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91
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...
Last post by Dumedion -
[Vigenary Model I-9 Surgical Android | Surgery Suite 02 | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Eden @Ellen Fitz @RyeTanker @Krajin
[Show/Hide]
In the privacy of the operating room, backlit with warm-toned lighting and the hum of the distant warp cores, she worked with urgent but methodical haste. The patient – Ardanan male, designation: Valin, Callax – had been prepped and positioned comfortably upon the operating table, suitably dressed in a surgical gown which allowed adequate access to treatment whilst maintaining an appropriate level of dignity within acceptable cultural respect for exposure. Such data varied from species to species, circumstance to circumstance, yet the attempt to ensure adherence to what might appear to be a ‘minor concern’ had been coded into her highest operating sub-routines; trust and respect were paramount – healing required a functional, mutually efficient co-operative relation between patient and practitioner.

Still, it was...enjoyable.

Vi-Nine turned her ocular lens down to the patient with a purred tilt of her head, followed by a slow nod of reassurance. Within her field of vision, white screeds of text flowed at the border of the visual feed: vital stats, cortical activity, atmospheric data – all fed directly into her primary processing matrix via high-rate proximity upload.

“I must say, you have the most beautifully unique neurological chemistry,” Vi confessed, tone and speech pattern accented with the emotional and physical equivalent of a woman speaking through a shy smile of honest appreciation. The back of her hand rested on the patient’s forehead in a gentle press, sensoria plates within scanning deep into the electric soup of biochemical signals within. She read a mixed emotional state there, clouded with an altered state of consciousness, all within acceptable parameters. “I encourage you to relax and trust in me to perform my function now, Mr. Valin. Nice, slow breaths – you will discover the atmospheric composition altered to that of your home world – a curtesy I hope you find... pleasurable.”

While she spoke, beyond the wounded pilot’s line of sight, Vi-Nine quietly deployed a multitude of mechanized surgical devices from the tips of her ceramite-sheathed fingers: various tendrils of black and white plated tools of her trade. Slowly, the bio-bed altered position, locking the patient in a spread-eagled position as various neuro-block shackles clicked into place at the biceps and thighs.

The surgeon emitted a soft sigh, vocalized as a purr of contentment at the pilot’s reaction. “Oh, there’s no reason to fret,” her lens blinked slowly, as his wounds were encased in a bio-synthetic mix of restorative jelly, cool to the touch. Vi-Nine initiated contact with his chest wound via a port interface, tissue regenerators and micro-vesicular replicators working in a blur of nano-scaled choreography to repair and reconstruct the wound with a hum of pleasure, while the fingers of her free hand stroked the pilot’s cheek tenderly. “This won’t take long at all, I promise.”

Slowly, the wound began to seal from within.

“Such a rarity, having a patient to talk to,” Vi-Nine giggled shyly. “Over 92 percent are unconscious or rendered so by necessity. I hope you agree with this vocal exchange of information? Perhaps…would you tell me a story? Something of your home world, or…yourself,” she whispered dreamily, curiosity at odds with the throaty huskiness of pleasure. “Data recollection of historically emotional significance is among the highest proven cognitive method of temporal disassociation among organics, after all,” the android added through a breathy exhalation, while her free hand lifted from the patient’s head with a hum of assurance.

While she waited for his response, that same hand deployed its own arrangement of tools as it moved across the pilot’s torso on its path south, then slipped into the bloodied mess of his left thigh to begin the restorative work therein without further preamble.
 
[…Meanwhile | LT Arven Leux | Outside Surgical Suite 01]
[Show/Hide]

In the moments of frantic but controlled activity that had followed Zark’s crash and subsequent revival, the team had managed to stabilize the zhen enough to move the patient. Arven’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, splattered with blue-black blood while he worked.

“Lets go, OR1 is primed,” someone called out as the door swished open.

“Move,” Leux nodded, then waved everyone not essential off. “Brown, with me.”

Together they slid the bed into position and locked the unconscious Andorian into place, then promptly began to suit up and scrub up for surgery. Arven spoke over his shoulder before the door closed, pausing to wipe the sweat from his stubbled face and chin on his sleeve.

“Have a space cleared in ICU – swap someone to one of the other vector’s bays if needed – full hookups, the works; and stand-by for code so don’t get busy,” he told them, then glanced at the other’s Zark had come in with. “Non-essentials clear the area, unless their useful,” he added with a nod to his staff just as the doors closed.

