moment.

He spotted a group of officers and crew loitering around the docking port and briskly walked that way. The group noticed him as he approached, as he did stand out a bit among Starfleet officers, he was Orion for one, he also had a tall imposing build, and finally his uniform, while standard, included a tailored version of the Starfleet overcoat, black leather gloves, non-regulation boots, and an attache case. His handsome features were well groomed with his hair tied back into a top knot.

“Who is in charge here,” Thaaryn demanded as he approached.

One of the group looked surprised and hesitant at first as she realized she was in charge of this location, but was not ready to deal with whatever headache this Orion was bringing. She gestured towards the docking port with her thumb and replied, “Commander Vance, he just went on board. Do you need help?”

“Thank you, and no, carry on.”

He strolled through the scanner, noting its oddness over other security scanners, a perfect metaphor for the ship itself, odd.

“Computer,” he asked directly, “locate Commander Vance.”

“Lieutenant Commander Vance is located near the Lower Science Labs on Deck 17.”

Another turbolift down, thankfully with no music, and Thaaryn was there. He turned a corner and could see the group of Starfleet personnel with various cases and equipment standing by the open labs.

While the law was the law, everything he had on paper was legitimate, in times like these a little showmanship was required. To bombard your opponent with so much data they felt overwhelmed, it bought perhaps a little extra time on top of the extra time he had from what he carried in his briefcase, while they sorted through the tsunami of information handed to them.

“Excuse me, Commander, I’m going to need you to stop everything you are doing!”

Thaaryn made his presence known as he powered down the corridor, opening his briefcase along the way in a practiced motion and extracted a PADD. The PADD, which contained Theurgy’s newest “get out of jail free” card was then shoved into Vance’s hands whether the officer was prepared or not. Before he could respond though the bombardment began.

“Commander, as of this moment you hold a stay order in your hand that stops all removal of equipment, artifacts, or biomatter of a sensitive or foreign nature from the Starship Theurgy immediately as well as returns anything that has already been removed. This order, requested by one Admiral Anderson and countersigned by the sector command Judge Advocate as well as the Judge Advocate General herself is at this moment landing on the desks of your commander, the sector commander, the fleet commander, and the specified offices of Starfleet Command, including the C-in-C. Per, Starfleet Regulation 102c and Starfleet General Order 448 or The Voyager Directive, all foreign technologies, artifacts, and biological materials both alien, dimensional, and temporal aboard a Starfleet vessel must not be removed from said vessel until said items have been properly examined and catalogued by qualified personnel. Further, as stated in Regulation 102c it is the right of any member of Starfleet to disregard any order that would constitute, in their view, a danger to their health or life in a situation that does not threaten the safety of the ship.”

Not finished, Thaaryn reached back into his briefcase and extracted an old book, the cover of which featured the stylized silhouette of the Constitution Class Starship circa mid 23rd century, and an old version of the Starfleet Delta with the title Starfleet Operations Manual Volume II Edition 2246.09. Thaaryn shoved the book into Vance’s hands as well.

“On top of that, I noticed that none of your crew are wearing lift-belts, a violation of Safety Code 13 Paragraph 5, I bookmarked it for you. This is one of the oldest worker safety rules we have in Starfleet, as you can see, and I would be remiss if I learned that a member of Starfleet was injured due to negligence on the part of their superior officer.”

“Could really stall a promising career.”

Thaaryn let that last sentence hang as he closed his briefcase and waited patiently with a polite smile while his eyes watched the officer intently. This was the end of the bombardment, for now.


OOC Notes:
-The fight with Lok is basically over and while the Lieutenant isn't dead hes hurt pretty bad and will need rapid help.

-While Thaaryn may have stopped Commander Vance and those with him with his boisterous entrance, until a call is made, the other Starbase teams will be en route to make everyone's lives annoying.
5
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [2100hrs] When All is Stretched Thin
Last post by Dumedion -
[Ens. Talia "Shadow" Al-Ibrahim | Private Transport, Submerged | Barrier Reef, Uuluma Chain | Romulus] Attn: @Ellen Fitz

Hirek’s warning earned the softest of chuckles and a smile; small miracles, given the rapid deterioration of the situation. The hull groaned again, and the water had steadily risen, but Talia stood there anyway, trying and failing to find a way to deactivate the emergency beacon, gloved fingers tapping across one forearm-mounted PaDD. Her eyes rose to meet his after he'd pulled back. The pilot tilted her head up and to the side at him, lips still curled, despite everything going on around them.

