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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Epi 2 S [D02| 1900] The Ravaged Prisoners of War

Last post by Dree - Today at 07:37:31 AM

[Ensign Sash Kreshkova | Primary Care unit | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 2] @Dumedion @Ellen Fitz

Two figures disappeared from the Erudite and materialized in the sickbay aboard the Theurgy.

One was a young woman - who looked little more than a girl. Her green hair was matted against her head in places. Her skin was lacerated in at least four places - her right forearm, her left cheek, across her torso, and her left calf. Those were the larger gashes. But several smaller wounds showed here and there across her body, almost like someone had cut her open and used what was left of her as a dart board - only instead of darts, they were throwing scalpels. The gashes and cuts - which had been clean at the time of their infliction were no longer so. Some were older than others. Many were dark red and, if someone had cared to reach out, would be hot to the touch.   The rudimentary medical facility on the Erudite had tried to clean and close the gashes and other incisions, but something that the Scion had used seemed to prevent them from easily being healed.

The other was a half-transformed figure who appeared stuck somewhere between a human and a wolf. The figure had the head of a wolf, and a good part of the body was covered in fur, but the rest of him or her - it was hard to tell - was skin just like a humans.

Both figures were mercifully unconscious - whether because of the extent of their injuries or because they had been sedated was not readily apparent. But the younger of the two could be heard murmuring addled expressions.

In her mind Sashenka was fumbling through a hedge maze. She was hemmed by large bushes on every side. Around every corner lurked a potentially deadly situation. One time, she raced around a corner to find a Tal-Shiar operative who pointed a disruptor at her. She turned tail quickly and ducked, but the disruptor cut across her abdomen. The operative took off after her. So she tried to make several quick turns to evade the operative, but she could hear him searching for her. He even called her by name. “Sasch… You know you can’t get away. There are only so many places to hide.”

The green-haired woman kept running. Left, right, right, straight for a little while, then left again. The longer she ran, the slower she got. Just being upright seemed to sap her energy.   While she didn't hear the voice of the Romulan, she heard some rustling in the hedges which seemed to cut through some of the fatigue and urge her on. When she turned the next corner, she saw a different sight - her friend Tria … the one she had taken her trip to Vulcan with.

"Tria!" Sash cried out, rushing to her friend and giving her a hug.

"Sash? Where'd you go?" the green-haired woman's friend gently moved her to arm's length as she studied the Russian's face.

"I ... I vas kidnapped, Tria."

“I’ve been looking for you," the Trill said as if she hadn't even heard what Sash said. "ya know, your dad is going to kill me if I don’t make sure you get back on time.”

"I vas kidnapped," the pilot repeated. "I vas taken by zhe Tal-Shiar."

"Yes," a voice behind both girls said. "She was taken by me."

Sasch spun sideways, to turn and face the voice, but as she did, a disruptor blast narrowly missed her. Instead, it hit Tria squarely on her sternum, and her friend disintegrated before her eyes. It only took a split second before Sash was on the move again, but during that split second, another disruptor blast grazed her thigh.

Sash cried out and stumbled. It took a lot of her strength to push herself up and get moving again, but when she looked back, she couldn’t see the Romulan. She took a moment and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and then removed them thinking maybe she would see something different. But it was just her again - her and the hedges.

But a loud rumbling sound began. It seemed to be far off, but steadily growing nearer. Sash couldn’t tell if it was a large animal, or a machine, or something else. However, with the absence of any immediate danger, she sat down and leaned back against one of the hedges. As she did, something grabbed her from behind and fastened her wrists together behind her back. The green-haired pilot squirmed away from the hedge, afraid of what would happen next. Was something going to emerge and restrain her further?

But as she looked on, the hedge was just a hedge. The rumbling, however, continued to grow louder. Sasch pushed herself to her feet. Between her injuries and her hands being tied together, she was less than steady on her feet. She tried to worm her hands out of the restraints as she moved away from the direction of the quickly crescendoing noise.   As she scrambled along, she stumbled into the hedge, and a sharp branch cut her across her cheek, leaving a long, deep gash. A cry escaped her lips, but her heart - more than anything else - urged her on - and promised her an eventual respite.

The green-haired woman continued to weave her way through the corridors of hedges. Every decision was random. Left, then left, then right, and left. Each bend looked like the last and the next. There was no telling them apart, but the rumbling was growing louder, she wasn't sure how long it would be before it overtook her, and that fear pushed her forward. This time, however, when she rounded another corner, she came face-to-face with the Scion. He loomed over her with a wicked, mirthful grin.

"Hello again." The tone of his voice stopped her in her tracks - as though with that one instrument, his voice, he was able to paralyze her.   The mirthful laugh he unleashed was more of a threat than anything else.

Unable to move, Sash's eyes flashed with defiance. "Leave me be!" she ordered.

"Why should I do that?" the Scion asked.

"Because somezhing is coming to get you. Can't you hear it?" Sasch said, narrowing her eyes to slits. The pilot had no idea what the sound was and if it meant his destruction, her annihilation, or both, and she was determined to take advantage of any tool at her disposal.

"Do you think you frighten me?" As he asked the question, the menacing smile fell from his face and was replaced with a grimace of unmitigated hatred. In his left hand, he held out a strange instrument. He depressed a small nodule on the side of the tool and a jet of light flew out of it and cut the young woman’s arm.

Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of crying out as the firey incision tore at her arm, she managed to keep her response to a barely audible whimper.

