Print Page - CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Title: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: stardust on April 25, 2021, 03:56:08 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Samantha_Rutherford) | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 1 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @Pierce
[Show/Hide]

“Don't hit at all if it is honorably possible to avoid hitting; but never hit soft!” ~ Theodore Roosevelt

Samantha had heard this phrase quoted first by her grandfather, when she was about eleven years old. It was part of his lectures in patience and self-control, but also in understanding the very polarity of Vulcan culture. Peaceful and logical to the brink, but relentless and unforgiving once pushed over it. And while her upbringing to this point had been innately human, for the most part, it was in this time that her dormant Vulcan character and ideology broke through, was groomed, and became a vital ingredient to her professional success. Because as much as people assumed that diplomacy was predominantly about understanding the feelings and sentiments of your opponents – and it was – the required professional skill to accurately quantify and exploit these was logic, not emotion. And it as exactly this duality in nature that made the blonde so perfect for the job: The ability to appreciate emotion, and the capability to factually categorize them.

But coming back to Roosevelt, his quote struck close to the core, especially in situations such as these, where the Commander felt as if negotiations had run their course. There was no shame in admitting that. There was, however, in conceding defeat, just because the answer was no. Because the appropriate reaction to that was a different kind of diplomacy, one that didn’t rely on words and phrases to subdue the enemy. And in that regard, she was very much aware that you had to be decisive, strict and quick, if you wanted to catch your opponent still dizzy from the ambrosia that was victory.

Gorka had made one fatal mistake in dealing with Starfleet, or a rogue faction thereof, and that was limiting they ways in which a mutual understanding could be reached. He’d backed them into a corner, claiming superiority by doing so, but in reality only spaded out his own grave. Because to get a message across you never hit softly, you never half-assed something. To show your conviction the display had to be exemplary. And with all the cruelty and personal affection of Fisher’s torture, it had done a half-assed job in sending a message. No, if you wanted to send a message, it had to shake your opponent to the very core, leaving them no way but to submit. And by not doing so, Gorka had shown a blatant weakness, his incapability to be the leader he saw himself to be, he had given them the opportunity to react. Samantha was not going to make the same mistake. She was going to hit the hollow pride and courage of the Klingon like a frilly piñata. And when honor and diplomacy had run their course, she never hit soft.

Walking into the Intelligence suite, like the woman on a mission she was, her entry and dominant air conquered the attention of the room in stride. Admittedly, it was not a very big one. Present were the Lieutenants Pierce, Byron and Anh-Le, all at their duty stations, as well as Amarik and Lorad, whom she had ordered up from security. Representing the stentorian slap of justice, she was going to send to Gorka. And if the mission to retrieve Martok’s grandson had been any indication toward the woman’s resolve in completing a mission, then he would be lucky to walk away with his life.

Pacing a few feet into the room and then halfway back and forth, like a pendulum slowly tuning into its resting position, hands clasping either extremes of her swaying hips, the diplomat finally turned to the group that had gathered before her.

“Alright, I’ll make this introduction brief, as we’re a little pressed for time.” she started out, her voice slightly hoarse and panted. “We were just informed that Gorka has managed to take Commander Fisher hostage and demands cessation of our involvement in securing Martok’s legitimate role as chancellor … obviously, this isn’t going to happen.”

Although Stark seemed on the fence still, about whether following the extortionist’s demands was maybe the better solution. So some unpopular decisions, and potentially in defiance with the chain of command, had to be made.

“Since we’re running low on executive officers, as of …” Samantha took a brief look at the chronometer. “… 1723 hours, I am taking command of the intelligence detachment and the security details necessary to complete its mission: The rescue of commander Fisher, and thus the continuation of our mission to stabilize the Klingon Empire and forge an alliance. I won’t let this glorified trilobite take away the progress we’ve made with the sweat, blood and lives of every crewmember on this ship!”

Scratching the side of her forehead, right below where the small, untreated cut at her hairline had closed beneath a dark crust, now infusing a gentle itch of healing, the blonde readjusted her stance. While she did not have a firm plan yet, it would have to do if they could not come up with anything better in a timely manner. Because that was the only thing they did not have: time. Martok and Ives were potentially gone, Gorka under the impression he would now have free reign to claim the throne his own, while a heir to the chancellor’s legacy was still unrevealed to the council, as was the traitor in their midst … things were never this dire and that primed to blow up any second.

“Let’s hear it, everyone.”

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|17:43] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Pierce on May 02, 2021, 07:24:22 PM

Alana Pierce was partially startled by the speedily emergence of Commander Rutherford into the Central Intelligence Suite, but she half expected it since news of Fisher's capture had hit the audio streams Ta'rom and that he was being sent planetside. She swiveled in her chair as she leaned forward to press into the console and stand upright. The woman had given that vibe that she was on a mission and wasn't in the mood for pleasentries or other people's bullshit, just answers. Not that Alana could blame the diplomat since the chain of events could have been prevented had the Klingons been a reasonable people and responded to her in kind.

Her hands pulled on her uniform to straighten it. Thankfully since her altercation with the Gorn in the security suite earlier she'd opted to change her skirt for some nice Starfleet issue slacks allowing her more mobility should the shit hit the fan as she expected to happen. Several of the security officers and what remained of Intelligence stood idle as they awaited what the Diplomat planned to divulge to them now about her plans.

Slight surprise struck her however as she heard that Rutherford was taking over at present of the Intelligence wing but not all that unexpected. As she stated, executive officers were on short supply at present. A little taken aback with the Commander's almost erratic behavior, she could sense something else was at play that she wasn't yet privy to. Had she been completely human, Pierce would have thought her to be both pissed and panicking.

Deciding to stake some claim to Intelligence, she stood at the ready lifting a dainty finger on her hand to signal she wanted to speak. As she was acknowledged, she placed her hands on the control board to send it to the CIS screen.

"Commander, although there are no senior officers here we at present we look to you for your guidance. Although many of us in the Intelligence department have had experience flying solo on the occasional mission. That being said, I have an idea. It would require a small group to travel to the surface. Something where we could potentially mask the signatures of several individuals. Maybe security would have something that masks bio-signatures from the Klingon's scanners." She paused to lick her dry lips and continued. "I'd suggest a diplomatic approach as a front to gain access to the planet and negotiate for Fisher's release." A slight smirk split her lips as she continued on once more.

"The Klingon's would likely expect a sneak attack from a cloaked vessel and so a more direct approach might warrant better results. I suggest sending a few officers down while on approach without a transporter but with anti-gravity boots and freefall skydiving from the back hatch of the shuttle. Masked in our impulse signatures we might be able to drop undetected close to the facility wherein Fisher is being held. From there we would need someone capable of hacking into the entry and along the way to retrieve the Commander."

Letting everyone soak up her suggestions, she paused and walked over to a rough visual of the complex. "As you can see the data on this facility is a bit outdated and we're missing exact specs. Exiting the facility we're going to require a vessel, possible cloaked with a high speed to rendezvous on the outer wall. Destruction of the facility is likely as we break the Commander out, and we're going to need weapons fire to provide the path we need for escape and transport back to the shuttle. It's crazy, but sometimes crazy works. The Klingons won't expect crazy when Starfleet typically follows a protocol on mission. We're renegades according to the Fleet so that gives us extra leeway."

She brushed her hair back and stepped back to allow for others to speak up. "I'm all ears for anyone's opinions or other options but this might be the most direct route with a little finessing."[/b]

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|17:43] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: BipSpoon on May 07, 2021, 10:49:26 AM

[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Pierce @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust
[Show/Hide]

Valyn had taken the call up to the intelligence suite without hesitation. Admittedly, it had taken asking a passing Ensign to figure out exactly where she needed to get to, but she did manage to arrive in a decent amount of time. She stood off to the side, and leaned up against a vacant console. She still looked a bit disheveled from the battle, but she’d clearly at least attempted to put herself together, her hair having been freshly pulled back. She was still armed with her pistol and the Tal Shiar officer's blade that was strapped to the back of her belt. Her uniform itself had been changed as well, luckily no longer being covered in Targ blood.

An eyebrow rose on her face at the mention of a kidnapped officer. She didn’t know who he was but she was all ears. A kidnapped officer, be it in Starfleet or even back on Romulus was a serious matter. Perhaps for different reasons and motivations. With the Romulans, because of the risk of a potential breach of information. With the Federation for the same concern but there was also a larger aspect of loyalty and duty. It wasn't something to be left ignored. She gave an audible chuff of amusement when she heard their demands. Even if they met the demands, there was no guarantee that Gorka wouldn’t just kill Fisher anyways. She’d seen what some of his soldiers were capable of, and Klingon honor or not, she’d seen enough war to understand that lust for power drove men; be it Romulan, Human, Or Klingon alike, to actions of madness. She looked to Rutherford, "I'm with you." A simple statement, but she didn't think she needed to say much else about it. The Klingons had done and taken enough from them. They weren't going to take another officer if she could help it.

Her attention shifted to Pierce as she spoke up, and her head tilted to the left as she listened, eyebrows narrowing slightly in thought. “A jump?” She finally spoke up after a while, letting the ghost of a grin hit the corner of her lips. Clearly amused by the idea, she said nothing else, and listened. She let her eyes trace over the specs a few times before she did decide to speak up. “Sounds pretty good.” She gave a nod and took a step towards the image of the specs, to get a closer look.

“I have some experience with hacking but I’m by no means an expert.” She looked around those gathered, to see if anyone else was perhaps a bit more skilled. “If we do manage to get into the system, we can probably try and find some updated specs, not that it helps us much here, but once we get down there it’ll give us an idea of where the hell we’re goin’ at least.” She turned her attention away from the monitor and then back towards Pierce with a small smile, “Might want to bring a few charges for the door just in case though.” For a Romulan, it was obvious that she had a strange, and very Human accent. She spoke with a fairly strong Alabama accent, not a hint of Romulus in her voice.

“What’s the saying...hope for the best, plan for the worst?” She crossed her arms and gave another glance over the schematic. “As for crazy, I’m all for it, when it’s warranted. These bastards have done enough damage for one day.” She pushed herself off of the console she had been leaning on, and pulled her uniform down.

“How do we go about concealing ourselves down on the surface?” She wasn’t sure what tech they had on board, not completely anyways and thought it best to just ask instead of assume. “And are we going to steal a cloaked ship to get out of there, is that what you’re suggesting?” She had saved all of her questions for the end, but she did have questions, though she wasn’t against the plan, quite the contrary, she was all for it. She just wanted to execute it perfectly.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|17:43] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Stegro88 on May 11, 2021, 01:19:45 PM

 
Lorad had just finished suiting up in a replacement security exosuit when he had been paged to report to the intelligence suite on Deck 05. Checking his equipment a final time, making sure that he had everything that he needed, he picked up his accipiter rifle and slung it across his back. The oversized weapon was bigger than he was used to, but he was growing to like its utility in situations where a phaser or disruptor would be more of a hinderance than help. And if that failed to work, then he had his new blade, a kukri, strapped to his left hip and thigh.

Arriving, he had stood at the back, staying motionless in the shadows of the room as much as possible while others had arrived, and the briefing had started. The Romulan’s presence was curious to him, but Lorad understood that she was not his enemy. Not anymore, and perhaps never was. Still, she was not inexperienced, and her questions were valid. Fortunately, Lorad believed he had the answer to at least one of them.

“The Apache,” Lorad’s distinctive voiced sounded out in standard from the corner where he stood. Shifting his weight, he stepped forward, turning his head away from the screens to shield his eyes as best he could. Looking about, he saw that everyone had their combadges so he switched back to his native Reman tongue. "My sister Samala is preparing it for battle, going so far as to send me away. She would be our best option for escape as we cannot rely on a craft being present for us to utilise,” Lorad proposed as another thought occurred to him.

“As we cannot transport the commander free, nor use them to deploy us, forcing us to either fly in ourselves or jump, as you have described,” Lorad said, looking down at the flame-haired female. “They must have a transport inhibitor at this place. We must prevent them from turning it off or we will be overrun with Klingon reinforcements. Samala can provide support and interfere with any that seek to approach the facility conventionally.” Having said his piece, he glanced at each of the faces present before reaching the slender sand-haired female that was now in command.

“If you want in,” Lorad said in gravelly Standard once more. “Lorad get you in.”

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|17:43] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: GroundPetrel on May 17, 2021, 09:07:04 AM

Lt. JG Dantius Thi Anh-Le | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 |USS Theurgy   attn: @stardust @BipSpoon @Swift @Pierce @Stegro88

"It's a good plan," Anh-Le said. Pumped full of painkillers and with the itchy sensation of newly-protoplased skin over her half-repaired oblique muscles, she wasn't in the mood for talking too much, but there was work to do. "We've got our hands on a map of the facility that Commander Fisher's being held in, and I'm fairly certain it's up to date. Since I got my ass kicked pretty good by a Klingon for insulting his mother, I'll be here on coms to guide the assault team through."

She switched to her best High Rihan for Lieutenant Amarik and Petty Officer Lorad's benefit; the main Romulan prestige dialect was mostly intelligible with Havran, and though Anh-Le wasn't good with Havran idiom, pronunciation, or grammatical idiosyncracies (you didn't get many intercepted comms in Reman dialects, whereas there were a lot of files that had to be translated from High Rihan...and then examined for code words and phrases once the cipher was dealt with...there were a lot of frustrated nights that she could remember all too well, damn.)--well, she could speak enough High Rihan to get her point across, and not so much that she'd get lost on a tangent.

She'd been doing the latter a lot recently. Missing too much sleep, probably.

"<I'll try to help you make it fast so we don't leave your evac waiting on you for half an hour,>" the Orion said. Well, she was pretty sure she said that, she might have mispronounced the slang for "evac". Then it was back to Federation Standard for the whole group, and hope that the universal translators caught her previous comment. "Security's going to be tighter than usual, but if our hacker can get into the defense network we can probably shut down most of the grid from here, it's a pretty well-interlinked system. That'll let us take out automatic disruptor turrets, laser defense grids, forcefields, gravy traps, all that. Downside is, there'll be a silent alarm, which means we're on a clock the moment automated security goes down. It also means that our end is responsible for distracting the enemy and making sure that that clock lasts as long as possible."

Hopefully this would go off without too many hitches. Anh-Le liked Fisher, he seemed to be pretty competent and just enough of a hardass to get the job done without being an asshole. And while Rutherford and Pierce seemed fine, well, a good CO wasn't something you wanted to lose, no matter the replacement. "Obviously," she said in conclusion, "if you see something I either didn't mention or don't quickly mention, tell me immediately so we can start figuring a way around it."

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|17:43] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Pierce on May 18, 2021, 09:17:08 PM

Pierce took all of this information into account as she stood at the conference table looking at the diagrams Lt. Dantius had fashioned for them. The fact she'd gone toe to toe with the Klingons only improved her opinion of the woman. Having had a few bouts with the Klingon's herself and the current predicament no exception, she was amused by the remark about her recent expeditions and the status of the map. A crease appeared near her reddish lips as a smirk broke out of it.

Intending on taking things into consideration as she'd done in past missions, she wanted to assert her dominance here and now. Regardless of whether she was in charge or not, she knew that in order to move up again in the fleet, she needed to be commanding. Or it could simply be the male thought patterns that she still possessed which made her compete for control. She wasn't sure which.

"Great work Lt. Dantius." Alana turned and placed her other arm resting beneath her bust for support so her remaining elbow had a place to lay itself as she thought. "We don't have the time for much debate everyone. As Commander Rutherford stated, time is of the essence. Lt. Amarik, we'll definitely need your specific skillset once we're planet side. Lorad, I like your thinking. Bring a small security detachment with us. We'll need stealth and speed people."

She waltzed over to another panel before turning back to the group. The Apache would do nicely she thought to herself. This ship certainly has very, very qualified individuals on staff. Too bad the brass at Starfleet HQ were likely untrustworthy with the exception of Anderson.

As if forgetting something she faced the group again as she stood in close proximity of Samantha. "Those of us going planet side. We're going to need special ops suits. The Klingons will know and suspect a likely rescue attempt. Let's make it a little harder to pin on the fleet. Let's meet in the shuttle bay and be ready for sendoff."

Remembering that she was new and didn't want to ruffle too many feathers, she deferred to Samantha. "That is if everything sounds good to you, sir." She had an almost childish grin when she was sure she was done with the conversation, but returned to a somewhat stern look as she addressed her direct superior.

OOC: Likely this will be the last post I have prior to going on vacation unless there's a need and time tomorrow for me to write before leaving.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|17:23] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: stardust on May 21, 2021, 12:06:15 AM

Over the years, Samantha had learned that to any negotiation, and to any presentation, you could never turn up without a plan of your own. For if you wanted to show the resolve and integrity necessary for a position of power, you could not be caught with your pants down. Figuratively and realistically. That’s why she’d formed a strategy to free Andrew, and deal with the potential of Martok’s death in one fell swoop. In that order, no matter what she let on professionally. But granted, her plan was not fool proof or perfect, she’d only had about ten seconds to cook it up when the current situation presented itself on the bridge. But it was a good enough going off point should everyone else fall flat on their asses … which she also knew, was only a minute possibility.

The moment the diplomat had relayed her rundown and query, Lieutenant Pierce had sprung to action, the way she’d anticipated her to. The young redhead had earned a token of respect from the blonde in the little amount of time she’d been on Theurgy so far. Not only in extension of whatever professional pride Fisher felt, over her being on his team. Her plan was falling in line closely with what she had thought out herself, only proving that the two women thought much alike strategically. But it went even further than that, because Sam had actually intended to let the mission take care of itself, once the away team had landed at the compound. At which point any planning would likely have to make room for improvisation anyways as the situation unfolded before them.

Giving the woman a faint smile and appreciative nod, the commander’s attention moved on to Lieutenant Amarik next, a capable security officer, from what she’d hard. Keeping appraised of the gems in Theurgy’s all-star team was a favorite past time of the duty obsessed 1/4th Vulcan. The Romulan’s conviction, in line with her species' resolve, was impressive. No matter how at odds their respective ancestries stood. Planning for any contingencies, certainly, was where everyone’s personal experstise came in. And it was sort of poetic, almost, that the mention of backup explosives cleared the floor for Theurgy’s resident Gorn, Lorad. Another capable security officer.

The line of conclusion, in its habitual grammatical incorrectness, almost made Samantha snort a gentle chuckle with easy glee. But she had to also conceded that it was a great idea to involve the Apache as an extraction plot, maybe more.

Then the plucky Orion officer, Lieutenant Dantius offered her professional remarks. And while the blonde almost regretted her staying behind, after getting to know the woman as a rather capable hands-on person TWICE now, she nodded gratefully at the proposed support given. It seemed there were talents to the green-skinned lass that she hadn’t yet discovered, but soon would.

As Alana brought the conversation full circle, with a glance at the clock, Samantha gave one definitive nod, before crossing her arms in a stance of defiance to the odds they were facing.

“Great work, everyone.” she said with a telling glance around the team. She thoroughly appreciated everyone’s selfless involvement, even after days of being stretched as humanly thin as possible without going completely postal. “I have already instructed my new assistant chief and Ensign L’Nari to prepare for a diplomatic mission to the great hall. There is a time-sensitive matter that needs to be resolved there as well. They’ll be your decoy. A Type-11 is being prepped as we speak. Officers Amarik, Lorad, make sure we get 4 security exo-suits to pad C. They should mask the team's bio signs.”

Moving forward to the large wall of screens the commander pulled up a haphazardly drawn out flight path from her short moments on the turbolift between alerting her department peers, sending a message to K’Tal and coming here. It showed a slightly curved line from Theurgy through the atmosphere that leveled out towards the first city. Indicating a target point about three quarters of the way there.

“Away team will jump from the shuttle here, while on final approach to the Great Hall. I have sent notice to our ally K’Tal, head of imperial intelligence, to grant us landing privileges. Once Ensign L’Nari has arrived, she will establish a secure diplomatic channel that Lieutenant Dantius can piggy back our communications on. I will follow in the Apache with Crewman Samala, to disguise the cloaked craft's atmospheric turbulence in the shuttle’s wake. We will stop here at the jump-off point and remain stationary to oversee both missions, giving operational oversight and awaiting the signal for exfiltration. There we’ll be able to lend air-support as well.”

Erecting her slim figure back up straight, from where she’d let dainty fingers brush over the sleek console, the commander turned to face the team once more.

“Once you’re on the ground you’ll have to improvise, but I have full faith in each and everyone’s capability to do so. And as this is an intelligence operation, if not a matter of honor, I’ll put Lieutenant Pierce in charge of the away time, while Lieutenant Madsen will be in charge of the diplomatic mission to the Great Hall. So, if there is nothing else, let’s suit up and get ready … we depart at 1740 hours.”

A definitive nod as the blonde detached her posterior from the console she’d been leaning on the past minute or so. Clutching the PADD she’d brought once more, giving an ear to any last comments, Samantha excused herself out of the intelligence offices to make last preparations, including a small briefing of the recently decided plan to Crewman Samala before departure.

OOC: So we can skip forward to where both craft depart from the shuttle bay, if no one has anything to add, or to play out in between … though of course anyone can bridge the gap by filling in how your characters got on to the shuttle and how they’ve prepared.
Madsen, L’Nari and Sarresh – the diplomatic decoy crew – can be mentioned in passing, piloting the Type-11, as they will be predominantly writing out their part of the mission in the “All or Nothing” thread.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Swift on May 24, 2021, 09:48:40 PM

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Stegro88 on May 31, 2021, 06:09:32 PM

[ Tesserarius  Lorad (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Lorad) | Shuttle Bay | USS Theurgy | Orbiting Qo’noS ]  Attn: @Swift @stardust @BipSpoon @GroundPetrel @Pierce
[Show/Hide]

 
Lorad stood on the deck, looking across at the craft that he and his sister had used to flee Romulan space. It had saved their lives several times over and now Samala was going to take it into battle once again, this time to save someone neither of them knew. The Apache was built by Remans to go where only those same desperate Remans would be willing to go. And with his sister at the controls, he held no fear that they acquit themselves well. Yet, there was still the concern that one or both would not return.

Seeing that the others of his team had gathered, Lorad cast a last glance at the Apache before boarding the Federation Type-11.

[ Samala (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Samala) | The Apache | Hawk-class Runabout | USS Theurgy ] 
[Show/Hide]

Samala reached across and made a subtle adjustment to one of the manoeuvring thrusters. It had been damaged during their escape from the Ta’rom and been hastily repaired once they finally made it back to the Theurgy but she hadn’t had time to test and calibrate it and now, wouldn’t get to. She could only hope that her experience had allowed her to do it correctly the first time.

“Samala,” came a nervous voice from behind her. Samala spun her seat around and looked at the Terran that sat at the console on the port side of the cockpit. “I think I have everything ready to go like you taught me, but can you check it just in case?”

“Of course,” Samala acknowledged, standing and moving over to lean over the console, her eyes playing across the screens. “Perfect. Just remember that while the Apache is based off stolen plans for the Danube, it isn’t one. This craft is capable of a few things that will surprise you if it is given the chance.”

“I will,” the Terran said. Satisfied, Samala moved back to her own seat, her confidence growing at the first member for her cockpit crew. Crewman First Class Tashanna Ford was a shuttlecraft engineer that also had decent flight aptitude results and Samala was counting on being able to cross train her for all three roles on the ship.

“Any idea where our third is?” Samala asked the ebony-skinned Terran.

1740 hrs

“This is the Apache. We’re cloaked and clear,” Samala announced, both for those in the cockpit and the Theurgy’s benefit. Glancing back at the Starfleeter positioned at the Tactical console, familiarising themselves. She’d been told their name, but it hadn’t stuck yet. “How are you coming along with the controls?”

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: BipSpoon on June 02, 2021, 05:40:00 AM

[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift @Stegro88 @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce
[Show/Hide]

Valyn took a long look at the Reman. It had been a long time since she’d seen a Reman, particularly in a peaceful manner. The last time she’d been in the presence of the Remans it had been on the Enterprise, and before that during the Dominion War. Both times, under the brutal watch of Shinzon, the human pretender. This time however, he was notably absent, and the exchange was noticeably more peaceful. Still, old prejudice was hard to break.

“A good idea, but we might wanna have a contingency. If we need to get out o’there in a hurry we may want a way to take down the inhibitor ourselves.” She raised her brows and gave him a nod. Her attention then shifted to Anh-Le then and her jaw tightened when her voice shifted to Romulan, just slightly, and her face soured with it. She didn’t elaborate on why. It was a sound plan.

“You got it.” She smiled lightly to Rutherford, a bit of anticipation evident. She’d been itching to get in one of the suits ever since she’d come aboard, and she was getting the chance pretty quick into her assignment abroad Thuergy. She crossed her arms and stood a bit taller, her expression growing more serious as the final details were laid out. It was how she was wired, in the lead up to a mission, part of her shut down, and she focused. She looked at the screens and looked at the jump point and the stationary point, judging the distance and response time.

1740.

She took a breath and as soon as they were dismissed, she took note of every face there, and made her way to suit up.

[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Shuttle Bay | USS Theurgy | In Orbit of Qo’noS ]
Valyn made her way into the shuttle bay, in the undersuit of the exo-suit that suit on the pad waiting for her. Strapped to her side, was her usual officer's knife, clearly Romulan, Tal Shiar for those who paid attention to such things. She was never without it. Her weapons were slung over her shoulder, her rifle by a strap, and the rest in a small hardcased bag. She walked up to the suit and ran a hand across it, gingerly. An impressed whistle escaped her lips and she started to put it on.

It fit perfectly and she moved her arms around in it, watching the joints move perfectly. She smirked and gave a nod as she prepped her gear, then walked into the shuttle, taking a seat towards the front.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: stardust on June 10, 2021, 03:19:56 PM

Right after leaving the intelligence suite Samantha made her way back to the diplomatic council to brief both Enyd and L’Nari on the plan they had just hatched. Even though they only were a distraction to the grander scheme. Which didn’t make their contribution any less valuable, of course. Professionally the mission the great hall was the diplomat’s priority. To ensure that the relations with the Klingons would continue to prosper and not fail at the mere demise of some of the chess pieces. Through Enyd she would be kept appraised of the goings on at the council, all while focusing on her second, much more personal mission.