Darling had slipped without remorse or regret — her feelings were what they were and there was nothing either of them could do for it. As pet names went, it was a rather generic term of affection, for humans at least; Talia had given Hirek another name since the first time they’d met. In her mind and heart, it would always hold more intimate value, but that was beside the point. She realized what he had done, and what he had said — by noting what remained unsaid.

“Mhm," she hummed, "I might do it anyway just to watch you squirm,” she teased back. “Just know that you'll always be Pretty-Eyes to me, and there’s nothing you can do about it — but if you’re so concerned about what I call you, in public or otherwise, then I wont use it again,” a pause to lift her chin, the smile spreading wider. “Unless you ask me to.”

A chime from her arm sounded; Talia swore at it.

“There’s no override for the beacon. I can’t disable it, which means as soon as I hit that water we’re fucked,” a hand raked the hair from her face, mind and mouth racing. “Listen, I’ll lure them away, and when your people arrive —”

‘Turn around.’

Talia’s mouth worked silently for a few heartbeats, then she surrendered, knowing what he was about to attempt; the curtain of damp, black hair pulled aside over the front of a shoulder mid-turn to expose her back and neck.

“Its just below the thruster assembly. The seal runs parallel to the spinal actuators, marked with hazard stripes. See it?”

She heard him hiss something, then felt the softest of clicks through the layers of the exosuit. She tried not to look at the darkness beyond the canopy, or the water climbing its way up her legs. A glance back at Hirek revealed the Romulan holding a wrench.

‘You’ll want to hold still. I’ve been told my percussive maintenance lacks finesse.’

Talia braced herself and nodded. “Careful, please,” she added. The first whack made her grimace, mostly due to the noise. By the third, her reaction reduced to blinks. By the sixth, she was ready to stop him before he inadvertently damaged something more vital — but the strikes hadnt slowed, and Hirek showed no signs of stopping as he spoke, until he finally succeeded.

A quick glance at the suit’s systems display confirmed it; the emergency beacon was offline.
Talia huffed a quiet chuckle of amusement, both for his dogged determination and commentary.

“Noted, and accepted,” she whispered, as Hirek’s lips pressed against the skin of her neck. A deep breath followed the brief contact, eyes closed of their own accord; nothing like enough, but more than she ever realized was needed. “I recall consent being an issue before; for the record — you have it, officially,” was added, thrown into the limited space between them to settle nowhere in particular; just another statement jettisoned in the moment in case there wasn’t another opportunity to do so.

He moved away to flood the compartment.

Talia readied herself mentally for what was to come, focused on Hirek’s voice. She didn’t argue, didn’t interrupt; there was no time, even if she wanted to — which she did. It didn’t matter. The fear, the anxiety, the absurd irony — all of it was pushed down and away, to be dealt with later, if there even was a later.

She forced herself to match Hirek’s breathing instead, as they rapidly ran out of air. Cold crept in through the suit and stung her face; both arms braced against the roof of the compartment as the water reached her neck and kept rising. He reached and squeezed her hand, she squeezed back. Enough air remained for one final, desperate breath...

Then the pressure rushed in with cold darkness.

Her hair was everywhere; noticeable by the shadows cast from the exosuit’s dim light — which seemed even brighter now in total darkness. The auto-inflatables activated almost instantly, followed quickly by the buoy; Talia felt herself pulled along, towards a grey mass — ears screaming in protest — eyes squeezed almost shut against the salty sting of the chilly water.

Hirek disappeared into the darkness somewhere behind.


[…Meanwhile, Agent Raja | Private Transport | In the storm above]

He was fairly certain the target had been neutralized, but the Tal Shiar didn’t deal in personal assumptions; they dealt in evidence.

