Star Trek: Theurgy

Topic: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0020hrs] Heavy is the Head

July 26, 2025, 08:08:52 AM

[ Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | CONN station | Bridge | Deck One | Vector One | USS Theurgy ] @Brutus @Stegro88 @Dree @Nesota Kynnovan

If Sylvain had spared but a second to contemplate his current circumstances, taken even a moment to look around and truly absorb what was unfolding in the space around him, he had little-to-no doubt that his carefully composed mental state would have shattered like glass right there on the bridge. Fortunately for him, since he’d taken his station, he’d barely been afforded time to breathe, let alone think… His mind was connected to the sensors all but physically, sweat glazing his flushed face as he scrambled to keep up with the information flowing through his station, fingers dancing across the console before him with such ferocity, that they threatened to leave smudges of blood in their wake.

He felt like a hummingbird in a hurricane.

The carnage that whisked around them was like nothing he'd ever experienced, not even in a simulation, and despite his most exemplary application of the sensor data, even Sylvain’s finest flying couldn’t avoid the sheer volume of hostile vessels that had locked weapons on them. There was an entire Romulan fleet against their alliance, and every volley that erupted from their ships was tailed in the wake by a whole menagerie of Klingon vessels, swooping their salvos into any weakened shields before skirting off to whichever target was the most opportune for their arsenal. The Theurgy’s enemies were far too numerous for any evasive manoeuvre to contend with, and the minefield of cloaked ships that spanned across the Triangle only served to make his job all the more difficult… Instead of deciding if they were going to get hit, Sylvain could only delay the inevitable for as long as possible, and then do it again...

And again…

“We have a Warbird approaching from our starboard side, seventy-three kilometers out…” Sylvain regurgitated the data from his console as loud as he could, out of habit more than necessity. He was sure that the bridge crew didn’t especially need him calling out all of his sensor data, but that’s how it had always been serving aboard the Bowman… It was a habit instilled in him as much as breathing; even though he was facing circumstances infinitely more harrowing than a few Talarian raiders conducting a border raid, in some strange way, his habit brought him the tiniest glimmer of comfort in the face of the maelstrom that was unfolding beyond their bulkheads. It gave him the tiniest glimmer of control over their circumstances, control that the Ensign knew that in reality, he did not really have. But it helped, and he'd take any help he could get. “Another two Warbirds are coming up on our aft, port side, one hundred and twelve kilometers out; initiating evasive pattern Iota Five, that should give us some breathing…”

His sentence hit an abrupt conclusion as the Ensign’s jaw came to a sudden lock, clenching so suddenly that he drew blood from his own tongue, eyes wide and alert as his fingers frantically tore across his console, ignoring his planned evasive pattern and instead sending the Helmet lurching into a dizzying twist in the opposite direction. Barely a second later, a cloaked vessel opened fire into the exact spot that his evasions would have taken the Helmet… A metallic heat prickled across his tastebuds as his trembling hands pressed back into the console, cold sweat sending icy jolts along his spine as his raw fingertips resumed their dance, scrambling to correct the Helmet’s position, reprogramming the computer into a new evasive pattern that would prevent them from hurtling straight into the Erudite’s path.

The last thing he needed was to cause the Erudite any additional difficulty…

Their Savi allies hadn’t fully recovered from the damage they’d suffered at the Hobus Station, and given the size and destructive capabilities of their vessel, they’d drawn the lion’s share of the attention from the Romulan fleet. His sensors didn’t give him the details, but from based on the attack patterns and the sheer volume of enemy vessels that had attempted to engage the Savi, he could only assume that even with their superior technology, they must’ve taken some substantial damage… Good grief what he wouldn’t give to transport a few more genetically modified Moopsy onto the Romulan flagship right about now…

But he had little time to dwell on 'wishes' right now...

Sylvain’s mind was arrow-sharp and focused on his duty station, above all else. The Ensign was mostly oblivious to the urgent flurry of movement that was occurring behind him, Security Officers preparing defensive positions, the cacophony of voices coordinating at mission ops, an officer in red briskly walking to deliver a report to the woman in the captain’s chair, Commander Stark he thought he'd heard, something aboard the boarders who were attacking the ship... He didn't know anybody's names for certain, which in a twisted way, allowed him to distance himself from their comings-and-goings. Their chances of survival were slim enough already, and they’d only plummet further if he allowed himself to become distracted by anything, even for a moment. He knew that their circumstances were bleak, that the Helmet had been boarded, that their shields were depleting, and that with each new salvo, energy was being diverted from other systems just to keep the ship together…

But none of those things were his responsibility.

He was manning the CONN, and his job was to make sure that they avoided as much fire as possible; lasting an hour under such circumstances was an achievement in itself, but he had a lot more to go before they’d see the glimmer of hope on the other side of the conflict… Security would handle the boarding parties. Medical would handle casualties. Mission Ops would handle… Mission ops… Operations would handle their power distribution issues. And Tactical would handle the enemy vessels. Everyone had a role to play, and there was no room for their pilot to get distracted worrying about responsibilities beyond his own.

“Helm take us sixty eight degrees port, I’ve got a clear shot on the engines on one of the D’deridexs…” The woman manning the Tactical station’s voice reached his ears, a Human from the few glances he’d got of her during the battle, with dark eyes and hair pulled into a tight bun behind her head; Macfarlane, he seemed to remember someone calling her... Sylvain’s fingers flew to respond to her initiative immediately, banking hard enough to put some strain on the inertial dampeners, before guiding the Helmet up into the position that Tactical had requested. His sensors confirmed the target in question, one of the larger Romulan vessels that was harrying the Euridite, a notable target to…

His train of thought was abruptly derailed as his sensors flickered with activity. EM fluctuations; a telltale sign of a cloaked ship, only a few kilometres in front of their new position…

The Ensign moved to action immediately, fingers preparing to guide the Helmet into an incredibly sharp manoeuvre, one that would probably press the limits of the inertial dampeners to the max… But before he could engage, Tactical confirmed their target lock, and a torpedo was launched from their starboard tubes... The torpedo had launched at the exact same second that Sylvain needed to bring the ship into a dive, and though he was no expert at stomach-churning acts of piloting, the Ensign was quick enough with physics to recognise that a manoeuvre sharp enough to avoid a collision with the cloaked vessel in their path, would have thrown their own shields into their torpedo...

He knew that an impact like that would have devastated whatever power stability that their ship was clinging onto; he had to wait… It was just for a moment, barely a second of pause as his eyes watched the torpedo leave the proximity of their shield boundary, but it was long enough to matter. The instant that the torpedo had cleared the danger zone, Sylvain sent the ship into a dive, his fingers commanding every thruster to send them down into lurch so hard, that without the inertial dampeners, he’d have probably turned the entire crew compliment of the Helmet into a red paste decorating the bulkheads.

"Brace for impact!" He called, his hoarse voice breaking above his usual volume as the collision neared... And, for a moment, just a moment, he thought that he’d made a right fool out of himself. There was a split second when he wondered if he had made the manoeuvre in time…

But then the ship growled with thunderous intensity, the very edge of their fore shields scraping against the hull of the cloaked vessel that he’d attempted to avoid, a searing wave of heat erupting from his right side as a conduit overloaded from the resultant collision, sending a shower of sparks that cascaded down from the column beside his station. The vessel that they’d clipped was shorn apart from the impact, the resultant explosion breaking across the aft shielding of the Helmet as the vessel soared past the shockwave, the sharp angle of their descent the only thing preventing them from losing their shields entirely.

A second power surge struck the conduit at that moment, the brunt of the explosion on their shields sending a cascade through their systems, and overloading the conduit that had sparked previously. Sylvain flung his head down as the conduit beside him blew, but his hands never left the console, a blistering burst of energy singing the right arm of his uniform, but leaving him otherwise unscathed. The sound of debris clattering against the bulkhead was only drowned out by the sound of blood throbbing in his ears, but no sooner had it ceased, did the Ensign push himself up from the console with a wavering breath, gasping as he recognised that without his thoroughly reckless dive, they’d have probably blown out half of the relays on the ship…

It hadn’t been a manoeuvre that Starfleet approved operating procedure would have sanctioned, he doubted the Bowman would have survived it without compromising hull integrity… But hell if it worked…

A potent cocktail of terror, disbelief and awe flooded his system, and his adrenaline-riddled fingers once again pressed into his console, trembling, but finding their purchase through muscle memory alone. Using the residual energy of the shockwave, Sylvain pushed the engines a little harder, riding the explosion to gain some additional distance between the Warbirds that were still hot on their tail. If anything, their pursuers had only become all the more emboldened by the result of the collision, and no doubt any grief for their fighter, or concern for the D’deridex that now appeared to be dead in the water thanks to MacFarlane’s torpedo, had quickly been replaced with an eagerness to exploit the opportunity of the Helmet’s weakened shields…

They were hardly out of the woods yet…

“There’s a debris field one-hundred and forty kilometers ahead, I’m going to try and put it between us and the Warbird…” His fingers worked overtime as he spoke, navigating a shaky but efficient course towards a debris cloud that would at least scatter some of the incoming weapons fire… It would hopefully buy them a little time at least. “Tactical do you…” Sylvain began, glancing to his side, eyes lingering but a moment on the ravaged column that had erupted during the crash, damage already contained by the automated fire-suppression systems, before his hazel gaze reached the Tactical console…

The woman who had been speaking to him only a few seconds prior, was no longer actively manipulating her station, no longer finding opportunities to disable the enemy vessels and push the Theurgy closer to victory… Instead, she was the only stillness in a room aflood with chaos, the only individual who was not scrambling across her console or calling out reports or status updates… She was silent, her glassy stare affixed on a point on the bulkhead as though it was the most riveting holonovel she’d ever beheld, her cold, slack expression telling quite the opposite story.