Truth be told, the blond had never felt this divided. Taking care of two departments concurrently was a first, and it only reminded her of how difficult it must be for Stark to currently be overseeing a whole myriad of them. Granted, diplomatic and intelligence departments were somewhat in the same zip code of subjects. They were both after the same thing, albeit in slightly different manners, and she would never be able to appreciate it any more than she did right now.

So, after getting her department prepped the blonde briefly sent crewman Samala a summary of their plan as well, so she didn’t have to do the majority of explaining on the way. Joining in with Enyd and L’Nari subsequently, the three made their way to the shuttle bay where their paths would diverge. Wishing both of them their best, alongside Sarresh who had joined them, she gave the man a gentle smile before turning on her heels to cross the remaining few feet to the Appache in stride. The two had met only a couple of days ago and had grown considerably close in a short amount of time. Yet so much had gone down the past few hours alone that there was now a certain feeling of neglect present, in regards to how their last engagement had ended 2 nights prior … a perceived measure of weeks seemingly spanning between. But, that was a matter which had to wait. Samantha could only oversea two issues at once.

Slipping into the back of the Reman shuttle, the commander made her way straight through the hold and corridor onto the bridge, where last pre-fight preparations were already underway. Ver well so, considering the chronometer was just skipping to 17:40, as the shuttle bay doors slid open to indicate their take-off window establishing. Taking up the last remaining console, tactical ironically, Samantha placed a couple of PADDs with data pertaining to both missions into the designated tray to the side, before shooting both Samala as well as her co-pilot a thin-lipped smile, cocking one brow gently at the inquiry.

“Not exactly my forte.” The blonde replied, letting her pale blue eyes sink to the Reman console, while clasping her hands together behind her back. Leaving it open whether her comment was hinting at the alien symbolisms or the tactical designation. “Let’s just hope I won’t have to use it, shall we.” Not really a question, the diplomat looked back at the pilot again. It would’ve been a failure on many levels.

“Crewman, open a comm line to the Rosalind Franklin.” she prompted at Tashanna Ford, readjusting her stance as if she was going to address a foreign envoy, rather than talking to her peers over and audio connection. “We’re ready to depart. Franklin, take the lead and follow the predetermined trajectory. I’ve transmitted the landing permits to you, in case you’re being contacted by traffic control. Everyone, keep communications silence until Ensign L’Nari has been able to establish secure communications with Lieutenant Dantius from the surface.”

Taking a small moment to let a dramatic pause sink in, Samantha let her blue eyes transfix to the black void beyond the glowing frame of the shuttle-bay door. The crescent of the Klingon homeworld below. Somewhere down their not only Theurgy’s destiny was hanging in the balance, but that of Andrew, Martok, Ives and his team as well.

“Good luck everyone, Appache out.” A deep exhale left her lungs, causing her squared shoulders to dip back into a more feminine curve. “Take us to the drop point.”

OOC: Next jump :) Soon quite literally!

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: GroundPetrel on June 14, 2021, 07:31:41 AM

Lt. JG Dantius Thi Anh-Le | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 |USS Theurgy   attn: @stardust @BipSpoon @Swift @Pierce @Stegro88

"Cà phê sữa đá, double sweetener," Anh-Le ordered from a replicator. Then, as the drink materialized, "And give me a shot of espresso with that." She needed the caffeine. Probably wasn't 100% advisable with the painkillers, but whatever. She'd survived worse.

The Orion took a seat in front of a set of commandeered monitors, pulling up the building schematics and putting a comm earbud into her left ear to prepare for L'Nari's check-in. She sipped her coffee as she went over the mission plan again in her mind.

Simple in and out. Nothing was ever simple, though. She'd have to hope there were no comms jammers, for one. At least with caffeine countering the soporific effect of painkillers, she could be on the ball from the start.

The heady mix of sugar and caffeine hit, shocking Anh-Le's system with ferocious speed. She didn't like harder stimulants--methylphenidate was a nightmare, for example. But for a combination that made most people hyperactive, coffee and sugar in vast quantities instead sent her through that state of unfocused energy and to a plateau of pure nervous vibration that she could channel.

She flexed her fingers, pulled her chair closer to the monitors, and waited for the comms to crackle on.

Fortunately, she didn't have to wait very long...

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Pierce on June 14, 2021, 03:31:36 PM

[ Lt. Alana Pierce (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alana_Pierce) | Shuttlecraft: Rosalind Franklin] | ATTN: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust | [Show/Hide]

Pierce had left briskly from the Intelligence Suite to get changed prior to the mission. She had zero intention of going in wearing Starfleet garb. Despite having the Security suit that would protect her from the suborbital drop, she wanted to be comfortable. Well, as much as can be had in an undercover intelligence extraction. Not to mention she discovered that clothing was both a blessing and a curse as a female. She now has more options of what to wear but she also had much more to wear. The wire from the bra digging at her chest a little more snugly than she'd like. Aside from that, she'd replicated a uniform similar to things she'd wear undercover in the 23rd Century but for her new physique.

Despite that, she finally arrived at the designated shuttle, the Rosalind Franklin. On approach of the shuttlecraft, various suited up personnel were at the ready for this extraction. Alongside those suited up were some in standard Starfleet uniforms from the Diplomat department waiting for their part of the mission to kick into high gear. Being she was taking point on the extraction, she took the last remaining steps before signaling for the hatch to be closed on the small vessel.

Soft boot sounds hit the deckplates as the vessel was activated. "Are we on schedule? Is everyone accounted for?" She asked to no one in particular awaiting an answer.

The sounds of internal comms blipped on the console towards the front of the Rosalind Franklin. The glow of the button stopped after the officer at the station pressed it and the voice of Commander Rutherford was heard.

"We're ready to depart. Franklin, take the lead and follow the predetermined trajectory. I've transmitted the landing permits to you, in case you're being contacted by traffic control. Everyone, keep communications silence until Ensign L'Nari has been able to establish secure communications with Lieutenant Dantius from the surface. Good luck everyone, Apache out."

Alana acknowledged Rutherford's command. "Aye sir. It seems we're all ready for launch. And thank you."

She turned her heals as she straightened up from leaning on the console. All eyes were on her. "As Commander Rutherford said, let's follow it. But don't be afraid to improvise on the spot should the need arise, which I'm guessing will happen. A cornered Klingon can be unpredictable so stay sharp. In the meantime, I have every confidence we'll get Fisher back on board. Let's do this." Her soft southern sounding voice explained.

Smiling softly she projected her voice a little louder than the pep talk that was just presented to the residing crew. "Take us out."[/b]

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: stardust on July 14, 2021, 11:52:13 AM

The aft silhouette of the pale grey Rosalind Franklin, shifting ever so slightly along the center of the Appache’s viewscreen, as it descended towards the ever expanding surface of the Klingon homeworld, was a sight to behold. The artificial lines, the glimmer of its composite hull against the sun, in stark contrast to the natural beauty of Qo’nos. And as both ships leveled out their descent into the atmosphere slowly, the planet started to fill the view, its curved horizon slowly straightening, as if being stretched across the surface. Soon the flicker of friction sparked from the Type-11 shuttle ahead, as denser gases turned into plasma against the aerodynamic hull. Yet in a short burst of flickers and flashes they both punctured through the outer layers, slowing down, as in one last burst of pale haze the sound barrier breached at the ship’s bow.

Dipping into the upper layers of the clouds, both ship lazed through the mountains of vapor, in and out of pale shadows, towards a blinking reticule on the augmented reality display.

“Get ready for deceleration and hover mode.” the blonde diplomat prodded, hunched slightly over the backrest of the pilot’s chair, seeing little purpose in manning the tactical station for now. The numbers next to the marker were running into three and then two digits, until a green message popup reminded them of having reached a safe velocity for the high-altitude jump.

Now it was time for Samantha to hold her breath. She didn’t like the implication of her relinquished power. Having to rely on the self-governance of the team ahead, at the lack of open communication between both ships. Time seemed to slow down, as they were crossing into the window of opportunity, which would only last for so long. Seconds stretched into minutes as pale blue eyes transfixed on the backend of the ship they were tailing under cloak.

They were missing their drop-off point. Which would mean the team could not reach the compound. Dammit.

Opening her plush lips, strained from the tense constriction from seconds prior, the Commander was about to order Crewman Ford for a channel to be opened, despite her self-ordered communications silence. But the breath caught in her throat before making those vocal cords sing, as the backwards facing hatch of the Franklin unlatched and slowly opened up, revealing the obscured shapes of the away team in the dark airlock.

Clenching her hand a little tighter around the precipice of Samala’s backrest, the blonde watched the first member of the team to drop off the plank and dash away underneath them as if propelled by an impulse engine themselves.

“Let’s slow down and make sure our cloak is working at absolute efficiency.” Samantha ordered, detaching from the forward portion of the cockpit as the shuttle slowly drifted away into the distance on its final approach towards the Great Hall. Slipping back behind her tactical console she then proceeded to keep track of all individuals of the away team, as well as the diplomatic team on their continued journey.

Biting her bottom lip at the readings, readjusting some of the sensor telemetry for better resolution, the blonde ultimately settled her hands down onto the small frame around the panel.

“Anyone bring any cards?” she asked, looking at the prospect of just sitting there, having to watch and wait, with little anticipation.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Stegro88 on July 22, 2021, 04:18:14 AM

[ Crewman Samala (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Samala) | The Apache | Hawk-class Runabout | Upper Atmosphere | Qo’noS ] 
[Show/Hide]

 
Samala had always considered herself a gifted pilot. From the first time she had sat in the pilot’s chair, she had been told that she had a gift and that it should be nurtured and developed. That despite her talent, she still needed to pair it with experience to become the best she could be. And she had trained, for years. She had completed basic combat training like everyone else but then she had been transferred to the hanger for her flight and engineering training. She had never completed it thanks to the Romulans arriving at Bacury III.

None, and all, of that mattered now as she struggled to keep the Apache aligned with the Type-11 shuttle ahead of it. She had heard about how the Breen had been able to track the Allegiant through the denser atmosphere of their homeworld despite it being cloaked. Taking that into account, Samala was using the atmospheric entry of the Rosalind Franklin to conceal her entry into the lower reaches of Q’onos. All she had to do was keep the Apache inside the slipstream of the smaller shuttle ahead of it. Easier said than done.

The Apache bucked as atmospheric turbulence buffeted it, threatening to push it off course and risking it being detected. Their descent felt like it was taking forever to Samala as she continued to adjust the craft’s course to correct against the forces acting on it.

“Burn through,” Tashanna announced behind her and Samala saw the visible effects of their descent subside along with the difficulties in her piloting of the Apache. Still being careful, Samala kept her craft tucked in tight behind the Type-11 as the diplomat behind her directed her to prepare. She bit back the remark that threatened to escape at being told how to fly. It was the downside of having signed on to the crew; she was now subject to the chain of command. And there were always those higher ranked that needed to give directions; even when they weren’t needed.

“Understood,” Samala acknowledged evenly, careful to keep her tone neutral and professional. Now was not the time for a discourse on her knowing how to fly, especially in her own ship. Ahead of them, the Type-11 began to slow as well but Samala could tell that it wouldn’t slow enough for the team to depart before they were inside the window. The tension in the cockpit grew palpable and Samala was tempted to try and reach her brother across the void between them. The distance was far too great to reach any of the others and even her brother was a long way off. She was only considering trying it due to her familiarity with his mind. Before she could decide though, the shuttle’s rear opened, and she watched the team depart one after another. It was shocking to see them just step out of into the air, but Samala forced herself to stay calm; their suits would protect them.

Thankfully, once the team had jumped and the Type-11 moved off to continue its own mission, Commander Rutherford seemed to relax, if only a little, and retake her seat.

“Cloak at 98%,” Samala confirmed as she touched the controls again, adjusting her course and speed. “Heading to standby position.”

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Pierce on July 31, 2021, 10:18:10 AM

[ Lt. Alana Pierce (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alana_Pierce) | Cargo Bay Doors Vicinity | Shuttlecraft: USS Rosalind Franklin] | ATTN: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust | [Show/Hide]

Pierce watched the viewscreen and the diplomatic crew as she paced back and forth awaiting the drop point with bated breath. She felt her heartbeat thumping a little harder than it had in the past. No doubt dealing with the fact this was her first of sorts mission and semi-command since her journey to the 24th century and all the changes it entailed. The coordinates were flagged and a few of them had moments before finished clasping the remaining portions of their protective gear for the jump.

She glanced over the navigator of the shuttlecraft as she nodded and exhaled back to normal breathing patterns. "Alright. This is it. Expect a bumpy ride and if we get separated, rendezvous by the facility to coordinate our plan of attack." Her hand swirled a motion to the crew as it was time to round up by the exit. Despite the danger of it all, the thrill of jumping out of a moving shuttle slightly excited her, but now wasn't the time for that.

Padded fingers tapped a few controls activating a force field behind them to prevent atmospheric pressure from interfering with the flight patterns. Finally, she activated the back door on the Rosalind Franklin. Slowly the door opened which unfortunately didn't open fast enough as they slightly overshot their drop point. Which looking at it, leaving them in a better position to gain access to the facility but also to get caught if they didn't land quietly enough.

Alana was about to jump as someone larger than she took the dive first. She smirked and figured she knew who it was but left it alone. Quickly she took a few steps back and ran forward into the jump that sent her catapulting to the surface. Her thoughts were about the day's events, the attack on the ship, the near-death experience while interviewing the doctor for details on the infested on the Klingon Homeworld. A lot had transpired already and she had added another high-stakes mission to it all. A snicker was stifled as she realized that she'd not yet been on the ship a full 24-hours yet.

As the ground neared, she activated the low-energy thrusters to cushion the descent. Careful not to use it too much to not alert any sensors or listening ears. What appeared to be some brush and a rather large hill seemed to be in her near vicinity as she descended closer. Before finally landing, she let the thrusters deactivate as she took the final landing into a run and a barrel roll behind what had to be the equivalent of a Klingon tree.

Lt. Pierce reached over and tapped her built-in PADD on the arm of her Exo suit. She pulled up the recent specs from the facility as well as her tricorder to scan for the others. She lifted her head from the display and glanced around seeing a few other souls approaching her position. The facility was nearby. Likely a few hundred meters from their current positions. Now all they had to do was get in with minimal contact and extract Fisher.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Swift on August 03, 2021, 06:36:28 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Makeshift Holding Cell | Sub-Level 03 | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’nos (https://memory-beta.fandom.com/wiki/Qo%27noS) ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @BipSpoon @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce

The world entire that was this confined space had become little more than a blurry mess of whispers, echoes, and ghosts.

The ache within Fisher’s head seemed to be the only constant as it was gradually getting worse, accompanied by a throbbing which perfectly coincided with the all-too-slow rhythm of the heart thumping inside of his bruised and broken ribcage. As for the rest, arms legs and other, they had all gone numb, yet he could still control and even to an extent make distinct sense of the sensations being brought on by them. But again, next to nothing felt right or even familiar. It was all wrong, and try as he might, he couldn’t recall ever being in such a strange malaise of disconnectedness. Hell, something as simple as blinking eyelids over glassy sage green orbs triggered a hazy and vague reminiscence of hallucination, making Fisher wonder if anything he was seeing was even real. The general sense of confusion only continued to mount as he could hardly even remember the circumstances of where he was, what he was doing, and worse still he was having trouble maintaining a cursory understanding of who he was.

With a shake of his head, the world whirling about him as a result, he tried to clear his thoughts and focus. Transfixing his blurred gaze on a solitary point of reference as if to anchor himself, he searched the periphery of his consciousness for something to latch onto and found something. A face. It had stared back at him; a slight yet soft smile drawn across its beautiful features which would quicken his heartbeat.

(https://64.media.tumblr.com/5a769ae395fbc52e594099ff7f3122ab/tumblr_n6jofi8feR1sretbqo1_500.gif)

Reaching out, he sought to touch her only for the visualization to fade away, the fingertips of his right-hand gingerly touching against the cold wall of his cell, and for the first time in a while, Fisher could remember where he was, and what was happening to him. “Shit!” each letter in his spoken expletive felt uneven, some long and drawn out, others a staccato that defied reality; the passage of time was distorted to him in his disarray. They’d drugged him. Badly. No doubt an attempt to try and crack whatever conscious barriers of obfuscation that he could still muster, in the hope that once thoroughly diminished, his mind could be plundered for any and all secrets that might have been locked away inside. Touching his forehead, he tried to rub away some of the disorientation that beleaguered him, yet instead he found himself focusing on the crude metal cuff attached to his wrist, a heavy chain hanging beneath it. Fisher had sworn that just a moment earlier, his arms had been free from any kind of bonds. Or had they been?

‘Fisher!’ a faint voice called to him from behind.

Spinning about, he looked to find the source, instead reaffirming that he was alone in a small room. There was no one. Only the bleak surroundings of this cell. He had imagined the voice. But it had sounded so clear, and he had even felt the soft brushing of whispered words tickling against the back of his neck. Breathing deeply through his nostrils, instinct which had been honed and bore into him through arduous training was beginning to take over, a subconscious effort to try and maintain some semblance of defense against the effects of whatever drugs had been administered. Like other Intelligence Operatives, Fisher had been taught how to withhold information in defiance of interrogation, regardless of whether that interrogation was active or passive in nature. It was a fundamental aspect of his profession, and one in which he had taken some pride. No doubt the Klingons who were working against him had their own methods and understanding of this process and would attempt to counter any and all attempts that Fisher would make.

In the end, it was a battle of attrition, and despite his victories this far, Fisher was at a decided disadvantage.

‘You’re not going to last much longer. You know that right?’ the voice whispered.

Turning once more to face the other direction, Fisher’s gaze found another face, this one far less appealing than the previous he had beheld; it in fact belonged to the one person in existence he most desired to forget. Lost to the moment, he grew ignorant of his surroundings and the situation in which he was mired. “What the hell are you doing here?!” he spat out aloud, a finger pointed directly at where the visage was leant against a bare wall, the smug confidence espoused eating at the last bit of nerve Fisher had in reserve. Again, his voice sounded like it wobbled in tempo and pitch, the intensity of the ache in his temples spiking with each syllable. It was almost enough to drive him to his hands and knees in disorientation and general overall discomfort. “Never mind. You’re not even real.” He dismissively added, waving his hand freely in a wide are as if to escape the hallucination, which he was having supreme difficulty in disbelieving.

(https://giffiles.alphacoders.com/814/81401.gif)

‘Oh I most certainly am. I’m just not here with you.’ answered the other man as he pushed off of the wall, stepping our of the shadows and into the dim light cast by an old fixture high overhead. ‘But I’m out there.’ He waved a hand, the ember of a lit cigarette flaring as it was pinned between index and middle-fingers. ‘Out there, doing my job. While you’re stuck here because you failed at yours. Again.’ Returning the cigarette to his lips, he drew deeply on it before exhaling a column of smoke right into Fisher’s face, and the captured spy could even distinctly taste the acrid flavor of the burning tobacco as it stung his nostrils. ‘Stuck here because you never know when to make the smart move, and deal.’ Walking over to the lone door that led out of his cell, the figure examined it closely for a few moments before looking back to Fisher with an almost amused sense of satisfaction. ‘Oh well, won’t matter much to me. Or anyone for that matter. Klingons will get bored of your schtick sooner or later, and drip dry you in due time.’

“Fuck you, Hurley!” Fisher blurted.

‘Fuck me? I thought you were uhh...’ pausing to make an obscene gesture with his hand, Hurley grinned degradingly at Fisher before resuming his sentence. ‘...y’know, giving *IT* to that blonde diplomat?’ Waiting another moment to enjoy Fisher’s annoyed and disgusted reaction, Hurley waved him off derisively. ‘Won’t be doing much more of that. Or going back home to... where was it? New York? Philadel--'

“Boston. I’m from Boston you asshole!”

Making a mockingly apologetic face, Hurley grabbed a stool from the corner of the room and loudly planted it before plopping himself down on, his stare returning to once more gauge Fisher. ‘How is old Ma Fisher doing this days?’ he laughed, clearly not caring to know, just keenly aware of how sensitive the subject was, and how it would continue to annoy and unnerve his former protégé.

[ Commandant’s Personal Estate | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’nos ]

Watching the monitor as it relayed everything that was unfolding in the makeshift holding cell, Commandant Kle’enk sipped at his bitter leaf tea before peering to his left at his personal attendant, Jurael. The tall brooding warrior was one of the few whom he could absolutely trust with the overseeing of operations at the compound and all of his illicit dealings. For the most part, the compound acted as a storage cache for illegal narcotics and weapons that the House of Mo’Kai had been funneling to various civil uprisings throughout the Empire. Naturally, they would play both sides for profit, which they could then use to bolster the efforts of the House’s push for more glory and power. Kle’enk had been chosen to head up this particular base of operations by Gorka’s grandfather for his organization skills and aptitude, which he had exemplified during the short Klingon campaign against the Cardassians. Since then, his dealings had far outreached even those which Gorka was directly aware of. The way Kle’enk had seen it, so long as he didn’t directly interfere in any of the General’s plans, then there was no harm in garnering a little additional wealth and power on the side.

“The human is surprisingly resistant to the drug. We had to administer a second dosage just to elicit the effects that you’re seeing.” Explained another Klingon, who sat patiently in one of the unusually ornate chairs situated before Kle’enk’s desk.

“...and if we administer a third dosage? What then, would be the results?” posed Kle’enk, a hint of annoyance detected in his voice.

“He would likely suffer a total cerebral shutdown.”

Growling, Jurael stepped away from the large monitor in apparent disproval.

“Something the matter, Jurael?”

“We should just execute the human and be done with it! He is without honor! A spy, who murdered nearly fifty Warriors on the General’s ship!” With a gauntleted finger, he pointed at the seated Kling, then to himself as he addressed the Commandant. “Let me do it, Commandant! We’ve entertained Doctor Pohr’ghek and his ridiculous attempt at interrogation long enough!”

“Give it time, Jurael. Be patient. We’re already seeing some progress. His subconscious is causing his guard to slip.” The Doctor replied, an unnatural evenness to his tone of voice which only further agitated the more aggressive Jurael. “Perhaps it would be better if you returned to your post, overseeing the defense of the base, and leave more delicate matters like this spy to my more... capable... hands.” There was an implicit insult hidden in the carefully chosen words that the slender built Klingon Doctor had used in how he addressed Jurael, and were it not for duty preventing him, it likely would have led to a physical retort from the larger of the two. Instead, the Commandant spun away from the monitor he had been watching, knowing it wise to intercede in the moment, rather than let it go on any longer.

“Doctor Pohr’ghek is right. Return to your post.”

Jurael cast one more glare to the Doctor, before offering an obedient nod to the Commandant.

“Rest assured, when the time comes, I will grant your blade the human’s throat.” Kle’enk knew that the decision to dispose of the captured spy would ultimately come to Gorka, of whom he would keep apprised of the details of the ongoing interrogation. For now though, he understood the danger presented to himself, the compound, and his operations by the very presence of said spy. Each moment the spy was within their custody, they were faced with the very real possibility of an attack, and as far as he knew, the ship from which the spy had originated, this Theurgy, had yet to be dealt with in any final manner. It unnerved Kle’enk to no end to be in such a precarious situation, and he was more than tempted to allow Jurael to do as he so wished, feigning a failed escape attempt by the spy as an excuse, but he also didn’t want to risk losing Gorka’s favor, especially with the fate of the Chancellorship at play.

[ Control Tower | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’nos ]

Exiting the turbolift which led to the upper most level of the central Control Tower that overlooked the modestly sized compound, Jurael peered out of an open viewport at the old solid granite walls which enveloped them. An old fortress from centuries ago, the House of Mo’Kai had taken ownership of and converted it into a secure compound during the consolidation of a lesser house and their assets. For his part, Jurael had only come to take up the duty of Personal Attendant to the Commandant a little over three-months ago, and in that relatively short time he had struggled to bring its defensive capabilities up to a level which he could tolerate. The staff that the Commandant had brought to the compound when he’d taken over some time prior to that, weren’t exactly the best of the best when it came to Warrior tendencies, and it showed. Were it not for the two-dozen Warriors that he himself had requisitioned from other posts across the Klingon home world, Jurael imagined that even a small strike team comprised of Ferengi could have laid effective siege to the facility.

But even with his hand-picked men dispersed among the general staff, Jurael had serious doubts as to how well they could defend the compound. The high perimeter walls which worked well in preventing any wild beasts or insurgent ground forces from penetrating the interior, were also to an extent a weakness, as undermanned as they were, they allowed plenty of blind spots to exist. If anyone was quiet enough, they could quite literally wander up to the exterior of the wall unnoticed, especially with the ongoing issues that plagued the sensor grid. But some sacrifices had to have been made, and when he took over, Jurael had placed a higher emphasis on establishing an effective anti-ship defense, as well as a nigh-impenetrable field of transport inhibitors. This had made the compound next to impossible to assault from a shuttle, or from high orbit. Anyone who was foolish enough to make an attempt would need to storm the walls, and Jurael was betting on his men posting along them to see them coming.

Scowling, Jurael glanced out at the dusk laden sky beyond the walls as night beckoned with haste.

[ Aft Compartment | Type-11 Shuttlecraft | Rosalind Franklin ]

Since their briefing, Byrne had mostly kept to himself as he made preparations for this rescue mission. It’d barely been two-weeks since the new CO to his department had come aboard Theurgy, and he’d already managed to get himself captured. Sure, from what Byrne had read of the reports, it wasn’t necessarily Fisher’s fault that he had been separated from the others during their incursion aboard the Ta’Rom, and thusly left behind as a result, but it still made him wonder. Physically, he shook the thought from his head as he tried to re-focus his attention on the immediate task at hand, in this case running a quick diagnostic on the systems built into this newer iteration of a security suit. The readout on the small monitor built into the gauntlet that encapsulated his left forearm read as good-to-go. An undercover specialist, who had spent most of his career living a double-life on Aldea Prime, he’d had little to no experience wearing any kind of field gear like this suit, so he’d figured it smart to once-over it’s operation before things really got underway in any meaningful sense.