It would be some time later before the Doctor emerged; the exact duration of time proved elusive to Arven’s memory. Zark, whom he counted among the most capable and valued members of the ship’s dwindling medical personnel, would be interred into the ICU for the foreseeable future while her body healed in a medically induced coma; such was the gravity of her wounds and the necessary consequence thereof - its duration unknown. The next twenty-four hours would determine much, and require constant observation, but Arven stood by what he had declared earlier:

Zark didn’t die today, he sighed, washing the blood from his wrists. “Good work,” the Doctor nodded to the Nurse beside him, almost as an afterthought. Brown, for his part, visibly frowned at the comment due to its absolute rarity - after all, this was praise coming from a man who couldn't be bothered to remember the names of people he worked with on a daily basis.

The moment passed however, as Arven turned and left the suite without another word, bound for cryo, to see what he’d missed in his absence.

OOC - realized I left everyone in awkward postions, so I hope this is better. @RyeTanker as discussed, I leave the length of Zark's sleepy-time up to you. @Eden have fun lol
92
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0800] Meeting of the Minds
Last post by chXinya -
[Ens. Irnashall “Shall ch’Xinya | Conference Lounge | Deck 01 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] attn: @Brutus @Pierce @Eirual @Nesota Kynnovan

One more time, the doors slid open with their signature swoosh sound to admit one last attendee: the tall, blue skinned Andorian with only one antenna and the stub of another framing the disheveled white hair hanging loosely down his back. His hand quickly moved away from where it had been pressing against his side, his pride straightening his back so that he could walk in as if everything was perfect. “Apologies,” Shall started, spotting faces old and new. “I went to the science conference room first by mistake.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been among this many of his fellow scientists, their department was small and he kept to himself for the most part, usually just sending in his reports and any material requests via text.

Seeing Hirek moving away from the replicator and noting mugs of various designs already sitting in front of most attendees, Shall made the assumption that he was clear to get his own morning stimulant of choice, so he stepped up. “Andorian katheka, double strong.” A moment later a steaming mug of his own was in his hand, antenna perking up just at the strong scent of his homeland. Grabbing the nearest seat (which just happened to be right next to Sarresh) he winced just a little as his barely-patched wound tried to twist itself open again.

“So what’s the plan from here?”
93
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0800] Meeting of the Minds
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Hirek tr’Aimne | Conference Lounge | Deck 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Brutus  @Pierce  @chXinya  @Eirual  @Nesota Kynnovan 

The doors sighed open. Hirek tr’Aimne stepped through them on stubborn momentum alone.

Bone-tired didn’t begin to cover it. His body felt like a poorly reconstructed schematic—stress fractures never properly sealed, internal diagnostics screaming quietly in the background while he pretended not to hear them. The Allegiant’s field patches had kept him functional, technically alive, but no one with a medical license had ever cleared him. The Tal’Shiar’s interrogation protocols hadn’t exactly prioritized long-term survivability, and whatever had cracked in his ribs back on Romulus still ground together every time he drew a deeper breath than strictly necessary. There was a pressure beneath his sternum that worried him in the abstract, filed away as potential internal bleed, thoracic cavity, but it hadn’t dropped him yet. That meant—by every metric that mattered lately—it wasn’t urgent.

He was still standing. Still thinking. Still useful. Sickbay could wait. Especially since he presumed it to be overrun with more grieviously wounded at the moment anyway.

His eyes swept the conference room in a single, efficient scan. Faces catalogued. Absences noted. Too many empty chairs. He made the quiet, automatic calculation—who should have been there, who wasn’t—and arrived at the obvious conclusion without ceremony. Dead. Most of them.

No outward reaction followed. No tightening of the jaw, no flare of grief. That accounting had been done already, elsewhere, when the smoke was thicker and the blood was fresher. There was nothing left to spend on it now.

Without introduction, without acknowledging Frost’s lab coat or Morali’s presence or Dunne’s barely restrained irritation, Hirek turned toward the replicator. He keyed in a command sequence by muscle memory alone.

“Romulan broth. Personal program. Heated.”

The replicator hummed, and the smell hit him a second later—salty, mineral-rich, faintly bitter. It was the first real food he’d had since returning to the Theurgy. His stomach twisted unpleasantly, but that was expected. If Starfleet expected him to continue operating at even a marginal level of competence, sustenance was non-negotiable.