The storm intensity had increased exponentially — dangerously — but that couldn’t be helped. The mission took priority, especially over his own personal safety. Being disposable came with the job.

His hands remained steady on the controls, circling back onto a wider track around the last reliable sensor return; the skid-flyer banked hard, buffetted by the wind, leaving contour trails of rain mixed with sea spray in its wake. Whoever the target really was — whatever he’d done to earn the organization’s ire — Raja hoped it was worth all the considerable inconvenience. He refused to think about his family; how he’d been forced to leave them suddenly, without warning, all due to a communique out of nowhere, from no one he could accurately identify.

All it mentioned was an activation codeword, the mission, and, of course, the consequences of failure: his wife and boys, to be specific.

Everything else was left for him to figure out.

Sensors were useless in the soup. Visual was almost as bad. A tap on the dash powered up the external flood lights — which revealed little more than pounding rain and rolling surf. Raja hauled back on the stick; the skif hovered in place, nearly on top of the transmission burst.

His eyes searched the waves, almost frantic:
 
Nothing.

A moment passed. Two. Sweat had broken out atop the bare flesh of his head; cold sweat — the stink of it filled his nostrils. His mind raced; trying to calculate how far he could make it before they found him, and killed him, after forcing him to watch his family die first.

A glimmer of light caught his attention; small, half obscured by the waves it moved through, barely above the surface. He swore, then pulled up the disruptor targeting on manual, trying to catch sight of it while keeping the skif stable at the same time.

It was a body; the outline motion blurred, at horrible resolution, but there was no mistaking it — foolishly lit up like a glowing beacon in the dark.

“Got you,” Raja breathed out in relief, then spun up the twin disruptors up as the targeting system locked in. Green flashed beyond the canopy — twin streaks of emerald fire punched into the storm-wracked sky — to chew into the frothing sea on each side of the target.

Another curse turned into a bitter string of them as the wind pushed the skif off-trim, forcing him to adjust wildly before he lost too much altitude. The engines screamed through it all, as the craft swung around in a steadily increasing arc, barely ten meters off the surf.

Lightning flashed all around, as he struggled to stay in the air. He wrenched the controls back out, only for a wave to crash into the bottom hull — tossing the entire craft up in a heave of violence. Raja opened the throttle to max, engine flare burned into the rain slicked air behind him. He climbed hard, to fifty meters, then leveled off and searched the sea for his prey.

It was gone; lost in the churning sea — or worse — eliminated with a lucky shot by some malicious trickery of fate. Time stretched out like a blade as Raja hovered, circled, rode the surf and braced against the storms fury, hunting the waves for any sign.

The minutes turned by — five, then ten…Raja felt his guts grow cold with dread. Sensor sweeps remained useless, filled with ghost pickups and negative returns. If he didn’t find the target soon, he’d be forced to withdraw…

Suddenly the system finally pinged an accurate return: the target had chewed up the distance while he’d fought the storm trying to reaquire —  it was now less than 200 meters from a solitary island barely a kilometer wide. He didn’t relish the idea of handling business in person, man to man. He swung the skif around to engage, turning into the wind.

“Just die already,” Raja pleaded, and squeezed the trigger again.
 

[…Meanwhile, Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | In the sea]

The waves were merciless; even with the inflatables, Talia couldn’t keep her head above the water longer than a few seconds. She’d swallowed more water than air, each breath reduced to a ragged wet gulp between hacking  coughs.

Powering off the exosuit was a dream — between the waves, wind, constant motion, complete lack of visibility and non-existent dexterity — it was impossible. She kept trying anyway, spinning uselessly behind the buoy as it dragged her along, with nothing holding but the strap across her chest.

The bastard shot at her again; twinned lines of emerald — close enough to flash-fry the sea into steam less than a meter away before the waves absorbed them. She reached for the buoy in desperation; knowing what she was about to do might very well kill her. It didn’t matter; the sea didn’t give her a choice — It swallowed her whole in the next instant, into a tumbling, uncontrollable, disorienting roll beneath the waves. She crashed, hard, into something painfully solid and sharp. Lines of pain registered on her face, through her knee and thigh, but most of all through her shoulder.