MacFarlane was slumped against the back of her chair, having taken the brunt of the explosion from the conduit that occupied the space between his and her station, her body peppered through with shards of metallic debris that had been blown out from the column during the overload. A tapestry of jagged scratches littered her skin, but it was a larger piece of debris that had struck into her chest, that drew Sylvain’s horrified stare. It was the largest shard of debris by far, and it had been hurled into her with some significant force, impacting across her ribs and shoulder, and cutting deep into her form… The extent of the damage only became clear to him when her body shifted, lurching under some jolt or another, but only an inch, half sliding from her chair as her waist moved freely, whilst her lifeless torso remained pinned by the large hunk of metal that was embedded firmly into the back of her chair…

Sylvain twisted back to his console with a gagging noise erupting from his mouth, probably audible enough that the rest of the bridge could hear, hands shaking as he returned to his course... He had only taken a second glance at MacFarlane’s body, but it was time lost that he couldn’t afford, that the crew couldn’t afford. The Ensign redoubled his efforts, immersing his brain in the sensor data that continuously flowed through his console, whilst simultaneously applying every mental technique that he had learned from the time he'd studied on Vulcan, all just to push the image of the woman’s near-bisected form from his mind.

Their course was safe; no EM fluctuations. Their pursuers had opened fire; no EM fluctuations. Evasive pattern theta two; no EM fluctuations… His mind rotated on repeat, transferring data into action, relying on logic in its entirety as he skirted starboard to avoid an incoming photon torpedo, then guided the ship vertically to avoid a blaze of disruptor fire that grazed the wake of their thrusters, denying his mind any time to linger on the image that hung in the back of his subconscious…

He tightly swallowed down the taste of blood and bile that had filled his mouth, the residue of his bitten tongue and the vomit that had threatened to spill his mouth when he'd witnessed MacFarlane's fate.

Whatever thoughts would haunt him from that sight, would have to wait until later.

“... Debris field approaching…”

He had a job to do.

---

OOC - A thread for those characters stationed on the Helmet's bridge, fighting both the battle outside the ship, and preparing to hold against the boarding parties who are expected to begin an assault from within the ship.

Re: Topic: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0020hrs] Heavy is the Head

Reply #1 – July 27, 2025, 06:23:36 AM

[Ensign Jaya Thorne | Main Bridge | Deck 01 | Vector 1 | USS Theurgy]
Attn: @Brutus, @Stegro88, @Dree, @TWilkins

Getting onto the Main Bridge of the USS Theurgy was almost as challenging for Starfleet personnel as it was supposed to be for enemy combatants, or at least it was for Ensign Jaya Thorne. The Security checkpoints on either side of the Bridge were hastily being fortified in preparation for a potential enemy assault, and the Denevan Assistant Chief CONN Officer actually had to climb over an erected barricade in order to get past the checkpoint. When she finally made it onto the Main Bridge, Jaya happened to walk through the doors at the exact moment when someone called for them to brace for impact.

To Jaya, that warning initially fell on deaf ears and she instead kept walking forwards onto the back area of the Main Bridge. She could feel the tension in the room, albeit restrained through sheer discipline and downright professionalism, and she was intent to reach her duty station to relieve the current Flight Control Officer. When the deck suddenly rocked beneath her, accompanied by a thunderous growl that chilled Jaya’s blood and the sounds of thunderous explosions as conduits overloaded around them, the Ensign lost her footing and fell against the large holographic table in the very center of the back room. Jaya felt how a large hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back up to her feet and, as she looked up, the brunette saw the burly frame of Chief Petty Officer Sh’ow towering above her.

As the noise of the exploding conduits died down, a man spoke up about a debris field and Jaya turned her attention away from the Chief Petty Officer and towards the CONN station. Her large auburn-coloured eyes immediately registered the sight of a flustered young man sitting behind her duty station. The unknown man looked like a mess, albeit a highly focused one, and as he mentioned how he planned to put a debris field between them and a Warbird, Jaya heard how calm and collected his voice actually was. This man seemed to know what he was doing and, as she looked back up to Chief Petty Officer Sh’ow, the pair in red exchanged knowing nods; this was a man who knew what he was doing.

Knowing that she wouldn’t have to relieve the Starfleet officer currently at the CONN station, Jaya took a deep breath to steady herself. No one would be helped if she were to storm onto the Bridge in a panic, so the brunette Denevan forced herself to remain calm and collected before stepping towards the chair where Commander Stark was currently seated. It allowed Jaya a good view of the Main Bridge and she noticed that someone was already scrambling to man the Tactical station. She also noticed that the Mission Ops console to her immediate left was also vacant and, without a second thought, Jaya scrambled to take over the vacant seat.

When she sat down in the swivel chair behind the Mission Ops console, Jaya quickly brushed her right sleeve over the console to clean off the debris that littered it before quickly analysing the various sensor readings on the displays in front of her. This was the very first time that she actually found herself at the Mission Ops console in a combat engagement, something which was usually handled by Ensign Cameron Henshaw instead, but Jaya often practiced at the Mission Ops console whenever the USS Theurgy was in Docked Mode and only one CONN Officer was required. That was mere practice however and, now she was actually forced to do the real thing, Jaya briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she put on the headset that allowed her access to the specialized channel to communicate with the Lone Wolves and any other allied ships out there.

In the chaos of battle, especially given the fact that she took over Mission Ops right in the middle of it all, Jaya was unable to determine which fighters she currently had at her disposal and which were otherwise occupied. What she did manage the discern however, was that a large group of hostile shuttlecraft were currently screaming towards Helmet and she needed someone, anyone, to assist. ”This is Mission Ops to any available fighters in the area,” As she spoke, Jaya attempted to sound as calm and collected as possible. There would still be time to intercept the approaching shuttlecraft, but she also knew that they were likely packed to the brim with stuff they would have a hard time dealing with.  ”Be advised, we have a large number of hostile shuttlecraft inbound to our location and are in need of assistance.”

Re: Topic: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0020hrs] Heavy is the Head

Reply #2 – August 06, 2025, 02:36:33 AM

Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Corridor Outside the AI Core | Deck 2 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @TWilkins @Nesota Kynnovan @Brutus @Stegro88 @Dree
[Show/Hide]

Wall and ceiling panels laid about on the floor in heaps, bundles of cable hung from the openings like vines in a jungle, lights flickered, weapon burns and bullet holes were everywhere, the air was filled with acrid smoke and the distinct metallic tinge of blood. Helmet’s interior was a mess and the exterior was probably in no better condition, but aesthetics were not Commander Hassar al-Zaheers concern as he and his team, keyed up and vigilant as they patrolled through the wrecked corridors towards the turbolifts. Reports had indicated that there were still hostels on Deck 1, those on the lower decks were being handled by one of the ship’s senior security officers.

As the group arrived at the door to the lift Starrett took a knee, a grunt and sigh of exhaustion escaped her, the past day had taken a toll on the her as it had many of the crew, no doubt not helped by the level of death being metered out to them in such a short period. Hassar had been around Starfleet many times since his species first encounter with them, death was not unknown but it was not something so cruelly foisted upon them on a daily basis. For his own part death something he and his people had grown to live with from their years in The Fleet, disease and starvation were rampant near the end and many who could have made it to their new home didn’t, like his husband, taken by illness, and now his son, missing perhaps dead as well. He found comfort in his spirituality to deal with the tragedies and he hoped these Starfleet crewmembers had something to help as well or be lost in a spiral of depression and anger.

“Well the lift does work”, Starrett commented as her hands danced over a small screen inside an access panel, “security protocols disabled the turbolifts but I guess this one had some sort of failure in the braking mechanism in one of its vertical accelerator motors, it’s a safety component so it threw up an alert, but I should be able to bypass that.”

Hassar had no understanding of what it was she was talking about, engineering was not his strong suit, “Good, I’d rather not go climbing into your maintenance shafts again.”

A couple of computerized beeps later and the doors of the turbolift swished open. The group filed in and took their positions, Hassar and Aked on either side of the door, weapons ready while Starrett and Faraq took cover on either side of the circular lift.

“Computer, Deck 1, security override, Sterrett Gamma 8029.”