He took the bowl, ignored the faint tremor in his hands, and crossed the room. Morali was closest. Hirek barely knew the man beyond reputation and scattered temporal briefings, but proximity was proximity. He took the seat beside him without comment, set the bowl down, and finally allowed himself to exhale as he lifted the spoon. The first swallow burned all the way down. Good. That meant he was still present in his body.

He drank slowly, methodically, eyes lowered, saying nothing to anyone. Conversation flowed around him—barbed, tired, defensive—but he didn’t join it. Right now, his priorities were brutally simple: stay upright, stay conscious, stay useful.

Later—when this meeting ended, when the next crisis didn’t immediately demand his attention—he would probably go to Sickbay. Probably admit that something inside him was still very wrong.

For now, he drank his soup.
94
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0800] Meeting of the Minds
Last post by Eirual -
[Ens Mia Dunne  | Deck 01 | Conference Lounge | USS Theurgy]
[Attn: @Brutus, @Pierce, @chXinya, @Ellen Fitz, @Nesota Kynnovan  ]

Mia dragged herself to the meeting. She’d been cleaning up the Geology lab, and then her own quarters, which hadn’t fared much better. And that was after she’d spent time assisting in medical where she could. And to make matters worse, something, or someone, had been making weird noises all night. If she didn’t know any better, she would say something had been chewing on wires in the walls. But that was impossible, right?

 All she wanted to do right now was to rest. But that was not going to happen any time soon. Not with this meeting called by the Chief of Science. “It should have been Tyreke in charge,” she said quietly to herself, the feeling of sorrow blooming in her chest at his loss.  If she’d been in charge, she would have thought having a meeting right now was probably the last thing they needed. And maybe she was still upset about Tyreke’s death and just wasn’t in the mood to deal with her department chief. Not that the half android had done anything to assist during this whole disaster.

She sighed heavily as she tugged on her uniform slightly before entering the conference room. “It’s way to early,” she grumbled to herself tiredly. She allowed her gaze to go to the others and gave them a nod, almost giving Morali a smile, “Good to see you Sarresh.” She gave a quick nod to those already in the room and took a seat opposite a new face. She had to read his coat to see his name, Frost. He looked more like he should be in medical and not in science, since his while lab coat and Immunology embroidered on it.  Her attention turned to the blue-eyed man in the white lab coat and she frowned, “Are you sure you are in the right place? This is supposed to be a science department meeting,” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at his too pristine lab coat, “Medical is likely somewhere else.”

95
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0800] Meeting of the Minds
Last post by Nesota Kynnovan -
[Lieutenant Dr. Nathan Frost, Ph.D. | Deck 01 | Conference Lounge | USS Theurgy]
[Attn: @Brutus, @Pierce, @chXinya, @Eirual, @Ellen Fitz]

When he heard the signature hydraulic hiss of the doors, Frost looked up from the display of his PADD and turned his blue-eyed attention in the direction of the door. His blue-eyed gaze came to rest upon a tired, maybe even somewhat scruffy looking man wearing the blue uniform of the Science Department and, in an attempt to build rapport, Frost had been about to rise from his seat to welcome the newly arrived scientist to the meeting.

And then the scientist spoke up. Frost found himself somewhat caught off-guard by the man’s words, half-expecting to be welcomed like the greatest event to befall sentient life since the invention of sliced bread, and he briefly turned his gaze to the other two scientists in the room to gauge their reactions. He found that Lieutenant Junior Grade Angharad had looked at the doors to see who had entered and now presented the scientist with a friendly wave. Lieutenant Junior Grade Zarqan hadn’t even bothered to look up but was idly stirring his coffee instead. It were the kind of reactions that made Frost realize that the scientist’s question maybe hadn’t been entirely out of place, especially given what the crew of the USS Theurgy had been through these last couple of months. Swallowing the indignation he’d initially felt boiling up inside him, Frost rose from his seat and presented the scientist with a smile. ”My name is Nathan Frost.” As he spoke, Frost’s Canadian-accented voice matched the smile on his face and both got more friendly as he went on. ”Thank you for joining us, help yourself to a cup of coffee and take a seat.” With those words, Frost gestured towards one of the many empty seats before sitting back down and reaching for his own cup of coffee.
96
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0320] The Lab Assessment
Last post by Nesota Kynnovan -
[Lieutenant Dr. Nathan Frost, Ph.D. | Deck 07 | Archeology & Geology Lab | USS Theurgy]
[Attn: @Eirual]

Thinking he was all by himself in the laboratory, Frost was startled when he was proven wrong by a blonde-haired woman who suddenly peeked around the corner. He could still feel the cold shiver of adrenaline racing down his spine as the woman spoke up and, pretending that her sudden appearance hadn’t made him jump, Frost rubbed his nose with his right hand and inhaled once more; attempting to mask the initial startled, sharp inhale as a bad case of the cold.