The buoy tugged her up, back to the surface. In the distance between flashes of lightning, emerald and orange fire bloomed and died. Light swayed in the rain before another wave took her sight. This one lasted far longer. Something had wrapped up around her limbs, dragging her down. Her lungs burned for oxygen, then screamed, and her back hit something hard enough to knock what little air they held out altogether…

She felt everything fade away, weightless, drifting into oblivion...

Moments or an eternity later Talia woke choking up water; she was laid out on her side in the wet sand, nudged by gentle waves crashing against her — deafened by the surf and the storm. Her armor was wrapped up in stinging weeds that clung to her limbs and trailed out behind her in a broken line of vegetation that lead back out into the waves.

She crawled; the movement sent pain searing through her whole body — shoulder dislocated, or broken — something sharp and spiny lanced through the meat of one thigh, lodged under the armor plating — half blind by blood and salt, face stinging and bleeding...

But she was alive.

Talia grit her teeth with a groan of effort; she got to her knees — then hauled herself up out of the surf. One PaDD was cracked, useless. The other still functioned. A tap killed power to her suit, and the lights died as a hand swept the salt-and-sand filled mop of hair away from her face.

She searched the darkened beach for Hirek, still coughing up fluid; that didn’t stop her from calling out his name. Another attempt followed — louder, longer...

Nothing — just an empty beach, rain, wind, and somewhere out there, some asshole trying to kill them.

Twenty meters in, then stop and wait for me.

One hand gripped the buoy, deactivated now that its function had been served. The other hovered over her thigh, over the object impaled through flesh and suit, as Talia hauled herself up and stumbled ashore. Running was a myth — every step was laced with agony — but she didn’t stop.

The tree-line took an eternity to reach.

Talia kept moving anyway.
6
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Day 1 | 2100 hrs | The Charred Archive
Last post by Nesota Kynnovan -
[Lieutenant Dr. Nathan Frost, Ph.D. | Library and Research Room | Deck 16 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy]]
Attn: @Dumedion

As Doctor Nathan Frost walked along the corridor on Deck 16, he did so at a brisk pace that was characteristic of his usual rushed nature. The corridor was damaged, which wasn’t surprising given the post-battle state of the large dreadnaught, and the Canadian Immunologist noticed several scorch marks along the bulkheads as he walked by; silent witnesses to an intense fight between boarders and security personnel. For a very brief moment Frost slowed his pace as his blue eyes looked at the damage along the bulkhead, his mind wandering to what transpired in this hallway, before he dismissed the thought and fastened his pace once more. Deep down inside, Frost knew that he was stalling. He had postponed this particular moment for the better part of the day and, as the Chief Science Officer approached the doors leading to the Library and Research Room, he began to feel increasingly uncomfortable about meeting Lieutenant Vanya, who was supposed to be inside at that very moment.

It had been several hours since Frost received the message that Lieutenant Vanya, the former Chief Science Officer, had woken up. While he could -or should- have been present for the procedures, given that he was doing her job in an acting capacity and was, as such, directly responsible for her personnel needs until ordered to stand down, Frost had chosen not to attend; stating that there was simply too much going on that required his attention. The Canadian knew that it had only been a half-truth though; while there definitely was a lot of work that required his immediate attention, he could have delegated it to Lieutenant Junior Grade Morwen Angharad whom he, for all intents and purposes, had delegated as his Acting Assistant Chief Science Officer. If Frost had to give the truth of it, he simply didn’t want to be there. When he transferred over to the USS Theurgy aboard the IKS Vask’at, Frost had spent a considerable amount of his time reading up on the information provided to him by Admiral Anderson and, since he’d arrived aboard the ship, the Canadian Immunologist tried to take in as much information as he could.