Peering over his shoulder as he sensed the approach of Lieutenant Pierce, he hastily retrieved his atmospheric helmet, and a small black duffle bag in which a portion of the gear and equipment they’d need for this mission was stowed.

It was time.

“This ought to be interesting.” He stated softly, though still loud enough for the other strike team members to hear, a tinge of sarcasm clearly evident in his tone of voice, though he hadn’t meant to elicit any sense of insubordination for the crimson-haired acting Intelligence Chief. Casting her a sort of apologetic look, he slipped on and sealed his helmet as she gave last-minute instructions. “Understood.” He acknowledged, approaching the aft loading ramp just as she’d activated a forcefield to protect against impromptu atmospheric blowout. In addition to Lieutenant Pierce, there was also a Romulan Lieutenant by the name of Valyn, she was recent addition to the crew as far as he knew, and Lorad, the big Reman Security Officer whom he’d seen once or twice but never interacted with. Magnetically stowing his rifle behind his back, he winced as the ramp opened to reveal the brilliant yet dwindling rays of light cast by the Klingon home world’s star as it was gradually disappearing beyond the horizon. An instant later, light filters automatically activated, assuaging the harshness of the sunset.

“Jones, when we land, try and hook up with me, Samuelson, or Lorad. Hebert, same for you with Tucker and Hildebrandt.” Helena Prince slipped her helmet on over her head, a slight hiss audible as it sealed to protect her from the vacuum.

“Why is it called, ‘Dinner out?’ I wonder.” Byrne asked softly, making idle chat while they waited for the go ahead to embark upon the endeavor.

OOC: Some appropriate hype music to accompany the scene aboard the Rosalind Franklin as it’s unfolding. Enjoy!
[Show/Hide]

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: BipSpoon on August 04, 2021, 05:36:31 AM

[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin ] Attn: @Swift @Stegro88 @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce
[Show/Hide]

As they breached the atmosphere, Valyn made her way to the rear of the craft. As she moved, she looked down to her feet, narrowing her eyebrows as her feet fell. The boots were surprisingly silent. She filled the temporary silence with a deep breath before she looked up to Pierce, waiting for any last minute information as they approached the drop-point. She checked her weapons one last time, the knife she carried strapped to her hip alongside her phaser-pistol. She tried, and failed to attempt a smirk at the smalltalk besider her. “Not a clue.” She offered him a shrug, giving him a single onceover, trying to study his posture, trying to get a snap judgement of him. However, she didn’t say anything else, and instead looked towards the doorway.

She appeared unphased by the impending jump, even raising up a bit on her toes to peer outside as the hatch opened. “Got it.”

She acknowledged the rendezvous point and rolled her neck, taking one last breath, drawing herself closer into the eerily familial version of herself, one she thought she’d left with the Dominion War. Watching someone go for the exit, she followed quickly after. Her eyes went wide the moment she stepped off, and she fell into a ‘swimming’ pose, guiding herself closer to her target. Their altitude however, didn’t allow for much maneuvering.

Her eyes slowly began to narrow as the ground neared, and she kicked her legs forward, putting her into a standing position. She kicked on her thrusters, cutting it as close as possible as to not alert anyone below. She took a quick look around, and hid behind a dilapidated looking crate. She was close to the facility. She could hear the general traffic and sounds of life in the distance. However, nearer to herself, she heard a voice. It was Klingon, and it triggered an immediate response. Crouching, she crept a bit forward, spotting the Klingon behind a large container, shouting at the console. He gave it a kick and started typing into the screen on the door again.

She brought her eyes just over the edge of the crate and took a quick glance around. He was alone, likely just the man who handled some cargo. He certainly didn’t appear to be a soldier, but she knew better than to not think every Klingon in the vicinity a warrior. She edged closer to him, quickly glancing at her wrist to see where everyone else had landed, and luckily she didn’t seem to be too far off from the others. The warrior however, turned around and she pursed her lips. His hand fell to his waist and in a flash, she’d flicked the knife forward, sending it flying like a javelin at his head. It struck true and he fell. She rushed forward, slowing his fall. She was quick enough to catch him, but she set him down at once. She went to work on the same console, attempting to decipher the Klingon from what little she remembered from all those years ago. It came back to her quickly, and the door opened.

It was an empty container, only having a single crate of disruptors in it. She dragged the body inside and sealed the door, locking out the console before setting off. “Fuck.” She muttered, looking back once. Her day had been filled with nothing but violence, from the moment she’d woken up, she’d been knee-deep in Klingons and battle. What she resented more than that fact alone though, was that part of her felt content, glad to be back into her old shoes, forever a soldier. From childhood, she had always been a soldier.

As she moved closer to the rendezvous, within a hundred meters, she attempted to ‘ping’ another of her comrades, not knowing who exactly, nor if they would even respond, but she sent it nonetheless. Two were better than one, after all. It never hurt to have a friend on the approach.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: stardust on August 04, 2021, 02:22:04 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Samantha_Rutherford) | The Apache | Hawk-class Runabout | Upper Atmosphere | Qo'nos ] attn: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @Pierce
[Show/Hide]

In the history of Samantha’s career there had been too many instances to count, where she had taken operational and disciplinary oversight on away missions. And while these missions were usually more placid, required protocol over ammunition, they had on occasion ended in a more offensive manner. But she could definitely not recall an instance that had started out that way. Not until today.
Granted, the usefulness for diplomacy had passed, at least in regard to Gorka and his following. There was no defeat in admitting that. But her special skillset in rallying people to a sole cause still came in handy. So even though the blonde felt quite like the fish out of water – a metaphor Sarresh on the other shuttle, would’ve surely appreciated – no one could deny the Vulcan logic playing behind the all too human notions of commitment and fear, that were impeccable motivators just the same.

She was easily the most dispensable senior officer in the current stage of hostilities, the Theurgy crew found themselves in. Security and Tactical were needed aboard and intelligence leadership was, obviously, incapacitated. Pair that with the knowledge of Klingon procedures and a decisive command style and you got the perfect candidate for an admittedly crazy missions such as ‘dinner out’.
And on the other hand, there was surely no one more qualified to make sure everything was done to bring Commander Fisher back than the one person who surely cared the single most about him, out of the entire crew. At least the diplomat was in no frame of mind to accept any other reality. She needed him to hang on just a little longer …

Focusing her icy blue hues on the console display ahead, Samantha split the screen into a feed from the optical sensors, zooming in on the live-view of the compound and its immediate surroundings – away team signals superimposed on top of it – while the other half was occupied by life-signs and other sensor data. They still had no clear idea where in the compound Andrew was held prisoner, but intelligence had already narrowed down the search. Updating her data with Theurgy, the circle drew quite literally closer. The satellite buildings were most likely hubs for guards and maintenance, they would not risk harboring a prisoner of war far away from the command center. Which was in all likelihood the best fortified structure in the center, with all the communications equipment. A good place to start …

The screen flickered and the digital overlay vanished for just a few seconds, but it was enough to send the commander into an internal convulsion as her muscles tightened, even bubbling gently beneath the soft skin on the hinges of her jaws. Telemetry came back almost instantly, however, but she wasn’t sure how many of these her heart could take.
Following the markers disperse in the air, as the numbers next to them ran down rapidly, she hoped until the last second that they would draw closer together. But as one after the other touched down it became rather clear that the team was dispersed as if someone had dropped a couple of potato sacks from the back of the shuttle.

Gripping her hand a little tighter to the side of the console frame Sam pressed the tip of her tongue to the roof of her mouth as she pressed those plump lips together with tense contemplation. All there was left really, at this point, was to watch and deal. Until the diplomatic detachment would hopefully establish their communication link soon. Yet even then, she would only be able to talk with Theurgy, not the away team … not until they cat was out of the bag, really. Which, if only for the sake of being able to dictate proper procedure to them, a part of her was hoping would happen rather sooner than later.

But for now, instead of trying to establish some sort of mental connection to Commander Fisher, maybe she should concentrate on formulating an official complaint towards the Klingon government for allowing breach of the Khitomer Accords by taking a war prisoner and likely torturing him.

But she didn’t want to think about that … no. Someone else would have to deal with the formalities of Andrew’s potential hardship. So swiftly she sent a short memo to Foval to deal with it, if he wasn’t otherwise preoccupied with something important.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Pierce on August 10, 2021, 10:31:43 PM

The ping came through on the wrist mounted PADD. The blips were nearby according to internal sensors. She lifted her head and glanced in the general direction and saw a movement nearby. Carefully Pierce grabbed her magnetized phaser rifle on her back, holding it at the ready. The shadow moved stealthily from ahead but seemed to have a body lying nearby the individual. She activated her scanners, on the display was one who was named Lt. Amarik, a Romulan. Which under the 23rd century's rules of combat, she'd be under suspicion of, but as of late, the Klingons still had her top slot of biggest quvHa’ petaQ of the galaxy.

Adrenaline had pumped up in her veins since the drop. She inched closer crossing the meters to the facility that Commander Fisher was inside of. As she approached the foliage nearby the building she got a better look and saw that the incapacitated Klingon officer was not getting up for sometime. Whatever the Romulan did, it was effective. Before she got any closer, she was sure to tap the signal to respond to Amarik, that way when she made noise closeby, she wasn't shot on sight.

Her emerald eyes peered at her comrade with the blood to match. Pierce saw the individual raise her head as she stepped closer bridging the gap between them. Quietly she tapped her inter suit comms. "You rang Lieutenant?" She said with an unseen smirk in her helmet. "Let me know when you've cracked this puppy open. I suspect we don't have a lot of time before things really go south. No telling how much he's been through or started to spill either."

The control panel outside was aglow. Pierce tapped her wrist bound console to identify the others in their part and their whereabouts. "Seems the others are close. Let's get this door open and try not to trigger the alarms. We'll wait momentarily for the others to catch up and move out." The blips moved closer yet as Alana stood at the ready. holstering her phaser rifle on her back, she grabbed her hand phaser for closer ranged shots. That is assuming she was to have one of those soon.

As the door popped open, the others were within a hundred meters of the door. She peered inward to the corridor quietly to be sure she wasn't detected. With the sound just as silent, she stepped in. She scanned the perimeter. There was a human lifesign present but faint. And it appeared to be deeper underground in some sort of sub level in the staging compound. A few guards were present at the nearby turbolift. Taking a few steps, the sounds of Klingon laughter was heard ahead with what sounded like drunken tones? A drunken Klingon was not only a blessing but a curse. While they weren't steady on their feet, they were still strong and if struck, it'd be a painful shot.

Motioning her fingers ahead of her, she pointed at the other side of the corridor to Lieutenant Amarik to sneak up on the two guards. With any luck, they could get this done within the hour.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Stegro88 on August 19, 2021, 05:38:54 PM

[PO3 Lorad (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Lorad) | Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin | Upper Atmosphere | Qo’noS ] 
[Show/Hide]

 
Standing in the back of the shuttle, Lorad glanced at the PADD on his forearm as he checked how long until it was time to deploy. Despite everything that he had done in his life as a slave, soldier, rebel and now Starfleet crewman, until this point, he had never actively jumped out of a shuttle before into combat. Yes, he had received training, and passed it, but this would still be a first for him. And all made possible by the exosuit that was conformed around his impressive bulk. And then it was time.

The door opened slowly, too slowly and Lorad realised that they would overshoot their drop point slightly. Growling under his breath, he stepped forward, brushing past Lieutenant Pierce as he stepped through the forcefield and out of the rear of the Type-11. For a moment, he imagined being able to look across and see his sister, but the cloaking device of the Apache was active, and he could see naught in the rapidly darkening sky.

Checking his descent in the HUD of his helmet, Lorad realised he was off course. Considering for a moment as the ground rapidly approached, he decided to use the thrusters on his suit to adjust his course. They had tried it during training to varied results among them. Lorad himself had only just barely managed to pass that section of the suit qualifications. Now it was time to put it to the test as the clouds enveloped his form. He would only have seconds until he was through and visible again. Angling his body, he fired his thrusters for the briefest of moments, hoping to push himself back towards the compound.

As he broke through the clouds and was able to see again, he saw that he had been too successful. Instead of being just to the side of the facility, it was now squarely below him and he no longer had the time to adjust his course again. Looking back into the sky, he tried to spot the other members of the team, hoping that they were having better luck with their descent. He was unable to see them though and the flashing light in his HUD told him that he was out of time to keep looking for them. He would have to do that after he had safely landed.

That was going to be a challenge Lorad realised as the ground rushed towards him. The compound below him appeared to be some sort of ancient fortress that had been updated over the years. He could identify anti-air disruptor cannons mounted on top of weathered stone towers and communication systems abreast a timber roof. It was a confusing mix of old and new technology. Working his eyes across the landscape, Lorad identified a tower on the opposite side of the fortress from where he was supposed land that was unmanned and would provide him a good vantage point over the rest of the compound.

Reorientating himself, he fired his thrusters until he was almost hovering in mid-air, removing all of the velocity that his descent had accumulated. He was still over a hundred metres above the tower but he didn’t want to risk a long burn of the jets so close to the ground. Cutting his jets again, he pulsed them as much as he dared to descend the final distance before landing on the stonework of the tower with what he felt was an enormous echo. Immediately crouching to conceal himself from sight, Lorad waited to see if any alarm would be raised.

He was almost confident that his landing had gone unnoticed when a creaking groan sounded in his helmet and her turned to see a timber hatch slowly rising out of the shadows that covered the floor. He had missed the hatch in his haste to check the rest of the area. Now, it seemed that someone was coming to investigate his less than graceful landing. Mindful of remaining as stealthy as possible, Lorad drew his kukri and padded around behind the hatch and waited. As the Klingon warrior climbed up onto the roof, the hatch slamming shut behind him, Lorad struck. His kukri flashed out, drawing a line across the warrior’s throat.

As his life drained away over his hands, Lorad caught him and slowly lowered him down, laying his body across the hatch to impede further investigation. Once assured of his death, Lorad left him and took up a position at the parapet, his Accipiter rifle at the ready to provide covering fire as needed.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: GroundPetrel on August 25, 2021, 03:58:53 PM

Lt. JG Dantius Thi Anh-Le | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 |USS Theurgy   attn: @stardust @BipSpoon @Swift @Pierce @Stegro88

Painkillers sucked, Anh-Le reflected as sugar and caffeine banished the fog to a remote corner of her brain, but the alternative was worse.

This incredible revelation duly sent off to the cerebral equivalent of a desk-side wastebasket, the Orion finished her cà phê and stretched, wincing as her side complained. The strike team should be nearing position. When they did, she could...

Her coms hissed, and then came to life with a crackle. Anh-Le grinned as L'Nari reported in. Showtime.

"Alright, ladies," she said in her very best calm professional voice. "I am your caffeine-fueled host, and today we're going to work on Operation Rescue Our Wayward Intel Chief. Fun times. Once you've breached the door, your first objective is to neutralize the guards on the turbolift. There should be between two and four. Take them out fast, because there's going to be an alarm panel by the turbolift summoning button. Don't let them hit it. Once they're down, see if you can hack into turbolift control. Obviously, you're going to need to control the logistical artery if you want to escape intact, which we all want."

The enemy probably hadn't have time to move Fisher yet. She might not be able to count on that, but it was reasonable given current intel ad typical Klingon policies.

"Let's try to keep it short and sweet. Too many Klingons in there to justify sticking it out." She was going to need more coffee. Damn, I'm going to become an addict
-------------
OOC: posting after discussion in OOC thread. :)

Let's see how this goes XD

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: stardust on August 29, 2021, 06:58:19 PM

Watching the signals scurry around the superimposed birds-eye live-feed, like little pulsating fire-ants, the Commander managed to quickly discern an autonomous pattern of convergence in their patterns. Which lead her to the logical and procedural assumption that they had managed to utilize some sort of short-range locator technology. Granted as a diplomat, she wasn’t aware of the entire arsenal of gizmos and doodads at security’s disposal, but it was pleasing to see that the officers involved seemed to be. They were admirably evoking the best of the situation, making up on lost time by moving swiftly to their respective positions. All the while sensors could briefly pick up on short range communications between the away team, yet only because the Apache’s array was tuned in on the secret Starfleet frequencies – which the Klingons would have no way of knowing.

… hopefully.

Still, there was no way of giving operational oversight through the mor powerful long-range system, which would’ve undoubtedly reported as a discernible spike on the Klingon’s “radar”. Which brought the officer’s attention to the next spanner in their plans, the delayed establishment of their uplink from the great hall, which was intended to mask such communications. Once the team was inside the compound, where lines of sight were limited, it was essential they could count on Lieutenant Dantius’ intel and their superior’s ability to make decisions on their mission parameters. Something must’ve gone sideways at the Great Hall too, she surmised, given that Ensign L’Nari was too anxious to let her prime objective slip by. Or execute it with even the slightest of delays or discrepancies. Yet somehow, it was.

Leaning back in her seat, the seconds on the mission timer at the top perimeter of the console ticked on … one by one … as the blonde brought thumb and index finger to her plush lips, elbow cupped into the embrace of her other arm, as she idly plucked at the upper central tubercle for stress relief. Maybe they could leave their position, fly closer to the first city and establish a connection of their own. Hopefully fooling everyone into believing it came from the diplomatic detachment. But then the long line of communication to the away team would be a potential hazard the Klingon’s could pick up on … dammit.

Yet luckily, before Samantha could let her Vulcan side submit to a concession on the mission parameters and its safety, a sharp chirp – emanating from her console – cut through her muscles and tendons like a shockwave. The Apache was picking up on a direct communication link between Theurgy and the surface. The Great Hall to be precise.

“Chaya t'not!” the diplomate exhaled, moving forward hastily, fragments of her relieved voice clinging to the gush of air like spirits to the grand white light. Running her fingers over a few controls, to link the ship into the stream, Anh-Le’s voice soon thereafter crackled to life from the cockpit speakers.

“Ladies.” … the Vulcan quarter of the Commander’s anatomy twitched to attention. Given that a mere 46.1538 percent of the team was indeed female. Well, not precisely, but she had to round somewhere. Which in turn meant the majority was male. Luckily her human nature wasn’t entirely overruled by her alien professionalism in times of crisis, so the understanding of comedic banter, to overcast the dire nature of a given situation, wasn’t entirely foreign to her. And apparently neither was it to the Orion species.

Letting the intelligence officer give her appraisal and instructions of the situation, Samantha only had to add one thing on behalf of not only her position as the operational director, but as the chief diplomat as well.

“If at all possible, try to use your energy weapons as sparsely as possible, as not to leave too many Starfleet signatures in the compound.” Which was likely a ludicrous demand, but not entirely unreasonable when looking at the bigger picture of not wanting to give Gorka yet another thing to use against them.

“And … good luck.”

Alright, so it had been two things, in the end.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: BipSpoon on September 04, 2021, 05:05:30 AM

[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Klingon Compound | Qo’nos ] Attn: @stardust @Swift @Stegro88 @GroundPetrel @Pierce
[Show/Hide]

Valyn gave Pierce a quick glance out the side of her helmet. “Sure did.” She crouched down next to the panel that held the door secure and started browsing through the bizarre, Klingon pictograms that flashed before her eyes. She narrowed them and pressed on two that flashed in unison, the panel making a ‘click’ sound as she did so. Gingerly, she wrapped her fingers around the panel and pulled it back, luminescent wires kept the panel attached to the wall, but there was enough slack for Valyn to look inside the electronics of the frame. She only took a moment before she counted out, and selected certain wires, muttering what sounded like a Romulan rhyme. “Got it.”

She pulled the knife from her hip, and simultaneously, the door opened, and the panel went dark. “I don’t think so either, I’ve seen the shit the Klingons do.” She ground her teeth and readied her weapon. She kept her rifle at the ready, leaving her sidearm and the knife for tighter situations.

The compound was dark, humid, and smelled horrible, at least to her sensitive nose. The sound of the drunken Klingons caught her attention at once. She lowered herself closer to the ground, making herself a more difficult target to spot. They weren’t doing a stellar job of guard duty in the first place, both of them were facing the opposite direction, staring deeper into the compound instead of towards the entrance.

When she was motioned forward by Pierce, she didn’t hesitate and started moving closer, releasing her rifle against the mag-lock on her chest, she instead drew the knife. Weapons fire would be detected immediately, and they had another officer. She knew full well they weren’t treating him to Sunday lunch either. She was within a few feet when she chose. She jumped up from her crouched position, giving herself enough forward momentum to quickly close on the pair. The first Klingon, she gripped by the neck, giving it a firm push-and-twist to the left before she heard a crack. He didn’t even cry out. She dropped him, and threw her arm forward. At first it likely appeared as if she missed her mark. However, the Klingon reached for his throat, and fell to the ground.

“Two down.” She echoed into the comm. She stepped over the bleeding man at her feet, heading back towards Pierce as she stowed her knife and drew the rifle again. Clearly, it wasn’t Valyn’s first time in that sort of operation. She checked her wrist, looking for the other ‘blips’ to close on them. “Lift is ready.” She motioned towards the door the two Klingons had been looking at.

“As much as I’d like to say that two drunken idiots guarding a lift would be the worst of it, I get the feelin’ we’re about to run into the rest of ‘em.” She kept herself alert and at the ready, never breaking her gaze from the lift doors, entrusting Pierce with the rear. “We’re going to need to keep an eye out for an exit. This can’t be the only way in, and if it is...and they raise the alarm?” She just shook her head, but then silenced herself and focused, breaking her gaze every so often to keep an eye on their other comrades.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Swift on September 24, 2021, 11:57:57 PM

[ Northside Exterior of Control Tower | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’nos ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @BipSpoon @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce

Byrne (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Jonathan_Byrne) breathed slowly. Steadily. His heartrate barely elevated as he plummeted headfirst, descending like a missile through the thick clouds that hovered high above his target, his destination. He could barely detect the last glimmer of faint sunlight dimming into memory beyond the horizon as he grew ever closer to the ground, and immediately he let a slight smirk cross the features of his face. The timing of this op couldn’t have been any more perfect, he thought. Transitory times worked against the naked vision of anyone who might’ve been standing guard on the parapets of the walls and or towers. After all, It took time for the sensitivity of your eyes to adjust to the darkness of night. It was the optimal moment for himself and the others to get down and situated before making their way into the interior of the compound, giving them the best chance at doing so without being detected. Displayed before him on his helmet’s HUD, he could make out the general positioning of the team as they were each approaching, and from what he could tell, they were about to make landfall in two somewhat even groups. One situated on the interior of the western main retaining wall, and the other to the North just outside of it.

With a grunt he hugged his knees to his chest, using the thrusters attached to the various facets of his armored suit to shift from a headfirst dive into a feetfirst one, the altitude klaxon in his helmet screeching at him a warning that he was just about to touchdown.

“Perfect.” He smugly commented aloud as the thrusters in his boots cut out just a few inches from the ground, and he landed softly unto the forested floor.

Immediately Byrne detached the rifle from his back and shouldered it, sweeping left to right to ensure that no guards or personnel were within his immediate vicinity. Simultaneously, he could hear slightly more noisy landings made by other members of the strike team near, and about his six ‘o’clock. On the north, just inside of the interior of the main perimeter, he saw locator markings in the upper-right corner of his HUD indicating that Prince, Tucker (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs), and Hebert (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Medical_NPCs) had landed withing shouting distance of himself, and that directly ahead were both Lieutenants Amarik and Pierce. Crouching to a knee, he peered back at the closest team member, in this case, Prince, and saw that she too had shouldered her rifle. Even as exposed as they might well have been, the compound was very poorly lit on the interior, which made moving about something of a cakewalk. As such, he began crossing an open area, aware that his fellows to the rear were following on just behind. He couldn’t yet make out visual confirmation of either of the Lieutenants to the fore, at least not until he’d rounded a corner and saw the both of them inside, a trio of seemingly lifeless Klingons slumped over in a neat pile.

“Lieutenant Pierce. Lieutenant Amarik.” He said softly as way of alerting them of his presence. The others all entered the same building, taking up defensive positions in and around the corridor, just as the resident Romulan on the mission made comment about two drunken idiots guarding a lift being the worst of their worries. “Seems like we’re split into two groups at the moment. From what I can tell and according to IFF tracking, the rest of the team is off to the west, mostly on the exterior of the wall save for Petty Officer Lorad, who is either on or inside of the wall itself. I’m not getting a clear enough signal on him, maybe some interference from the walls themselves.” Finding it prudent to give a sitrep to his fellow commissioned Officers, Byrne waved Hebert over closer to where he, Valyn and Alana were situated. Over comms, he brought up the secure link to Dantius which they could only use sparingly, as it was an absolute eventuality it be detected by someone monitoring frequencies within the base. Still, they needed her logistics support in order to quickly and efficiently find the man they’d come here to rescue.

“Lieutenant Dantius, can our intel confirm any reports of someone being kept in the sub-level?” Not that he didn’t trust what Pierce was reading on her sensors, there was the very real chance that it was little more than an echo, or even a deliberate attempt to draw in any would-be rescuers. Waiting for Theurgy’s newly minted Chief Analyst to get back to them, he held out a gauntlet and brought up on the attached PADD a cursory schematic of the central-tower that his sensors had thus far managed to piece together.

“Hard to tell if there’s another exit or not.” He commented, glancing to Lieutenant Amarik.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Makeshift Holding Cell | Sub-Level 03 ]

“Go away! You’re not real!”

Hand brought up to bleeding ears, Fisher sought to hide from the sting of reverberating pain that only added to the incredible bout of throbbing within his bruised and battered head. Despite all of the beatings, and the injuries sustained from them, some of which had been hastily healed by the Klingon Doctor in order to stymy any kind of an untimely death, the intensity of pain within Fisher’s skull was far and away the worst ailment he was now dealing with. It was enough to crater the toughest of men, sending them to the floor in a want to curl up and sob uncontrollably in futile effort to alleviate the anguish. Whatever he’d been injected with, it was certainly working in an accelerated fashion as his tenuous grasp of reality was hastily slipping away. Desperately he was trying to control the torrent of thoughts and emotions welling up to the surface, as he knew they would compromise his ability to maintain an understanding of what was real, and what was a hallucination brought on by a subconscious that sought to overwhelm and undo his defenses. He could only clench his eyelids shut, hoping that the person standing before him now would disappear, and leave him be.