"The sound is coming closer." She threatened. "Can't you hear it?" She glared back into his eyes insolently. "And It's not coming for me," she said with more confidence than she felt.

But the creature loomed above her, paying her comment no heed.“I haven’t yet decided.” The Scion’s grin widened into an evil smile that split his face in two.

“Haven’t decided what?” Sash's voice threatened a growl.

“If I should make your death quick or draw the elegant agony out and allow you to suffer for a great while.”

With her wrists restrained beneath her, all the Russian could do was jut her chin out. “Who says it's you who gets to choose? Maybe I von’t let you take me?”

He held up his tool again and, this time, pressed a different button, and from the hedges all around, Sash shot out little pieces of metal which cut into her skin and then, once they had embedded themselves, simply melted away. The soon-to-be pilot fell to one knee and cried out as each stylus seared into her skin. It took nearly a full minute for her to catch her breath after the last barrage. This time, she had no energy left to rail against the villain. Her will was nearly gone. The noise had grown to deafening levels and was almost on top of them. Maybe it would consume them all. Maybe, her pain would be gone.

“Little one,” another voice just behind her made her jump back to her feet. Sash swung around just in time to see Ehfva and to hear her say, “Run!”

Ehfva growled and rammed herself into the Scion, momentarily sending him sprawling, but by this time, the rumbling was overhead. Sasch saw the Scion burst into flames. She closed her eyes, awaiting the awful end, but instead, she and Ehfva were appeared on two beds in a bright ward of a Starfleet ship.

Sash’s eyes flew open, and her loud scream rent sickbay’s bustling interior.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / EP 2 BTS | D02 | 2300 hrs] Turning Into the Wind

Last post by joshs1000 - January 22, 2025, 11:01:39 PM

Lok’s ears shot up as the red alert sounded, his hands still in the innards of Janus’s fighter, he hadn’t had a chance to fully finish hooking all the opti-cables into the array that controlled the starboard panel screens of the fighter’s cockpit. With no time to fix it, Lok looked around and spotted a nearby crewman fully alert from the blaring alarms and gestured to him to come over. “Get this back together ASAP!” he shouted. Once the crewman had swapped spaces with him, the large Kzinti sprinted across the flight deck, the exhaustion he had been feeling before was smothered in a wave of adrenaline, something he would surely regret later when all this business was done. He needed to reach his gear which he had left on a workbench at the far end of the hangar, along the way though he shouted words of encouragement to his guys, “let’s get these birds ready”...”grab your gear”...”let’s whoop some Romulan ass”...and so on.

[Inbound enemy contacts bearing 0-5-2, mark 0-2-3, range fifty thousand kilometers! Wolf Squadron to your spacecraft!] sounded the Flight Operations Officer over the hangar’s communication’s system.

He reached the workbench and grabbed his phaser along with his tricorder, stuffing them into their holsters, then his comms earpiece and Fight Ops PADD. Once the earpiece was shoved into his left ear and hooked around it, and after taking a moment to listen to the flurry of voices over the comms, Lok sprinted back towards the flight deck launchers. Along the way he ran into the line of pilots running to their fighters. Like his own people, Lok shouted words of encouragement to them as well, though perhaps a bit harsher owing to them being officers and all that, “move your asses”...”are you waiting for an invite from the Romulans, move move move”..”Shadow, get your ass in that plane, now”...and so on. Finally though he reached his station and noted with some satisfaction that the crewman he had tasked with finishing the repair on Janus’s fighter had completed it and was just putting the panel cover back on. With a moment to spare as the pilots reached their birds and went through their initial pre-flight checklists, Lok took the time to open a window on his PADD that showed a simplified view of the tactical situation; Theurgy, or Ranger specifically, and her allies shown in white dots with the names and applicable registry of each ship on the left side of the screen, the enemies in red with simple contact designations on the right. The dots were all in motion, the allied fleet was turning to engage the enemy fleet which was coming straight in, no sign of enemy fighters detected yet though.

His momentary curiosity satisfied, Lok went back to the business of getting these birds in the air, though he had yet to hear the order to launch from the Flight Operations Officer so there was still time yet. He spotted Janus climbing into his Valkyrie, at the head of the pack of course and soon to be first into battle; he also spotted the larger Atlas, climbing into his own bird, a moment of anxiety filled him at the thought of never seeing him again, but he brushed that aside. He knows what he is doing, just do your job, Lok thought to himself. Getting back to the task at hand, Lok sprinted over to Janus’s fighter and ascended the pilot steps before they were pulled away; he wanted to take one quick look at that control panel before letting the squadron commander fly off.

“Excuse me Commander, I just need to check something”, he said to Janus as he reached down and pressed a special button on the right hand panels to run a function check. The LCARS display flashed three times and then momentarily lit each button in its own unique color before going back to normal and the function check button flashed green. All was well with the panel at least, who knew what hidden damage lurked inside the rest of the craft, with only a few hours to service it after the previous round of fighting earlier in the day the possibility of some kind of failure was much higher than it normally would be. At any rate there wasn’t much time to worry about it now. Satisfied, Lok climbed down and walked over to his post where the rest of the lead spacecraft inspectors, ordnancemen, and signal warrants were standing, all waiting patiently for everything to kick off. As he walked, Lok felt a brief moment of familiar vertigo, the sign of a Starship making such a tight turn that the inertial dampeners needed a moment to catch up. Sure enough when he glanced out of the open entrance of the hanger bay Lok could see stars streaking past along with the occasional Klingon or Romulan ship; Theurgy was in a tight turn to port, to confront the advancing enemy.