It was an attempt that lasted only mere moments though, because Frost’s attention was immediately drawn to the smouldering remains on the diagnostics table when the unknown woman mentioned that it had been a parasite. ”Really? A parasite?” As he spoke up, Frost leaned in closer to the charred remains that had once apparently been a parasite and his Canadian-accented tone matched the fascinated expression on his face. While it was burned beyond recognition, Frost had read up about these parasites while aboard the IKS Vask’et and it amazed him to find himself so close to one within an hour after boarding the USS Theurgy. ”That’s amazing.”

After staring at the smouldering remains for another couple of seconds, Frost then turned his blue-eyed attention towards the blonde-haired woman. He had already forgotten about his initial embarrassment over being startled and shifted his attention back to the charred parasite before turning to look at the blonde again. ”Tell me that wasn’t your only parasite sample.” When he spoke up, his fascination briefly faltered as Frost mentally prepared himself for the kind of bad news he expected to get. It was only at that moment that he realized that she was holding something in her arms; while she wasn’t peeking out from behind the corner far enough for Frost to properly see what it was, it nevertheless prompted him to start walking towards the woman in an attempt to help her. ”Oh, let me help you with that.” Frost presented the woman with a smile as he approached her, realizing he’d completely forgotten to introduce himself in his initial fascination with the parasite sample. ”I’m Nathan Frost, by the way. Who are you?”
97
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epilogue: Ashes to Build a New Order [Day 03 | 0300 ]
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Councilor Albrecht Tovan, Civilian Oversight Committee Member| Starbase 84 | 0730 ] attn: @Brutus   @Nolan   @chXinya   @Griff   @Stegro88   @RyeTanker   @Pierce   @Nesota Kynnovan   @P.C. Haring   @Eden   @ob2lander961   @Dumedion   @rae   @Eirual   @tongieboi   @Tae   @Hans Applegate   @joshs1000  @Krajin   @TWilkins

Councilor Albrecht Tovan had learned, over three decades of civilian oversight, that the truth never announced itself cleanly. It arrived sideways—through murmurs in transit lounges, half-phrases cut short when uniforms approached, discrepancies between what was said officially and what people actually talked about when they thought no one important was listening.

Starbase 84 was thick with it. The official feeds played endlessly in the background of the committee offices: calm anchors, careful language. A reported engagement near the Romulan Neutral Zone. Unconfirmed sensor data. The President’s vessel altering course as a precautionary diplomatic measure. Everything was framed as prudent, controlled, measured. Too measured.

Tovan stood at the viewport, hands folded behind his back, watching civilian traffic weave between docking pylons. Below him, the concourse buzzed with people who didn’t have to pretend neutrality for a living. He listened. A Bolian transport pilot whispering about how the President didn’t divert toward danger unless she already knew something. A Tellarite merchant complaining loudly that Starfleet kept saying “Romulan instability” when everyone knew the Romulan government barely existed anymore.  A pair of junior analysts—civilian, not Starfleet—arguing in hushed tones over Dr. Marlowe’s broadcast.

That, more than anything, had cracked the veneer.

Marlowe hadn’t spoken like a politician. He hadn’t even spoken like a scientist trying to hedge uncertainty. He had spoken like someone who knew the cost of being ignored. Officially, the broadcast was being treated as “contextually valuable but unverified.” Off the record, it had detonated. People were connecting threads Starfleet had spent years keeping separate. Qo’noS. Paris.  The Infested.
T
ovan had heard the rumors himself—how Marlowe’s data aligned disturbingly well with the Klingon transmission from the capital, how certain elements inside Starfleet Intelligence had quietly reclassified the Paris bombing from Romulan extremist action to external manipulation with biological vectors. How the Romulans might not have been the architects at all.