“Oh I’m very real. I’m the realest thing you’ve encountered in months.” Taunted the still manifest visage of his old mentor, all the smug and arrogance Fisher had come to despise from him on abject display. “I’m every thought running through that battered head of yours, come home to roost.” Hurley, or at least the image of him that Fisher’s brain had created, brought a little white cylindrical object to his lips, then lit it with a silver zippo and took a deep breath.

Wincing, Fisher clenched his eyes shut as more of his senses betrayed his mind, the scent and taste of a lit cigarette besieging him.

“There it is! I can see the cracks forming. Spreading quick too! You’re starting to have doubts.” Hurley pointed with an accusatory finger, the still burning cancer stick neatly nestled between his index and middle digits. “Welp, can’t say I’m too surprised. The shit they pumped into you could send a Jem’Hadar into a daze of poppy-fields and butterflies.” Pacing over to check on the door that led into Fisher’s cell, Hurley tried at the door handle as if to further tease his beleaguered former protégé. “You can thank the Obsidian Order for that one.” The explanation was of course one that Fisher’s own subconscious had formulated but was being re-routed to him via this hallucination; all the same, it made sense. The Cardassian Intelligence service had a knack for interrogation techniques, especially those which resorted to pharmacology, whereas Klingons generally lagged behind in that regard. “Klingons probably got their hands on it during that little war the idiots at DS9 sparked when they defended Gul Dukat. Smart move. Definitely didn’t come back to bite them, and the rest of us in our asses.” Again, his dementor made an obscene gesture with his hand as if to emphasize the condescension and sarcasm in his tone of voice.

“Right, and nothing ever blew-up in your face over decisions you were forced to make, eh Hurley?” Fisher spat back, gritting his teeth as a sudden pang hit his side, no doubt one of his displaced and fractured ribs reacting poorly to a constricting diaphragm.

“You should ponder that same thing, pal.”

The reality which was presented by such a suggestion plagued Fisher’s thoughts, as he wondered how much of what he was imagining was a result of his own thoughts being brought to the surface. Sure, subconsciously he had created an approximation of Hurley, or rather what Hurley represented to him, but there was only so much he could realistically understand and know of the man and his thoughts. Whatever blanks there were, had to be filled in from somewhere, and it bothered Fisher to think that they were coming from deeply hidden memories and considerations that he dared not share. Was he the one blaming DS9 for the short but disastrous war that preceded the Dominion invasion of the Alpha-Quadrant or was it something he remembered Hurley having expressed. The longer he sat in this room, and the longer the drug in his veins sank into his brain, the harder it was becoming for him to discern the truth. He was already having a hard enough time, as each time he let the situation dawdle away from his active thinking due to the mocking distraction in front of him, he found it increasingly difficult to recall an understanding of his surroundings and the details of his capture.

His grasp on reality was tenuous at best.

[ Makeshift Observation Room | Sub-Level 03 ]

“He’s starting to break.” Commented the Klingon Doctor as he stood watch over a series of screens, each focused on Fisher as he was having his argument with an apparition brought on by the drug that they’d administered to him. It was the result that Pohr’ghek had expected, though he’d certainly figured it to have been far more effective this late in the interrogation. Previous test subjects he’d had under his thumb had broken far sooner, though they all eventually wound up in the exact same scenario at the end, their minds lost to a madness that was essentially irreversible. It was an inevitability as far as he understood; a side-effect of the drug that the Cardassians had crafted, and which he’d toyed around with since coming to know of the formula. The most difficult aspect of the drug was finding just the right balance, otherwise you risked sending the subject into a coma like state, and at that point the only remedy was a swift death. He figured that at some point, he would likely have to tip that balance if he was going to glean any useful information from his prisoner, but for now, the dosage, twice what all previous subjects had been administered, was starting to work.

“Begin cross-indexing our records for suspected Starfleet Intelligence Operatives, originating from this... Boston... and names matching Hurley.” He ordered a Klingon seated at a nearby console. “Continue to add in whatever additional details slip out and forward the preliminary results to the Mo’Kai primary database for the General to consult.”

[ Westside Exterior of Perimeter Wall ]

Crouched at the base of a wall, PO1 Michael Samuelson (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs) could hear footsteps from someone atop the parapets directly above him and after checking his IFF indicator he could see that it was Lorad. He offered a soft nod to each of the other team members that flanked either side of him, Hildebrandt (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs), and Jones (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Medical_NPCs), before he touched at the controls on his left gauntlet, opening a secure low-band short-distance link to the Reman. “We’re just down beneath you.” He said simply, hoping to raise the other team member’s attention. “Exterior of the wall. Is it clear to advance inside?” From where Lorad was positioned, Samuelson was counting on him to have a better vantage point and handle on the immediate situation inside of the compound. Hildebrandt and Jones each had their weapons at the ready, understanding that they would be entering the interior upon confirmation from their comrade up above. From what he could also tell, the rest of the team had made it down to the planet in one piece and had in fact entered the central tower from the northside.

So far, they’d actually managed to keep things on down-low, which was a fantastic start to what they’d figured to be an exceedingly difficult mission. Though, things rarely stayed so calm for so long, and before he could regret having jinxed things, a pair of armed Klingons emerged from around the bend of the curved wall, their eyes going wide in shock at the presence of three armed and armored intruders.

“Shit!” exclaimed Samuelson as he instinctively raised his rifle, the distance too great to engage and eliminate the pair with physicality. Time slowed to a crawl as adrenaline hit his bloodstream, heightening his senses and reflexes. Once leveled and approximately trained on the enemy closest to the wall, who himself was raising a disruptor rifle, Samuelson depressed his finger against the trigger and fired a ruby pulse that lanced out, crossing the distance in an instant, blowing a hole clean through the center of said Klingon’s chest. The whistle of the fired shot rang out, piercing the relative peace that permeated the exterior of the compound, joined by a gurgling bellow of the dispatched Klingon as he cried out in advance of a descent into Sto-vo-kor. A second later, three glowing emerald bolts surged back at Samuelson and the two other Petty Officers at the Wall as the other Klingon began returning fire.

[ Control Room ]

Throwing back his tankard, Jurael downed the last of the bloodwine from his evening meal and slammed it aggressively against his empty tray, his way of letting an attendant to retrieve and remove it from the Control Tower. It was expressly forbidden for any of his men to eat and or drink within the confines of the control room, a rule he had imposed yet did not adhere to personally. In his mind, he could trust himself not to make a mess and lose his wits while consuming a meal, but not his men, especially when he had so few of them that he could truly rely upon. All around him, they were monitoring the mostly ineffective sensor network that he’d been saddled with, just in case something, anything, was triggered. He had his doubts as to the functionality of poorly maintained equipment, relying heavily on the patrols of his hand-picked men stationed throughout the compound, but he wasn’t so foolish as to ignore the possibility of detection. “Anything. Anything at all, and you notify me!” He barked, reminding the less thoroughly trained personnel that were situated at the various stations.

“Otherwise I’ll slit your throats myself.” He whispered softly under his breath, just loud enough that it was barely audible to them.

A moment later, the surly Klingon emerged from the control room onto a gantry way that encircled the highest level of the central tower. The sun had indeed finally slipped behind the horizon now, and only the darkness of the surrounding wilderness remained, sparsely lit by lights running along the perimeter wall, another security concern he’d expressed to the Commandant in an earlier report. It angered him that the concerns of Doctor Pohr’ghek were taken far more seriously than those of his own, and that it had left the compound relatively under-protected. Snarling, Jurael turned to his left and began to circle the tower in a slow and deliberate manner, glancing at the activity of his men moving about the parapets of the wall. “Fortune will eventually favor our enemy.” He commented to himself, nearing a complete transit of the circuit and about to tuck back inside of the control room.

“What!?” he blurted out as he spun round on his heel, facing the westside of the compound, the sounds and ambient green glow of disruptor fire emanating from the direction. His men were under strict orders to maintain trigger discipline. They wouldn’t have opened fire on something, or someone if it wasn’t an imminent threat, and Jurael knew what the weapons fire meant.

“ALARM!” he hollered out, slamming a gauntleted fist against the door leading back inside.

[ Central Intelligence Suite (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/images/b/b4/34_-_CENTRAL_INTELLIGENCE_AREA.png) | Deck 05 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ]

“Lieutenant Dantius!” announced Ensign Kaylee Maier, one of the Junior Intelligence Analysts currently on duty, pouring through all of the documents and files that Thea and the ship had managed pilfer from encrypted and un-encrypted databases in and around Qo’nos. Since the word of Commander Fisher’s capture, she and the other Analysts had been working round the clock to try and find any leads which might lead to his rescue. There were hundreds; thousands of documents that they were intercepting, which needed to be checked, indexed, and cross-indexed before being thrown away, or put into the feed that was going right to the Orion Chief. From there, it was up to her to decide which warranted further examination, or which actually contained actionable intelligence. Kaylee didn’t admire the weight of the scenario that the Lieutenant was dealing with, as the strike team down planet side was counting on her guidance while working their way through the compound where Commander Fisher was being held.

“I’ve got one I’m flagging red for you to check ASAP!” she announced, the other Junior Analysts around her not even looking up from their own consoles as their fingers danced staccato across the controls. “Something about an unannounced transfer of material from a Klingon Cruiser down to the Mo’Kai compound. Timeframe fits the window for the Commander’s transfer.” A potential windfall, but also possibly nothing. There were at least six other transfers that had fit the time window, and which had come from ships in orbit of the Klingon home world. Given what they knew about the facility, it made sense, as it had been some kind of a staging area or facility for smuggling and or other illicit operations. “I think...” Kaylee hesitated a moment, worried that maybe it wasn’t worth bringing to her green-skinned superior, only to resume a moment later. “...no, it has to be. Sorry, Ma’am. I think it could be the Commander. The Material. The manifest is relatively concise and detailed, save for one item, which is listed as just that. Material.”

Kaylee waited a moment further, gauging Dantius’ reaction. “It’s also the only shipment, which is listed as having originated from a Cruiser, rather than some random ship in orbit. The Ta’Rom maybe?” She knew the final aspect of the report she forwarded to Dantius was conjecture at best, but it seemed like something worth mentioning, and theorizing over.

[ Makeshift Holding Cell ]

“I’m not listening anymore.”

“Yes, you are.” Restated Hurley as he approached Fisher, standing in close to the man, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke right into the side of his face. Were it not for the knowledge of his current situation, which he’d still barely held onto, Fisher would have absolutely believed his mentor to be standing there. The heat of the smoke against his face, and the way it lingered in and around his nostrils was utterly and completely convincing. “You’re going to listen to me, and you’re going to listen to her...” Hurley pointed at a beautiful figure emerging from the shadowy corner. “You’re going to listen, and you’re going to talk. Because we’re going to save your life, you idiot. We’re going to give the Klingons reason to keep you alive. Because we care about you.” Hurley grinned, glancing back at the new hallucination of Rutherford that stood just a few feet from him. “Don’t we?” he asked, sending Fisher into a near rage as he felt his blood boil. The idea that Hurley dared to speak to and speak for Sam pricked at the last few strings keeping him grounded in reality. Were Hurley real, he would have snapped then and there, choking the man to death in a display of abject brutality for such an infraction.

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare!” Fisher warned.

“It’s alright, Andrew. We’re here for you.” The Rutherford hallucination added, smiling to him in such a manner that it quickened his heart once more.

“See! We’re here for you.” Hurley repeated, returning the cigarette to his lips to take another long drag, eyes narrowed as he seemed to examine the dynamic between Fisher and Rutherford.

“No! She’s not here! You’re not Samantha Rutherford!” Fisher blurted out aloud, pointing an accusatory finger at the beautiful woman he was seeing; the woman he could feel ambient warmth from, and whom he could even detect the lovely scent of. Bringing his hands to his head, Fisher tried to hide from it all, as the ache in his head seemed to intensify tenfold. His ears rang painfully, causing him to stagger and drop to his knees in a huddle. About him, Rutherford and Hurley began to circle, their gaze looking down upon him. Tearing his hands away, he glanced at them, his torso rocking back and forth as he finally felt himself slipping into the cold dark abyss of his insanity. “This is real?” he asked, desperate to convince himself of something, anything at this point. Yet as Sam began to extend a hand to Fisher, one he so badly wanted to accept, Fisher was brought out of it by the whine of something ear-shatteringly loud. Both Rutherford and Hurley looked about in joint confusion as the alarm klaxon of the compound sounded in earnest.

Blinking, a shred of reality returned to the spy, and he remembered where he was, and what was happening to him.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: GroundPetrel on October 01, 2021, 07:15:43 AM

Lt. JG Dantius Thi Anh-Le | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 |USS Theurgy   attn: @stardust @BipSpoon @Swift @Pierce @Stegro88

Anh-Le took the report in one hand while taking a sip of her coffee with her other hand. (Well, she would call it coffee. People not raised on Vietnamese cuisine would probably call it a coffee-based milkshake at this point. That, or diabetes in a cup) "Thanks, and good work, Ensign. Give yourself a pat on the back." She'd need to give the Ensign a favorable write-up later.

Dark eyes flicked over the PADD. Sub-Level 03. Anh-Le nodded to herself. Secure. Multiple locking chokepoints with biometric ID. They would keep an intel officer down there. Klingons weren't actually stupid, and the ones running their intel services, well...idiots didn't last long in this kind of job.

...wow, she was going off on tangents easily. It might be time for more diabetes in a cup.

Anh-Le keyed her comm on. "We have a possible lead. Sub-Level 03. The time index is consistent with when they brought Commander Fisher down." This would be a lot easier if she could just peek through the enemy systems and verify the data, but beggars couldn't be choosers. "Operate on the assumption that he's down there. Lieutenant Pierce, Commander Rutherford, I'm forwarding relevant data." The still-raw wound in her side throbbed. Serves me right for getting into melee with a Klingon. Now, if she'd had a few more sword lessons from Lillee...well, actual, full-length lessons, more than 'lessons' that quickly got taken over by stress, hormones, and Anh-Le's chronic problem with functioning around pretty girls (she still had no clue where she'd found that burst of confidence!)...

Might as well wish for a bow, arrows, and space to use them. Beggars, she mused again, couldn't be choosers.

Focus. Job at hand.

"Expect an ambush when you get down to Sub-Level 03. Just in case. They might not have moved people into place yet, but better safe than sorry. When you get down there, you've got at least three sturdy doors with biometric ID to get through. This is the place they hold the important guys."
------------
OOC: Sorry for the delays, grad school and my job in the fossil collection are kicking my butt. 2 whole cabinets so far full of specimens that have been uncatalogued anywhere from 11 to 99 years! Absolute madness. Some aren't even prepped!

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: stardust on October 02, 2021, 06:14:16 PM

On the screen before her, the birds-eye view of the compound and the layers of structural data, heat signatures, com-badge signals and energy blooms, the Commander could follow the current developments in real time. Watching the individual players move across an asymmetrical chess field in whichever move their qualification afforded. So far there had been no energy discharges registered by the sensitive instruments on the Apache, still, at least two heat signatures just started to drop vital signs. Which meant the team was living up to its covert codex, for now. Letting delicate finger tips slide over the sleek screen, the blonde enlarged the current quadrant, getting a closer look at the layout, as Lieutenant Byrne was one of the first she picked up on the newly established comm link. Zooming back out at the audio cue, she found Lorad’s signal still where he had been left of, receiving a text acknowledgment instead of an audio one, maybe he had been in no space to reply verbally to protect his cover.

“Petty Officer Lorad is in defensive position with oversight on the compound, he’ll guard the exits for extraction.” she relayed to the intelligence chief on the ground, all the while typing out orders to the Reman with one hand: ‘Stay in position, relay any relevant movements on the exterior to command and stay in preparation for extraction. The shuttle will not be able to wait.’ That being sent, Samantha returned her attention to the aggregated group of signals. Then, a Klingon communications stream was highlighted, tapping it sending the blaring snarl of a voice shouting ‘Alarm’. The half Vulcan blood in Sam’s veins threatened to freeze as her lips non-verbally voiced a silent epithet. “Guys, the perimeter just lit up like a Christmas tree! The jig is up. Your only chance is to push forward and deeper into the compound, we’ll take care of an extraction plan.”

It was in that moment that Anh-Le relayed her new intel on a possible location, which sounded extremely promising. Kind of like a spoon of water after a long pilgrimage through the northern desert on Vulcan. Pulling up the data, which was immediately available via the data link to Theurgy, the blonde overlayed additional levels on the viewscreen, scrolling through the available data. With the much closer proximity to the compound, within the shell of its dampening field, the Apache could get much higher resolution scans then its mothership in a shifting orbit.

“Lieutenant Dantius, I’ll patch you into the Apache’s main sensor array and reroute emergency power to boost scanner resolution. We should be able to penetrate at least two sublevels and get a rudimentary image of Sub-Level 03.” Giving Samara a fleeting apologetic look the commander let her fingers dance across the sleek stage once more, supplying their sensors with additional energy. Almost immediately the outlines of hallways and rooms started appearing ghostly beneath Sub-Level 02. But without the additional oversight, it was hard for the diplomat to make much sense of it. Luckily, Anh-Le would be able to get the very same data. On the screen it seemed as if there was a single corridor shooting off the elevator here, easy to defend and a colossal trap if unprepared. There were a few intermittent life signals in the area as well.

“Away team, pending Lieutenant Dantius’ detailed analysis, I am sending you the life sensor feed available on Sub-Level 03. Proceed with caution, seems like the ant-hive is abuzz.”

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Pierce on October 03, 2021, 07:49:23 AM

[ Lt. Alana Pierce (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alana_Pierce) | Klingon Compound | Qo'nos ] | ATTN: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust | [Show/Hide]

Pierce watched as the Romulan woman easily downed the two Klingon soldiers. In the meantime, she heard a communique come alive in her comm systems of the suit. It was Anh-Le who keyed her comms on. "We have a possible lead. Sub-Level 03. The time index is consistent with when they brought Commander Fisher down. Operate on the assumption that he's down there. Lieutenant Pierce, Commander Rutherford, I'm forwarding relevant data."

The navigation display on her suit lit up with the schematics which she promptly hit the forwarder to the rest of the team headed for the infiltration. "Message received. We're moving into the lift system."

Alana didn't have much time however as what she didn't know was that the Klingons had already noted their presence. Disruptor fire and phaser fire could be heard outside the perimeter of the building. The next communication from Anh-Le came through promptly informing her of the situation at hand, despite her already gathering that information based on sensors and her ears.

"Expect an ambush when you get down to Sub-Level 03. Just in case. They might not have moved people into place yet, but better safe than sorry. When you get down there, you've got at least three sturdy doors with biometric ID to get through. This is the place they hold the important guys."

"Reading loud and clear!" A few Klingon soldiers rushed out of the lift as Pierce and her comrades nearby came to the bulkheads nearby it for cover. "Concentrate your fire on their torsos. We don't need them getting back up!" She yelled to those in listening range. Pierce landed a solid shot, lighting up the Klingon's armor in a blazing gold hue before he collapsed.

Her internal comms kicked back up this time from Rutherford. "Petty Officer Lorad is in defensive position with oversight on the compound, he'll guard the exits for extraction. Guys, the perimeter just lit up like a Christmas tree! The jig is up. You're only chance is to push forward and deeper into the compound, we'll take care of an extraction plan. Away team, pending Lieutenant Dantius' detailed analysis, I am sending you the life sensor feed available on Sub-Level 03. Proceed with caution, seems like the ant-hive is abuzz."

Not what Pierce expected to happen so soon, but she wasn't surprised it occurred. "Aye Commander. Message received loud and clear! Pierce out." She dodged another shot from the nearby Klingon as part of it connected with her shoulder, damaging part of the suit and causing some blood to char on her arm. The pain shot through her left arm sharply causing her to collapse before grasping the bulkhead for balance. She looked about, at Lt. Amarik.

"If you have a blade, find the lead Klingon..." she paused briefly and discovered him behind the others. No doubt a dishonorable targ. She pointed at him. "Don't harm him, he likely has the biometric codes to get us below this level. If we can manage to incapacitate him, we need his handprint. How we get that hand I'll leave it up to you. Fisher likely doesn't have much time."

Checking internal sensors for the facility, she saw Lorad's position. She tapped her comms, "Give cover fire to Lt. Byrne and the other security officers on site. Be ready for us. I anticipate we won't be long inside but hard to tell yet."

After turning the attention back to the Klingon grunts in the facility, she was able to approach a console and tap into it for better readings. Thankfully she had some experience in Klingon tech, which unsurprisingly hadn't changed much in a century. Her fingers danced on the controls as she placed a codebreaker into the system. "Pierce to command, patching you into this console, provided they don't lock us out. I need intel on a way out once we get below levels. We may lose comms below the surface so we'll look for a sign from the you on how to get out." She scanned the facility briefly between disruptor fire. Thinking she found the area Fisher is in. It appeared to be...some sort of poor excuse of a holding cell.

A large shadow appeared above her as someone shot him and the body thudded hard. She turned and fired another shot off incapacitating another Klingon soldier nearby as he dropped his bat'leth nearby. Quickly she dashed to the fallen soldier, reached to his bladed weapon, and charged another grunt clearing the way for Amarik to complete the task of the biometrics.

"Move in!" she yelled as she dashed into a sliding posture beneath another soldier and sliced the next Klingon before she left it impaled on him on her way to the lift. The stench of blood and filthy Klingon's filled the air. The other officers

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: BipSpoon on October 04, 2021, 06:16:58 AM

[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Klingon Compound | Qo’Nos ] Attn: @Pierce @Swift @Stegro88 @GroundPetrel @stardust
[Show/Hide]

Valyn looked at the approaching man, and gave him a nod. Two teams wasn’t ideal, she had a feeling they’d need as much firepower as they could pack into one assault if it came to it, but she knew she had to be adaptable in that sort of situation. She looked up the hall one more time and narrowed her gaze, scanning it once but her attention returned to her sector, and albeit briefly, to Byrne.

“Yea…” She trailed off. “Or even if we find one, where the hell it leads to.” She adjusted her rifle and looked at Pierce.

Dropping the first two guards was quick. Simple. An old habit that boiled straight to the surface with minimal effort. The ease of it disturbed her on some level, but not enough to break her attention from the mission. She’d spent nearly her entire life doing exactly the sort of work she was doing then, this time though for what she once considered her greatest enemy. This time, she was rescuing the Starfleet agent, instead of being the one sent to kill them or disrupt their allies.

As the map popped up on her wrist, she gave it a quick look. He was all the way down there? She studied it for a moment before letting out a deep breath. She slowed her breaths, and along with it, her heart rate. She was bringing herself into a different state entirely. She wanted to be able to execute each maneuver with perfect precision, and was falling back on an old method of bringing her focus to the forefront. However, it wasn’t in the cards for her to get all the way there.

"Guys, the perimeter just lit up like a Christmas tree! The jig is up. Your only chance is to push forward and deeper into the compound, we'll take care of an extraction plan."

She heard the weapon fire, and the warning in her earpiece and immediately sprang to action. She verified the setting on her rifle, and adjusted the dispersal pattern of the energy blast it emanated to her comfort. It only took her a second. As the live scan came to the forefront of her wrist display, her eyes widened a bit. “Fuck.” She muttered, all to herself but those right next to her probably heard it anyhow. She brought her body down slightly into a ready position, and her cheek rested against the side of the weapon. Her body language shifted into that of a soldier, ready to fire at just about anything that wasn’t confirmed to be friendly.

She looked to the side for cover. It was minimal at best. As she heard the doors to the lift hiss open, and the heavy footfalls of the Mo’Kai warriors, her rifle spun to focus on them. She fired twice, hitting the same soldier both times. He went limp after the first round connected with his chest, the second round slamming first into his abdomen, and by proxy, the Klingon himself into one of his allies. The Klingon that was struck with the corpse of his comrade tossed the other to the side.

Valyn watched as a round connected with Pierce, and she used the moment to lay down covering fire. “Cover me!” She shouted at some of the other officers as she ran towards the injured officer. Her finger repeatedly slammed into the trigger, sending a show of fatal lights down the hall. The bolts functioned as moving torches, a faint yellow hue painting the walls as the progressed forward, momentarily forcing the Mo’Kai to take cover.

She reached to her side, for her emergency medical kit and produced a small, metallic probe. The tip of it lit up with a squeeze and she ran it over Pierce’s shoulder as she filled the Romulan in. “Got it.” She stuffed the probe back into the designated spot and looked towards the leader. She’d run a regenerator over Pierce’s arm but it wasn’t exactly a permanent fix. “You need a hand.” She gave the woman a nod and smirked slightly before she brought her rifle back up, this time holding it with the knife stuck to its side, ready to go.

She fired once, hitting one of the Klingons with the leader in the hip. He let out a roar of agony but after a second shot, that contacted his pronounced forehead, her nearly backflipped and ceased all sound and movement. She watched Pierce run forward, picking up the Bat’Leth and...she was clearly a bit impressed. Valyn didn’t need telling, and kept herself close to the mission CO. She dropped her rifle, letting it connect to the suit on the chest and instead brought her knife out, moving quicker without the task of keeping her rifle trained and ready.

She leapt over the corpse of the man who’d been impaled, and aimed her feet at the chest of the leader. They connected, slamming him backwards into the wall. She kept her momentum going, and rolled to her feet as she connected with the metal floor. However, the Klingon wasn’t far behind her. His own knife came out in a flash and he swung it at her, eyes wild with fury.

“bIHub 'e' Damevchugh!” He shouted at her. She just shook her head at him.

“Not today, big guy.” As his knife came out to start a powerful blow, she slammed her knee into his thigh, and brought her elbow forward with all the power she could. It connected with his cheek, splitting his cheek open. However, he hardly reacted and instead thrust his knife forward. It was the opening that she needed. Her eyes flashed up, noting a pipe hanging over her. She jumped straight up and grabbed it. She had hoped it would hold her weight, and it did, but only for a moment. She’d given herself the power to get up on his shoulders, which he responded to only by slamming her against a wall.