OOC NOTES-
-This thread is specifically for the battle from the perspective of anybody in the Fighter Assault Bay and Lok, once the pilots take off from the ship they should switch to THIS THREAD to continue the action in space unless they wish to return and land in the hangar.

-ALL PILOTS, please do not take off until after Lok gives the go ahead as part of the regular launch operations of the flight deck.

-Refer to this post for additional information on the current state of the flight deck.

-If you were tagged in this post and do not have a character here just ignore this thread beyond the requirement by the GMs to keep it in mind when writing your own posts.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / CH2: S [Day 2 | 2315 hrs] For all the blood-tainted stars...

Last post by Dumedion - January 22, 2025, 10:20:34 PM

[Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | Cockpit | Wolf-04, AC-409 Mk. III Valkyrie] Attn: @P.C. Haring @Stegro88 @rae @Pierce @Any and All Wolves
[Show/Hide]

Open war in the void.

For as long as sentient life existed, there had always been war; tribe against tribe, civilizations against barbarian hordes, whole species against other species. War was nothing new – only the weapons and shades of blood changed. Violence begat violence, escalating feuds to grudges and grudges to vendettas, until the minds of reasoned and reasonable beings soured with the insanity of blood-lust. Empires rose to spread themselves across the stars, sword in hand, even in an age of technological wonder where resources were rendered nearly infinite. In an age that should have made war obsolete, it still lingered on. Talia thought she knew war; she’d studied it, of course, like all of her peers at the Academy. All those great, awful battles of the past – in all their multitudes – that stained the history of mankind red: the genocides, the purges, the pogroms and geopolitical upheavals, the massacres and the atrocities. The devastation mankind unleashed upon itself as well, which practically doomed the Earth and the human race to a slow, inevitable extinction, if not for Zefram Cochrane and the intervention of the Vulcans.

Even the Dominion War, for all its horror and loss, had captivated and inspired her. She had poured over every battle-report, every memoir, every first-hand account; every tale of heroism and sacrifice back-lit by conjured imagery of vast fleets tearing into each other: The tactical genius of Sisko, the stalwart resolve of Martok. The undeniable courage of every Peregrine crew…she thought she knew war – was prepared for it – but seventeen minutes into the Battle of the Triangle had taught Shadow more of war than she’d ever imagined possible.

It was a physical assault on the senses, even within the confines of the cockpit: weapons fire flashed and flared without pause, explosions, detonations, blazing impacts across hulls and shields – were everywhere. There was a constant stream of voices in her ears; mission ops, fellow pilots, the awkward snarls of their Klingon allies – more than once they had all overlapped to the point of gibberish – until someone managed to clear the coms for a few moments, only for the cycle to repeat, over and over. Her ship bucked and shuddered with every hit, sending a tactile shiver into her body, bone deep; she was well past her normal point of physical endurance, forced to dip into wells of stamina she never truly realized were there. The smell of her own sweat and hot, adrenaline-fear soaked breath permeated her nostrils – easily ignored in the face of survival – but undeniably there.

It was madness made manifest; violence on a scale no one could truly understand unless they experienced it. Her eyes couldn’t track the engagement fast enough. Anahi, her ship’s on-board computer, fed targets to Shadow’s HUDs faster than the pilot could cognitively recognize, through the shared tactical uplink with the Ranger and her fellow Wolves. Data streamed from every direction she looked, seared into her vision; the behemoth D’Deridex class warbirds in their dozens hung like mythological monsters of the void, dwarfing everything to unleash streams of brilliant emerald energy. Around them, the Klingon attack groups splintered off into squadrons of B’rel attackers, flanked by Vor’cha cruisers. Flanking them, in unpredictable waves, the smaller, agile Romulan Mogai warbirds struck with ruthless abandon to cripple and pick off stragglers by the score. Throughout the entire sphere of conflict, fighter-craft from both sides cloaked and de-cloaked in random engagements; whole squadrons broke off on bombing runs, others paired up, dueled, disengaged or were destroyed.

“Allah, there’s so many,” Shadow breathed out in a grimace as she rolled hard, trying to stay with Goldeneye. A second later, a deft sweep of her left hand blanked her HUDs. “Track visual only, tactical data overlay only,” she grunted aloud to Anahi, then yanked the stick back hard to invert her turn. Target-lock alarms squealed as her rear shields lit up under fire, but held. A glance up and behind revealed three Stalkers on her six, wheeling around in aggressive pursuit. “Three on my six Goldie, lets move,” she warned, then focused on their objective: one of three D’Deridex leviathans that were currently unloading on the Helmet. “Anahi, target selections primary alpha through charlie. Highlight soft targets,” Talia ordered, then keyed into the joint-squadron channel while she maneuvered for a hard-torp lock, while the Helmet fired back with scarlet lances of energy at her attackers. A steady, shrill tone sounded in her ears as the lock shifted green; Talia thumbed the trigger, launching two full sized quantums an instant behind her wingmate – all four tracked ahead to the starboard upper wing of the giant warbird as the pair of Valkyrie’s pulled up and rolled out of their run.

“Wolves, Shadow – tally on the Helmet, she’s under heavy fire. Three and Four are engaged, anyone else in range to assist?” The stars spun beyond her canopy, lit with a myriad of shades of green and fire. Far off to port, beyond the battle-line of massive Romulan ships, the Ranger fought on, cutting her way through towards the Helmet, the void ablaze around her in a cloud of PDC fire. Talia watched her shields light up on nearly all sides, enduring an unbelievable amount of punishment.