[Corridor Outside the Main Conference Room | Deck 1 | vector 01 | USS Theurgy]

The lift stopped and the doors swished open. Hassar and Aked swung out to clear the corridor just as a Romulan sentry opened fire. The disruptor bolt struck the edge of the frame door frame of the turbolift opening spraying molten hot plastic into Aked’s eyes, he screamed in pain and stumbled back into the turbolift. Hassar was however quick to return the favor, three shots finding new homes in the attacker’s chest, neck, and eye. The brief exchange had alerted the sentry’s comrades and shouts could be heard approaching.

“Get him into the conference room!” Starrett shouted as she lunged out of the lift to lay down suppressing fire on the approaching Romulans who took cover behind the corridor frames.

Hassar grabbed Aked, who was groaning in pain and covering his eyes with his hands, and dragged him into one of the nearby doors while Faraq led and cleared the room then went to assist Starrett. The well appointed room looked to have been trashed by angry Romulans, all the panel screens had been smashed and the potted plants thrown about, but more curiously was what was laying on the table, a dead Romulan. The Romulan, some sort of senior officer based on his uniform and graying hair, was splayed out with several phaser burns in his chest.

This could have been the leader of the attack and might explain why it lost cohesion so quickly, Hassar wondered to himself but it really didn’t matter, despatching the boarders in the here and now would ensure victory.

After ensuring that Faraq was situated and given a pain killer, Hassar returned to the others to help drive off the Romulans in the corridor, Starrett taking a special precaution of locking the doors to the conference room so nobody could harm the defenseless Faraq or have anybody on their own side accidentally get shot by him. As the group advanced the Romulan defenders fell quickly, they were demoralized but refused to surrender, their indoctrination so thorough. Even when the defenders were whittled down to the last one, the wounded man chose to put his disruptor in his mouth and pull the trigger rather than face the indignity of surrender. Starrett used her tricorder to scan for any more Romulan lifesigns and only found only theirs and the other Starfleet crew.

[Commander al-Zaheer to security teams, Decks One and Two are clear and secured, out.]

They continued on to the bridge and found the area outside it littered with corpses, the attackers had been slain by automated defenses. This had probably been what claimed Romulan Officer’s life.

[Bridge | Deck 1 | vector 01 | USS Theurgy]

As they entered the bridge the scene was quite different from the chaotic close quarters combat in the corridors of the ship but rather a different kind of chaos, that of commanding and navigating a ship in battle. Voices rang out from all over the place in layered confusing technical jargon that seemed like gibberish to an uninitiated ear, but it was more like a symphony of teamwork, orders were given and repeated, communications received and acknowledged, numbers, acronyms, initialisms, all thrown into the organized chaos of a professional bridge team. The sounds were almost electrifying to Hassar’s ears and filled him with a level of exhilaration that even the rush of combat could not achieve.

He wandered his way further into the bridger glancing around at the displays and the people who paid him little mind until he was in the main command area. The place was not in much better shape than the rest of the interior of the ship and as with everywhere else there were casualties here too, a female officer specifically, slumped dead in her chair. Hassar glanced forward to the viewscreen and was momentarily awed by the sight, a stunning display of space combat that he had only ever seen in archival footage of Dominion War battles.

Cmdr. Natalie Stark | Bridge | Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy]

Smoke filled the bridge, and Stark found herself coughing and blinking back tears. Sparks from the exploding conduit had temporarily blinded her, but she shook it off, looking around through bleary eyes. She saw the battle on the viewscreen weave past as the Helmet dipped and dove, spinning on its axis to avoid oncoming fire. She looked behind her...seeing the damage done. The empty seat. The empty eyes. Not another one she thought mutely, before starting to stand. Natalie continued to take in the damage, noting those present.  She was no tactical officer but someone - wait. Better idea. Her eyes alighted upon Hassar al-Zaheer, who'd come onto the bridge a short time ago. Perfect.

”Mr. al-Zaheer,” she began, her voice sounding rough. ”Please assume the tactical station. Everyone else, I need a sit rep. And for the love of whatever deity you believe in, put your crash restraints on if you haven’t already.”

Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Bridge | Deck 2 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy]

Hassar was taken out of his awed trance by a commanding female voice. He turned to see a dark haired woman in the large center chair; he had met her briefly a couple hours earlier during the staff briefing, Commander Stark, if he remembered correctly. She gestured to the tactical console to her right and asked if he would take it over. Perhaps she had read the file that Commander Cross had given her. Without physical hesitation, though with a little mental apprehension as while he had some training with Starfleet shipborne weapons before that was years ago, he stepped over to the station.

“Yes, Command, assuming station.”

He looked over the body of the dead officer that had occupied it, she sat slumped, her eyes glazed over in death. He couldn’t help but feel sorrow for the woman he had never met and wondered if all this violent death would lead to angry spirits, apparitions who did not wish to leave the material world. What happened to her soul was in her hands now. Hass gently removed her body from the chair and set it down on the floor behind the station; he said a silent prayer for her as he covered her face with her jacket.

Taking his seat he set his rifle on the floor by his feet, just in case, then looked down at the strange controls. With some hesitation he tapped the screen only for it to suddenly flash and emit a computerized beep as the buttons and displays shifted into a new alignment he was more familiar with and the text changed to vaharran script. Clever machine, he commented. With the new display set up more to his liking he took in the information of the battle around them to give himself a clearer mental image of the tactical picture, chaotic as it was.

Theurgy had its fighters out attempting to defend the ship and whittle away the enemy fighters, meanwhile the ship itself was engaging the Romulan attackers as well as a few non-friendly Klingon ones. There was a lot of red and less so of blue, but even so things were not as dire as it first appeared, Vector 1, or Helmet as they called it, still had potent if damaged defenses and weapons the ship just needed to force a better position. A medium sized Romulan attack vessel quickly gave the answer, attempting to interdict itself between Helmet and Ranger.

“Contact Sierra 18, bearing 0-2-4 mark 3-3-0, course 1-7-5 mark 0-1-0, engaging with phasers”, Hassar announced to the bridge, he wasn’t sure if it was Starfleet protocol, or at least he couldn’t remember if it was, but it was Arosan Navy.

Unlike on Arosan Navy ships however, Starfleet vessels had highly advanced targeting systems, the computer provided targeting data, hit probabilities, damage estimates, and targeting auto assist. Certainly an aid Hassar as he learned on the fly how to man the powerful weapons systems. The targeting reticle locked onto the Romulan vessel, identified as Sierra 18, the near head on closing rate of the two ships and the relatively unaltered and rather leisurely course the Romulan vessel took meant the probability was estimated as high for a hit. Well here it goes.

“Weapons lock, firing phasers.”

The screen showed a simplified view of the phaser powering up then a line connecting Helmet with the target as it fired. Though Hassar, not familiar with the full functions of the weapon, had essentially put the beam on maximum setting; highly effective, the computer indicating that the shields on the Romulan ship collapsed immediately and one of the “wings” was sheared off, but such powerful attacks could not be conducted every time or the phaser could overload or essentially overheat and stop functioning.

A message popped up on the screen, unknown to Hassar it was sent by Thea, recommending proper power settings.

"Sierra 18 disabled!"

---

OCC:

-Thank you to Brutus for providing some Commander Stark action!

-Hassar will hold down the tactical station until somebody from Starfleet qualified shows up to take it over.

Re: Topic: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0020hrs] Heavy is the Head

Reply #3 – August 16, 2025, 12:40:54 AM

[ Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | CONN station | Bridge | Deck One | Vector One | USS Theurgy ] @Brutus @Nesota Kynnovan @joshs1000 @Stegro88

Sylvain’s attempt at fastening his crash restraints single-handedly, was quite the spectacle. To an onlooker, he probably appeared more like he was having a seizure, or perhaps performing some sort of interpretive dance about non-Newtonian fluids, as opposed to attempting to follow orders from the Captain. Nevertheless, the Ensign fully agreed with the Captain’s instruction; he was a fool not to have put them on the moment he took his station. And usually, he would have. Sylvain was a sucker for a meticulous routine, and during a red alert, the first part of said routine was to secure his crash restraints; it took no more than a second.

The trouble was, since he’d taken the CONN, he hadn’t had a spare second…

However, like a perfect salve to ward off any potential embarrassment, he was far too preoccupied with his ongoing escape from Romulan warbirds, to spare any mental capacity to consider how absurd he might have looked. His fingers were flickering across his console so swiftly that they appeared a blur, whilst his pupils shot from side-to-side so rapidly that he might have resembled an Earth goat. He was checking for EM fluctuations, monitoring the calibration of the inertial dampeners, checking engine power, all whilst trying to keep up a pattern of evasive manoeuvres unpredictable enough to keep their Romulan pursuers guessing… It didn’t leave much room for his appearance to come into consideration.

Sylvain heard the man who had taken the tactical console call out his target, and the pilot ceased his more avant-garde attempts to dodge incoming fire in response, just long enough for their new tactical officer to confirm a target lock; by the time he’d called out that their aggressor had been disabled, the Helmet was already spiraling back into a nauseating display of evasion, as Sylvain deftly closed their gap with the debris field. There were still two Romulan Warbirds in pursuit, along with maybe half a dozen smaller vessels in support, and they showed no sign of relenting their pursuit… The debris field was about as safe a haven as they could hope for right now.