However, she had not dropped the pipe. She released her legs from his neck, and landed on her feet. A knife in one hand, and a metal pipe in the other. He roared at her, and swung. The knife connected with her face, drawing blood from her own cheek in kind. The moment of elation however, granted her a blow. She swung the pipe forward, straight into his jaw, and on connection she heard an audible ‘CRACK’ to join the hum of the vibrating metal. He screamed in pain, words entirely indistinguishable from nonsense. She swung again, this time as he began to double over, sending him to the ground at once as she panted. He wasn’t dead, he was moving, sobbing. Blood poured from his mouth and dripped from his ears. Using the moment, she fell upon him, grabbing him. She gripped him by his braid, and pressed his hand against the console in the lift, granting them access to the lower levels. “Let’s move!” She shouted as the console flashed green. She took no chance however, and as she released the Klingon and he fell to the ground, she brought her rifle up and verified the kill with a single flash. Then she removed his hand with the knife, using a strip of fabric from his uniform to secure it to her suit. “In case we need it again.” She had no intention of dragging a screaming, fighting, Klingon into the depths to gather help from his friends.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Stegro88 on October 10, 2021, 01:52:58 PM

[PO3  Lorad (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Lorad) | Klingon Compound | Qo’noS ] 
[Show/Hide]

 
Disruptor fire piercing the night was not a sound that Lorad was unfamiliar with. The number of times he had heard, or even caused it to shatter the peace of the darkness was unknown to him but each time he heard it, his reaction was the same. This time was no different as his heartrate picked up and his head automatically began searching for the source of the weapons fire. It was made easier because before the trio of disruptor bolts was heard, Lorad had heard the pulse of a phaser rifle. That and the second burst of disruptor fire. Samuelson, Hildebrandt and Jones were taking fire but also returning it.

“ALARM!” a guttural voice boomed across the courtyard and Lorad turned back in time to see a Klingon disappear back into what he had identified as the control room for the compound. It was on the highest level of central tower. Pierce's command to cover the three below was understood and Lorad shifted to the other side of the tower and glanced down just in time to see the three officers using their suits to scale the wall. Below them, two cooling Klingons lay unmoving.

“Cover the courtyard,” Lorad ordered, knowing that he was breaking the chain of command but there were more important things to care about. “I am going for the control room,” he advised, activating his own boosters to send himself over the parapet and down to the wall walk. Glancing at the courtyard, Lorad jogged off as Klingons began to stream out and phaser rifles began to fire behind him, activating his comms.

“Lorad is going for Control Room.”

[ Crewman Samala (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Samala) | The Apache | Hawk-class Runabout | Upper Atmosphere | Qo’noS ] 
[Show/Hide]

 
Samala had tried to be as patient as possible, just sitting there, knowing that that was her job but now, with things starting to go wrong, she wanted to be on the ground instead of sitting in the pilot’s seat. But that was where she needed to be.

“We have a problem. Two ships, just appeared on sensors, coming this way low and fast. Too far to tell what they are but they’ll be here in 12 minutes,” Samala advised. “Want me to deal with them?”

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Pierce on October 14, 2021, 09:58:36 PM

[ Lt. Alana Pierce (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alana_Pierce) | Klingon Compound | Qo'Nos] | ATTN: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust | [Show/Hide]

Lt. Pierce watched as the Klingon hand was swiftly cut from the arm of the solider, used on the security panel and carefully placed on Lt. Amarik's suit. The dangling limb was hopefully unneeded on but one could never tell. With an extraction of this magnitude and the limited time, everyone was expected to take added precautions and think for themselves in this situation.

The sounds of the klaxons and soldiers firing disruptors were overbearingly loud. The lift doors closed in the peculiar fashion that Klingon stations generally held. A few security detail with Pierce and Amarik, although a few had been hurt during the firefight. The pain in their eyes Pierce felt burning into her soul. The former XO of the USS Eagle knew that it was growing the possibility they may not make it back in their current condition. Her own shoulder not withstanding. Yes, the dermal regenerator repaired some of the damage but on a whole, she still needed a sickbay briefly when they returned. Or if...

Lift doors grinded open as the machinery likely neglected over the years whined as heavy pieces of metal separated them to the floor Fisher was residing. Klingons ran to their position and as quickly as they ran, they were dropped on the deck. Hard metal making thudding sounds as the bodies hit the floor, leaking the purplish fluid that gave the monsters life. Pierce stood from her crouched position and motioned her fingers forward for the security detail to give cover fire around the next corridor.

She ran out and motioned for Amarik with a nod, almost saying to her to do what needs to be done with the security system to get to Fisher's location. Her internal comms on her suit still had static but the occasional blip of an updated signal from above the surface. Over 400 years since radio technology had been created and signal was still an issue with depth and thick walls metal walls.

Alana leaned into the next doorframe as she watched several other Klingons get phasered to the floor. Amarik was out of her line of site at this point. She peered at her wrist mounted map and was disturbed by a bright blast of disruptor fire close enough to her head that her left ear lost hearing briefly. A quick tuck and roll later and she was in the next door frame, clutching her phaser rifle in hand now, and ready for a fight.

She leveled her rifle off of her knee as she steadied the shot. The end of the corridor was dimly lit but not too dim for her laser scope. Unfortunately she wasn't quick enough when one of the security detail screamed as the disruptor fire met his shoulder, rendering him unable to fight back. She fired unsure if it connected or not. A distant thud was heard ahead. Another short scan and she ran forward to connect with the last security officer left since the brawl took place.

With any luck Fisher was still alive. As they approached the final door, the screams and yelling of a human male could be heard nearby. Clearly something the Klingons had either done to him or drugged him with were giving the man agony. Turning to her wrist mounted comms she yelled into it, "This is Pierce! I hear Fisher ahead! If you can hear me, extraction is welcome as soon as you can. I'm going in!"

As Alana finished her comm, she failed to take notice of a Klingon soldier coming from behind her with a D'k tahg in hand. He lifted his hand and was about to strike the killing blow as the final security officer, Lewis, took the blunt end of the blade in an attempt to hold back the warrior from stabbing his mission leader. He dropped into Pierce as she backed up right into another Klingon. The life appeared to leave Lewis as she pulled the blade from his torso. No time to check on him as she threw the blade at the Klingon in front of her right at his face as he bellowed in agony before falling too. Leaning back, Pierce grabbed the Klingon around his neck in an attempt to throw him over her shoulder but ended up getting held by her arms instead.

"Argh!" Pierce yelled.

The Klingon held tight. Pierce failed to estimate her current level of strength in this body she had now compared to earlier fights she'd been involved in. He held her tight. "batlh chomuSHa'ghach."

"batlh tlhIngan!" she yelled back smirking beneath her helmet.

The Klingon grunt laughed and led her off to the same chamber Fisher was in. Pierce tapped a homing signal on her wrist mounted map as the Klingon dragged her to the room. The door opened and Fisher sat in a chair. Beaten, bloody and rambling to himself in some form of hysteria. She couldn't help but wonder what they'd injected him with. He looked definitely rough. "Fisher? Commander! Are you okay? We're here to rescue you."

"Worry about yourself fe-male! We have much bigger plans in store for you! Hehehe!" The sound of his disgusting gutteral laugh made something inside Lt. Pierce squeamish as he pulled off her helmet. "Hahaha, an interesting fe-male too. Very... beautiful..." he spoke, sniffing her crimson hair.

She felt sick to her stomach at the sound of his words and the proximity of his face to hers. Fear briefly glimpsed her eyes as she retained focus enough to ignore his words. She just had to wait long enough for Amarik and or someone else to zero in on her position now that Fisher was in her line of sight. If help didn't come quickly, she was going to have to improvise.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Swift on October 24, 2021, 09:24:38 AM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Makeshift Holding Cell | Sub-Level 03 | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’nos ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @BipSpoon @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce

Suddenly snapped back to reality, as though his perception of it hadn’t ever been in question, Fisher stood from where he had dropped to his knees just a few minutes earlier, and though the ear-shattering klaxons blared, he was compelled to pull bloodied grimy hands away from the ears they had instinctively sought to protect. The intensity of volume worsened the ache in his skull, but he did not desist in his effort to focus on it; he’d remembered his training, and how deep focus could steel oneself from the effects of a hallucinogenic interrogative agent. Immediately there was an effect too, as the visage of Samantha, unafflicted by the sound that also besieged her turned to face Fisher, only to dissipate from existence in a literal eyeblink. His manifestations, they couldn’t maintain a hold of him as long as he could keep the periphery of his subconscious clear, that was how this particular drug seemed to work. Had he figured it out? Could this really be a way to combat the images he was seeing, and allow him to regain control of his perception of reality? Glancing at a stone-faced Hurley next, the man, or rather Fisher’s imagination of him, narrowed his eyelids before likewise in an instant, he was gone.

Alone again, it was cathartic.

[ Control Room | Central Tower ]

At once, all the concerns that Jurael had brought up with the Commandant flashed through his mind as he realized the compound was under attack from some sort of outside force, likely Federation having come to rescue their wayward comrade held in the sub-level. Rage pumped through his veins as he remembered all of the bureaucratic answers and excuses, he’d received in response to those raised concerns, though the time for gloating about them would come later on, after these intruders were repelled. Still, the anger of indignation was there, omnipresent in his thoughts, and outwardly evident by the tightness of his grip upon the disruptor he so wanted to run off into combat with. Another time, he might have done just that, but as it was, Jurael was responsible for coordinating the sparse few defenders that were spread out through the compound, most of whom were anything but adept warriors. His men, the two dozen he’d managed to bring in from different posts, would do what they could, but there was just too much territory for them to effectively lock it down. It was the same problem for the other facilities loyal to the House of Mo’Kai, as they all pulled from the same shallow pool of warriors, and the only solution was to spread them out evenly, and when or if one of them got hit, call for reinforcements.

Jurael was more than annoyed that his facility had been the one which would necessitate said outside help. However, he would put his pride aside in service of his future Chancellor. Gorka demanded only success, and the retention of this captured spy and the secrets reposed within his brain were well worth the personal sacrifice of reputation.

“You! Reinforcements from the north and south! Now!” he barked at one of the Klingons situated at a console.

An understanding nod later, Jurael watched as a readout on the main monitor displayed an apparent acknowledgement of their request for support. Far from ideal, it would take somewhere in the neighborhood of ten to twenty minutes for the gunships to arrive and make drop off. They likely could have halved that time, had his requests for drills been taken seriously.

“Activate all defensive systems!” He commanded, stepping over to check a monitor which showed several intruders working to move through the interior of the base, no doubt searching for their captured comrade. The men between them and the spy were on their own for now, as he couldn’t afford pulling any of the guards posted along the walls, less there were additional enemies yet to breach them. “Lock it all down!” he added, pointing to another Klingon who without hesitation began inputting commands into the control systems. If he could delay their rescue effort long enough, he knew they could stand a better than even chance at repelling it outright, and maybe even capture some additional prisoners to present to the General. It was the activation of anti-ship defenses which would prevent any immediate exfiltration, at least as long as those were operational, and Jurael knew it would likely only be a matter of time until they were disabled if these intruders had any sense or capability, which he rightfully assumed they did. After all, amateurs wouldn’t dare such a dangerous gambit like storming a fortified position on the Klingon home world. “Pull back any scouting teams outside of the perimeter wall and order them to take up positioned near the base of the central tower! We cannot allow these Federation scum to disable our defenses!”

“What of our forces guarding the prisoner in the sub-level?” raised the concern of a Klingon seated at another console.

“They’re on their own; we must ensure that escape is impossible for the whole of these intruders!”

“But, Doctor Por’ghek has said--”

“Doctor Por’ghek is not in charge of defenses! I am! We cannot afford to send anyone else to the sub-level!” snapped Jurael. Were he not so undermanned, he would have slit the throat of the imbecile who dared challenge his orders, but as it was, he needed every last one of these fools at his disposal. All the same, he knew that the Doctor would indeed still raise the ire of the Commandant unto him, especially if the prisoner did escape from their facility.

His reputation as a warrior, and combat leader were at stake.

[ Base of the Central Tower | Compound Interior ]

As the Lieutenants breached the interior of the compound, descending down into the sub-level with Crewman Lewis and Petty Officer Hebert to back them up, Byrne, Prince, and Tucker moves to set up a defensive position to prevent anyone else from following after. It was likely that Pierce and Amarik had plenty of Klingons awaiting them in the depths of the facility as it was. “Tucker, you’ve got the left. Prince, watch the right.” He pointed out to both respective alleys of suppressing fire that could be provided, and without hesitance both members of the strike team moved to get into position, each knelt behind some crates which would afford them some measure of cover. Aside from the alarm klaxons which were blaring, it appeared that the inner most part of the compound was under control, and the spy had half a mind to go out and help the team fighting outside of the perimeter wall. Before he could however, Lorad raised the comms, and ordered someone to take up his place as overwatch. “This is Byrne. I’m on it!” he responded quickly, giving a nod to both Tucker and Prince before darting across the open area that stretched from the base of the tower to the interior of the perimeter wall.

Outside, he could still hear weapons discharge as the other team fended off the enemy. Time was of the utmost importance, and if he didn’t scale himself up to the parapets fast, they might suffer casualties, which they honestly could ill afford. Thankfully, the thrusters installed in these exosuits made such an effort little more than a hop, skip, and a jump.

Once atop the walkway that lined the length of the old fortress wall, Byrne approached the edge that peered out into the wilderness beyond and raised his rifle in advance of taking a shot. He could see at the base, just ten or so meters to his left, that Hildebrandt, Jones, and Samuelson were pinned down by brilliant green bolts of disruptor fire surging at them. An occasional ruby pulse volleyed back at the Klingon assailants in order to keep them honest, but if he didn’t intercede sooner rather than later, the Klingons would bear down upon and inflict real damage. “I’ve got them.” Byrne spoke calmly into the comms, resting the fore end of his rifle against the edge of the wall as he lined up the second of the two Klingons that had discovered the team in the first place. Exhaling softly, he depressed the trigger and a high-pitched whine later, the phaser blast crossed the distance between himself and target in an instant, dropping him. “You're clear! Get over the wall, and inside! Move!” he ordered, scanning left and then right for other targets, catching the movement of branches some fifty or so meters further out. “I’m pretty sure we’ve got other Klingon patrols coming in on return!” An instant later, he saw forehead ridges which confirmed his suspicions, and he began cycling the trigger on his phaser rifle to lay down a base of fire.

“Go! Move it!”

[ Base of Perimeter Wall | Compound Exterior ]

Their guardian angel.

Someone had come to their rescue and alleviated the near constant spray of Klingon disruptor fire that was pinning them down, though whatever reprieve there was to be had, it was to be short-lived. Byrne had called out additional incoming Klingons that were returning from apparent patrols, which meant that the little window of time they had to scale the wall and get inside the compound was severely limited.

Standing from where he had gone prone a few minutes earlier, Samuelson leveled his rifle in the direction that their overwatch was firing on, and he too began to apply the pressure, shooting with alacrity. “Peter! Letty, go! I’ll cover!” Behind he heard the sounds of movement as both his comrades began using atmospheric thrusters to launch themselves up, scaling over the wall with relative ease. A moment later, as two additional bursts of reddish-orange phaser blasts began firing off into the distance, he recognized his own opportunity to make a similar traversal up and over. Stowing his weapon, he sprinted toward the wall, then at the last second fired his lower-mounted jets and flung himself up, landing with a bit of a stagger on the parapet above right after. “Letty, head down and join Prince and Tucker at the tower. I’ll stay here with the Lieutenant and Hildebrandt! Go!” Not giving it another thought, Samuelson dropped to a knee a few meters to the left of where Byrne had set up, his weapon re-trained and firing off into the distance as a few straggling Klingons attempted to return volley only to be cut down in a rather unceremonious display of defensive superiority.

[ Makeshift Observation Room | Sub-Level 03 ]

Chaos had erupted all-about him. How unfortunate, thought Doctor Pohr’ghek as he stepped away from the screen that had been giving him a direct feed into the spy’s cell. And, just when the effects of the drug were starting to elicit the desired effect. “Compile all data we’ve expunged from the subject and send the encoded burst transmission at once. Before they disrupt our outside communications.” The Doctor paced behind a pair of Klingons whose fingers danced across a console at lightning pace, creating the secure file which contained all relevant information they’d gotten up to this point. An instant later, confirmation came via an alert on screen; the data packet had made it out. Gorka, and his allies would receive it; and so long as they knew the decryption algorithms or had an AI which could crack them, they’d know of this ‘Hurley’ and ‘Samantha Rutherford’ that the prisoner had revealed. Nodding succinctly, the Doctor then stopped near both of his attendants, standing between them. “Excellent. You’ve performed your tasks admirably. That will be all.” He said, raising a disruptor and firing into each of their backs before either could even know what had happened.

Stepping forward, he reached out to touch the console before disappearing into a shimmering gold field as he was transported away, the console erupting from a pre-programmed overload a second after.

[ Main Corridor | Sub-Level 03 ]

They’d made it so far so quickly.

The two Lieutenants, Pierce and Amarik, were a spearhead that seemingly couldn’t be stopped, and Lewis and Hebert were just trying to keep up with them as the tore through one Klingon after another. It was quite the display, and Hebert was starting to think they’d make it all the way to wherever Commander Fisher was being held without incurring so much as a delay. “Ahhh! Damn that stings!” he hollered aloud as he caught a stray disruptor bolt in his shoulder, the sting of seared flesh and bone firing all matter of synapses throughout his brain as he registered the pain at about an eleven on a scale from one-to-ten. This wasn’t the first time he’d been shot, but it certainly had hurt worse than any of the previous instances. It staggered him enough that he lost his sense of bearing too, and when it returned a second later, he saw that it had very nearly cost him his life, though Lieutenant Pierce had thankfully managed to intervene on his behalf, a shot having dropped the Klingon guard that had sought to end him. “I’m good!” He replied, a lie since he most certainly wasn’t ‘good’, but as a combat medic, he knew well enough that the hit he’d sustained wasn’t immediately life-threatening.

No, that came next when the Lieutenant moved on ahead with Lewis close in tow, the latter of which dropped like a sack of potatoes after taking the brunt of some kind of a wayward attack meant for the former.

There was a scream from Pierce, and Hebert ran forward, putting the pain in his shoulder in the back of his mind as he knew he needed to get to Lewis with some immediacy if he’d have any chance of saving his life. “Jackson! Hang on!” he shouted as he dropped to a knee beside his comrade, all but throwing a field medic’s kit down on the ground next to where he’d knelt. There was a gash, long and deep running from his left pectoral down across to his lower right abdomen, and a deluge of blood was quickly escaping the wound. Quickly, he scanned the downed team member and could see that the blade had cut clean through muscle but hadn’t pierced sternum and ribcage. Internal organs were spared, but had absorbed the force of the blow, and as a result his heart was beating irregularly within his chest cavity. “Alright. I got this.” He said more so to himself, entirely ignorant of the scuffle unfolding behind him between Lieutenant Pierce and the very last of the Klingons still standing upright on this level of the compound. Reaching into his kit, he grabbed a small device which and from it he withdrew two smaller components that he attached to different areas of Lewis’ torso. Punching at the controls of the device, there was a sudden pulse that caused the injured team member’s body to jump slightly, and an alert chirped to inform Hebert that the first attempt at correcting an irregular heartbeat hadn’t succeeded.

“Oh not you don’t!” He hollered at Lewis, actuating a second pulse, and this time the alert tone from the device sounded different. Hastily, Hebert returned the emergency defib unit to the kit and grabbed a canister of bio-foam and began spraying it into the long wound, the white expanding foam mixing with the red of blood to make a pinkish hue that ran the length across his chest.

Reaching to activate his comms and call for help moving Lewis back to the surface, Hebert stopped when a nearby wall-mounted console exploded.

[ Makeshift Holding Cell | Sub-Level 03 ]

The lights inside of Fisher’s cell flickered, and a set of observation sensors perched discretely in the corner burst into sparks as some sort of a power overload sent a massive surge throughout the systems in the sub-levels of the compound. Ducking instinctively in reaction to the ruptured devices as they spat bits of plasma at him, Fisher narrowed his eyelids in an effort to try and make clear sense of what was happening.

Someone was coming for him. A rescue?

But what had happened to the old standard of ‘No one will clam you!’ that he’d come to know, understand, and even accept? That had been the generally known operating mantra of Starfleet Intelligence, at least it had been during all of the infiltration operations he’d run and been involved with in the past. Spies were sent out into the field, often times on missions that were near impossible to achieve, and if they disappeared, it was declared an acceptable loss and they were all but forgotten. The only hint as to their fate being the addition of a brand-new Starfleet Delta carved into the marble wall in the lobby of Starfleet Intelligence’s office back on Earth. Blinking as he settled down into the chair at the middle of his cell, the beaten and battered spy had a thought come to him that ached far worse than any physical ailment of his; that this wasn’t real at all. Just another machination of his ever-devious mind, meant to give him just a hint of hope in advance of plucking it way at the last second in some kind of sick game of cat and mouse. The klaxons hadn’t cleared his thoughts, as he had so hoped, it had only triggered the next phase of whatever haunting tricks his own mind would play on him.

“No. No one’s coming for me.” He said to himself aloud, his voice barely audible over the sound of the still blaring klaxons. “They don’t do that. They don’t rescue us once we’re caught. They don’t track us down and find out what happened to us. They write us off. That’s what they do!” he said a little more loudly, clearly his subconscious starting to get a rise out of his conscious self.

“Oh, they don’t? Then what the fuck was I doing on Betazed?” answered a voice Fisher hadn’t heard in almost seven-years.

(https://media4.giphy.com/media/k5GcvceiRC2H0q407W/giphy.gif?cid=790b7611aacae7361b323f1c72c38ab3e9ee167860b81a30&rid=giphy.gif&ct=g)

Fisher’s heart stopped in his chest when he saw the impatient face staring at him, full of the same piss and vinegar that had been there all those years ago on the then Dominion occupied world of Betazed. Suddenly, anything he had been sure of, was gone, replaced with a new questions and doubts, some which he’d not even considered until this moment, though they were now omnipresent in his mind.

“Yeah, that’s right. Amazing how a little bit of an electrical overload finally got you to remember me.” Swaying from side to side on the balls of his feet, Brody stood like a raptor ready to pounce its prey as he glared into Fisher’s face. “Certainly didn’t remember me when you were fucking my wife.” The accusation stung true to the very heart, but this visage of someone from the spy’s past didn’t seem ready to relent. The realest hallucination yet, and seemingly uncaring of trying to pretend he was anything else. “Oh but you knew then, just like you know now. You just pretended you didn’t. Hid that from her. Tried to hide it from yourself, but you couldn’t. Not forever, anyway. I’m here now though. Not going anywhere either.” Peering back behind him at some commotion going on outside of the cell, Brody stepped closer to Fisher, kneeling down so that he might look right in on those sage green-eyes once more. “Now you’ve put her in danger, the same way you put me in danger. The same way you almost got me killed. Because you just don’t know when to quit. When to cut loose. Your arrogance, and ignorance of the consequences got you caught, and now she’s out there, trying to save your ass the way I did!”

“Mason...” Fisher tried to speak. “...Brody, I...” He stammered, the guilt he’d been trying to avoid getting to him now.

“...you what?” pressed the hallucination. “Say it!” He shouted.

“I’m sorr--” the door burst open, Brody disappeared and was replaced by a Klingon holding a familiar crimson-haired woman by the throat. They backed into his cell now, and Fisher could vaguely recall hearing her address him a moment earlier, though he’d ignored it. Someone was coming for him. A rescue? But what had happened... “Agggh! NO!” Fisher hollered, lunging up from the chair he’d been seated in as the Klingon presented arrogantly his back to him for the faintest of moments. Instincts and conditioning kicked in subconsciously, the training of Starfleet Intelligence winning over all other considerations in the moment, even though Fisher wasn’t certain what he was witnessing was real or not. It didn’t matter though. There was still an overriding awareness that a Klingon holding some woman hostage was a target worth attacking, regardless of the context, especially if there was a clear enough opportunity, and there had been. Seizing upon the Klingon, Fisher’s arms were indeed unbound, dispelling the confusion he’d had over it just minutes earlier. Immediately, one hand grabbed at the bladed weapon pressed to the throat of the redhead, cutting into the flesh of his fingers and palm and drawing crimson. The other though, dug deep into the Klingon’s throat and tore free a chunk of skin and flesh.

Letting out a guttural gasp through the hole so suddenly wrenched out of his neck, the Klingon released his grip on the knife and dropped to the floor of Fisher’s cell, hands going to try and stave off an imminent death.

Panting heavily, Fisher held unto the blade of the knife with his hand, it dripping his own blood down onto the floor as he allowed the piece of Klingon flesh to fall with a slight splatter beside the writhing warrior. Taking just a scant moment to get his bearings, the bruised Intelligence Chief peered about the immediate confines of his cell, looking for someone that had been there just a second earlier, though they were gone.

“Lieutenant?” He asked with some obvious confusion evident in his voice.

[ Central Intelligence Suite (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/images/b/b4/34_-_CENTRAL_INTELLIGENCE_AREA.png) | Deck 05 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ]

Kaylee nodded in appreciation of the kind sentiment the Lieutenant had extended her, a smile broaching the features of her face as she spun round to head back to her station and resume interception and dissection of any incoming intel they could. It was all hands-on deck for the Intelligence Department and situated all around her was every last Analyst and Encryption Specialist still on board Theurgy. They knew that the fate of Commander Fisher was at stake, as well as the rest of the team that were down there trying to rescue him. They weren’t necessarily a tight-knit group yet, but she and the rest of them had taken on the challenge of turning the tide against overwhelming odds, and thus far it seemed to be working. Hands flying across her console, Kaylee perused through the dozens of data packets as they were coming in, hoping to find something, anything else which might further help the effort. What was frustrating, and what made the task difficult, especially for Lieutenant Dantius, was knowing which pieces of information were of value, and which ones weren’t.