Talia leveled out on Goldeneye's wing, as the pair made ready for another torp run, as the D'Deridex answered with a hammering burst of disruptor fire. The Helmet can't take much more of this, she thought, eyes hardened with resolve as she got tone. "Ready when you are, Goldie," she announced, just as half a dozen Klingon Phantoms de-cloaked in formation beside them.

["Qa'plah!"], a voice roared, or maybe all of them, as they joined their fire into the attack.

OOC: Okay folks, here we have the big battle at the end of the Episode. This thread is intended to be told from the POV of the Wolves/other pilots only, however, if you would like to jump in and NPC a Romulan/Klingon pilot to mix things up and/or add drama to the scene, I think that would be pretty cool and welcome. So, ALL Wolves are welcome, and ALL writers are welcome too, so long as you stick to our POV (as a bunch of idiots doing really stupid things at really high velocities). Have fun

Interregnum 01-02 S2 / Re: Day 08 [0830 hrs.] Can you take me higher?

Last post by Nesota Kynnovan - January 22, 2025, 07:14:45 PM

[Ensign Jaya Thorne | Holodeck 05 | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy]
Attn: @Pierce

The Battle Bridge began to glow a shade of red just as Lauren spoke up to confirm the relative distance between their two vectors. For a brief moment Jaya looked up from her controls and focused her brown eyes on the large viewscreen in front of her; the viewscreen displayed the hulking shape of Vector 03 directly beneath them and, similar to her own console, the bright red words “COLLISION WARNING” were visible across the screen. In a normal situation, when the Battle Bridge wasn’t a holographic simulation and it would be fully staffed, there wasn’t anyone who wouldn’t be aware of their perilous situation they were in right now.

Contrary to the normal reaction that was to be expected of CONN Officers in this particular scenario, Jaya just smirked and spoke up. ”Not bad, Shortcake.” In all fairness, the young Denevan couldn’t help but be somewhat impressed by her Martian counterpart; thus far, the redhead had displayed a remarkable skill in piloting the huge Vector in such tight confines. ”I’m closing to 25,000 kilometres. Once I’m there we’ll hold position for a while. If we can hold position like that you’ll transfer your shield power to weapons and I’ll do the opposite. Once that is complete we’ll slowly execute a barrel roll so there are no blind spots in your weapons fire and no weak spots in my shield.” Of course, only one of them would get the easy part. While one of the Vectors would have to roll across its longitudinal axis, the other Vector would have to roll around its counterpart while maintaining a close formation. Jaya just grinned, assuming that Lauren also know what she had in mind and relishing the challenge. [color==#fc2323]”Alright, I’m coming in!”[/color]

Jaya slowly brought the control stick forward; making sure to give just tiny adjustments to bring Vector 02 down even closer. When the Vector passed the 40,000 kilometres, the computer automatically switched from a collision alert to a red alert and the auditory warning signal began blaring across the Battle Bridge. Jaya disregarded it however and, with now only four seconds of reaction time in case something would go wrong, began to descend even further. When she passed 30,000 kilometres and was left with less than three seconds of reaction time, the control stick began to grow a little more sluggish, almost as if Theurgy was actively resisting her command inputs, and the control stick began to shake in her hand. Surprised, especially because that had never happened when she piloted cargo ships, Jaya spoke up to Lauren once again. ”Shortcake, I’m starting to experience pushback on my inputs. How are things looking on your end?”

While she spoke, Jaya carefully brought her Vector down to 25,000 kilometres. Just as she reached that distance and was about to level out, something completely unexpected happened. With only 2,5 seconds left to respond in case something would go wrong, the ship reacted on its own accord; before Jaya could level out, her Vector suddenly bolted back up and rapidly increased the distance, reacting autonomously to prevent a collision. Jaya cried out in surprise, being caught totally off-guard, and as she spoke up with a shocked ”What the hell?” watched how the distance rapidly increased back to 35,000 and counting. In an attempt to regain control of her Vector, Jaya pushed the control stick forward once more. She had expected a similar sluggish response as before and applied much more pressure than her earlier, more careful inputs. In doing so she immediately overrode the automated collision avoidance and the Vector instantly responded. Guided by Jaya’s surprised and feverish input however, Vector 02 came barrelling down towards Vector 03 and the Denevan watched how the distance rapidly decreased. Before she could do as much as blink, let alone give course corrections, the distance had dropped way beyond the 25,000 kilometres and the two massive Vectors collided into each other.

With that, the program instantly reset and the two Vectors now found itself running at one-quarter impulse at a relatively safe 85,000 kilometres once again. It left Jaya completely dumbfounded for a moment, before she finally spoke up with a somewhat shocked ”Well, that’s new. Let’s… let’s try again?”

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Last post by Dree - January 18, 2025, 07:11:46 AM

[Lt Reika Sh’laan | Enroute to Main Bridge | Deck 1 | Vector 1]
They had just boarded the Theurgy in the middle of the battle. The fact that they had been able to dock at all had been no small miracle. She could count at least four times when the fight around them got so heated that it really didn’t look like they were going to make it.

During their trip from the research station back to the triangle, the OPS officer had been given basic medical care on her arm. It was bandaged up well, and she had been admonished not to use it. But as one of the walking wounded, she was on the better side of the equation than many were, so as they were given clearance, she raced as quickly as she could through the deck to the turbolift - hoping that they were still working because she didn’t think her arm could survive another climb of a Jeffries tube.