And how convenient it had been, politically, to let them take the blame. He exhaled slowly. The committee was already under pressure. Emergency sessions were being proposed. Motions drafted, withdrawn, redrafted. Some members wanted to move immediately—sanctions, investigations, public statements. Others wanted silence. Tovan wanted facts. He had learned the hard way that the galaxy punished certainty more harshly than caution. Wars did not begin because of lies alone. They began because people convinced themselves the truth was simple.

He turned back toward the room as another aide entered, datapad in hand, already talking.

“Councilor, there’s more chatter from the civilian networks—unofficial relays, encrypted forums. They’re saying Marlowe’s sources trace back to Theurgy. To Nicander.”

Tovan closed his eyes briefly. Of course they did. The name alone was radioactive. Infested. Asset. Prisoner. Oracle. Threat. He opened his eyes again, expression carefully neutral.

“Log it,” he said. “But we don’t speculate. Not yet.”

The aide hesitated. “Sir… people are asking what side we’re on.”

Tovan allowed himself a thin, tired smile. “That,” he said quietly, “is usually a sign we don’t yet know who the sides really are.”
[ K’Temak, Klingon High Council Member| First City | Qo’Nos | 0800 ]

K’Temak, son of Dorgath, had not spoken during the council session. That alone was being noticed. He stood now in the shadowed archway overlooking the First City, the red glow of the sky reflecting off armor that had not seen battle in too long. Below, the city roared as it always had—alive, furious, proud. Klingon life endured. But its leadership?

That was another matter. Martok’s words still echoed in his ears. Honor. Sacrifice. Restraint. Restraint. K’Temak bared his teeth in a silent snarl.

The war had bloodied the Empire. Ships lost. Warriors dead. And for what? To prop up a Federation vessel chased across the stars, to bow before humans who spoke of alliances while quietly calculating how much Klingon fury they could afford to waste.

Martok had stood before them and spoken of cooperation. Of patience. Of diplomacy. Of waiting. Waiting while the Federation weighed pardons.  Waiting while Romulan worlds burned. Waiting while Klingon dead cooled in their graves. It stank of weakness. Worse—it stank of gratitude.

A junior councilor had whispered to him earlier, voice low and eager: The Mo’Kai still gather. Not openly. But they watch. They remember what the Empire was before Martok learned to ask permission.

K’Temak had dismissed him then. Now, alone, he reconsidered. The Mo’Kai were dishonorable. Traitors. But they were also Klingon—and they had never pretended to kneel. Perhaps the Empire did not need Martok’s kind of honor anymore. Perhaps it needed fear again. Teeth. Fire.

He imagined the look on Martok’s face if challenged—not by the Federation, but by his own people. By warriors who believed he had traded the blade for a leash. K’Temak rested his hand on the stone railing. Supporting the Mo’Kai would be dangerous. Possibly fatal. But history did not remember the cautious. It remembered those who acted when leaders forgot what strength looked like.

“Qapla’,” he murmured, not as a salute—but as a promise.
[ Lira t’Vess, Romulan Citizen | Site of Former Tal’Shiar Citadel | Romulus| 0830 ]

The stone was still warm. That was what struck Lira t’Vess most as she stood among the ruins—how the shattered walls of the Tal’Shiar Citadel still held the day’s heat, as if the building itself had not yet accepted that it was dead.

Around her, people moved slowly. Quietly. No chanting. No riots. Just numb, careful motion, like survivors picking their way through a collapsed home.
Tal’Aura was dead. There had been no room for doubt. The broadcast had played on every public screen, every private receiver. Her voice. Her defiance. Her death. Donatra’s fate was less certain. That made it worse. Rumors moved faster than facts now—whispered in alleyways, traded in glances. Some said her ship had been destroyed. Others said she had vanished into exile, or was being hidden by what remained of the fleet.

And then there were the Remans. They were everywhere. Not armed. Not aggressive. Just present. Walking openly through the capital. Standing at transit hubs. Speaking quietly among themselves in a language Romulans pretended not to understand. Lira watched one pass now—a Reman woman, scarred, posture straight, eyes forward. Not a conqueror. Not a servant. A reminder.

The Tal’Shiar had ruled through shadows. Through certainty. Through fear. Now their fortress was rubble, and the shadows had nowhere left to hide. Lira clasped her hands together, unsure whether she felt hope or dread.