He was not impressed with Vanya, to say the least. There hadn’t been a whole lot of information that stood out about the previous Chief Science Officers; under Vivian Martin, Amatras Neotin and Vael Kaeris, all of whom had passed way too quickly, Theurgy’s Science Department had performed according to expectations. Frost knew that, if he’d been there from the very beginning, they would have found a solution to the Infested question before things spiralled out of control, but the Department had nevertheless performed as well as could be expected without his presence. It was only after the passing of Vael Kaeris, when Vanya had to assume control of the Science Department, when things seemingly went off the rails. It seemed that Vanya had either been unwilling or unable to properly take charge and, as a result, the potential within the Science Department was never properly focused and utilized; Science personnel worked on their own projects, doing what they could to find a solution to the Infested question, but without proper oversight and lacking the support they needed.

And that was why Doctor Nathan Frost was a little uncomfortable, maybe even somewhat anxious, as he stood in front of the doors leading to the Library and Research Room. In his own personal opinion, Frost held Vanya directly responsible for everything that had gone wrong from the moment she became Chief Science Officer; the lack of progress, the deaths of several promising scientists and so many missed opportunities could all be traced back to her inaction. The fact that he was now about to meet this woman, who might take over as Chief Science Officer at any moment, was making Frost increasingly uncomfortable and, in all honesty, even a little insecure. With a deep sigh, the Canadian Immunologist steeled his resolve and entered the Library and Research Room.

…only to be met with music. As the doors closed behind him, Frost couldn’t quite identify the song but he did recognise it as a song from Michael Jackson; one of Earth’s more famous poets from a bygone era. The Canadian Immunologist could hear how someone was humming along with the song and, as he took a step in the direction of the humming, he could feel glass shattering beneath his shoes. The Library and Research Room had been damaged by the fighting as well and most of the glass panes that once lined the numerous shelves were shattered; the shards scattered across the floor along with most of the replicated books they were meant to protect. With a soft sigh, Frost bent over to pick up several replicated books and, as he did so, spoke up above the music. ”Hello? Is anyone in here?”
7
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 | 2200 hrs | The hunt is on
Last post by Eirual -
[Ens Mia Dunne |Forward Landing strut access tunnel |Deck 30 |Vector 03 | USS Theurgy]
tag: @Nesota Kynnovan @Pierce @Dumedion

Mia had just exited the cramped tunnel and met up with Lt JG Ashley Kerina, when a slightly familiar voice rang out. Thankfully she didn’t bang into anything this time. “Oh Goodie,” she said sarcastically to the ceiling, as if she could see the labs 24 decks above her.  She turned her attention back to Karina, “Well, sounds like someone who knows more about these things has a better plan. “ Mia pointed up the Jefferies tube and smiled, “After you!”

The climb to the next deck was uneventful, almost. She did end up with one of the rungs catching on the side of her hip causing yet another snag on her uniform. At the top of the tube they met up with Ens Jaya Thorne. Mia looked over at Thorne, “You the one that nearly gave me a concussion and tore my uniform?” She looked at Thorne up and down a moment before shrugging her shoulders and turning around.

She led the way to the nearest lift, “So, apparently someone who knows more about these things has an idea. I’m all for not crawling into every nook and cranny, how about you guys?”

8
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 | 2200 hrs | The hunt is on
Last post by Dumedion -
[LT Vanya | Upper Science Labs | Deck 7 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] @Nesota Kynnovan @Eirual @Pierce

It still felt off — Vanya’s memory was in tatters, filled with data that had until very recently been sealed off behind a firewall she'd never known existed; it troubled her greatly, requiring more time and energy to square than was available. After all, it wouldn’t do to shirk her duties to the ship and crew due to an unfortunate personal turn of events.

Besides, a far more exciting and entertaining situation had developed while she was incapacitated:
 
Voles. Apparently, one or more had escaped confinement to run amok.

“How fun,” Vanya drawled with a smile; as sarcastic as she could manage. A memory search ensued, less than a millisecond. Once located the required information packet was accessed — only for her to suffer through another distorted file of jumbled imagery and barely comprehensible gibberish. She knew what they were; pests, mostly — native  fauna of Cardassia Prime — taken as specimens for all manner of reasons, ethical and otherwise.

More data was required.

The synthetic's hand — elegant fingers ending in black nails — typed out a deft command onto the console; Thea's archive provided a brief re-education.