At her near-sprint pace, she almost knocked over a petty officer in red. “Sorry!” she called over her shoulder as her almost waist-length white hair flew out behind in her rush. With almost everyone at battle stations, she didn’t have to contend with too many others in the corridors. Rounding the corner, she reached the lift. It didn’t open. “Why is it whenever you are in a rush, they take their bloody time! But when you have all the time in the world, they seem to be waiting for you.” Thirty seconds later, the lift arrived, and the stately Andorian scurried onto it catching nearly annoyed glances from at least one of the two other occupants who seemed frustrated that the lift had stopped to admit ‘yet another’ person. “Bridge,” she announced.

Reika took a moment to check her injured arm during the bumpy ride. The hastily dressed wound was covered with a bandage, and while a hint of blood could be seen several layers down, it hadn’t made its way to the outermost layer just yet. If the Theurgy survived the battle, she would survive the wound.

Once, the turbolift stopped briefly on a deck to let the annoyed crewman off on Vector 3 - deck 24. Reika could only guess that they were heading toward Main Engineering, but after only a brief pause, it was on its way again. She had no idea who all would be on the bridge. Had any of her colleagues made it? Were Leavitt and/or Ravenholm even alive any longer? She mentally begged the fates to spare them, but the prayer was short-lived as the turbolift finally began to slow as it approached its destination.

As the doors opened onto the dimly lit bridge set to red alert, this time the whole of the ship was thrown sideways by a volley. Reika was thrown against the opposite bulkhead. She groaned as she had hit her injured arm. A deep cyan began seeping into the uppermost layer of the bandage now. The shuddered as if it might plummet. The Lieutenant in OPS beat a hasty retreat off of the turbolift. “Lieutenant Sh’laan, OPS,” she announced at the checkpoint, but she never broke her stride. As the bridge doors opened, she noted that neither Leavitt nor Ravenholm were at OPS - it was some determined ensign who she had never met before at OPS 1. Upon seeing the Lieutenant, he noiselessly gave up the station and moved to OPS 2.

“Lieutenant Sh’laan reporting at OPS,” she said as she began her assessment of their current situation, power usage, and their anticipated needs. She had some work to do.

[Ensign Sash Kreshkova | Primary Care unit | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 2]

An incessant and deep chant - almost a sort of rhythmic growling. Grum - thrum - growl - purr - whirr - strum - grunt - rumble. All in rhythmic time with the previous and next tones. Over and over a group - was it a pack? - kept in time. Grum - thrum - growl - purr - whirr - strum - grunt - rumble. And again.

The soon-to-be pilot with green hair was still unconscious listening to the somehow familiar chant that played over in her mind, but as the Theurgy was rocked violently during the current altercation, her eyes flew open. As they did, the intonations in her ears died away, and the pain that had so mercifully been numbed when she was unconscious wracked her body so suddenly that she screamed.

She had very little memory - if any - of how she got from the scion lab to here - and she had no idea where here was, but she at least recognized the uniforms of the people bustling around her. Realizing the change in her circumstances, somehow was able to mute her shriek to her loud cry. The pain was almost worse than when the scion had inflicted it - how - she had no idea. Maybe that was part of the torture.

She caught some movement in her periphery, someone in blue was walking toward her with a hypo, and as she opened her mouth to say something, she felt the cold finger of metal pressed against her neck. The last thing she remembered before mercifully drifting back off to obliviousness was the hiss of the medicine penetrating her body.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Last post by RyeTanker - January 15, 2025, 06:18:13 AM

Before arrival at the battle site......

[Lt. Commander Frank Arnold | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | Vector 3 | USS Theurgy]

It was fair to say that if the Chief Engineer was livid. Not that one could tell just by looking at the big burly engineer, but if you knew him well enough, you could see it in his body language. It came down to the way his eyebrows creased together, the tug of his lips that changed the shape of his beard. But most important of them all was the way his blue eyes seemed alight with their own pyschic blue fire as they glared at the sensor plot being fed to the master situation table in engineering. The 'Ranger' portion of Theurgy was charging into battle at the very appreciable velocity many many times faster than the speed of light, and it looked like they were going to make it in time. The only readings that could be seen were mainly Klingon and Romulan. If Theurgy didn't have the transponder code for the Helmet, it probably would have been hidden in the clutter. Nobody was shooting at anyone, so that was a good sign. Chief Arnold quietly sighed at the state of the ship. They probably would have arrived sooned, even with the transfer of equipment and personnel from the Erudite, but the quantum slipstream drive had given everything it had, and the had fizzled out along the way. Azrin had caught the failure in time to make the call for a transition to standard warp drive, but until they could procure a new source of crystals or whatever new parts were needed. That was it, Theurgy was not relegated to the same FTL scale as everyone else.

Frank took a moment to look over at the red headed assistant engineer working on the machinery for the QSD. At least she was work focused, otherwise he felt she'd be crying over the reaction chamber and field generator like her last living child had died. Mentally shaking his head, he looked back at the master plot. The Ranger had sustained minimal damage and all the crews had the repairs well in hand, except for the FAB. The FAB had taken a beating when the torpedo had gone off, and it looked like anyway you cut it, those crews had their work cut out for them. Many others were focusing on the phaser and shield systems. Those two had gotten a warmup against the Romulan carrier, but had the upgraded point defence system had proven its worth in the number of shattered Romulan fighters they'd left behind. They only item of disappointment was the number of quantum torpedoes left on the ship. That number was so pitifully low that he wasn't sure if Commander Cross would just fire them off as an initial strike, or try to save them for something more substantial.