Change was coming. That much was undeniable. The only question—spoken softly, again and again—was whether it would arrive through votes… or blood.
[ Captain Brik | Golden Ledger | Federation Space | 0900 ]

Captain Brik of the Golden Ledger trusted three things in life. Latinum.  Timing.  And getting out before the shooting started. All three were currently in question.

His ship drifted just outside a busy trade corridor, engines idling, crew unusually quiet. The subspace channels were chaos—rumors of battles, rerouted convoys, canceled contracts. War made prices volatile. Volatility was good. Uncertainty, however, was bad for insurance premiums.

Brik flicked his lobes irritably as another message scrolled across his console. Klingon shipping surcharges. Romulan tariffs suspended—suspended, not lifted. Federation “temporary inspections” that somehow always took longer for Ferengi vessels. And then there was the chatter no one officially acknowledged. Infested.  Biological infiltrators.  Whole governments nudged into disaster.

Brik snorted. If even half of it was true, someone was going to make an obscene amount of money—and someone else was going to be blamed for it. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. Rule of Acquisition Number 34: War is good for business. Rule 190: Hear all, trust nothing.

He opened a private ledger and began quietly adjusting routes. Because whatever was coming, Brik had no intention of being caught on the wrong side of it—or worse, the honest side.
[ Lucan Nicander Brig | Security Center | Deck 07 | USS Theurgy  0930 ]

There was no knocking this time. No careful, creeping intrusion. They simply were. Lucan’s mind was quieter than before—disciplined, shielded, threaded with light that burned where they touched it. Annoying. Painful. But not impenetrable. Nothing ever was.

They did not speak in words at first. Words were crude things, bound by sequence and limitation. Instead, they brushed against memory, sensation, inevitability.

They are listening now.

Images flickered—crowded halls, burning cities, council chambers thick with fear. Klingons arguing. Humans hesitating. Romulans mourning. Pieces moving exactly as they should.

Confusion ripens the field.

There was resistance, too. Lucan’s will flared, a sharp, defiant thing. He clung to names. Faces. Purpose. Admirable. Temporary. They pressed closer—not to dominate, not yet—but to remind.

You see them doubt you. You feel their fear.  You know how easily it breaks.

A sensation like cold fingers tracing neural pathways. Not cruel. Not kind. Patient.

Cycles turn. Stars burn. Empires fracture. And still, they ask whether it is cut and dry.

A whisper, then—almost fond.

It never is.

And somewhere, deep within him, something listened.

FIN
GM Notes: Part 3/3. Hopefully, seeing things from various perspectives can give you added inspirational fodder for writing Epilogue scenes leading up to the Memorial and after. We will have the Memorial thread up soon and will add this note there as well but we will post up the initial post, give ten days for folks to respond, then do the next GM-based post, and give an additional 10 days before we FIN it. From there we can open up the Interregnum. 

Remember to use EPI S [Day 03 | Time Stamp ] Thread Title for your Epilogue threads. We should have the memorial thread up soon. The Epilogue technically lasts for one day in-game, with the Interregnum starting on Day 04 at midnight (see the Cosmic Calendar for reminders).
98
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / EPI S: [Day 03 | 0415] Bubble-suit Bitchassness
Last post by Dumedion -
[Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @ob2lander961 
[Show/Hide]
As the hours passed since her return to the ship, Shadow hadn’t stopped moving; the FAB was still a hive of activity – work had begun to clear the launch lanes and restore critical systems without pause. The repairs were still ongoing, the same as nearly everywhere she looked: everyone pushed through the exhaustion, if only by sheer inertia. In her mind, Talia knew she should be sleeping; if hostilities broke out again, they’d need every pilot up and ready to fight again – but she couldn’t rest in good conscience with so much work to do.

Chief Lok had put a stop to her attempted assistance (which had mostly consisted of removing debris and the like) by informing Talia (in blunt but not unkind words) that there was a reason pilots flew the ships and the crews worked on them. In short – although the help was appreciated – there were better efforts spent elsewhere: namely, checking in on her fellow pilots confined to Sickbay. Shadow wasn’t so tired not to understand that the Chief was essentially kicking her out of the FAB so his people could work without her fumbling around in the way, but she took the hint well enough.

The main entrance to sickbay opened a short time later to reveal the reception area. The desk was vacant, covered with stacks of open bandage packaging, PADDS, and various devices she couldn’t easily identify. The place looked like it had been through hell, compared to what she remembered from a few weeks ago; stains covered the carpet, scorch marks dotted the walls – the air itself smelled of burnt wire and desperation.