“I’m bringing us into the debris field now Captain…” Sylvain began, left hand still fumbling with his crash restraints as he and the ship’s sensors plotted a course that would facilitate their safe entry into the menagerie of debris. From a distance, his scans had alluded to him that it might have been the wreckage of a vessel taken out early in the battle, but their proximity certainly proved otherwise, by sight if not sensors… Based on his fleeting glimpses at the viewscreen, it appeared to be a large, but fractured, inter-stellar asteroid. “Scans of the debris are showing it’s composed of duranium, cobalt and thallium…” He paused for the briefest of moments, remembering back to the geology elective he’d sat-in on back at the academy... “That should disrupt the Romulan’s scanning capabilities.” Their own too, but he was confident that he could safely navigate through the field on limited sensors; the Theurgy was the pride of Starfleet, it could out-manoeuvre a few Romulan warbirds.

“Captain we still have borders aboard, I’m registering phaser fire on decks two, three, four, five, six, ten, eleven and fourteen. We’ve got Romulan biosigns across most decks, but there’s a concentration in the Spearhead Lounge; they may be using it as a base of operations of some sort…” One voice called out from somewhere far to the right of Sylvain’s station, their frantic report coming in as Sylvain sucked a fleeting lungful of air into his chest, guiding the Helmet into a precarious dance between two enormous chunks of rock…

[Cmdr. Natalie Stark | CO Chair | Bridge | Deck One | Vector One | USS Theurgy ]

As if dealing with multiple pursuers isn’t enough to keep my mind focused on, Commander Stark groused silently to herself, held in place in the command chair by the series of restraints wrapped over her shoulders, and around her waist. She looked down at the command console in her arm rest and nodded, affirming the report. Not that it was great news. Aloud, she acknowledged, [color-red]”Noted. Hopefully Security teams can hold them off and keep them off my bridge. We have too many rocks to worry about, we don’t need our former allies mucking things up. Everyone make sure to keep your sidearms in reach.”[/color[]

[ Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | CONN station | Bridge | Deck One | Vector One | USS Theurgy ]

Sylvain had little time to check for the presence of his side-arm, the debris field occupying his attention wholeheartedly. It was their best defensive option, but the sensor interference was as much a burden as a boon… Many of the fragments surrounding them were several orders of magnitude larger than the Helmet,; he had enough data to guide the vessel through safely, but the smaller fragments weren’t proving to be so merciful, and Sylvain was making evasive manoeuvres at far shorter notice than he’d have liked… They wouldn't devastate the Helmet's shields, but they couldn't afford to spare even two percent because of rogue debris. But he knew that the risk would be worthwhile; the Romulans would struggle far more than himself, and whilst he wouldn’t want to get into a dogfight in such a narrow space, it would give them at least a minute or two grace from their pursuers…

“Captain, I'm remodulating our shield frequencies and redistributing all available auxiliary power to the field emitters…” The Andorian manning the operations station next to him called, her own blue fingers shooting across her console with dazzling speed. Meanwhile, Sylvain carefully navigated the Helmet up towards the crest of one of the larger chunks of asteroid, positioning the vessel at the apex, before moving back out past the largest fragments of debris and into a field of hundreds of smaller fragments.. The manoeuvre would take the ship through a fairly dense part of the debris field, but it would put a large quantity of asteroid residue between themselves and their pursuers, and perhaps most importantly, it granted Sylvain the chance to finally take his right hand off of his station and secure his crash restraints...

Barely a second had passed in the time it took the Ensign to clip the harness into place, but the instant his hands returned to his console, Sylvain was already running every suite of sensor sweeps he could think of; there was no such thing as being too careful. EM fluctuations were still negative, and he wasn’t getting a read on their pursuers due to the interference from the asteroid, but from their position their sensors did have a thorough view of the Erudite’s new position, and it made the Ensign take a second glance.

“I can get shields back up to fourty-eight percent without compromising any essential systems, might be able to get it up to fifty-five if we redirect power from… Captain, we've got an incoming transmission from the Ranger!”  The woman interrupted herself, her blue hands flying across her console so rapidly that Sylvain almost thought that it was a disruptor blast coming towards him, before a voice familiar, even to him, rang out across the bustling confines of the battle-worn bridge.

[Cmdr. Natalie Stark | CO Chair | Bridge | Deck One | Vector One | USS Theurgy ]

Natalie's head snapped up and away from her own outputs to watch the viewscreen, though the transmission was audio only.

[Helmet bridge, this is Commander Cross from aboard the Ranger. We’re currently implementing systematic counter-boarding operations with Klingon support.] A pause broke the Commander’s speech, [Two squads of Chancellor Marktok’s warriors are joining our security teams to eliminate the Romulan infiltrators. We’re using coordinated sweeps with Thea providing tactical coordination and internal force fields to create chokepoints.]

[What’s your status?] Commander Cross’ voice rang out clearly across the bridge once more. [Do you need assistance with your own boarding situations, or can we spare additional resources to support your external battle?]

”We’ve been better, Mr. Cross,” Natalie replied, doing her damndest to keep the fear and stress out of her voice. If she let any of that show, it would be all over for what moral the bridge crew had managed to hold onto. ”We’re currently playing chicken with a bunch of giant rocks, and two Romulan warbirds. We too have our own borders to deal with. I wouldn’t say no to a few extra hands, but realistically, make sure you secure the Ranger first and foremost.” Not exactly the most reassuring orders for her crew, but the Ranger had more personnel than the Helmet did, and Natalie was responsible for every member of he Theurgy in her CO’s absence.

[ Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | CONN station | Bridge | Deck One | Vector One | USS Theurgy ]

The Commander’s words gave Sylvain a sense that the Ranger was faring a little better than the Helmet was; a measly forty eight percent remaining for their shields, boarders across multiple decks, and cowering in a debris field just to give their systems a long enough break to complete their power distribution cycle… If anything, the Captain’s statement would perhaps be disheartening to hear; Sylvain really would have quite liked the idea of the cavalry coming to the rescue… Thankfully, the Ensign’s mind had little time to focus on the connotations of the Captain’s words; he was too busy looking at the sensor suite…

“Apologies Captain…” Sylvain spoke quickly, hoping not to appear rude, but also desperate to relay what even Sylvain could recognise as pretty critical information. “The Erudite appears to be retreating from the battle…”  The Erudite’s evasive actions seemed to be leading them in a pretty consistent direction, one which was steering the Savi vessel decidedly clear of the conflict zone… Sensors only revealed so much, but the almighty presence of the Savi vessel had been drawing the attention of a not-insignificant part of the Romulan fleet, at least a dozen larger vessels, probably thirty plus fighters; with the Erudite's retreating stance, those same vessels appeared to be moving to rejoin the fray, and with the Helmet hidden behind some sensor-inhibiting debris, it appeared that the Romulans who had been harassing the Erudite were now making a beeline for a different target.

The Ranger…

“Sir, the Romulan vessels engaging the Erudite seem to be adjusting their heading and making a move towards the Ranger…” Even with the urgency behind the sentiment, Sylvain’s words still turned to chalk in his mouth as the readings on his sensors changed for a final time… The Ensign’s tongue suddenly gained an inexplicable dryness as the boy paused in shock, his eyes attempting to blink away what the information on his console was showing him. He recalibrated them with a jarring rigidity to his fingers, but they only confirmed the same, damning result.
   
“C-captain… I’m afraid that the Erudite appears to have gone to warp…”

[Cmdr. Natalie Stark | CO Chair | Bridge | Deck One | Vector One | USS Theurgy ]

Resisting the urge to swear under her breath, Natalie ground her teeth instead, her fingers curling into the palm of her hands. There was always a chance that this would happen. She couldn’t rightly denigrate the Savi as ‘fairweather friends’ considering they had been in the thick of much of this, but it was always understood that the Savi would look out for the Savi first and foremost. And for whatever inscrutable reasons, it appeared that the Erudite had plans elsewhere. She wanted to rage against it all, call them every name under the stars and then some, but....but.

Straightening her posture, Natalie leaned back into her chair, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. She was getting quite good at lying through her physical actions. Never mind that the ship was tossing about in a field of asteroids, with Romulan warbirds in pursuit. Just another day in Starfleet. Aware that many eyes were on her, and the comms channel still open, the acting Captain gave her orders.

”Commander Cross, see to the Ranger. You’re going to get very busy over there. We’ll keep the ones on our tail distracted and out of the fray. Do whatever you can to even the odds for yourself.” The ship shuddered as something bounced off those weakening shields, the Commander stopping mid sentence as she was pushed into the bands restraining her shoulders.

“Apologies…” The Ensign on COMM muttered somewhat sheepishly in response.