Chief Arnold let out a sigh and tried to not let his mind reminisce on things that couldn't be fixed, but he still wished that the raid on the Black Opal had been a far less dramatic affair. Maybe they wouldn't have wasted so many torpedoes on what amounted to a diversion to get the ship out.

At least lost of the crew was back together. They were even heavy by a good chunk more. The Erudite had timed its intercept very well. It saddened the Chief at the losses that group had taken, even some of the Cayuga crew members who had been rescued. The injured wasn't much better and it had been noticeable for the pair of Andorians on the list. There was no indication of how badly Lieutenants Ida zh'Wann and 'Zark' zh’Ptrell were hurt, but impressions were one would be walking soon, the other needed to be in bed. How well either one would be confined to a hospital bed with battle impending was hard to say, but probably not likely.

He shook his head to stop wool gathering and instead pulled up the ship wide systems status report and ran his eyes over them for the umpteenth time. The eyes flicked to the arrival counter and watched it tick down the ship's next encounter with fate.

[Lieutenant JG XamotZark zh’Ptrell (Lt. Zark) | Primary Care Unit | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy]

"I'm telling you I'm fine! We're going into battle and I need to suit up." came a very annoyed voice sitting in a bio bed in a medical gown.

Arven stopped in his tracks with a brow raised without so much as a glance in the Andorian’s direction; there was simply too much to do and not enough of him (or the other medical personnel) to do it. "Yes, hollering certainly helps," he grumbled. "You know the drill Zark. You've read your own chart by now. We'll get you out as soon as we can."

Zark took the admonition in stride, meaning she swung her legs over the bed and began pushing aside the nurse that was trying to keep her in the bed. "Exactly, you heard the doctor. I'm mobile, so you don't need me taking up a bed. Now if you'll excuse me, point me to where you put my uniform so I can get out of this ridiculous gown."

Arven shook his head, still absorbed in the PADD he was reading. "Sit down Zark," he warned, then turned to wave three more casualties supported by two nurses into the ICU. "That wasn't a request," he added over his shoulder.

Zark politely but firmly pushed her way passed the nurse who began to blubber and headed further in to find a replicator or something else she thought would be useful. "Sorry Doc. We're at battle stations and I need to get to mine." the medic semi apologized as she strode passed him.

Arven rolled his eyes and fell into step beside her, after a gesture for the nurse to move on and aid the others crammed into the ward. "Diprofoxitine. 70 milligrams," he voiced in a condescending, exhausted tone. "Ring any bells, Lieutenant? Care to tell me how you intend to manage your duties under the influence? Better yet," he moved to cut her off, "let's try a practical exercise." Arven stood before her, head and shoulders above the Andorian. "Look, I really don't have time for your stubborn bullshit right now. You know your body, you know your not duty ready. You go out there now, you know damn well you'll be putting yourself and others at risk," he stated flatly; the Doctor simply didn't have the energy to argue - he didn't even try. His staff was calling, people needed him. "Look, I can't stop you and I can't stand here and debate this," he stated.

The Andorian's hands balled up into a fist and she planted them on her hips, then grimaced as her body reminded her that it didn't enjoy being abused. The grimace froze in a curl on her lips that made her look like she was getting ready to spit on his argument. She wanted to tell him that if he'd had any sense to know her service record, doing her job while medicated wasn't unusual. A dull spasm of pain lanced its way through her body as a hand touched her shoulder and she whirled on the worried face of Nurse Jones. "Zark please, the doctor's right, you're barely standing and the microsutures are still fresh. If you don't stay still, he has to open you back up to fix everything. We don't need that now."

Zark felt the weight of persuasion, but she really wasn't ready to give in and her mind spun gears to try to find a solution before turning slowly to face the exhausted doctor once more. "Fine. But give me a tac vest, an assault pistol belt, and a combat stim. I'll stay with the vest open while I'm on the bed and if I have to use any of it, we're screwed anyway and I might as well fight."

Arven met Zark’s defiance with a tired mask of acceptance, then simply nodded before his violet eyes fixed on Jones. "Give her what she wants. Reevaluate in thirty. Discharge once her system is clean if those sutures hold; I'll be in surgery so you'll have to handle it." Arven glanced back at Zark as he moved past: "Get her a uniform, while your at it."

[Lieutenant Ida zh'Wann | Transporter Room 1 | Deck 5 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy]

It was some of the worst possible news which had necessitated the haste for the Deputy to get herself out of sickbay and back to the helmet. Lieutenant Commander Kai Akoni was dead and hostiles were running loose on the ship. This had to be dealt with quickly or the entire mission could come apart. The transporter operator completed the transport cycle and the lone figure in a security exosuit stood on pad. The figure took a moment to punch a few buttons on the LCARS arm interface connecting them to the comm system. "Commander Stark, this is Lieutenant zh'Wann. I'm on board the Helmet and coordinating with Thea to apprehend the intruders. Will advise." she concluded in a flat voice of cold rage as she grabbed the rifle off her back and exited the room. She tapped a few more buttons. "Thea, keep an open link to the Security Centre." There was a moment as the AI processed the request. "Done Lieutenant." The Deputy pulled up the information they had so far and she began building a profile on the move and refining the data that Thea had as she began the hunt for the intruders.

[As the battle rages in the present.....]