“There! Those!” Kaylee pointed to her screen. “Chris, bring that up!” she ordered one of her fellows.

“Lieutenant, we might have something else here.” She peered back over her shoulder to the green-skinned Chief Analyst.

On the screen, highlighted for easier focus and interpretation, was an impartial decryption of some sort of a burst transmission that Thea’s automatic subroutines had already deciphered, an incomplete communication originating from the compound, and response sent from several other nearby outposts. There were also scant sensor readings indicating powering up subsystems, though the info didn't seem to be specific enough to easily interpret. “I can’t make any sense of it.” Kaylee explained, pointing to the three of them in turn, looking back to Anh-Le once more. The fragments were almost gibberish, with a letter here or there, or a complete word interspersed even more randomly, though it was clear they had all pertained to Fisher, the Klingon Compound, and perhaps even the state of the rescue mission as it was unfolding live. What was being relayed to and from one outpost to the other? What kind of information had been hidden away in the intercepted burst transmission that had been sent from the base, and who had sent it? More importantly though, was there anything within what the team still on Theurgy were seeing which could directly benefit the operation?

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: stardust on October 25, 2021, 10:48:13 AM

Through years of rigorous exercise in her profession, Samantha had learned that it always got worse, before it would get better. That a plan was always only as good as the variables in it. And when it came to tactical diplomacy, then she had come to be pretty good at reducing this unpredictability to a manageable minimum. But that was the thing, really, the greatest difference in this situation, over what she was trained for: The element of planning that went into it. A negotiation was a long-planned occasion, where the strategy you had devised pretty much dictated your role and success. This rescue, and that was no judgment, had been cooked up pretty much on a moment’s notice. Where contingencies were reduced to assumptions of luck and fate, which weren’t really the kind of sentiments the plucky blonde usually considered backups, and it made her uncomfortable. A wildly human notion, only kept in check by her partly Vulcan nature, as dainty features still started to show the minute telltale signs of her human nature, for once, as fine lines deepened barely noticeably around her eyes and forehead. It may not have been a change akin to running around the cockpit like a headless chicken, but those who knew her, would understand it as a signal to worry.

Barely noticing Samala’s status update, as it got jumbled in the details relayed by Lt. Pierce, for the most part, the diplomat found herself growing weary of the oppressive restraint her Vulcan teachings imposed upon the human side of herself. How with incessant arrogance, like some self-regarding teacher, it was talking down to its seemingly infantile student. Treating them like a pet, almost. And in this moment, she’d had it, and everyone around her was going to have it too. “STOP! For a second … just stop!” she burst out, her voice sounding like a fourth person had entered the room in a passionate frenzy. Hands thrown up into the air, palms shielding the sides of her head in frustration, as blue eyes quivered beneath a forehead carved with decades of restrained heritage. Her grandfather would’ve pitied her, right in that moment, giving into her human side in the worst way possible. Letting go of years and years of braving through all the hardship on her logic and her confidence alone. But she wasn’t entirely Vulcan. Her breaking was both not as unnatural, as if she had been, neither was it as surprising or shocking. Which sounded like an excuse by her human nature, but in reality, it was the logic of her Vulcan quarter.

What that moment of ‘weakness’ meant, however, was that the gravity of the mission was flooding into her chest cavity with the weight of a thousand moons, dragging the pit of her stomach down into the abyss with that dreaded feeling of weightlessness, that poetic lyrics prescribed to butterflies, when in this moment it felt more like something akin to ferocious bats. The suffocating fear of losing the one person that had given her life the faintest semblance of meaning, beyond her duty, recently. That few scarce moments in between, that now resembled diamonds spread across plains of volcanic ash, like glimmering breadcrumbs. Feelings that her logic and restraint had kept at bay for danger of feeling mawkish or sentimental. Or betraying eternal trust vowed for in deep devotion, more than a decade prior. So long ago she couldn’t exactly count the years, but the feeling of guilt still rung like a distant bell all too familiarly, in the dark memories of her mind, through all this time. But this was the first time that fear overruled the guilt, heralding in a revelation, of sorts, that there was something between her and Andrew that had managed to furtively conquer her better judgment, and even will. Sneaking past her Vulcan restraint and guardedness, to plant a now sprouting seed into the wasteland her logical nature called control.

Burying her pate into the soft palms of her slender hands, lowering into the gentle embrace forward, icy hues concealed behind lash lined shutters, holding back the rising tide of desperation, Samantha struggled to keep her head above the surface of despair, if only just for a moment. Which may not have been becoming of her as a strong woman, or a superior officer, or a 1/4th Vulcan … but it was probably the single most important incentive she needed to bring this mission to a favorable conclusion. It was the one thing she had been lacking, to conquer the turmoil of chance and happenstance, rather than planning and preparation: a little less logic. “Fisher” Plump lips whispered almost inaudibly, enchanted by the voice on the comms. Azure orbs flickering up from beneath dainty fingers, glimmering with the rapidly dispersing moisture of anguish, pale palms soon found their way slammed against the lower portion of her console, which the computer did not register as a constructive input. Answering with an awkward chime instead, that fell to the wayside entirely, in the light of grander revelations.

The entire dialogue of the past minute suddenly flushed the blonde’s mind, sorting and aligning like a jigsaw puzzle, as her attention finally diverted back to the pilot – and to an extend the other crewman – who looked at her with a confusing sense of bewilderment. “Shut down the atmospheric engines and drop us to one thousand feet.” she ordered the pilot, figuring that such an unpowered decent would at least not give the two Klingon ships too much to go on, rather than a downward turbulence that could’ve simply been a meteorological phenomenon. It hadn’t occurred to her then, that Pierce’s statement wasn’t proof that they had found Andrew, but it was enough for her human side to go on. And that bitch was currently in charge. “Ready weapons systems for support. Sending you the locator signals of the away team members to avoid friendly fire.” she concluded swiftly, pushing the necessary information forward to the other two. Next in the cue of information in her mind, sorted neatly by descending priority at this point, was the blinking data link Alana had established too.

“Lt. Dantius, check the Klingon network for blueprints of the lower levels, I expect two potential evacuation routes to the surface within the next five minutes. And download as much data as you can, without compromising the stability of the connection. This might be our only chance.” Forwarding the uplink as she spoke, the diplomat’s fingers ran over the glass panel with newfound determination and vigor, drawing strength from her burning emotions, ignoring her pouting Vulcan physiology on the sidelines for now. Zooming into the sublevel and Lieutenant Pierce’s location once more, she found that her intermittent signal - with Amarik nearby - obscured periodically by the superstructure, was moving into a room which only had one door. A holding cell, if she had ever seen one. She didn’t even consider that the move had been involuntarily, but in truth, it also didn’t matter. “Lieutenant Pierce, can you confirm contact?!” Sam tried against the static. Meanwhile, Lorad was going for the control room, which would stir the pot enough so that Klingon movements would become uncoordinated – not that they generally were very … well. It was going to aid their extraction none the less.

“Byrne, Lorad is going for the control tower, assist him if you can and keep your team close together. We’re coming in for air support, but I’d prefer not to have to shoot circles around the whole lot of you.” she instructed swiftly to the next officer in queue, before moving on to the last order of the current business. “Lorad, you’ll get support to take the control room, try to disable as many systems as you can.” she instructed, without feeling to add the futile assurance of being allowed to ‘go wild’. Which seemed to be in his nature regardless of circumstance. Finally turning back to Samala, there was even the faintest hint of a smile playing on the blonde’s features now. Which stood in stark contrast to the glimmering trail of moisture, running down from the inner almond-tip of one of her pale blue eyes. There was now a thoroughly provident air to her confidence. One that maybe transpired a little more than usual, as it fell like ambers on the dried-out underbrush of everyone’s else’s deprivation of hope. It wasn’t as calm and collected as her usually demeanor, but that made it that much more contagious to anyone who was able to feel emotions.

“Drop the cloak on my command …”

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: GroundPetrel on October 29, 2021, 02:01:52 AM

[b]Lt. JG Dantius Thi Anh-Le | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 |USS Theurgy[/b]   attn: @stardust @BipSpoon @Swift @Pierce @Stegro88

Anh-Le bit back a curse as she looked over the Ensign's data stream and discarded it as impractical to translate in the moment. "Track everything about those comms. Especially the destinations." She could crank through that data later.

That gave her an idea, though. It would be one-way encryption, if the Klingons had any sense, so there was really no point in trying to use the local systems' encryption algorithms to decrypt the data...

But she could encrypt data of her own.

The Klingons didn't seem to know that she was in the system yet. Anh-Le had a hunch--this wasn't a black site in enemy territory, even Starfleet Intelligence sometimes used an on-board encryption protocol for internal messaging services.

There. A simple mailing system. Probably had bot accounts for the emergency response. Anh-Le couldn't whip up a bot of her own on the fly, but she could quickly upload and re-task a spam virus that she'd used before to DDOS suspected foreign secured messaging services with nonsense mailings. It went down to the Klingon computers fast, and Anh-Le set it to spam a loop of slightly modified versions of the outgoing Klingon messages in thirty seconds flat.

She was halfway through writing a 'systems compromised' message in the clear, wanting to help with the scuffle she could half-hear over the comms but knowing all she could do was distract, when Commander Rutherford's call came through.

"On it, sir." She pulled up a map of the Klingon facility, sent the message without a signature, and navigated through the file folders as someone engaged a manual shutdown on the turbolift the strike team had entered through. "They know you're there. They're shutting down the lifts. Go out the back, rear section has turbolifts and a stairwell. Try not to get caught on the stairs." Hopefully the files she was trying to remotely download weren't some Klingon's porn cache. And even more hopefully the Klingons wouldn't be able to straight-up pull the plug. "Expect reinforcements." They'd be stupid to not have backup at the outposts the emergency signal went to. "Give it..." How good were the ships they'd have? "Twenty minutes if we're lucky, but plan for ten."

It hadn't gone completely to hell yet. And besides. No plan ever survived contact with the enemy.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: BipSpoon on October 29, 2021, 02:40:11 AM

[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Klingon Compound | Qo’Nos ] Attn: @Swift @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce @Stegro88
[Show/Hide]

As Valyn ran, the severed hand swung with her own movement. She kept close to Pierce, the two of them carving through the compound as quickly as they possibly could. Each echo of her footfalls was met with another blaring drone from the klaxons, but Valyn hardly even noticed them. Everything besides her objective had fallen to the wayside. Her focus was entirely on the mission at hand, and nothing else.

She ducked as a disruptor bolt flew past her head and slammed into a nearby console, exploding in a shower of sparks and dissipating plasma. Her eyes locked with the Klingon as they ran down the hall and she increased her speed, watching as her comrades dispatched his allies. She threw her blade forward, knocking his weapon to the ground. Before he could reach it though, she was upon him. She gripped the strap at her hip connected to the hand, and swung it. Propelled by the weight of the hand, the strap flew around his neck. She leapt up, running across the bottom portion of the wall before she landed on his shoulder, grabbed the strap and pulled with the full weight of her body.

He struggled, with everything he had, slamming her backwards into a console before she twisted her leg to the side, wrapping the hook of her knee around his throat as well. She threw herself to the left, and his feet came out from beneath him. As they hit the ground, she heard a loud ‘crack’ from the Klingon, and after a single gasp, he stilled. Quickly, she retrieved her knife and rifle, and fell back into the group.

Giving Pierce a nod, she ducked to the side, towards the security console. It was in a small alcove, giving her some cover, but her squadmates had to pick up the slack, lest she wind up with a disruptor shot of her own. She ignored the incessant static in her ear as she quickly removed a small spanner from her hip. She started to work through the bolts that sealed the panel to the wall, but after a moment, and another shot flying past her, she grabbed her rifle, turned the setting down, and cut through the panel as if her weapon was a laser scalpel. She reset the rifle, and let it hang back at her side. Inside the console, was a nightmare of circuitry. Despite how tight the facility was locked down, the panel itself had been rigged in the most confusing fashion she could have imagined.

“Oh shit.” She said as she stuck a hand in, pushing one wire aside as she pulled her tricorder out with her other hand. Each wire was tied into another system, causing a multitude of redundancies and backups. “We have a little problem!” She shouted, “Try and get me a minute.” She ducked down further, to get a closer look inside but it wasn’t much use. The lighting was bad to begin with, but the flashing alarm system didn’t help much. Whoever had tied the system together had either done it for the sake of security, or because they needed a novel solution to a power supply issue. Then it clicked.

“Power.” She muttered to herself, before she picked up her rifle and looked around the hall. The nearest power junction was a few meters away. “Make some room!” She shouted to the others, aiming her rifle first at the power junction. “About to get dark.” She tapped her suit, a small light activating before she pulled the trigger. As the bolt made contact with the junction, it exploded with a shower of flame and spark. An instant later, the lights went out. The Klaxon quieted, and only emergency power remained, the flashing red illuminating the corridor every few seconds. “Lift is tied into the upper level junctions and emergency backup.” She made sure to clarify before any panic set in. She moved back to the now dark panel that housed the door controls, and started to manually crank the door open.

She too heard the man beyond the last door. She started to move, but an instant later heard a shout from Pierce. Her head turned to the side, trying to locate her through the dark. Seconds later though, she saw the signal on her wrist pop up. “Got you.” She ran at top speed towards the chamber that had been opened. She heard bangs, shouts, and the telltale noise of struggling bodies. As she pierced the veil of the doorway into the room, which too was lit a bit better than the corridors she brought her rifle up, aiming it straight at the struggling trio.

Before she had a clear shot though, the Klingon was dead.

“Pierce! Are you alright?” She moved forward, rifle aimed straight at the Klingon, despite the fact he was unmoving on the ground. She poked the body with the tip of her boot and looked at Fisher, impressed. Despite his obvious condition, he’d managed to kill a Klingon with his bare hands. “And what about you?” She looked at Fisher, trying to get a good look at his eyes. She didn’t bother with niceties or protocol. She was asking for the sole purpose of trying to figure out how they were supposed to get out, logistically. If someone couldn’t walk, that’d create a complication. One she wanted to at least attempt to adapt to. She gave both Pierce and Fisher a cursory look over, scanning for any obvious and serious injuries that needed immediate addressing. She handed fisher a bandage from her hip for his hand, but didn’t waste time trying to do it herself. “Wrap your hand.” She didn’t know how much blood he’d already lost, every drop was critical in that case.

The voice in her ear made her stomach drop a bit though. “No lifts. Great.” She let out a sigh that almost sounded like a hiss at the end and swiveled on her foot. “We have to move. If they’re shutting down the lifts who the fuck knows what they’re planning. They might try and gas us out. Or….more than likely they’re trying to funnel us out the back and are waiting for us. Either way there’s only one way out.” She waited for both of them to start moving some before she started off herself, activating the light at the end of her rifle. If something not friendly appeared on the business end of it, she didn’t plan to ask questions first. So much for backup power.

As she moved down the hall, she wasn’t disappointed with the Klingon response. Another group of them had started to form in their path, holding the line behind some crates and a hover-sled.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Pierce on November 03, 2021, 05:14:52 PM

[ Lt. Alana Pierce (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alana_Pierce) | Klingon Compound | Qo'Nos] | ATTN: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust | [Show/Hide]

The comm chatter on the wrist-mounted part of Pierce's suit was getting more erratic as were the sensors of troop movements. The Klingon that had grasped her had seemed to drop almost as quickly as he had taken up arms against her. At a surprisingly quick speed, Fisher was standing next to her, clearly still confused about his scenario but with enough combat training to realize the need to act. He seemed to almost see her and then not again as he appeared catatonic again, despite the blood dripping from his blade and hand.

Within a moment, Lt. Amarik was also nearby Pierce and inquired on her status. "To be honest, I thought I was going to have to get a little creative but Fisher snapped out of whatever hallucinogenic they have him on briefly enough for him to act." She smirked as she too kicked the corpse on the ground. "He does good work. Coherent or not."

She leaned over and picked up her rifle as well as the dagger from the downed Klingon. She heard Amarik's note on the lifts being down and the oncoming onslaught.

Pierce tapped her signal booster in the confines of the facility. Although it'd only have a short burst, this one-shot was hopefully all they needed to get rescued sooner than later. "This is Pierce. We have Fisher. Lt. Amarik is with us. Need immediate extraction."

The room was darkened now aside from the klaxons overhead blaring, and glowing red. Several Klingons ran up to their coordinates. Pierce handed Fisher a Klingon disruptor in hopes he was coherent enough to fire some well-deserved shots off at non-Starfleeters. Pierce saw the power sled ahead which gave her an idea. "Cover me and then run like hell to the sled. We're gonna make that our way out of here."

Diving behind a bulkhead, she fired off some shots as she climbed behind the Klingons firing on her friends. Quickly she incapacitated them with a quick shot to the cranial ridges. Motioning back towards her comrades to catch up, she began tinkering with the anti-grav sled. Disabling the safeties, the two others caught up just in time for her to ignite the lift's propulsion system.

Much like the sleds in the winter on Earth, this sled was flying as quickly through the facility. Klingon soldiers fired and missed as the sled careened towards them, running them over in the process. The motion of the sled bouncing could be felt beneath as Alana laughed at the illogical predicament they now found themselves in. Klingon's ran to dodge the sled's high-speed motion as it took near breakneck speeds through the caverns. Alana attempted to steer the best she could through the halls as it went up a few flights, entirely bypassing the lift system.

"Hold on!" she yelled as things grew louder. No doubt getting closer to the surface now. Her comms were now active again which told her everything she needed to know.

Moments later from the surface, Klingons could be heard shouting and yelling about near the tunnel system as barrelling out of the confines like a rocket was an anti-grav sled with three Starfleet officers atop as it ran over more Klingon soldiers. "Prepare to jump!" Alana yelled as she and the others dove off the unit before it collided with a group of Klingon attack dogs.

Pierce reached her wrist. "This is Lt. Pierce. We're out. Ready whenever you are!" She held her ground beside the others as they moved towards the cover of the trees.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Stegro88 on November 06, 2021, 03:06:41 PM

[ Crewman Samala (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Samala) | The Apache | Hawk-class Runabout | Upper Atmosphere | Qo’noS ] 
[Show/Hide]

 
Samala knew that she should have clarified the orders that Commander Rutherford had issued. She also now suspected that this mission was now also a personal one for the officer. The shouted outburst only lent further proof to her belief. And then there was her base nature that whispered in her ear, telling her not to concern herself with either and instead do what she was born to do. What she had been trained to do. What she wanted to do.

“Understood ma’am,” Samala responded, cutting power to the Apache’s engines. It wasn’t a bad idea, and it did increase their stealth levels even further. The issue was the trajectory of their descent. If she let them just fall, the hull would heat up and potentially give away their position. Samala didn’t believe a Klingon could be that stupid as to think that they were a simple meteor over one of their compounds. The better solution was to use a gliding trajectory to descend, limiting the heating of their hull and keeping them invisible. The added benefit was allowing her to decide exactly where that she levelled off, after she checked to find out what Commander Rutherford meant by ‘1000 feet’.

As they descended, the announcement came through from the Theurgy that reinforcements would be on the way. A momentary panic set in as the hybrid wondered if she had made the wrong decision but was mollified when she remembered that her targets had been detected before the call had come through; ergo, these were not the reinforcements but some sort of patrol. Either way, they were a threat and Samala was going to eliminate them.

“Level at 300 metres,” Samala informed the officer behind her before adding. “On an intercept course with enemy ships. Intercept in 38 seconds.” The expected rebuke never came, instead a simple order to 'fire at will’. That, she was prepared to do. Bringing up the controls for the Apache’s Disuptor Cannons, she selected the beam setting before arming the ship’s complement of micro torpedoes. “12 seconds to target,” Samala announced as she looked ahead and locked onto the lead Klingon craft. “Tashanna, drop the cloak...now.”
(https://uss-theurgy.com/w/images/thumb/e/e0/Apache_Attack_Run.png/800px-Apache_Attack_Run.png)
The Apache’s systems came alive as the Reman cloak disengaged. With them no longer hidden from sensors, Samala increased power to the engines, adjusted her course slightly and then caressed the fire controls. A pair of powerful beams erupted from the gunship and split the air ahead of her before impacting against the side of shuttle the Klingons were using. The craft visibly wobbled in the air before finally manoeuvring out of the line of fire for the cannons. But Samala wasn’t done as she triggered a full volley of 6 torpedoes at the shuttle and then lined up on her second target. Both ships were now trying to actively avoid her, and probably calling for aid, but none would come for them. Samala’s eyes gleamed as she fired on the second shuttle with her cannons even as the night sky lit up with an explosion as the 6 torpedoes broke through what was left the shields of her first target and detonated, sending fiery remains crashing to the surface.

“Coming around,” Samala announced. She had overshot her target, only grazing them with her cannons as they had turned into her, cutting down the time they were exposed to just seconds. Now, she had to chase them. It wasn’t a short chase though. The Apache was the faster of the two ships and less than a minute later, Samala was firing again, her disruptor cannons scything through first the shields and then the hull of the Klingon craft, nearly cutting it in two before gravity seized it and dragged it to the ground below to create a second funeral pyre that night.

“New contacts, 8 ships approaching from the north. They’ll be at the base 11 minutes,” Tashanna announced from behind Samala. “Two of them just faded out,” she updated.

“Not good,” Samala mused. Ships fading out on sensors when others didn’t was a telling sign of a cloak being engaged. Six versus one were terrible odds to begin with but with two additional cloakers, Samala was less than confident.

“Setting course for the base,” Samala announced as she turned the Apache around and pushed the engines to full thrust. “We’ll be there in 4 minutes. Tashanna, transfer power from the cannons to the disruptor arrays and shields. Ma’am,” Samala said, getting the officer’s attention. “You might want to man the tactical console. It’s easier to fire the arrays from there."

[PO3 Lorad (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Lorad) | Klingon Compound | Qo’noS ] 
[Show/Hide]

Time was short, Lorad knew. Now that the alarm had been sounded, not only would the bases’ garrison be alerted but reinforcements would be deployed from other nearby locations. They needed to leave quickly. He counted on his sister to make sure that that happened but understood that the base was also likely to contain some form of defence against aerial assault, be it shields or weapons. Either way, the controls for those would be in the command centre. So that was where he was going.

“Understood,” Lorad acknowledged, formulating a plan of assault as he approached the tower. He could attempt to breach the room from the catwalk but that exposed him to fire from the grounds. Alternatively, he could enter from the parapet and have to ascend two levels. The second option protected him from external fire but restricted his movements. Of the two though, the internal assault was the safer option given the deployment of the garrison. It would be close quarters combat, something that the Reman was extensively trained for.

First though, Lorad had to get through the door. He tried a solid kick but found the door unforgiving of his efforts; it was sealed. That he solved with a 10-round burst from his Accipiter into the locking mechanism and then a dry shot into the door itself, flinging the entrance open. Slinging his rifle across his back, Lorad drew his pulse phase pistol and kukri before stepping through the door.

Inside, he found the room dusty and darkened, with sparks crackling from a wall mounted light fitting. Evidently, he had destroyed it when he had destroyed the door lock. He had barely begun to clear the room when a guttural scream from his right broke the air. Turning, Lorad barely had time to raise his arm to block an overhead swing from a bat’leth. Taking the hit on his right forearm, he brought his kukri up in his left and with a single powerful chop, disembowelled the attacking Klingon male. Shrugging off the powerful blow, Lorad shook his arm to dislodge the large weapon from where it was embedded in his armour, before starting up the stairs, phaser at the ready.

Advancing to the next level, Lorad found three Klingon warriors gathering weapons from a rack, evidently confident in their companion’s success in preventing intrusion form below. Lorad swiftly disabused them of that notion. Unlike his sister, Lorad, while capable of using a sidearm in his left hand, had never found it comfortable and his aim was severely lacking. But, also unlike his sister, he more than made up for that deficiency by being highly accurate with his right. If he shot at something, he hit it. And he demonstrated this now by putting a phaser pulse into the face of the Klingon closest to him. The warrior’s head snapped back, his face destroyed, and his body collapsed to the ground. Lorad tried a second shot, but his target dove aside and there was no time for a third as the Reman was slammed back into the wall by the third Klingon, his phaser clattering to the floor as it was dislodged.

The two of them struggled, each trying to gain the upper hand. Lorad was the stronger but the Klingon had him out of position and was able to keep him pinned through a combination of leverage and adrenaline. If he had time, Lorad knew that he could overpower the warrior but movement from the side drew his attention as the second Klingon rose up and drew his d’k tahg, his intention clear. Lorad’s pulse surged as he tried to free himself but seconds ticked away as the Klingon drew ever closer. Then a phaser pulse rang out, then another, and the Klingon fell forward to the stone floor, revealing Lieutenant Bryne behind him, phaser at the ready. It was all the distraction that Lorad needed as he pushed forward, freed his arms and then slashed the Klingon across his throat. The warrior’s eyes bulged as his life drained away down his chest but he said nothing with only a gurgling sound marking his passing.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun,” Bryne observed as Lorad bent to collect his sidearm. “Reinforcements are on the way, as is your sister. We need to go.”

“We must clear control room,” Lorad proclaimed, heading for the stairs that would lead him up to the control room. “Safer.”

“I guess you’re on point then,” the Human remarked as he fell in behind the security officer. He almost immediately had to step over a Klingon body that had been slashed multiple times, shooting it himself when it twitched. “No pulse.”

The control room above was a mess when he arrived with the Reman already halfway across it, a series of bodies on the stone behind him. Seeing that panic was already setting in as the Reman entered the melee, Bryne brought his rifle up and joined the fray with short, controlled bursts taking down distracted Klingon warriors who had yet to take notice of his arrival.

Time was in short supply. There was no choice except to take the control room and prevent any kind of emplaced weapons from targeting the Apache. That meant rushing the room and surprising warriors that were no doubt prepared for his arrival. A hard task by all calculations. But he had faced harder. A Romulan’s whip cut deeper than most blades, especially those within The Pit. He had suffered there once, 30 hours of agony and pain before being released. He had been on the verge of collapse, knowing that it would bring death, and with it release. But he had been sent back to the others, reprieved as a warning from a new overseer wanting to set an example about meeting quotas no matter the cost. There was no training for surviving The Pit, but for this, he was trained for this. He was a Reman Shock Trooper.