”We’ll swing around and help once we deal with our own friends.’ Godspeed Ranger. As for the rest of you -” she now addressed the bridge crew, ”You know what we need to do. Duck, dodge, dive, whatever. Deal back as much damage to our pursuers as you can. And if we can perhaps throw an extra rock or two at them, I’d be mighty obliged. We haven’t lost tractor beam power, have we? No, then let's make it happen people. We’ve got too much left to do today to rest on our laurels.”

Which all sounded well and good. Now the trick would be making her crew - and herself - believe it.

[ Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | CONN station | Bridge | Deck One | Vector One | USS Theurgy ]

“Affirmative sir, those fifty-five percent shields can wait, scanning for a suitable target…” The Andorian manning ops responded cordially, whilst Sylvain almost coughed his lungs up at the idea of turning their ship into some sort of stellar trebuchet… It wasn’t that he was opposed to having another potential weapon to wield against the Romulans, but using a tractor beam to hurl asteroids at enemy ships felt rather… Savage... Yet, even as the Ensign blanched at the idea, he found himself considering how best to implement it, revisiting the mineral scans that he’d reviewed earlier concerning the asteroid’s composition in case it provided any notable clues. The scans detected residue consistent with an exploded torpedo, with a mineral composition primarily consisting of duranium, thallium and…

“Cobalt!” Sylvain announced with some small measure of triumph in his tone, a small and exhausted twitch pulling at the corner of his mouth. “The debris has high concentrations of Cobalt ore; we don’t need to select a singular chunk. If we reverse our tractor beam polarity, we should be able to attract the debris magnetically.” The Ensign turned ever so slightly to glance at the Andorian woman sitting beside him, unconsciously sitting a little straighter in his chair when he noted that she was a Lieutenant. “I can chart a course to maximise our uptake…” And the Ensign’s fingers had already set to the task, not wasting a single second in his selection of the most efficient route for collection.

“And if we reverse the polarity of the tractor beam when the Romulans clear the larger chunks of the asteroid…” The Andorian responded, her own hands whirring manically across her console as Sylvain’s sensors indicated an immediate shift in the asteroid trajectory that the computer had been calculating. “We can turn the deflector into a rudimentary railgun…”

“And given the sensor interference, the only means of tracking us will be by following our ion trail, which means that they should be surfacing… There.” Sylvain sent across the coordinates to the viewscreen display, highlighting the most likely egress points of the Romulan vessels, adjusting the impulse engines to compensate for the strain on the tractor beam. “Initiating the collection route, I’m estimating that we’ve got about thirty five seconds before the Romulans are on us again, so I’m limiting the manoeuvre to fifteen…”

Despite the keen awareness of their likely death, or the harrowing circumstances that awaited them even should they survive… Despite the fact that he was currently performing a tactical action that would no doubt result in the deaths of several dozen Romulans aboard the ships they were targeting… Despite having just witnessed the overwhelmingly brutal death of somebody who’d been situated not five paces from him… Despite not even knowing the name of his colleague on Ops, or even the Captain in the chair behind him…

Despite it all, for just a moment, Sylvain had been able to let his guard down, to forget about his fortress of data and logic, to forget all of the doom and gloom, and remind himself of the reason he had joined Starfleet in the first place. The glorious scientific wonders of space exploration, that had fascinated him ever since he’d first looked up at the stars as a child, through the viewport on Deep Space Sixteen.

He’d never used scientific wonders as a weapon before… But it seemed that whilst aboard the Theurgy, there really was a first time for everything.

---

Joint post between TWilkins and Brutus, NPCing Reika Sh'laan.

Re: Topic: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0020hrs] Heavy is the Head

Reply #4 – August 17, 2025, 07:19:27 AM

Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Bridge| Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Brutus  @Nesota Kynnovan  @Stegro88  @TWilkins
[Show/Hide]

With the AI’s help, Hassar adjusted his power settings for the phasers and continued to engage the Romulan vessels, firing targeted shots in a defensive manner to keep the enemy ships away and give Helmet some breathing room to re-organize for a counter offensive. This was easier said than done as the Romulans proved numerous with what turned out to be a betrayal of the Starfleet ship and it’s Klingon allies by the Donatra led Romulans who immediately pounced on their former ally with alacrity and vigor. Hassar, perhaps more familiar than most vaharrans on the state of the powers in the quadrant, couldn’t help but feel a momentary sense of kinship with the klingons as he felt anger at the betrayal. Long had he heard from the klingon advisors who would come to visit Aros of the treachery and underhandedness of the romulans, how they should not be trusted, and while Hassar and his people took the advice it was with a certain air of dismissal as the rare instances that the vaharrans interacted with them they were cordial if not a bit arrogant but did not seem to have an ill will.

As helmet pulled away from the battle proper towards a “debris field” Hassar fired off several parting phaser shots at the pursuing romulans until his sensors started to become ineffective due to the local interference. By this the pursuers also held their fire, no doubt getting the same interference. He considered switching to optical manual targeting but held his fire as it seemed that the intention from Commander Stark was to hide the ship to regroup and restore damaged systems.

With little to do but monitor his displays, such as they were, it gave him a bit of time to scan and watch the bridge, much as he had when he took part in the Starfleet Officer Exchange years before.

The view screen was filled with debris, some sort of asteroid or small planetoid, having been broken apart, perhaps through some sort of gravitation force, if his basic understanding of astronomy was correct. Whatever had happened to it the ship was flying right into the mess of massive rocks and dust, several alerts flashed across the screen pointing out ones that were perhaps a bit too close while an occasional aural warning would sound if the ship got closer than even that. But the helmsman, whom Hassar had not met, but could at least tell he was the rank of ensign, seemed adept at controlling the ship which bobbed, weaved, and banked between the hazards as if it were nothing more than a simulator. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with the prospect though, remembering an incident in The Fleet when they needed to assist a mining ship that became disabled in a thick asteroid field; Vaharran ships then weren’t exactly the most agile.

The deep gong-like thump of a rock striking the hull near their location made the large imposing man jump in his seat and grit his teeth. Getting shot at was preferable to him than navigating in such close quarters. Spirits let me survive this day.

The ship seemed to slow as it entered what appeared to be the rear of the debris field that was dominated by hundreds of far smaller, but still probably the size of a car or shuttle, rocks. Indications were that they had managed to elude the Romulans for now. This was quickly followed by a communication from the other section of Theurgy, what they called Ranger, inquiring as to Helmet’s status, the familiar voice of the bald man, Commander Cross, that he had met the previous day sounded over the speakers. He and Commander Stark provided each other status updates and words of encouragement, but even so there was a subtle tone of pessimism and concern in their voices, a tone he was all too familiar with, the similar tone of voice he and many of his people used to hide bad news with optimism. The battle as a whole seemed to be turning against them.

The communication ceased, Stark having suggested that perhaps in lieu of phasers and torpedoes they threw a large piece of asteroid at the attacking enemy ships, perhaps it would cause enough damage to even the odds a bit. The idea was seemingly snatched from the air by the Ensign who pointed out the materials were made of cobalt and that they could use the tractor beam to gather them up to which the blue woman, an andorian lieutenant, this one with two antennae unlike the handsome officer he met earlier in the day, proposed that they could do something to the tractor beam to turn it into a “rail gun”.

Rail gun got Hassar’s attention immediately, before the Arosan Navy had switched to Klingon derived disruptors their ships used a former of electro magnetic rail gun as weapons that could propel a cobalt slug to a little over a percent the speed of light, the impact would produce an explosion equivalent to a nuclear bomb.

“I’ll use the optical targeting systems to help aim and say when we should release”, Hassar offered to the group, “we used similar weapons on our ships, if you can accelerate the cobalt to at least one percent of light speed you should be able to achieve a powerful blast.”

The bridge team quickly got to work, according to the Helmsman they only had about half a minute to properly pull this unorthodox attack off. Hassar brought up the optical targeting display and, with Thea’s assistance, ready a crude firing solution that only needed the Romulan ships to enter view to complete. He said a silent prayer and waited.

Helmet activated its tractor beam, the blue streaking light scooping up several large rocks as it went until it was confirmed that they had about one hundred tons of it. That’s about the time the Romulan ships hove into view, their courses immediately changing sharply as they made their move to intercept and no doubt, in their minds, destroy Helmet. But Helmet bore down on them with renewed vigor.

Hassar’s green eyes watched the enemy ships fill his reticle, but years of experience in traditional gunnery told him they weren’t at the right angle, if they released now the “projectile” would sail harmlessly under the Romulan ships.

“Helm pitch up ten degrees, right sharply five degrees!”

The acting tactical officer watched as the reticle lifted into just the right spot, it was now or never, his heart felt as if it was about to pound out of his chest. “Release now!”