[CPO Dominic Lau | Cockpit | Romulan Runabout ]

Chief Petty Officer Dominc Lau took a moment to shift in his seat. His mind couldn't wrap itself around how the motley clandestine group had made it off the Tal Shiar experimental weapons station. Practically nothing had gone right. Well, that wasn't quite true. The mission to retrieve the Thalaron triggers had gone well and they'd also managed to pull a lot of additional intel from various projects the Tal Shir had been running. The station itself was a wreck with unknown biological experiments running rampant along with the experiments in mechanized combat walkers. If events were still panning out, then Petty Officer Cheung's computer virus was still making rounds of the station's computer systems and recovery of control would be extraordinarily difficult.

Cold brown eyes looked over their course to the Triangle as the three stolen Romulan runabouts the group had formed up in a loose gaggle near a ship known as the Apache. Definitley an odd name for a ship, maybe it was a translation of some sort. That didn't matter though. The main point was they had the communication protocol to Theurgy, so the little gaggle of small craft would be able to join whatever was going on.

A mug of tea materialized on the console and the Chief noticed the very feminine hand that deposited it. He looked up and nodded at his comm tech before he looked back out the glass into the star streak. "So Chief, what do you think we'll find when we get to the Triangle?" Chief Lau shrugged. "No idea. I was hoping for a ship what we could land on, but..." He tapped a few buttons in the console and a screen changed showing their path and the destination. The energy readings were varying wildly. Since there wasn't an unstable star or other stellar phenomenon in the area, the computer obediently spat out its view on the situation. Weapons fire. "Nothing good. Hopefully we can slip in unobserved and then we'll figure out where we can do the most good." Klaudia nodded and patted the Chief on the shoulder before heading back to the passenger compartment to relay the news.

OOC: Thanks to Dumedion for interaction between Zark and Doctor Leux

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Last post by joshs1000 - January 15, 2025, 06:12:24 AM

Having taken the opportunity to freshen himself up a bit with a clandestine use of the pilots’ locker room and showers, though in fairness the deck crew’s locker room was half filled with soot and half wrecked, so Lok’s use of the officers’ facilities was more than fair in his mind. Still he hadn’t wished to get caught, not that he was totally successful, luckily he was only caught by Lieutenant Winters who was more than willing to look the other way and help his exhausted fellow Kzin’s mood. Mood now improved, though still exhausted from the day of combat and near constant damage control, Lok, now comfortable in a clean set of coveralls, looked over the flight deck from the back of the hangar bay.

The place was a mess but was a far sight better than what it had been hours before. The jumbled mass of fighters had been reorganized, now with the addition of others that had been attached to the Vector 1 module, into two neat rows in preparation for the coming battle. The only one out of place was Ghost’s fighter, shoved off to the side for Lok to inspect later. At a glance it appeared to be ok, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he got a good look at the frame and warp core. The hard landing and subsequent uncommanded launch and detonation of a quantum torpedo inside the hangar could have been enough to shear the pylon roots or buckle the core assembly frame. Either way the damaged Valkyrie, still on its belly and partially rolled onto one side, was safely stored in the port bow corner of the hangar under a tarp. As for the hangar itself, much of the debris from the explosion was cleaned up, but the scorch marks remained. The starboard side, comprising most of the enlisted personnel’s facilities, was in real rough shape. The operations office and assembly room were burnt out holes, the quantum torpedo having detonated when it struck the bulkhead frame between the two compartments, which had gone a long way to make their job in getting the air wing back up and running that much harder. The armory, the source of much consternation during the fire, had since been cleared of all ordnance, what wasn’t used to rearm the spacecraft was transported to the ship’s better protected torpedo magazines until a full appraisal of the integrity of the armory could be done.

Lok sighed and shook his head at the destruction then made his way down the rows of fighters to give them a once over. Along the way he chatted with mechanics in the process of making some last minute repairs; he answered quests, joked, and did his best to raise spirits. The winds of fate had placed him in charge of this now depleted group, at least for the moment, who knew what the higher ups would have in mind to replace Ensign Herrold.

As he reached Janus’s fighter he noted that nobody appeared to be working on it with a panel ajar and an uncomfortable amount of opti-cable spilling out of it. The black furred Kzin sighed once more as he looked over the mess but felt a twinge of energy course through him as he had finally found something to occupy his hands. Without missing a beat, Lok used one of his clawed feet to slide over a rolling stool while also rolling up his sleeves. He took a seat, letting his tail curl up under him out of habit so no passers by would accidentally step on it, then got to work. It was quickly apparent what this spillage of opti-cable was for, the starboard panel screens for the cockpit. Whatever was wrong with them seemed to be fixed, whoever was working on them must have either forgotten to reconnect all the leads or had been called away. Honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if they were in a corner passed out, Lok mused to himself, having taken note of the exhaustion all his guys and gals were going through. He started to re-insert the opti-cable back into its designated ports, a simple clip system that once the cable was inserted automatically closed with a satisfying click. Lok’s sensitive ears loved the sounds of his job, and as all those satisfying clicks reached his ears they would twitch and perk up. It honestly was quite the little reprieve, sure he had had a moment with Atlas earlier but just getting to do something with his hands again after a day of giving orders was more than enough to lift Lok’s spirits.

That was until the red alert sounded…

OOC: This sets the state for where Lok is and the current general status of the hangar bay. Further details will be in the thread I make for it which once I do I will also link in this post.