He had dived through entry way, not even attempting to come through at full height, turning and rolling as he did to eliminate any flankers before coming up to his knees behind a console. As Klingons had advanced, he had risen to his full height and engaged them in close quarters battle, using their own comrades as shields to prevent a clear line of fire even as he himself hack, slashed and shot his way around the room. He was vaguely aware of Bryne’s arrival as his phaser rifle began to fire as well but he pushed that aside as he continued forward. HIs muscles ached but his Duritanium heart worked on tirelessly, pumping Reman blood through his body and allowing him to press on. His armour was scoured by both damage and bloody from Klingons but he ignored it, so intent was he on clearing the room. Then he was sent flying sideways by something he had never seen, his head ringing from where his helmet bounced off of a console.

Shaking his head, Lorad pushed himself up, only to be confront by one of the largest Klingons he had ever seen, a warrior so massive that the Reman would have sworn that he rivalled Martok’s bodyguard Kudesh. Growling within his helmet, Lorad brought up his phaser only to find it smashed. The Klingon smirked at him and drew a D’k tahg with his right hand and Lorad mirrored him, discarding his destroyed sidearm and switching his kukri to his right.

“Egrix is going to kill you!” the Klingon declared in broken standard as he advanced. Lorad learnt two things very quickly. First, that the Klingon, Egrix, was not a trained fighter as he seemingly only used his bulk instead of anything else to win. And second, that his Kukri was not useful when it came to it being used as a stabbing weapon. Tha lack of a functional point preventing it from piercing the Klingon’s unprotected armour. For his glaring error, Lorad was stabbed through his side, the Klingons blade finding a small gap and drawing blood. Instead of capitalising on that wound though, Egrix had thrown him again, before stalking after him. That told Lorad everything he needed to know about the Klingon. Egrix was used to throwing his size and bulk around and getting his own way. That was all the advantage that Lorad needed.

As the Klingon advanced on him Lorad blocked the wild jab from Egrix’s d’k tahg and immediately brought his kukri down onto the wrist of the warrior, severing it. As the warrior bellowed and staggered back, staring at the stump that was the end of his arm, Lorad dropped to a knee and, with both hands grasping the handle, used his kukri to amputate one of Egrix’s legs above the knee. The Klingon's roar of pain drowning out all other sounds to Lorad before silenced that too with another quick slash of his blade to the throat.

“Having fun?” Bryne asked from where he stood, phaser rifle resting on one hip.

“No,” Lorad groaned, checking his wound to see how bad it was. “We must shut down controls.”

“Tried that already, but they have been locked out,” Bryne responded, moving around to point at a display. “Good news is that there is only one functioning cannon left that can hurt us. Bad news, is that it is mounted on the roof of the barracks, which is still teeming with Klingons using it as a strongpoint. Any ideas?”

“Just one,” Lorad said as he shut his eyes. It had been weeks since he had tried to do this. But the familiarity of it from their month-long journey through Romulan space allowed him to do it with relative ease. Lorad himself was not telepathic, but his sister was and it was she that had established the link between them. Lorad only hoped that she was close enough to hear him.

<Sister, can you hear me?> Lorad called out mentally.

<Barely brother,> Samala replied. <We will be there in seconds. What is wrong?>

<There is a cannon that will target you. We cannot destroy it before you arrive.> Lorad explained. <Evis II, you saw with my eyes. Do so again,> Lorad told his sister as he opened his eyes once more and stared at the screen.

<I see it brother. Consider it gone,> Samala responded before the sense of her faded. Needing no more reassurance, Lorad turned to Bryne. “We should leave, sir. My sister is nearly here.”

“Right...”

Her brother’s message fresh in her mind, Samala altered course slightly to the right, putting a tower between her and the cannon emplacement. Locater signals were also displayed for her and she checked to confirm that none of them were nearby to her target before pulling up the Apache into a climb and unmasking them to the cannon. She only had moments, but it was all she needed. As she came to the top of her wingover manoeuvre, right at the point where she started to face the ground again, Samala brought the Apache to a halt as the first of two Disruptor pulses impacted their shields. Smiling gleefully, she launched a pair of torpedoes straight down, immolating the Klingon barracks and the cannon with it.

“Jesus Samala!” Tashanna exclaimed. “Warn us next time. Shields are at 43%. We’d never have survived another volley.”

“That’s why I did it,” Samala remarked casually, still grinning.

"How'd you know the cannon was there?" Tashanna asked.

“Intel," Samala said evasively. "Setting down in the courtyard. Ma’am, if you would like to do the honours. Both for our friends, and those not,” leaving out the description of what she should do to any surviving Klingons.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Swift on November 18, 2021, 05:25:21 AM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Makeshift Holding Cell | Sub-Level 03 | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’noS (https://memory-beta.fandom.com/wiki/Qo%27noS) ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @BipSpoon @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce

With heavy breaths, Fisher stood silent like a monolith at the center of this cell, a stern expression in his face as he glared down at the Klingon whose throat he’d literally just torn out with bare hands. That look of utter shock as the inevitability of one’s approaching death set in, he’d seen it many times before, from enemies and friends alike, and he’d always wondered when the time would come wherein, he too would be overcome by such stark realization.

Not today.

Blinking after he’d heard his name said, the focus of his austere gaze shifted round to get a clearer picture of what exactly this had all been about, though it soon connected from one synapse to the next, and he understood. Pierce, the Lieutenant who had only just been assigned to his department a few days earlier, and a retinue of other Starfleet personnel he’d not immediately recognized had come to get him. Accepting the bandage offered from a blonde Romulan, Fisher gave a simple nod as gratitude and acknowledgement. His hand was steadily dripping deep crimson unto the floor beneath where he stood, it coalescing with the blood which had spilled forth from the gaping wound he’d left in the neck of the now lifeless Klingon, and though he managed to stymy most of it with the appropriate application of pressure, the team’s apparent medic stepped forward to check it. In his other hand, he gripped the D’k tahg knife he’d wrenched free from Pierce’s assailant moments earlier, the necessity of being armed beyond paramount even in as compromised a situation as he was now. While he was more than ready to trust in the capabilities of Pierce and the rest of her team, he didn’t want to be just a burden, but rather offer some element of tactical capability. Besides, he had a clear enough read on the matter that he felt confident in who to shoot, and who not to. Klingons bad. Everyone else, good.

“Thanks.” he said, clearing his throat gruffly afterward.

Stepping forward to replace Hebert at Fisher’s side, Lewis, nursing an injury of his own as evidenced by how he seemed to favor one side of his abdomen with a gauntleted hand, the spy accepted an offered disruptor pistol from Pierce. A good four-inches taller than Lewis, Fisher took a stride forward, and recognized the importance of someone to lean against, as though he could stand, his sense of balance wasn’t exactly up to snuff.

“I’ve got you, sir!” exclaimed Lewis, who tucked underneath of Fisher’s left arm without waiting for approval first.

A prideful man, Fisher would’ve normally scoffed at the offer of help, but knew now that any protestations would only delay the progress of the mission, one in which he was decidedly not in command of. So, swallowing his dignity, he allowed the shorter Security Officer to provide some balancing assistance. Ahead of him, he watched as Pierce and her Romulan compatriot exited his dimly lit cell back into the connecting corridor, and once the medic too had followed after, Fisher and his human crutch began making their joint way forward, each of them with one arm extended, pointing a handheld weapon of some fashion. Each labored movement however came at an expense for the battered spy, who had clearly overestimated the degree of lucidity he was experiencing. To him, the passage of time was still at best, inconsistent, with the detail of the world blurring and sharpening with intermittent frequency that would have floored another man in his condition. Only through deep deliberate breaths, and an exceedingly strenuous effort to focus could he hold back the malaise from reclaiming an abject hold of his awareness, which would’ve eliminated any benefit he might’ve presented to the team and their exfiltration of this underground.

“You alright sir?” asked Lewis, who could feel each wobbly, disjointed step that the spy took.

“I’m fine.” He quickly reassured the Crewman, affording a nod to both Lieutenants at the fore of their spearhead while they were trying to figure a way out of this sub-level now that it had been so effectively locked down. At the request for covering fire, he leveled his disruptor in the same direction that the others began to open up at, his eyes struggling to fight away a persistent haze, he doubted he’d hit anything but began to fire all the same. Soon enough, return fire surged out at them, and under the beckon of Lewis, Fisher dropped down to find cover behind an exposed stanchion until the barrage of blasts ended, and he was helped up to his feet. He hated being so reliant on another person for directionality, but the simple matter was, his head hadn’t been screwed on right. “Yeah, we’re up on it!” he hollered after Pierce as she waved them forward to try and keep up with the blitzkrieg, she was unleashing upon anyone who was dumb enough to get in her way. It was an impressive display of combat effectiveness, and it paid in dividends when she’d somehow managed to find a functioning cargo-sled of sorts, everyone loading up onto it in advance of her throwing it into full-speed.

“Whoa!” cried out Hebert, the sudden shift in momentum nearly giving him a case of whiplash as he and the others clung on for dear life.

[ Observation Gantry | Central Tower ]

Emerging from the control room of the Central Tower, Byrne looked out at the compound below wondering what sort of plans Lorad had set into motion just a moment earlier. But, given the manner in which he’d conducted his business inside, especially in dealing with a massive hulking beast of a Klingon, he felt an inclination to let it happen without demanding explanation.

“Prepare for evac! We lay down a base of fire until our ride arrives!” he piped up over comms, catching glimpse of a pair of exosuited team members down below him, their weapons trained and firing ruby-tinged pulses off in a flurry of directions at the various points of entry which insurgent Klingons might enter. It was as good a plan as they had, and to an extent, wasn’t too far from what they’d drawn up back aboard the Apache prior to jump. From beyond the perimeter wall he could faintly detect a rustling of the trees, a telltale sign of returning patrols given the utter stillness of the night wind. “To the north! We’ve got inbound!” his voice re-joined the comms, a gauntleted hand pointing in said direction as an explosion at a barred gate blew doors wide open. Immediately, a cadre of Klingons with attack dogs in tow came pouring in, their disruptors held out and firing shimmering emeralds of energy that splashed against the base of the tower, nearly hitting several members of the team in the process. “They’ve breached the wall!” he cried out, reaching for the rifle stowed at his back in an effort to provide a new source of covering fire, but before he could he was hit in the back by a heavy weight that dislodged him, and sent him tumbling over the edge of the railing toward the ground below.

Landing in a heap, Byrne blinked for a long moment as sensation returned to his limbs, confirming that he’d been spared any sort of permanent paralysis from sustaining such a fall. Still, he ached badly now, though his eyes went wide as it dawned on him that he’d no chance to recover if he wanted to remain a living person, rather than a memory contained within whatever letter Commander Fisher wrote to summarize his death.

“P’takh!” spat Jurael, swinging a bat’leth down in a wide arc as he sought to decapitate the armored Starfleeter he’d just knocked from the observation gantry high above. Inconsolable rage flowed through him, as all the concerns he’d had about base security had been seized upon by these intruders, costing him no small measure of personal honor as result. “Egrix was fat, slow, and dumb! You’ll not best me so easily!” The incense in his voice was overwhelming, and without further delay he swiped the tip of his blade in a horizontal backswing, catching the Infiltration Specialist in his midsection, though the edge could not pierce through the armor plates. Still, the blow was hard enough that it crunched a rib and staggered him to the point of sending him back to the muddy ground, a follow-up soon to come in the form of a downward thrust, aimed at the upper torso of the armored human. The tip of his bat’leth found no flesh as it lunged forward, instead digging into the muck when his target rolled out of the way, and were he a different warrior, Jurael might’ve lost his balance, overcommitting with momentum, and tumbling forward. Instead, he planted a hard boot ahead, the foundation of which acted as a stop, allowing him to carry on with yet another attack from the opposite end of the Klingon battle sword.

“Shit!” exclaimed Byrne as he scampered backward in a crablike crawl, the angered Klingon warrior about to run him through in desperation.

A harrowing explosion later, the night was suddenly and ferociously illuminated by great plumes of atmosphere and energy, the detonation of two torpedoes sending a shockwave that condensed air instantaneously, and which thundered ear-shatteringly throughout the compound. Walls shook and crumpled away in acquiescence of the powerful charges, the nearby barracks completely obliterated, and the last vestiges of remaining power cutting out as overloads burned out every relay with prominence. It was a wonder the tower hadn’t collapsed due to the reverberation, though the precision of the strike was such that it mitigated any serious collateral damage to the maximum extent possible. For Byrne though, who had fallen a good distance from where the rest of the team had taken up defensive positions, it was effectively ground zero. Only the resiliency of his suit had alleviated him the grimmest and most succinct of fates, but oh-boy did his ears ring something fierce. With a groan he pushed himself up from a small pile of rubble and debris, his weapon having been tossed away somewhere by the immensity of the shockwave, he shook his head to clear his train of thought, the imperative need to get to the rest of the team at the base of the central tower being first and foremost of his concern.

“Lieutenant! Come on!” hollered Jones as she scurried out from cover, crossing a great distance in an act of selflessness, her past as a field medic getting the better of her in the moment as she felt the inescapable need to care for her teammates.

“Jones!” hollered Prince as she saw the medic run out of cover, very much aware of the Klingons about to pounce upon her and Byrne.

[ Junction-point somewhere between Sub-Level 02 and Sub-Level 01 ]

“Holy hell!” hollered Hebert as Pierce piloted the cargo-sled up and around several bends, the whole of the underground shaking violently as though a massive bomb had gone off an instant earlier. He, and the others were still clinging unto the vehicle as it bounced around and jostled in accordance with the dictates of the crimson-haired woman at the controls. “What was that?” he asked in awe.

“Door!” cried Lewis, pointing out ahead of Pierce.

Squinting as he tried to make out the apparent barrier ahead of them with some clarity, Fisher clenched tightly onto the railing that encircled the perimeter of the main cargo bed, doubtful that Pierce cared about any objections he, or anyone might’ve lodged. Judging by the maniacal laughter which escaped her, he knew they were relegated to nothing but passengers, and could only brace for the ride that was to be. Unlike the panicked tone betrayed by the hurried words of the young man seated next to him, Fisher exuded no outward emotional response, maybe a lingering effect of the drug coursing throughout his system, but also possibly due to the fact that he’d been through far crazier and outlandish moments of adrenaline inducing insanity. And, while it was a foolish thing for spies like him to go out in search of such chemically induced highs, regardless of how naturally they might’ve been elicited, in this line of work recklessness could get you or your fellows killed. Still, he liked the flare for getting things done which Pierce championed, leading them in a manner that reminded him of himself, and he couldn’t deny feeling just a smidge of exhilaration as their sled sped up ahead of making contact with the barrier preventing their escape.

“Door! Door! Door!” repeated Lewis to no avail, the sled smashing through with great force, blowing apart the wooden obstruction.

“Move!” Fisher hollered at his human crutch, mustering up enough strength to shove the panicked Security Officer off of the sled once Pierce gave up control of it, his heavier self, landing hard atop the armored team member as they skidded to a halt in the muddy courtyard at the base of the central tower.

The commotion of the sled, pitching hard against momentum, rolling, and tumbling like a flicked coin, paled in comparison to the explosions which had rocked the compound moments earlier, but it was still substantial. Watching in awe, Byrne saw the abandoned vehicle just miss Jones as she had been running to find him, it careening into the group of aggressively approaching Klingons, knocking, and crushing them about in violent fashion, the sounds of their grunting and death cries barely audible over the noise of barking attack dogs which fled in terror of that which their bestial brains couldn’t possibly understand. When all was said and done, Lieutenant Pierce had bowled a strike, leaving none of the group alive to persist in their attack, and having given Jones and himself a chance to regroup with the team huddled at the base of the tower, where the sled’s previous occupants were now retreating toward. Clutching the medic’s hand, they ran at full sprint until they came to a halt near where a very alive Commander Fisher was knelt.

“Nice delivery! I see you found the package too!” Byrne hollered toward Pierce in apparent approval of her methods.

[ Central Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ]

Observing via long-range visual sensors, Ensign Maier stepped between data encryption specialists Benson and Chundab, the two Warrant Officers were rivals to put it lightly, but they were also two of the best sequence coders aboard, and they’d managed to acquire access to a series of low-orbit weather satellites which had been built by Vulcan scientists in order to study the effect of prolonged ecological change on the landscape of Qo’noS.

“Told you it wasn’t a waste of time.” Benson taunted Chundab.

Smirking, as behind her she could hear Lieutenant Dantius coordinating efforts with the Operational Lead, in this case Commander Rutherford, Kaylee watched as a massive explosion erupted from the compound, catching the attention of both encryption specialists. “Whoa!” she commented absently, the pit in her stomach feeling dull as concern for the strike team hit like a ton of bricks. An instant later though, she saw movement in the form of a team member running to cross an open area and exhaled in relief. “Wait, what was that?” she blurted out, having caught glimpse of something far more concerning. Her hands reaching out to the console in an effort to try and readjust the image, so that she could get a better look at what was going on down there. “What’s happening down there? Did you guys see that?” she asked, the heartbeat in her chest fluttering with anxiety.

“I think it was a cargo sled?” Chundab explained.

“Definitely.” Benson confirmed.

“Not that, that!” she pulled back on the level of zoom the satellite had of the compound, her hand going to a pair of what could only be described as swirling dust cloud in the field just outside of the southwestern portion of the perimeter wall. “Lieutenant?!” she called out to Dantius, both of the Encryption Officers leaning in for a better look of their own, Benson adjusting his black-framed glasses even. “Atmospheric thrusters!” She announced the moment it hit her, the girl spinning round to face her green-skinned superior. “Reinforcements! They’re already on site!” Indeed as she panned the hijacked video feed, they’d managed to get access to, the focus finding the center of one of two dust clouds, around which a dozen armed individuals could be seen top-down, their armor and weapons clearly of Klingon make and origin.

“How is that even possible? Their response time was ten minutes at minimum? It’s been what, five and change?” Chundab asked in confoundment.

“I guess they’re faster than we’d figured.” Answered Benson.

OOC: Mood Music [Show/Hide]

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: stardust on November 19, 2021, 08:58:36 AM

For the faintest of moments, Samantha could feel her heart grow weightless in her chest, as if raised from a deep pond by hundreds of little fairies, as an offering to their almighty king. The shuttle’s gravity systems took a moment, a mere fraction in time, to adjust to the sudden change in lift, offering a degree of ethereal refuge, from the weight of the mission, and their situation as a whole. An input pen, briefly floating up from its nook at the top of the console, barely noticeably, as if guided by ghostly apparition. While the measures of sunlight, cast upon floor and walls, shifted with an almost imperceptible jolt. When indeed it was not the star that had decided to change its trajectory, but the very mechanical shell they were contained within. Prompting all the shadows and hues of the cockpit to change in one swift instance, altering the entire mood, as clouds brushed past the windshield like excited steam.

Suspended in this very moment for far longer than it went on, contemplating the perception of everyone else around her in comparison. And eventually Samantha wasn’t only drawn from the embrace of the paladin by the counter motion of the Apache as engines sprung back to life, leveling the ship off at the demanded altitude. Give or take four point eight meters. But also, by the revelation that came through the almost siren like voice of Alana Pierce, confirming they indeed had found Andrew. A proclamation which prompted the little ball of muscles and vents, in her chest, to settle back almost absolved of the uncertainty and fear, its previous state had afforded the slender blonde. A moment in which mementos of the past became only the starting point of a journey unknown, rather than its terminus. And to that effect, as reality fell back into its regular measure of forward-moving existence, there was a distinct process of events that the commander had to catch up with, once her own time started falling back into sync.

The viewports flared with the discharge of energy, upon a foe barely distinguishable to the eye, which only became apparent as return fire made the shuttle shake like a mule tired of its master’s command. Bringing her hands to either side of the console, the diplomat was torn between keeping her balance, watching the telemetry on her screen and following the flashes of light outside, which transpired as if angels were playing ping-pong in the sky. Zooming out of the theatre of battle, however, the blonde found the distinct markers and trajectories far more compelling, than any look out the window ever could, in this moment. When it wasn’t about the beauty of creation as a whole, but the survival of some of its distinctions. Two signals subsequently vanished, only to be replaced by eight more … which weren’t great odds. So, now more than ever, time was of the essence. Even more so with the happening son the ground that the diplomat had to catch up with, not really that experienced with keeping track of situations faster developing than a hurt ego.

“Set us down in that rear courtyard.” she instructed, getting up from her seat on shaky feet, staggering over to the tactical console as quickly as possible, after having transferred all her sensor data there and to Samala’s navigational controls. “It’s closest to the majority of the team and relatively easy to defend.” Sam subsequently clarified, as the Apache came around to the perimeter of the compound already. But before her order was heeded, the ship swerved into a barrel roll, while the commander found her tactical controls to be temporarily overwritten, as a last stronghold came alight in front of them, sending Klingon troops flying about like remnants of a firework show. “The hell …” the blond exclaimed as an audible breath, falling utterly short in volume to Tashanna’s frustration. “Consider the crewman’s request seconded.” she thus added, clearing her throat and rolling her shoulders, belying the subdued sense of gratitude, for the stunt.

Having tactical back and a good overview of the grounds, via their previous scans and intel’s overlays, the diplomat programmed the computer’s targeting systems to the life feed of their away team, so they would be excluded from any of the covering fire, while the ship slowly descended into the enclosed quad, sending dust and debris up the sloping walls like ocean waves against embankments. Luckily, there were no Klingons left in line of sight, currently, apart from those one the ground from where the away team was congregating. Which the Apache, now on the ground, couldn’t hit anyways. The ship shivered one last time, until gravity established its momentary hold on the vehicle. “Alright, she’s done all she can for now … let’s secure the airlock!” and with such determination, the blonde rose from her chair, just as it was about to warm to her physique, swiftly stepping into the corridor, jogging towards the cargo area of the ship.

Pulling up by a weapon’s locker, the commander armed herself with a compression rifle, checking the power cell routinely, before switching it to full power. Not waiting for the other two women to arm themselves as well, she was already on her way to the aft airlock and ramp, taking up position at the very precipice. “Crewman.” She nodded at the controls, without further clarification, bringing the rifle to a steady position into the crook of her shoulder, aiming forward. With a mechanical clank and a hissing, like a dragon disturbed from eternal slumber, the back ramp cracked with a sliver of light, almost hitting the three of them like a phaser bolt. A notion of levity and danger at the same time, growing and dimming until it transformed into the world beyond, clouded by the residue of dust in the air, and the stench of smoke and cinder. A sort of transport sled lay slanted not too far from the ship, leaving a trail of disturbed dirt and body parts behind it, from a gaping tunnel spewing smoke.

[Show/Hide]

Stepping down the slanted platform out of the Apache with heavy feet, as if wearing lead boots, Samantha let the barrel of her rifle skim through the back one hundred an eighty degrees of the courtyard, accessing the situation on the ground via her weapon’s enhanced scope. A couple of officers were up on the elevated walkways, spreading out from the central tower into the surrounding courtyards, while another group was taking up position by a few trees against the outer wall. Among them, a bearded man hunched against a colleague. Tapping her com badge with a temporarily retracted hand from the trigger, the diplomat welcomed the relieving chirp. “Rutherford to all away team members, regroup at the shuttle immediately. Klingon reinforcements will be here in two minutes.” And with that, at the lack of overbearing apparent danger, she beckoned only for Tashanna to follow her out into the open.

“Crewman, prepare for immediate departure.” she nodded back at Samala, blond curls waving in the wind like golden autumn birch in a fierce storm. Turning back her attention towards the approaching team, the moment once more seemed to slow to a crawl, as within the turmoil of smoke and debris, flickering of heat and despair, larimar ponds found refuge beneath the comforting shelter of lily pads once more.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: GroundPetrel on November 22, 2021, 12:18:12 AM

Lt. JG Dantius Thi Anh-Le | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 |USS Theurgy   attn: @stardust @BipSpoon @Swift @Pierce @Stegro88

Reinforcements, already? "I hate it when OpFor remembers to fight smart," Anh-Le muttered. The Klingons must've had a silent alarm that fired off on the initial breach. Whoever was in charge of security over there deserved a promotion. "Commander Rutherford, we're out of time. I'm going to try to nuke their computers." She tabbed her comms off for a moment and waved to one of the Ensigns. "Get me one of the jump drives in the second drawer in that cabinet. I want some nasty malware to dump on them."

But while the Ensign was getting the malware, there was the matter of the Klingon data still on their computers. Anh-Le flipped through the files as fast as she could, searching for anything that might be Commander Fisher's interrogation and deleting anything that looked likely, knowing that any minute someone could manually hard-reset the system (it was the first thing Anh-Le would've done upon learning there was someone unauthorized in the system, but the Klingons were probably still caught off-guard).

"Ma'am." It was the cute female Ensign--Benton? No, Benson.   I need to learn my co-workers' names. "What do you want me to do with this?"

The Orion squinted at the jump drive. The DX-17. A particularly nasty encryption worm developed from Romulan ransomware. "Quick as you can, spoof the credentials of one of the base commanders and send the malware on that drive off to all the reinforcement sites. Rename the file as...'Starfleet Commander interrogation update'. Hurry, they've got to be sending someone to cut the power and do a hard reset soon." Anh-Le turned back to the files, pausing at a folder with the suspiciously bland name of "Department of Person-Resources Policies and Procedures, Extended Version With Footnotes." That was exactly the sort of aggressively boring-sounding thing you hid sensitive information in...

...or porn, Anh-Le amended that thought as she was confronted with a series of files with suggestive thumbnails and titles like "Barely Legal Gorn In Day of Ascension" and "Kahless and Lukara's Back Door Party". It was an impressive stash, including some programs that Anh-Le knew sold for thousands of darseks on Quark Enterprises' extranet bazaar. Probably took years to collect all of this.

To delete the files after saving a copy to Theurgy's computers so she could later sell them to crewmates for credits and holodeck timeslots would be extremely petty, unprofessional, and a waste of precious seconds.