The andorian officer pressed a button on her console that initiated the sequence that launched the cobalt mass at the enemy vessels. The project streaked forth followed by a pair of quantum torpedoes as a bit of added insurance. Hassar watched as the projectile, almost in slow motion, soared into the closest Romulan ship. The projectile struck the dorsal section just behind “the beak” of the warbird, the impact immediately broke the vessels back and annihilated its midships, the stern, still powered, tumbled out of control into the ship’s wingman and promptly exploded in a brilliant flash that destroyed the second vessel. The cobalt projectile however had not finished as it smashed headlong into the bow of a warpbird, utterly shattering its hull and further detonating its reactor in an additional brilliant flash; but the projectile continued undaunted until it finally struck a massive tens of kilometers wide piece of asteroid behind the romulan ships. The force of the impact sent out a massive wave of debris to engulf any of the remaining Romulan ships. The two quantum torpedoes, unguided, also found targets, one hit a chunk of rock and promptly vaporized it, the other found the severed beak of the first warbird and finished it off as well.

“It worked!” Hassar shouted in delight, not realizing he had leapt to his feet at some point, “you did it Commander!”

---

OOC:

-So according to a relativistic kinetic energy calculator, throwing a 100 metric ton amount of cobalt at 1% the speed of light would yield 107.41 megatons of TNT in kinetic energy. For reference the Tzar Bomba, the largest nuclear weapon ever detonated by humanity, produced an explosion the equivalent of 50-58 megatons. So hopefully that should be sufficient to ruin these Romulans’ day.

Re: Topic: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0020hrs] Heavy is the Head

Reply #5 – August 22, 2025, 07:25:32 PM

[Negh'var class battleship KDFS Kajanpak’t] @joshs1000 @TWilkins @Brutus @Ellen Fitz @rae @Nesota Kynnovan

Space was alive around the behemoth of a vessel and she shook as Romulan disruptor and torpedoes slammed into her formidable shields. Captain Vojurn smiled as he ordered his helmsman to roll the ship to Port and push the bow down.  One of the large and unweidly D'Deridex class vessels entered the forward arc of his ship. "Fire!" the Klingon ordered, with a barely detectable level of glee, to his weapons officer and the dual heavy disruptor beams lanced out at the target.  A volley of photon torpedoes soon followed. The shields on the target ship flared, trying to beat back the brutal assault and it appeared to work as the warbird continued on apparently intact.  The torpedo strike gave lie to that impression as the first two slammed into the shield bubble and detonated to no apparent effect.  Then the third impacted and it's energy sheath helped it to slip through what was left of the Romulan energy screen. Captain Vojurn snarled happily as an explosion blossomed on the hull sending flaming debris and atmosphere into space. The remaining three projectiles followed their brother in and the warbird seemed to hit a wall in space as the target was violently pushed downwards by the following explosions. Canines bared, his next order was a matter of instinct "Finish it off!" the Captain yelled across the acrid smokey bridge.  The weapons officer was only too happy to comply as he pressed the button activating the heavy disruptor again.  The two green beams smashed their way through the remaining hull and pierced into the empty space between before boring their way into the dorsal section of the ship and eviscerating its belly in fire and fury.

Captain Vojurn had been hoping for an explosion to confirm the kill, but it was not to be.  Maybe he'd hit his target too hard and vaporized any power sources in the area before they could explode.  It didn't matter as a practical matter though as the Romulan ship simply lost power and tumbled away, a massive glaring hole going through the ship.

He looked around for his next target when a communication icon blinked on his chair console.  It was from Major General K'mprot, the squadron commander who was in the flag command area on his ship. The captain masked his annoyance at being dragged away from the battle and received the call. "Yes General?" the ship master asked in a distracted tone as he absorbed tactical information and planned his next move. A good working relationship between a flag officer and his flag captain was important to squadron operations, so the General let the tone go.  Besides, the Captain was doing a very good job and it was more glory to him. "Captains, it looks like the Romulans have a vendetta with the Starfleet vessel.  Their blind arrogant commanders have lost track of the battle and are focusing on the human ship.  Two dozen Romulan vessels are headed towards the asteroid field.  We're getting a scambled signature along the estimated course that Theurgy took.  Presumably the Romulans have been tracking their quarry at closer quarters than we have, so they have a better idea where the Starfleet vessel is.  This presents us a window of opportunity with some deadly bait.  I'm uploading manoeuvres and the attack plan to you and attack squadrons 9, 12, and 38.  Match the full impulse Kajanpak’t and fall into the designated attack formation.  Light units, screen the redeployment."

Captain Vojurn quickly looked at the plan and he smiled at its audacity.  It wouldn't even take that long given how complacent the Romulans were being.  And launching shuttles.  Shuttles of all things!  He liked a good knife fight as much as the next Klingon, but the warrior inside him wasn't a greenhorn berserker, launching blind attacks.  It had to be the racial arrogance of the Romulans.  They wanted to bask in the glory of the capture.  Fools!

Then he saw what he considered either the most stupid action being taken, or the the most brilliant deceptive ploy ever deployed in combat as the something was hurled at the Romulans, greatly disturbing the field.  The explosions of the debris were visually impressive, as the enemy ships ran head long into the fast flying debris.  If nothing else, at least their sensors would now be confused.  Starfleet type energy signature bloomed as it appeared Theurgy took advantage of the chaos and utilized their full range of actual weapons to engage the pursuing Romulans and several ships broke apart under the assault.  Good! The Federation still knew how to fight. "Target the central cluster of warbirds, full disruptors and maximum rate of fire on for torpedoes!"   The Captain of the battleship stared at the tactical display and watched as the enemy were closing on the interfering asteroid field and flew straight into the overlapping cones of fire, and waited with bated breath as the confused enemy entered the final field of fire and he felt his blood rush again as he gave the order.

"Fire!"

Space blazed green and red as the Negh'var and a dozen Vor'cha class attack cruisers swooped in to the area behind the USS Theurgy and filled the space behind the Starfleet vessel with disruptor and torpedo fire.  The attack took the confused enemy by even more complete surprise and the results were telling. Another giant D'Deridex's wing collapsed as the dual heavy energy beams sheared them off before causing the rest of the hull to buckle in flame as systems overloaded and feedback loops overwhelmed the power systems.  A pair of Valdores were slammed aside by a torpedo barrage and one wreck rolled into the path of the other where the two ships collided and exploded before spreading metal and bodies all over the asteroid field.  The Romulan formation attempted to scatter when they realized they'd been trapped and ships tried to fly off in all directions as fire rained down from all angles and shredded them to incandescent ruin while the wall of debris built up.  Another Valdore imploded as it ran into the lost singularity core of another destroyed ship before its own core also violently imploded and winked out of existence.

The Romulans woes were not yet complete as the Starfleet vessel seemed to come to life once more as a curtain of point defence phaser fire mixed with the oncoming disruptor fire, shredding the vulnerable shuttles that were trying to land more boarding parties and Romulans died in scores as the thin hulled shuttles simply disintegrated under the volume of fire.  Broken ships tumbled while battered ones scattered, many trailing plasma and atmosphere as they sought safety in flight from the deadly trap their own hubris had created. 

The General roared at the success he had generated.  It was a glorious day indeed with a dozen and a half enemy ships destroyed and countless numbers of enemy slain.  Certainly one for the anals of history.  But there was more glory to be had.  "Attack squadrons 12 and 38, pursue those honorless petaq and make sure none survive!  Squadron 9, form up with the Kajanpak’t and prepare to cover the human vessel while we clean out the vermin on board.  Open a channel to the Theurgy."   There was a brief moment as the communications officer punched in the sequence and confirmed a connection.  "USS Theurgy.  This is Major General K'mprot.  We've received the message about sending over reinforcements and I'm afraid that two squads will not be sufficient.  I have six hundred warriors here looking to come to grips with the enemy in personal combat.  We will begin beaming these reinforcements over immediately and we'll have these vermin cleaned out of your decks in no time at all."

"General!" a voice called and the flag officer turned to face the speaker, his fleet yeoman. "Six enemy ships refuse to break off and are continuing their attack. We estimate 3 Valdores, 2 D'Deridex and a Hapax entered the debris field."  A Vor'cha and two B'Rels were inundated with torpedoes and exploded as the remaining survivors hurled their defiance on the ambushers. "It appears we still have work to do." The General grimly concluded as he turn his attention back to the space battle while the Kajanpak’t, half a dozen Vor'chas and an six more B'rels dove into the hellacious sensor maelstrom.

Re: Topic: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0020hrs] Heavy is the Head

Reply #6 – August 28, 2025, 05:07:36 AM

[ Colonel Xiomek | Scimitar-class Khopesh] @joshs1000  @TWilkins @Brutus  @RyeTanker  @rae  @Nesota Kynnovan

Colonel Xiomek watched the Romulan fighters descend on the Federation craft, his expression unreadable. Across the battlefield, small skirmishes flared like sparks around the dueling capital ships. Sensors showed more clashes breaking out in the debris field beyond.

His Scimitar-class warbird, *Khopesh*, held the advantage. Cloaked, armed, waiting. He knew exactly which ships belonged to the deposed Empress and which to the Praetor. Cut off the head, the body dies. It was only a matter of time—and lives were being spent fast. When this was over, Romulans would crawl home to rebuild. This time, the Remans would stand beside them.

If it had been his choice, he’d already have driven straight for Donatra’s and Tal’Aura’s flagships and gutted them, without wasting words on the Theurgy. But the orders were clear. He was a weapon, wielded by others.