“Ah, wonderful,” Vanya grinned with delight as she read. “Attracted to energy fields. Hm,” a finger stroked her chin.

That would explain a great deal.

The report she had read, provided by the charming Dr. Frost, indicated that there had been an unconfirmed sighting on deck eleven, in Main Sickbay; the Cryobay to be precise. All those stasis fields and power conduits must have been irresistible for the rodent, before it had obviously been interrupted into egress…

The same hand tapped her badge as she turned to leave, hailing the entire team dispatched to locate the creature(s), talking as her heeled boots clicked on the floor; her tone light and conversational, flavored with a pleasant smile.

“Hello my dears, I do apologize for my tardiness — however, the vole situation has just been brought to my attention. The animals appear to be drawn to energy fields, for reasons unknown; I hypothesize a sonic or vibratory attraction, rather than visual, given their relatively poor eyesight in the visible spectrum,” she paused, mid-stride, a finger returning to her chin. “Although, that doesn’t rule out all other wavelengths of course.”

Lips pursed in consideration before her walk resumed, hips swaying unashamedly.

“I propose a strategy — I’m currently en route to the physics lab to prepare a multiphasic emitter. Perhaps, with some trial and error, we could lure the creature to us? What do you think?”
9
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [ 0800 hrs ] Maybe By Next Tuesday
Last post by Eirual -
[Ens Mia Dunne | Starbase 234| level 7 side Docking port | Access to USS Theurgy]
Attn: @Ellen Fitz @Hans Applegate

She had wanted to see the station, but her reception there had left her with a bad taste in her mouth.  Mia decided the best place to be was back on the ship. It amazed her that even without her uniform on, people seemed to know which ship she was on, and most of them had pretty much acted like she herself had killed their prized pet. She jumped on the lift to head back to the ship, moving to stand in the far back corner while other people entered and talked among themselves. Mia kept quiet. She could not believe what she was hearing. Someone wanted to take off everything that wasn’t SF regs. Well that just about consisted of the entire ship, by this point. The ship was a prototype, there weren’t any real regs pertaining to its class, were there?

She listened to the three officers, making a mental note of all the areas they intended to disassemble. This was bad. This was very bad. She had to tell someone. She waited till they left the lift, letting it take her one deck before stepping off. The ensign tapped her combadge, “Ens Dunne to Theurgy, please initiate site to site transport to… umm… the bridge, I guess.”  Go straight to the top, and hope like hell you were doing the right thing. But letting these scavengers destroy the Theurgy was like aiding and abetting a murder.
10
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [2100hrs] When All is Stretched Thin
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Hirek tr'Aimne | Private Transport, Submerged | Barrier Reef, Uuluma Chain | Romulus ] @Dumedion

Darling.

"Careful." He had one hand braced on the canopy frame as the deck shifted underfoot. "You say that where my cousins can hear it, and then it becomes a fact, and facts on Uuluma are load-bearing." Water had reached his ankles, cold enough through the soft flats to be...interesting. "You have no experience with a spoiled Romulan. We are given a name, and we build the rest of ourselves around it like a reef around a wreck. Say it again, and I might keep it." He leaned closer, lips nearly touching the skin of her forehead as he spoke. "I might even make you say it in front of people."

The bulkhead behind them groaned, found a new note, and held it. Hirek groaned along with it.

"Turn around."

He waited until she presented her back and the blue-white glow of the exosuit's spine array lit the flooded footwells, throwing the shadows of the seats up the canopy in long distorted shapes that moved when the ship settled. Her hair was still salt-damp at the ends from the spray that had come through the seal. He put two fingers on the housing at the base of her shoulder blade, felt for the seam, and swore at it quietly in a dialect she had no hope of parsing.

The emergency beacon was designed by people who assumed the wearer wanted to be found. Federation optimism, cast in duranium.

He got the access plate off with his thumbnail and lost the nail doing it. Beneath, the transmitter sat in a shock cradle rated for atmospheric ejection, and there was nothing about it his hands could break. He waded back two steps, hauled open the compartment under the seat rail — the one every craft of this class carried, because the sea taught Romulans early that a man may need to hit something and the tools nearest to hand were rarely a phaser — and came up with a wrench.