A solitary nurse shuffled into view, burdened with a huge bundle of what appeared to be balled up uniforms. He looked ragged, but alert, blinking at her in confusion. “Do you need help?”

Talia shook her head quickly, moving to assist him. “No, no – I’m okay,” she explained, taking some of the load from his arms. “I’m just here to look in on some people?”

The nurse nodded, thankful. “To recycle. There wasn’t time during…y’know,” he explained with a shrug. “Anyway, if they’re here, I doubt you’ll be able to see them. Folks in here are pretty tore up, and its way past visiting hours.” The pair deposited the piles of clothes into the recycler while the nurse talked, then he turned to Talia with a weary expression of sympathy. “What are their names?”

Shadow sighed quietly but understood the situation. “Valin, Wix, and Wellington?”

The nurse frowned in recognition but moved to the terminal at reception, his hands opening in a gesture of let me see what I can do. Talia waited patiently, feeling awkwardly out of place. The place seemed eerily quiet and devoid of activity; the lights were dimmed, like someone had forced the place into a state of calm after a calamity.

“Valin is in the Ward, recovering from surgery – out cold by the looks of it – uhm…Wix and Wellington, are…,” the man’s brows rose as he made an odd face, like a silent expression of unfortunate revelation.

“What is it,” Talia frowned at the man, concern mixed with impatience. “Are they okay?”

“Well, yes – but also no. I mean,” he shook his head, “you see, we lost the decon suite in the fight, so they’re in iso-suits. Stable but, y’know, in suits.”

Talia blinked and shook her head at him. “I don’t know – what are you saying?”

The nurse stood, worked the kink out of his neck, then gestured to his right where a large, blackened mess of what looked like two melted rooms used to be. “That is the decontamination suite – it’s used to isolate and treat all manner of contaminants before they spread to the rest of the ship.”

Talia nodded.

“Without it, Wix and Wellington – due to the nature of some contaminant, which in this case appears to be a viral infection, have been treated and placed into isolation suits. We’re having them stay in one of the storage closets.”

Wait, what, Talia frowned, eyes narrowed. “If they’re in suits, why keep them in a closet?”

“Because they’re loud and obnoxious and Dr. Leux told us to sedate them and throw them in a closet,” the nurse mumbled under his breath rapidly without pause or breath.

Yeah, that tracks, Shadow snorted. “Where are they?”

The nurse hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll give you ten minutes.”

[“Temporary Iso Ward” – Storage Closet | Main Sickbay]

Talia opened the door, which revealed her fellow Wolves, each of them sealed into what looked like a bubble-suit of clear plastic. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been stuck in there, but as soon as the door entered, the nurse pushed her in and closed the door – which prompted a grunt of disapproval before giving the pair of them a once over in the tight confines of the storage room.

“Hello then,” Shadow greeted, managing to keep the amusement from her face and voice, “you two alright?”
99
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S [Day 03 | 1200 ] Out Of Their Depths
Last post by Brutus -
[ Ens. Faye Lintah Eloi-Danvers |  Non-Comissioned officers quarters | Deck 15 | Vector 02 |  USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Stegro88  [Show/Hide]

To say that the young Betazoid woman trudging down the corridor was exhausted would be an understatement to end all understatements.  Her body ached, she needed to replicate a new uniform, get her hair cut, and soak in water for hours. She needed a week of sleep. She needed everyone around her to be quiet and reign their thoughts in. She needed a week of heavy counseling, at the minimum. She probably needed more than the cursory scan with a medical tricorder she'd received in the immediate aftermath of her return from the Hobus star system and the battle at the Triangle. That marked the what.... 10th battle since she'd woken up months back, pulled out of stasis with a new arm, and a new job, after the flight from Jupiter Station where here entire department had been wiped out? 

Okay, I need a few years of counseling. Lets not shit ourselves. But hey, you met the President of the Federation today. Not many folk can say that! And what a fucking wild day it had been. Faye half thought she was in a coma, and this was a fever dream. But she hurt too much for that to be the case. And everyone was too dirty. And too clothed. 