His eyes shifted to the comms officer. Open the channel.

“This is Colonel Xiomek of the Khopesh. I speak for the United Reman–Romulan Empire. The Praetor’s blockades are broken. Romulus is open. Freedom of movement is restored. Senators Vkruvux and tr’Rehu of the Dhiovhaekh Coalition stand witness to these words. Romulans—cast off the chains of a corrupt Praetor and a false Empress. Rise. Take back your freedom. A new dawn is here.”

He gave a curt nod, signaling for the broadcast to end, then gestured to redirect the hail.

“Federation ship Theurgy, the Khopesh is cloaked and within range. I have five vessels under my command. At your request, we strike. In return, when this battle is done, I want an audience with your captain. We have matters to settle.”

---

Help is never simple...always has strings attached...

Re: Topic: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0020hrs] Heavy is the Head

Reply #7 – October 21, 2025, 06:20:02 AM

Cmdr. Natalie Stark | Bridge | Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn:[/b] @Brutus  @Nesota Kynnovan  @TWilkins @Ellen Fitz @RyeTanker

“I won’t say no to the extra firepower Colonel, you have a deal”, Natalie said, practically shouted, as news of more friendlies graced her ears and lifted the great weight from her shoulders and dread in her stomach. “Standby, Colonel.”

With a few taps of the armrest of the captain’s chair, Cross and K’mprot were brought into the unified comms channel. “Commander, General, looks like we got a bit more help so I think we better make a play at ending this thing before anymore lives are lost; we need to take down their flagship, if that Thaloron weapon is allowed to go off things are going to go south fast.”

She paused for a moment as that weight returned as the realization that her actions could either lead to great victory or doom, not just for Theurgy but for their allies as well. The moment was hers to seize and she wasn’t going to second guess herself, she had to trust her gut. The pause was long enough for her mind to formulate a plan of action but it would require Theurgy, the Klingons, and their new Reman allies to work as a team, a team that had never practiced together or even knew each other’s names.

“Cross, I want you to use Ranger to fix that main Romulan squadron in place, and work with General K’mprot to get them away from the enemy flagship. Colonel Xiomek, form your squadron on my ship to make a run on the flagship, I want us to make a nice target to keep them distracted long enough that our combined fighters can get in close and allow a boarding party to get on board and sabotage the weapon.”

Once each leader acknowledged their orders, Stark rotated around in her chair to face Ensign Thorne, “Jaya, get on the horn with Janus, tell him he has five minutes to get his squadron, the Klingons’, and the Remans’ formed up and ready to attack, I have too much to manage up here so I’ll need you to vector them in and keep them coordinated.”

She turned back forward and took a breath, here we go. “Sylvain, get us out of this debris field and make a nice showy turn to get that Romulan flagship’s attention, full impulse, engage.”

Under the deft controls of Ensign Llewellyn-Kth, Helmet gracefully departed the dust and massive rocks of the debris field, leaving the shattered remains of a Romulan squadron behind, her sleek hull was heavily battered from not just the battle but months of abuse and yet she still stood out in the darkness of space due to her smart Starfleet paint that made her look like a worn beacon of light in the darkness. Within minutes Helmet was back in the battle space now filled with debris and burning ships, carnage perhaps not seen since the Dominion War, but still the two fleets, as worn down as they were slugged it out at ever closer ranges.

“Steady as you go Ensign”, Stark calmly said to Sylvain as the Helmet banked into position, the imposing form of the Romulan flagship centering on the screen, “here we go, mind your stations, Sylvain, take whatever evasive action is needed but don’t back down from that ship. Let’s give them something to shoot at. Auxiliary power to forward shields and weapons, ready photon torpedoes.”

Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Bridge| Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy]
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Hassar listened to the call with mild interest but spent much of his time in the brief pause since they had lost their attackers reviewing the controls for the weapons, with the help of the ship’s AI, Thea, who arranged what they called the LCARS display in a mild almost video-game-like tutorial. Before long though the Helmet was on the move once again as it exited the debris field and rejoined the battle.

The Romulan flagship filled the viewscreen, imposing, perhaps the largest ship that Hassar had ever seen. He glanced back down to his display which showed a smaller view of the viewscreen was seeing but also had a simple tactical map as well as a simple readout for the status of the weapons and shields. The tactical screen showed the enemy, still holding strong but clearly in a state of disarray as the tide was rapidly turning against them, as well as their allies but more importantly to his task, the fighters that had quickly grouped together to launch their own attack. His eyes watched, rarely blinking as the range counted down, finally the range counter flipped from red to green and in that very moment, Stark ordered, in a cool, almost melancholic voice, “Open fire.”

“Yes Commander, engaging contact Sierra 5, forward weapons firing”, Hassar responded a bit more emphatically than he normally would.

Coming in loaded for bear, Helmet unleashed its full power against the opposing enemy ship, which had also opened fire itself. A dual pair of phaser beams each took turns blasting away at the massive ship while two, six missile, salvoes of photon torpedoes burst forth from the forward torpedo tubes. This onslaught, combined with that of the supporting Reman ships was more than enough to get the attention of the enemy flagship and a not insubstantial number of its fighters as well as a couple escort ships. It was now or never if Theurgy and her allies’ fighters wanted to get the upper hand in their strike.

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OOC Notes:

-Just to clarify what is happening, Theurgy and her allies are making one big attack on the Romulan flagship so they can get people aboard and disable the Thaloron weapon as well as decapitate head of the fleet (perhaps even literally since there are Klingons about) and bring a swift end to the battle.

-The mission with the fighters and the boarding action will be handled in separate threads, reach out to Ellen Fitz for more information if you are unsure what to do next.

Re: Topic: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0020hrs] Heavy is the Head

Reply #8 – November 17, 2025, 12:20:38 AM

[ Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | CONN station | Bridge | Deck One | Vector One | USS Theurgy ] @Brutus @joshs1000 @Stegro88 @Nesota Kynnovan @Ellen Fitz @RyeTanker

Captain Yume had always insisted on formality aboard the Bowman; “It might be a small ship, but we’re still representing Starfleet.”, had been one of the first things she’d said to him the when he’d originally come aboard, and not once during his time aboard the Bowman, had he seen that rule waver. She was a formal woman, proud, unwavering in her commitment to Starfleet’s mission. She believed that Starfleet needed to be an inspiration, a beacon of hope amongst the stars for those people who relied on them for protection, resources, medical support… Captain Yume had always said that it was their duty as Starfleet Officers, to keep that inspiration alive. And she had meant it; throughout his entire time serving under her, he didn’t think that she had used his first name once. It was always ‘Ensign’, or ‘Ensign Llewellyn-Kth’, or ‘Helm’. He’d grown quite accustomed to it over the past twenty months; he’d taken to recording all of his personal logs using his surname too…

So much so, that actually being called Sylvain, felt a little unfamiliar…

He’d been engrossed in sensor readings, eyes, mind and fingers conducting an orchestra across his station, navigating the debris field as swiftly as possible, as to make the Helmet a more difficult target; if their Klingon allies could approach them from beyond the debris, a cloaked Romulan could very much do the same. The conversation being woven around him hadn’t escaped his notice, but his mind had been far too fixated on the rest of his duties to truly absorb what was otherwise being discussed. The duranium-cobalt-thallium makeup of the debris field, was requiring constant sensor modulation in order to facilitate their ongoing sensor sweeps, and the debris itself was whirling around them in a pattern so chaotic, that the evasive actions necessary to keep them from getting hit was actually fairly involved; he supposed that was what they got for agitating such a dense debris field with their tractor beam…

As such, whilst he wasn’t not paying attention, Sylvain was too engrossed in his duties to actively be following the discussion. The conversation was one of tactics, that much he was aware of, and he understood, more-or-less, most of what was being discussed. He knew that the Klingon Colonel was being asked form a squadron on the Helmet, he’d understood that Commander Cross had been asked to engage the main Romulan force with the second and third Vectors of the Theurgy, and that a person by the name of Jaya, whom he believed also worked the CONN based on his brief overview of the crew manifest, has been asked to coordinate their fighter squadrons in their upcoming assault… Sylvain had acknowledged what was being said, even if it hadn’t really sunk in straight away.

Though, the entire context of their tactical planning washed over him like a deluge of frozen slush, when the Commander addressed him by his first name…

The Ensign had almost missed it, his eyes widening in a genuine double take as he remembered that Sylvain, was indeed his own name, ears standing to attention as his honey-brown eyes flickered up from his console for the briefest of moments. In any other circumstance, he’d have swivelled his chair in order to face the Commander, out of respect if nothing else, but with his fingers mid-way through conducting a veritable concerto upon the CONN, he could only listen, and swallow dryly in response to her words.