Which was of course why Anh-Le did just that and created an empty sub-folder inside the folder called "Thanks for the Stash", before scrolling down two more pages, where she found what at least appeared to be the real records on Commander Fisher's interrogation, leaving a copy of Luscious Lactating Lesbian Letheans (some Klingon had weird tastes, damn!) in its place, deleting everything else on that entire drive and counting the seconds until she could hit the recycle key.

"Sent!" Ensign Benson called. Anh-Le grunted, focusing on the file deletion and trying not to grit her teeth. Finally, it finished, and she flushed the recycle bin...

...and not a moment too soon, as the Klingon system went down seconds later, kicking Anh-Le and indeed the entire Theurgy team off of a server that was now no longer on.

"That's it. They rebooted the system. Commander Rutherford, you're on your own, I can't help your team any more."

There was nothing left to do but wait and hope.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Pierce on November 22, 2021, 06:27:39 PM

[ Lt. Alana Pierce (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Alana_Pierce) | Klingon Compound | Qo'Nos] | ATTN: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust | [Show/Hide]

Hebert, Lewis, Fisher and Amarik were still hiding in the treelines with Lt. Pierce. Each one looking worse for wear with the lead females looking only slightly better in this particular situation. Bruises, blood and some nasty falls had befallen each officer as they'd attempted to retrieve Fisher, which they did flawlessly. The Apache could be heard landing now, the thrusters activated as the vessel landed in the courtyard. A communique could be heard over their commbages now.

"Rutherford to all away team members, regroup at the shuttle immediately. Klingon reinforcements will be here in two minutes."

Without waiting around to see those reinforcements they continued onward towards the shuttle that grew ever closer to them by the second. Each moment unsure if they would get shot down in the firefight around them. Alana fired her phaser at the nearby Klingons coming from the other side of the courtyard as weapons fire from the back hatch of the Apache could be seen.

Tapping her comms, she responded as loud as she could with all the blasts going on about them. "This is Lt. Pierce, we're almost to the shuttle. Coming from the east towards the gate. Cease fire on that side as we approach. We're almost there!"

The team continued to run as Lewis held up Fisher despite both men being rather nastily hurt. They'd definitely need medical attention once they got back to the Theurgy, she thought to herself as she observed their hobbled run. Amarik and Hebert were in much better running condition to the other two. As for herself, she had a few scuffs but nothing that required anything immediate.

Focused back on the approach, the Klingons landed and opened fire on the group dashing for safety. She looked back at the facility and noted how all the power went down momentarily. Most likely realized their team had piggy-backed the signal and gained access to the systems, and proceeded to shut them down to kick them out.

As Pierce helped grab Fisher and Lewis, she saw the others gain access to the shuttle with Rutherford firing like a wild person at the approaching reinforcements. She felt some semblance of safety now as she helped the others find their own. Although they weren't out of the woods yet, they were now ready to make their way home... Such a foreign concept for her to wrap her head around recently but it was to soon become that once they returned. With any luck, some of those Klingon bastards would go down before they left the surface too.

She watched on as more headed back to the shuttle to head back to the Theurgy, coming up beside Rutherford to provide more cover-fire to prevent any losses on a for the most part successful mission.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: BipSpoon on December 04, 2021, 09:52:53 PM

[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarak | Klingon Compound | Qo'Nos ] Attn: @Pierce @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust [Show/Hide]

A single glance was bounced between Fisher and Pierce before Valyn finally chortled, and got a move on. “Clearly.” Noting the sled, Valyn checked the power setting on her rifle once, and made a break for it. The red light of the alarm klaxons flashed above, setting a faint, nearly unrecognizable shadow against the ground as she charged towards the sled. She didn’t stop, not once. Instead, she held her ground, a continuing motion forward covered by a violent barrage of fire from the end of her rifle towards just about anything that moved on the other end of it.

On arrival, she hopped aboard the sled. However, she grabbed a spare wire from the rig-up that Pierce had managed to make, and jacked it into the back of her rifle's power cell. Immediately, the rifle grew warmer and she braced it against the railing at the front of the sled, opening fire. Like a mounted machine gun emplacement, sending glowing bolts of energy directly into the aggressive forms appearing before them at a speed not typically possible for the rifle. One by one, emerging Klingons were struck with force as the bolts connected with them. One took a shot to the neck and flew backwards into a friend. Another, a shot to his abdomen, which left a smoldering, pungent wound as he fell, screaming.

Prepare to jump.

She continued to laugh before her attention refocused on the impending demolition of the sled. “Shit.” She quickly yanked the cord that had been plugged into the back of her rifle, and instead crouched at the side of the sled, ready to bail out at a second's notice. As they approached the entrance, she heard the volley from the skies strike the ground around them and within the compound. “What the fuck!” She shouted, looking over her shoulder to watch the glorious display of flaming plasma, explosions, and the settling mist that remained of organic life on the receiving end of the strike from their ‘eye in the sky’. Her shock however, was met with almost instantaneous laughter. A laughter that was consuming, and for those who hadn’t experienced the adrenaline of a warzone, reserved for madmen and serial killers.

“Hot shit! I owe them a drink.”

On the right, she noticed a single straggling Klingon, fiddling with what clearly appeared to be a comm unit. She aimed, and fired, hitting him square in the head as the unit fell to the ground with a clatter. She brought herself up to her feet, and brushed some of the dust from her legs before she found some of her other comrades that had jumped from the sled. She made her way to the treeline, and took point watching their rear as they waited.

She followed after Pierce, her head and rifle on a swivel. Two Klingons appeared to their West, and she fired two shots to match them. Each fell. She stood at the edge of the shuttle, firing on any new assailants moving their way, and helping any aboard who needed it. However, she was ready at a second's notice to step aboard.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Stegro88 on January 01, 2022, 03:32:17 PM

[ CM3 Samala (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Samala) & Tesserarius Lorad (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Lorad) | The Apache | Klingon Compound | Qo’noS ] 
[Show/Hide]

 
Samala sat in the cockpit, using the Apache’s disruptor arrays to take shots at Klingons that exposed themselves while she waited. Commander Rutherford had ordered everyone to get to the Apache in two minutes, but that time was starting to stretch out impossibly, as if the universe itself didn’t want them to leave quite yet. She could feel more and more shots impacting her ship’s hull, and while she knew the armour could take the hits from light arms, if they brought up a cannon or one of those shuttles took back off and came over the wall, then they could be in for a more permanent stay.

<Brother, I really think it is time that we left this place,> Samala called out to Lorad, sensing his mind close by but not yet at the shuttle.

<Patience sister,> Lorad chided playfully. <The Klingons want to play some more.>

<Well if their fighters get here, playtime will be over,> Samala warned ominously.

<Very well then,> Lorad acquiesced.

Feeling the connection to his sister faded, Lorad refocused on firing at the Klingons that seemed intent on making sure that none of them left. His armour was pitted in two places where he had been unable to avoid disruptor bolts entirely but thankfully it had held up and he remained uninjured. He released a burst from his Accipiter, forcing several warriors to duck back into cover, preventing them from taking further action as more of his compatriots crossed the courtyard to the Apache.

Bryne had gone on ahead as Lorad had set himself up to provide cover fire but now it seemed that it was his turn to withdraw. There was only one other member of the away team that had yet to make it to the Apache and they were already making their way along the wall towards the Reman vessel. Adjusting his grip to one more serviceable for on the move firing, Lorad hefted his weapon, releasing a final burst before breaking cover.

He was about a third of the way across the courtyard when an explosion to his left sent dust and debris flying. Ducking for a moment, Lorad observed that amongst the strewn rubble lay the now still form of the other armoured figure that had yet to reach the Apache. It took less than a moment for the thought to form before Lorad adjusted his advance, angling away from safety to retrieve the inert armoured figure. The dust clout aided his advance, obscuring his form as he came upon the downed figure. Not stopping to check who it was, Lorad slung his rifle before pulling them up and hoisting them over his left shoulder. Bracing them with his hand, he drew his pulse phase pistol with his right and began again his journey towards the Apache.

Disruptor bolts burnt through the smoke, seeking out targets that the Klingons could not see. Lorad felt one glance off his shoulder pauldron but did not pause to inspect the damage, merely grunting as his forcibly raised his arm to shoot another Klingon coming over the wall. He could feel Samala reaching for him again, but he refused the connection, needing to focus on the battlefield around him. Another explosion sent him to his knees, but he drew upon the iron determination that had festered and grown in the mines of Remus to push forward, planting one armoured boot in front of the other until he felt the deck of the Apache under them. Only then did he open his mind to his sister.

<Samala. We are safe. Go!> he said, even as the ramp was being raised behind him.

<Already am,> Samala responded, relieved that her brother had made it back safely. She brought the shields up first, grateful for the silence they brought from the weapon impacts on the hull. An instant thought to strafe the Klingons flashed through her mind but Samala banished the idea with uncharacteristic discipline. Now was not the time. Their mission was over. All that was left was for them to disappear and return to the Theurgy. Lifting off and immediately angling the Apache almost straight up, she advanced the throttle, sending them hurtling skyward at an obscene rate. As clouds began to flash past her, Samala diverted power to the cloak, bringing it online and rendering them undetectable. For good measure, she adjusted her course, throwing off the trajectory of anything that was blind fired at them.

“We’re cloaked!” she announced through the Apache’s intercom, alerting everyone to their new condition. “Setting course back towards the Theurgy.”

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: stardust on January 10, 2022, 08:50:54 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Samantha_Rutherford) | The Apache | Hawk-class Runabout | Klingon Compound | Qo'nos ] attn: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @Pierce
[Show/Hide]

The courtyard of the Klingon outpost lit up like fireworks on one of earth’s countless holidays and a meteor shower at the same time. Flashes of radiant light and sparks strewn through smoke filled air as if shooting stars in a cinder nebula, expiring in sparkling flames for a simple wish to grant. Samantha could think of one thing she could wish for, but not quite on which of the myriad of flickers to place it on. Which was a sign of fate, maybe, that she was better aided in putting her trust in her own ability to make a favorable future come true. So, she sent fiery comets into the cosmic turmoil herself, cutting through the plumes with bright red flashes, wherever her enhanced rifle scope could detect an enemy contact. In many instances leaving nothing but a flickering scheme, falling to the ground numbly, obscured by the fog of battle and burning plasma.

Heeding Lieutenant Pierce’s warning, the blonde aimed her aggressive diplomacy towards that area of the compound regardless, to make out the pursuing stragglers, nonetheless. Picking them off one by one, like the shooting gallery she had been required to train on periodically, as part of her duty. Phaser volleys sometimes zipping uncomfortably close to those of their own team. They were too close to the endgame to jeopardize the mission by playing it illogically safe. She wasn’t going to lose anyone on the last stretch of this chapter in their journey. And at the same time, of course, she wasn’t going to pick one off herself either. But in the heat of the fight and with their immediate departure looming, who would’ve been able to tell anyways, right?! Surely there was no one judgy enough, in her department, to call her out on such heresy.

But eventually, maybe what she wished for did come true, riding on the back of a spark, bouncing across the charred ground. Alana and Lewis ventured up the aft ramp and into the cavernous embrace of the shuttle’s cargo hold. Prompting the diplomat to turn with their movements and relief herself from cover-fire duty, as more team members brought up the rear and stepped into the transport. Letting the phaser rifle sink into the extent of its shoulder strap along the slender curve of her side, the determined blonde picked the tricorder from her belt to take a preliminary scan of the man’s injuries. Willing herself deliberately to abstract him into a medical schematic first, before taking on the reality of his battered face in abject delirium.

“Take him to one of the cabins!” she instructed Lewis, her voice as unwavering as a dedication plaque. She wasn’t going to dispose of the man in one of the alcoves in the back like a spent coolant canister. Even if she had to rid a bunk of Samala’s collection of chewing toys herself.

Presiding over Andrew’s vital signs, like a hawk following its pray, Samantha squeezed her thin frame in one of the rooms ahead of both men to pull the sheets back on the cot under the assumption that whatever lay beneath was probably more sanitary. At the very least it passed her quick superficial inspection, as Lewis hoisted the bearded officer onto the mattress. The deck shook with one last impact before the gentle sway of levity absolved more worries, dissolving in the subtly changing hum of the energy grid, as more power was syphoned to the shields and engines. Undoubtedly a modest echo of the ship’s true momentum.

“Rutherford to away team, take a head-count and whoever has medical training, report to the forward bunks.” She instructed the crew after a short tap on her communicator once more, relieving Lewis with a demure smile and gentle nod. And for a moment, it was just her and Andrew, stray objects and boxes in the compartment subtly rattling, spare cables swaying, with whatever turbulent momentum persisted through the ship’s dampening systems. Even while sage ponds flickered to live beneath dark twigs and peach drapes as if emerging from a slumber, there was no real telling in what frame their perception would even be able to tell the realm of a dream from reality. Falling to her knees amidst the draped fabric at the crib’s side, the blonde supported herself with one arm on the mattress, letting her free hand gently brush away sot and sticky tresses from Drew’s forehead before calmly placing her warm palm to the contour of his temple and cheek.

“You’re safe …” she whispered. Her human trepidations of causing additional harm contradicting the sound logic of speaking especially loud and clearl, given his incapacitated state. “… got me worried there, for a moment.” she added, letting another bout of emotion cross plump lips that would’ve never passed the judgment of her Vulcan measure in any situation other than his seeming unconsciousness. “But if that was your lousy attempt at getting out of that dinner, you WILL have to do better.” A gentle huff of elated air left the beauty’s nostrils flaring ever so gently, letting the delicate lilipad of the moment, carry her safely across the pond of restraint, to gently place a kiss on the man’s cheek. Quite potentially reveling in the notion by herself, Sam was sure in one way or another, he’d get caught up on it eventually. Behind her, doors zipped open, as one of their team members entered with the emergency medical kit, heralding in a momentary dusk on their day of adventure together.

But even as she left the cabin for the moment, to oversee their final approach back to Theurgy and the end of the mission, she was sure that despite the heartbreaking déjà vu of it all, there was reprieve in the feelings that seemed to validate a different outcome … this time.

Title: Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'
Post by: Swift on January 28, 2022, 03:51:14 AM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Makeshift Holding Cell | Sub-Level 03 | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’noS (https://memory-beta.fandom.com/wiki/Qo%27noS) ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @BipSpoon @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce

Even though his captivity had only lasted a mere handful of hours, to have emerged so poignantly from the depths of an old, mildew and mold infested basement, out into the open expanses of the central courtyard felt utterly enthralling to the recently liberated captive. His nostrils flaring in response to the rejuvenating freshness of the air, Fisher inhaled heavily as though his heart were supercharged, the beating engine in his chest pumping a mile a minute in wake of the daredevil like stunt pulled by Alana, adrenaline surging through his veins like high-octane gasoline. The promise of rescue was one thing, and the heroic actions of his comrades another, but the action unfolding all around him, explosions, weapons fire, roaring atmospheric thrusters. All of it conspired in the back of his mind, triggering those ancient instincts for fight or flight that hadn’t yet entirely worked their way out of his more evolved sensibilities. And in Fisher’s case, more often than not his response was to fight, but in this situation, given his physical and mental deterioration at the hands of his doting Klingon hosts, it made far more sense to flight, a reality he was willing, ready, and generally able to abide.

About him, the winds swirled with abject ferocity while a familiar yet entirely alien craft he’d embarked some hours earlier rapidly descended, kicking up a tornado of crimson ash, ember, and flame which reached into the night’s sky from the decimated ruins of a building that it blown away just a few seconds prior in a supreme showing of superior firepower.

“Get clear! Get clear!” hollered Byrne, his hand waving for a contingent of the strike-team to move aside and make room for their chariot.

Overhead, a steady staccato of green energy pulses streamed upward, impacting the side of the Reman Assault-ship, doing little more than tickling the underbelly of the great beast. The source of the disruptor fire streaming forth from the edges of the near forest line, an insurgent force of Klingon Warriors that had been recalled from whatever patrols they’d been on before all hell broke loose, and the command to return and regroup made. Through the open gates, both Hildebrandt and Tucker positioned adjacent one another at it’s periphery, they trained their weapons and returned volley with a flurry of ruby-tinted pulses that lanced out across the distance in an instant, striking true, and not in an effort to stem the tide just long enough to make a hasty exit once the Apache had landed. It was a textbook attempt at holding the line while an enemy advanced on your position, and the sight of it stirred within Fisher memories of his own time spent as a Security Officer some years ago, before he’d slipped the proverbial cloak over his shoulders, trading his phaser for a venom laced dagger.

Soon enough, the Apache spun round in the courtyard, it’s rear loading hatch lowering in advance of receiving the strike team it had birthed just a few minutes before. The near twenty-five-meter craft barely small enough to fit within the confines of the enclosing walls that ran along the edge of the compound, though you’d have guessed it plenty petite given the deftness in which it was piloted.

Their stances low, the strike team members began to instinctively move for the respite that their newly arrived exfil represented, phaser rifles leveled and firing at anything and everything which even remotely resembled the ridged brow of a Klingon. In their minds, desperation would've been difficult not to feel, yet they were trained security personnel, and this was exactly the sort of affair they’d been ready for. At the head of the group, Samuelson and Hebert surged forth alongside Lieutenant’s Pierce and Amarik, each of them passing by the proverbial Valkyrie that had descended from the Apache as it landed, the uplifting gush of wind flaring her golden hair brilliantly as she joined in the orchestra of suppressive fire. “Commander.” Remarked Byrne as he too approached the loading ramp, spinning back to stand opposite her on the ramp, likewise providing additional support for the remaining members of the team that had yet to board, not to mention the cargo they’d come here to retrieve in the first place.

In the distance, the whine of additional atmospheric thrusters, higher-pitched in tone could be heard, a tell-tale sign of the gunship transports their Klingon adversaries were bringing to bear. Though, they would offload their laden payload before attempting to make any attacks on the compound from the air. “We’ve got incoming!” reported Tucker as both he and Hildebrandt peeled themselves away from the gate where they’d been posted up, a new torrent of shimmering emeralds chasing after them from wherever the reinforcements had been unloaded. “Go! Go! Go!” he shouted, catching pace with Prince, Jones, and Hebert, inadvertently bumping shoulders with the latter, sending them sprawling to the tarmac only. Unaware that his comrade in arms had fallen behind, quite literally in fact, Tucker and the others hastily ascended the loading ramp, entering the rear hold of the Apache as they knew not to block the path for others, or to delay liftoff any longer than was absolutely necessary. Besides which, Rutherford and Byrne seemed to be holding the line well enough without their added presence.

Pushing himself back to his feet, Hebert scrambled for his weapon for a moment, though it was a futile effort, the phaser rifle having came to a rest some three-meters-distance after clattering to the ground when he fell. Deciding against going to recover it with escape so close, he once more began to stride with alacritous purpose toward the Apache only for an explosion to rock him from somewhere on his right side, sending him back to the pitch rather unceremoniously. Strewn about, the world feeling as though it spun round him while consciousness and awareness seeped back into his mind, the thought that he might perish hit Hebert for the first time, just as prudently as the shockwave of the explosion that had cratered him in the first place. Verbally, and internally he swore at himself as he was resigned to succumbing to such a sad and untimely fate, though like a hand from the heavens itself, he felt himself hoisted upward from where he had lay, his stunned and aching body thrust over the gruff shoulder of the team’s towering brute of an enforcer.

"God?” Hebert coughed the name, barely aware of what was happening to him as the Reman scurried for the Apache.

[ Central Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/images/b/b4/34_-_CENTRAL_INTELLIGENCE_AREA.png) | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ]

Staring at the main viewer before them, there was little more that the combined support staff of the Intelligence Department could really do to affect the outcome of the rescue mission playing out. Instead, they watched from an aerial vantage point, the visual sensors of the ship having pierced the veil of the Klingon home world’s atmosphere that they might bear witness to the exfiltration. The compound, a circular ringed wall enveloping an interior series of smaller buildings, a central tower, and the flaming remnants of what had been identified as a barracks could be seen. Standing side-by-side, Guy Benson and Dez Chundab each held their arms across their chest, eyes unblinking as green and ruby energy pulses lanced out each other from indistinct figures on opposite sides of the struggle. Behind them, Sarah Benson, unrelated to Guy, turned away from Lieutenant Dantius in time to see the unfolding heroics of one team member hefting another over their shoulder, quite literally carrying them to escape, prompting her to bring a hand to her mouth in awe.

“C’mon! Get going!” Sarah said aloud, casting a worrisome glance over her shoulder to her immediate superior.

To the fore of the Reman assault ship, the assembly watched with concern as a surge of additional figures entered through an opening in the outer protective wall, a great threat to those that had yet to make it to the ship. Though, without any delay at all, a brilliant shimmering pulse of ship-grade disruptor fire erupted from the Apache, obliterating them in an instant.

“Whoa!” remarked Chundab, an impressed visage crossing his face as he looked to his left to Guy in order to gauge his reaction.

[ Interior Courtyard | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’noS ]

Grunting as the whole of him ached with dour resolve, Fisher clung unto the dual support carriage provided him by Crewman Jackson and Lieutenant Pierce, very much reliant upon them in the moment. The sounds of combat and the thrum of thrusters begging to be flared in order to leave this planet behind filled his ears with absolution, nearly bewildering him as he limped onward, drawing ever nearer to the loading ramp. Though his senses were assailed, overwhelmed by the combined effects of the enormity of noise and the lingering effects of whatever drugs still ran through his veins, Fisher recognized the fierce woman so defiantly stood at the base of the ramp, rifle in hand as it cycled with the veracity of ten-men. “Sam...” he whispered softly before being caught by a fit of coughing, the displaced and shattered rib in his side poking at his lung from inside as he struggled to climb the moderate incline of the ramp. The time for any display of affection toward the woman was hardly in sync with this moment, and rather than fight the ushering of Lewis who continued to drive him onward, Fisher instead glanced back over his shoulder to ensure she too made it back into the relative safety of the Apache.

What he’d not expected, was to see the face of a man standing just beyond Sam, cold brown-eyes glaring back at him with accusatory nature belied so heavily within. The message clear. One of warning. One of damnation for having dared tread someplace he’d simply had no right to. The sting of assumed guilt ran through Fisher far worse than any of his real-world injuries, as he remembered how he’d hidden his personal knowledge of the man that had once called Sam, his wife. Immeasurable was the weight that sump so greatly upon his body as he could hear the imagined words bespoke to him as though they’d been screamed right down the canals of his ears. ‘You will hurt her! Stay away! She’s not yours!’ And though Fisher desired to lash out at the accusation made at him, by no more than a figment of his devious and overriding imagination, he couldn’t muster the wherewithal or find the appropriate words. Instead, he turned away from the ghost of Brody that was haunting him, unwilling to look back at the man a second time, trying desperately to convince himself that what he had seen wasn’t actually real.

“That’s it! We’re good! Go!” hollered Byrne back into the cargo hold as he ascended the ramp, the last of the team to do so, his weapon still held at the shoulder-level, picking off encroaching Klingons as they tried to storm forth to no avail. “Get us out of here!” he added, a gauntleted hand slapping the control panel adjacent to the loading bay, causing the ramp to lift up and close shut. With the hiss of atmospheric enclosure filling the confines of the cargo hold, he turned about and immediately began checking names off of the list in his mind, ensuring that indeed, every member of the team had made it back. An instant later, as the order was given from Commander Rutherford to do exactly that, he nodded in surprised relief, a broad smile crossing his face. “All... accounted for. In fact... we’re heavy one Intelligence Operative now.” Pointing a finger at Prince in amusement, they threw arms round one another in celebration of the victory that they’d just all made. A most improbable rescue, with nary a severe casualty among them. One for the record books for sure.

[ Aft-Most Portside Cabin | Reman Assault Craft Apache ]

Gritting his teeth as Lewis continued to herd the wounded spy further forward as the thrum of engines firing permeated throughout the cramped interior of the Apache, Fisher nodded in appreciation of the similarly wounded man after he’d helped to deposit him unto the bed contained within this particular cabin.

“Commanders.” Remarked Lewis as way of excusing himself to see his own wounds tended to, he hastily exited.

Taking a moment to enjoy the oddly serene atmosphere provided by the tight confines of the cabin, Fisher breathed deeply in order to try and quell the rush of adrenaline in his body, not to stave off giving into the intense exhaustion he felt. In the forefront of his conscious mind he could distinctly remember the pain of the lash rendered against him during his interrogation, and the pang of guilt still ground deep into the pit of his stomach. Yet in an instant, it all seemed to fade into the recesses of his subconscious, replaced the calming touch of a hand pressed against the side of his weary face. The sensation of it’s familiarity still new, but also profound in how it affected him, a realization that only intensified as the voice which accompanied it spoke to him, the faintest hint of a French upbringing subtly detected by him as it soothed his nerves like an ancient salve of the Gods. “Safe and sound.” He answered, the consternation of weary anguish on his own face replaced by a slight smirk, one so recently reserved for her, and her alone.

“Worried?” He interjected, eyelids opening to reveal sage-orbs beneath them so that he might indulge upon viewing her graceful features yet again. “I had everything under control back there.” The tone in his voice one of obvious teasing, reserving his show of appreciation for the rescue for another opportune moment as to yet unrealized. A gentle kiss at the precipice of his cheek later, he yearned to ask her to remain a minute longer, but knew she’d had duties to attend to, and that he had injuries which demanded the immediate attention of one of the medics. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Commander.” He replied to her comment regarding their postponed dinner arrangement as she carefully slipped out of the cabin, leaving Petty Officer Jones to further triage his wounds. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He whispered once more after Rutherford had gone out of an earshot, the omnipresent question as to whether or not she’d truly been there starting to grow with earnestness in the back of his mind as he let his eyelids close shut once more.

‘Confounding, isn’t it?’ asked a familiar voice, and Fisher could once more smell the acrid scent of cigarette smoke in his nostrils.

~FIN

OOC: Post FIN Credits Tune... [Show/Hide]

Star Trek: Theurgy

Star Trek: Theurgy | Season 2 => Episode 01: Advent of War => Topic started by: stardust on April 25, 2021, 03:56:08 PM