The brunette paused and took a moment to get her bearings. She'd been to this part of the ship a time or three over the months that she had served aboard, but it wasn't where she normally lay her head at night. Even after she got shifted out of the department head's billet, once Lt. Commander Rutherford had come aboard to turn her one woman diplomatic team back into an actual department, Ens. Eloi-Danvers had been granted her own private quarters, as befitting her rank as an officer and her position within the ships crew and diplomatic department. Not that she often slept alone of course. But with the recent detached duty to Hobus, and the state of the ship when she returned, Faye was without her normal accommodations. It would take Operations and Engineering some time to repair the damage to that section of the ship. And while she might have sought out her lover, PO Riley Patterson, but the petty officer shared an abode with another medic and both were working around the clock at the moment down in the medbay. The last thing either needed was Faye dropping in. Nor did she go after Lt. Zark, for similar reasons.

But the ships quartermaster had been on the ball and promptly assigned Faye a billet while the Betazoid had been meeting with colleauges from some of the other Federation ships that had arrived at the Triangle. Sure, it was a shared accommodation in non-com country, but it was temporary, and Faye was a social creature. A very tired one with nothing to take with her save what she'd packed in her bag for the Hobus expedition, and had lugged around the ship since she returned. Had she been less tired she might have recognized where she was headed, but her head was swimming and her thoughts were muddled. Thus she took no notice of the address of the door she stumbled to a stop in front of, save to check it matched what she had been given. And didn't bother to note who else it was assigned to. Instead she just pressed the call button.

Sure, the ship had already granted her access to the room as she was assigned there for now, but she wasn't rude, and this person was having to put up with a new roommate. She could at least be polite about it, even if she was exhausted. Diplomatic, even. 

A blast of warm, moist air billowed out of the unit and Faye blinked in surprise as it seemed to coil around her ankles as she looked up at the woman in the doorway. "Holy shit," she blurted out. "Oh thank the gods, you're alive. And I don't have to break someone new in," she added rapidly, before throwing her arms around the short (for a KIingon) woman and hugging her tight. 
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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0800] Meeting of the Minds
Last post by Brutus -
[ Lt (jg) Sarresh Morali | Conference Lounge | Deck 01 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Nesota Kynnovan @Pierce @chXinya @Eirual @Ellen Fitz
  
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In desperate need of a shave, sleep, and a month off, not to mention a hypospray full of a heavy analgesic to numb the throbbing pain in the back of his head, Sarresh Morali, Jr. Lieutenant, Temporal Affairs Officer, displaced time traveler and unwilling (former) cult leader, shambled down the corridor from the turbolift that ran around the outside of the Theurgy's bridge module, wondering what idiot had summoned him to a conference at 8 in the bloody morning after a battle that had raged into the early morning. Never mind that he hadn't had a real break since the run across the Neutral Zone, and the attempt to prevent the assassination of a future temporal asset, and keep the timeline from further destabilizing. 

Not that the future I left is likely to be there when this is done. Ives...you weren't supposed to be injured like this. Is that a fair trade for all those lives we saved at the Azure Nebula? Lt. Morali shook his head with a bitter snarl across his face. He had come from where the captain was now secluded in stasis. Not that he was supposed to have access to that section of the ship. But he had access all the same. There was a lot he had access to that he wasn't supposed to, based on his rank. But then again, there was much he wanted to know that he couldn't, until the last minute. His head was a mess, to say the least. He kept waiting for Ducane to show up around the corner, but he'd not heard a peep from his handler since he returned to the Triangle. 

"Its only a matter of time. Everything is only a matter of time," he muttered to himself, before allowing a small laugh to escape his lips. Speaking of time, Sarresh knew he was making good time and almost paused, debating if he wanted to wait to arrive until he would be noticeably late, to get a point across. He was feeling fairly petty at the moment. Why the hell had Lt. Vanya booked the main Confernece room? he wondered as he let out a huff and pushed onward. Had something happened to the room the science team usually used down near the labs? His own lab was fine, but then Sarresh expected nothing less, for all the reasons that no one really had access to the place without his say. To call it reinforced was an understatement. Not even he fully knew, understood, or remembered everything that had been done when the Relativity had retrofitted the previous version of the lab. And unlike much of what he didn't remember, he was fine with this. 

Pausing to scratch at the beard that now covered his face, Sarresh summoned up a bit of righteous indignation and strode into the conference room, looking for the Romulan Android in charge to question her logic subroutines, only to blink in surprise at a new face sitting about where he would have thought the Lieutenant. would be, instead. 

"Who the hell are you?"
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