Her command was nothing if not bleak to the Ensign, who had secretly been hoping that they might have been able to remain in the relative sanctuary of their debris field a while longer; they’d destroyed two Romulan vessels with a ramshackle railgun that they’d cobbled together from cobalt ore and a tractor beam, surely that warranted a small break, perhaps a tea? He’d not been involved in destroying more than a pirate freighter before now, and the concept of the utter obliteration of not one, but two Romulan Warbirds, was quite something to behold. Hell, forget the tea, such a feat probably warranted some sort of carbonated beverage and an enormous serving of tiramisu, caffeine, sugar and synthehol be damned…

Admittedly, he knew that whilst his time aboard the Bowman might have considered destroying two Romulan Warbirds quite the feat, to the Theurgy crew, it was probably just another Tuesday… Even in his own brief time aboard, he’d been placed in a situation where transporting a tank-full of genetically modified alien creatures onto a hostile enemy space station, had been a reasonable solution to a problem; he didn’t think that even he could consider the destruction of two Romulan Warbirds impressive any longer… 

Still, Sylvain would have preferred it if their destination hadn’t been the Romulan flagship…

“Affirmative Commander…” He responded, sipping a small breath into his lungs as the Helmet crested above the largest section of the asteroid, sensors immediately confirming the location of the Romulan Flagship, and his fingers laying in a course that, whilst not the most efficient, would certainly give him a little more room to be flamboyant with their piloting. The Ensign didn’t feel especially easy about flying towards such a threat, nor flying towards such a threat, with the explicit purpose of getting its attention… He was hardly a ‘showy’ pilot; ‘showing off’ was by and large, an inefficient use of fuel, as far as he was concerned… Yet nonetheless, he had his order, and Sylvain was hardly one to question orders. “...I’m sure I can manage to give the Romulans a bit of the ol’ razzle dazzle.”

‘Razzle dazzle’ perhaps wasn’t the most scientific item in his vocabulary, nor the most appropriate tactical description to provide his Commander with… But he was fairly confident that it existed within the constraints of the brief.

Outside of the debris field, the battle was raging as fierce as ever, perhaps more so now that the Erudite had taken its leave. Romulan, Reman, Klingon and Starfleet forces were engaging on all fronts, a level of destruction erupting around them, that probably hadn’t been seen since before he was old enough to join Starfleet… The Helmet however, was a deft and manoeuvrable craft, and typically he’d have been well-equipped enough to guide such an agile vessel through such carnage. However, Sylvain found the prospect of relinquishing efficiency in favour of flair, rather daunting… He piloted with mathematical efficiency, working alongside the computer to choose only the most efficient pathways; demonstrating an effective evasive manoeuvre in an active conflict, generally involved avoiding drawing any additional attention to oneself, at least, according to Lieutenant T’Pith from the USS Thames… She’d really opened his eyes as to the value of efficiency when it came to piloting a Starship…

As such, ‘making a show’ was far outside his comfort zone.

The computer was suggesting that it would take a few minutes for them to reach weapons range of the Romulan flagship, and whatever he did to get them there, had to be extravagant enough to take their enemy’s attention away from everything else that was going on. No small feat. The Ensign’s brain wrestled with itself over how he could best run a mathematical algorithm within their evasive patterns, that not only got them to their destination in one piece, but did so with panache. Some sort of fractal algorithm that would randomise their approach? Not especially flashy, just erratic; the Romulan’s might think that they were having problems with the nacelle couplings… Perhaps he could just ask the computer to add a few loops and barrel rolls? Hardly an organic solution; their approach would look unnatural with no mathematical basis to guide the computer, and the Romulans would probably see through their distraction…

It needed to look fluid, natural, yet be dramatic enough that it would give the Romulan’s a reason to direct their attention towards the Helmet, and away from the rest of their fighters. It needed to portray the Helmet as a threat, without making it look like they were trying to look like a threat. He needed to make the Helmet perform in such a way that it made their Klingon entourage look like Tellarite freighters, send the Helmet striking forwards as though it held a master plan to destroy the Romulans, enrapture their attention by telling a story through nothing but his wits and the control panel on the CONN…

And then Sylvain had something of an orthodox idea.

He might not have been any good at showy piloting, but he’d spend three years involved with the Academy theatre department… He knew how to dance.

“Compu… Thea…” The Ensign all but whispered into his station, words drowned out under the noise that flooded the bridge as the Helmet reentered the combat zone, Sylvain’s fingers flying across the console as he spoke. “... please access my personal database and select a song with a tempo between one-hundred and seventy-five and one-hundred and eighty BPM, and calculate an evasive trajectory, with the Romulan flagship as the destination, using its mathematical qualities, and set a course.” He quietly instructed, eyes flickering between the console and the viewscreen in front of him, as the computer dove into the cultural database and remerged with a song that met his specification. “Copy music to Ensign Llewellyn-Kth’s personal PADD, vibrate only.”

The last thing he needed was accidentally commanding the computer to start a rave on the bridge…

A robust spiral that took the Helmet hurtling straight into the firing line of the Romulan forces ignited across his console, and Sylvain felt a thrumming against his thigh from where his PADD rested in his pocket. Inhaling a deep breath, the Ensign swallowed tightly around a dry lump in his throat, before his strong fingers rippled across his console, engaging maximum propulsion as his touch sent the Helmet into a worryingly tight corkscrew, one that teased the curvature of the hull only a few kilometers from the bow of one of their Klingon accompaniments, blitzing through the battlefield as Sylvain’s fingers made lightning-fast adjustments upon the CONN, soaring past the Klingons and deep into the fray.

“... and go dancing in the rain…” Sylvain whispered under his breath, eyes fixated on his console as he lurched the Helmet to port, curving tightly around a volley of torpedoes that erupted from one of the Warbirds that had taken the bait and attempted to engage them. “... like a bullet to your brain…” The Helmet shot downwards in a graceful dive, Sylvain’s eyes catching a series of EM emissions only a few hundred kilometres behind their starboard bow, approaching them at an alarming pace. Yet no sooner had he dove to escape them, had their Klingon allies moved to expunge the threat diving into an attack pattern that sent the cloaked vessels scrambling into a dogfight, as Sylvain carried the Theurgy forwards. “...makes you order French champaign…”

It was certainly an erratic display of piloting as far as Sylvain was concerned, but the addition of a musical algorithm had given the manoeuvres a fluidity that made it seem substantially more organic than anything he’d have come up with on the fly. He’d found himself mouthing around the words as he flew, not especially consciously, but it had helped him keep his own movements in tune with the rather unorthodox flight pattern that the computer had laid out for him, the swooping turns and sharp banks all keeping time with the vibrations thrumming into his thigh, ensuring that their course remained smooth, but ever-changing and utterly unpredictable; truth be told, Sylvain didn’t really even know what his next move was in the bizarre salsa that the Helmet was raking across the void… It was instinct, rhythm, analysis, only one of which was something Sylvain was especially comfortable with. He was keeping up with the enemy flight patterns, but he barely had a second to consider his next moves before he made them, his mind occupied to bursting as much as it felt vacant of all thought. He wasn’t quite sure if his display had truly baffled the Romulans, whether it was some sort of instinctual precognition that had seen them through, or whether it was outright divine intervention… Whatever it was, the Ensign wasn’t in a fit state to question whatever blessing had delivered them to their destination, because the moment the Romulan flagship was within firing range, an almighty salvo of disruptor bursts had cascaded out towards them, and a very different type of dance began…

One thing was for certain,  whatever his piloting had looked like to a spectator, it had certainly caused something of a ruckus amongst the Romulans.

“Steady as you go Ensign,” The Commander spoke with a voice as calm as a glass of iced water, as Sylvain’s rhythmic foot-tapping dissolved into more of a frantic tap-dance under his console, the act of flying through a battle to the rhythm of a four-hundred year old song, proving to be far less taxing than enduring the full onslaught of a Romulan Flagship. “... Sylvain, take whatever evasive action is needed, but don’t back down from that ship. Let’s give them something to shoot at…”

Sylvain’s evasive patterns dialed up to something beyond even his own understanding, a string of incoherent manoeuvres cobbled together into a form that kept the Helmet from the worst of the Romulan flagship’s assault, only a handful of stray bursts scraping their shields as the Helmet unleashed volleys of photon torpedoes in response. Dozens of Romulan fighters swept at the Helmet like sheets of insects, as Sylvain’s fingers pressed so hard into the console that they threatened the leave streaks of blood in their wake, rolling beneath one assault run before having to bank away from streaks of disruptor fire erupting from the underbelly of the Romulan flagship, before another swarm of fighters closed from another angle.

Sylvain was lost in a miasma of battle, where even his hyper-analytical mind couldn’t make use of the fluctuating sensor information fast enough. The computer feed him data to enhance his own hodgepodge algorithms, as the boy operated on little more than sweat and instinct, his coppery hair plastered to his forehead as the conflict took him to his edge, and beyond. He had no time to think, no time to consider whether he was relying on his precognitive abilities, or if this was just the result of being an accomplished Starfleet pilot… He could agonise over that difference in his personal time... In the moment, he could only act, barely even aware of his own breathing, his own thoughts, as he swam through the maelstrom of battle in a manner that he never even considered possible, every twitch of his finger, the difference between taking a torpedo to their viewscreen, and them all living to see another day.