"You'll want to hold still. I've been told my percussive maintenance lacks finesse."

The first strike skidded. The second went where it was meant to. On the fourth, the cradle split and the wrench jumped, and he opened the heel of his hand along the broken edge of the housing. Green ran down his wrist and dripped into the rising water and vanished. He didn't stop.

"There is a version of tonight," he continued, conversationally, hammering, "in which we are both undressed, and nobody has to apologize afterward. No pride involved. No hull failure. I would like it noted, for the record, that I have twice now been in a position to look at you and twice been prevented by circumstance and by manners, which are the only two forces in the universe with worse timing than the Tal Shiar." Another strike. Something inside the housing gave up entirely. "Should we have a third occasion, I intend to be shameless and I invite you to join me in that."

The beacon's ready-light died. He fitted the plate back over the wound in her armor and pressed until it seated, and let his hand stay a moment longer than the work required, and then bent and put his mouth to the base of her neck, where the collar of the exosuit had not quite closed. Brief. Warm. He straightened before she could turn around, because he was not certain what his face was doing.

"I'm going to flood the compartment."

He waded aft. The water was at his knees now and rising in slow surges that matched some rhythm out in the dark, the sea leaning on the wreck and easing off and leaning again. The stern lockers had sprung in the impact and given up half their contents to the flood, which meant feeling for things by hand in freezing black water while the hull ticked and complained above him.

A blade — short, ugly, meant for parting fishing line and not much else. A flare pistol with four cartridges in the grip, dry. A medkit sealed in orange polymer that had cost his rental deposit and would be worth every credit within the hour. He stowed all three in the buoy strapped across his chest and sealed the compartment. The food packs went into hers. Six of them, wedged in tight, the seal thumbed shut.

"When you reach the beach, you run. Straight in, off the sand, into the trees." He worked the manual override on the hatch seal, and the mechanism answered with a shudder and a low grinding retraction that let the sea in properly, a black sheet folding across the deck plates and climbing his thighs. "The craft above us can read life signs. In this weather, through a broken water column, with the storm shredding every return they get, they will know we're alive and be unable to say precisely where. Tree cover and life signs in the jungle finish the job." Water at his waist. "Do not go far past the treeline. These islands are uninhabited by humanoids but are not, wholly, uninhabited, and that is not an accident of settlement patterns. Twenty meters in, then stop and wait for me."

He got himself upright in the narrowing space between the flood and the canopy, and made his breathing change. Long draw through the nose, held at the top until the chest ached and then a little past it. Slow release. Again, deeper. It was the pattern an oyster hunter had beaten into him at eleven with a fist in his shirt and no patience whatsoever. He caught her eyes over the rising black and held them.

"With me. Not fast. Fill from the belly, not the shoulders." Another draw, deliberate and visible, and he waited until he saw her chest move in the same slow rhythm before he went on. "The buoy will do the work. You will not need much air, but you will want it anyway, because your body is about to tell you a number of things that are not true." Water at his collarbone. Cold enough now to bite. "Do not hold your breath on the ascent. Let it out the whole way up, slowly. Thirteen meters is a short journey, and your lungs will still try to injure you if you insist on keeping everything you started with. Your ears will hurt. Ignore them."

The last pocket of air pressed into the top of the canopy, and the sound of the world reduced itself to his own pulse.

"Left grip arms it. Right thumb releases the drag." His voice came out thinner in the compressed air. "Don't fight the direction it takes you. It knows where the island is."

He reached across and took her hand, and closed his fingers hard, once. Then he let go, hit the release, and the sea came in all at once and took the cabin.

Green light. Silt boiling up off the deck. The canopy lifted away above them, tumbling slow, and the storm was a distant grey seizure somewhere overhead. He watched her arm the buoy — watched the blue bloom of it, the auto-inflatables snapping taut, the pull as it took her — and only then armed his own, and thumbed the drag half-open, and let her run ahead of him into the dark water while he followed a body-length behind and slightly beneath, close enough to reach her if the sea changed its mind.
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