-This thread continues the plot of the battle down on the flight deck.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Last post by TWilkins - January 14, 2025, 02:26:51 PM

[ Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | Bridge Access Corridor | Deck One | Vector One | USS Theurgy ]
[Show/Hide]

Lurching violently to the side, a shallow gasp pushing out through his lips, Sylvain braced himself against the edge of the turbolift, a wince harshly playing on his features. They’d known that the battle was coming; he’d known that the battle was coming. Yet no amount of preparation could have braced the Ensign for how sudden and violent that first impact would be, how quickly a red alert could turn into an overloading conduit, how difficult something as simple as walking out of a turbolift could become… This was no skirmish with Talarian fringe elements, scrapping over a few tonnes of stolen food, it was the full might of a Romulan assault force, fighting to ensure the end of the galaxy.

And he had just been commanded, for the first time, to take the CONN.

He’d received the summons only a few moments before the battle had erupted around them, the ship’s computer, Thea, informing him that he was needed on the Bridge immediately. It seemed that their relief pilot was currently manning the CONN, a Caitian who mostly operated the graveyard shift, and since both of the Assistant Chiefs responsible for the helm were otherwise indisposed, it was suddenly Sylvain’s responsibility to take control. It was his job, he supposed… But given that he’d never even been on the Theurgy’s bridge before, much less flown it, nor any ship of equivalent size, and that he hadn’t even seen a battle of this magnitude, not outside of an Academy simulation, he couldn’t help but feel that the terror he was feeling at the prospect was at least somewhat justified.

As inappropriate a thought as it was, Sylvain was sincerely hoping that this officer Sh'ow was actually just a terrible pilot, and that that was the source of the increasingly violent jolts that kept threatening to throw the Ensign off of his feet. If not, Sylvain was about to walk into a nightmare.

It had been barely five hours since he’d stepped off of the Erudite, leaving that particular miasma of anxiety behind him, with Cora’s PDA and the egregious amount of classified, and stolen, Savi data it held, secreted within his pack, and now he had stepped into yet another maelstrom of violence. He’d not had a chance to stop. He had returned to his quarters no longer than a moment before the communication came that all hands were needed to assist with repairs, giving him all of enough time to stow his belongings and the unfortunate Moopsy refugee he’d found himself in the care of, before he was back out the door once again. His engineering skills were somewhat lacking, and truth be told, he probably ended up as more of a hindrance than a help... He wasn’t an engineer, he didn’t know the crew, nor did the crew know him, and three hours of people referring to him ‘Red’, ‘Trill’ and ‘Spots’, left right and centre, had left him with a headache and a rather thin line of patience…

And now he was heading to the bridge, to pilot a vessel he’d never piloted before, in a battle with higher stakes than anything he'd faced before…

Despite his best efforts not to waste time staring out of the viewing ports as he’d commenced his mad scramble towards the turbolift, he’d seen enough of their surroundings to know that what he was about to engage in, was far bigger than anything that the Bowman had taught him… He was wracked with terror; fear, panic, doubt in his own abilities; he was about to have an entire vessel’s worth of lives on his shoulders, and he didn’t even know who he was serving on the bridge… It was a cacophony of emotions billowing through his mind, yet still, he persisted; doing things he’d never done before had been a theme of the past few days.

As he staggered off of the turbolift, head flailing in the unfamiliar corridors to gauge the correct direction, his consciousness did its best to fight off the invasive imaginings of fire and death that plagued his mind, thoughts that he tried desperately hard to interpret as a symptom of idle pessimism, rather than anything precognitive in nature. He could feel phantom heat upon his skin, the sensation of flames burning up his arms… Or perhaps it was just the side-effect of him having broken into a near sprint down the bridge access corridor as the sound of chaos rained in from every direction… It was hard to say either way, but it didn’t change much. He’d pilot their vessel regardless.

If he’d survived the events at the Hobus Star, he could certainly manage a few Romulans…

After all, he’d been roped into inter-species espionage, flown a shuttle across a battlefield in the wake of a high yield energy lance, flown said shuttle into a shield breach the size of a proverbial thimble, landed the shuttle on the side of a space station that was firing upon them, and, arguably, used transporter controls to deploy a bioweapon… Perhaps the last part wasn’t something to be especially proud of, but it had proved to him that he was capable of far more than he would have expected of himself. The away team had needed a distraction, and he’d provided one; it had helped to cause enough chaos on the station that the away team were able to do their jobs, it had saved lives… Plus, the Moopsies had gotten themselves a last supper out of it, and he couldn’t say he found all that much empathy for those working towards the mass-murder of several billion…

If he could do that, he could pilot an unfamiliar ship through a battle; flying was his speciality, after all.

“Ensign Llewellyn-Kth, CONN.” He briskly alerted the Ensign manning the security checkpoint, barely bothering to even slow his pace as he passed the desk and stepped through the doors onto the bridge, losing his footing so suddenly as another violent jolt wracked the ship, that he all but flew across the bulkhead, bracing himself against the mission ops table to prevent himself from hitting the floor… Not the most dignified entrance to the Bridge, but that was also on theme for his past few days.

“Apologies.” He apologised hurriedly as he glanced around, even the chaos of his stressed and addled mind pausing for a split second to admire the brilliance of his new surroundings… There was truly no mistaking the Theurgy as the most advanced ship in the fleet; it made the Bowman look like an antique… Yet the awe lingered only for a split second, before his eyes returned to his destination with a sudden focus, moving at a rapid but professional pace as he stole past the support staff and turned his concentration upon his destination, staring into the back of the Captain’s chair and beyond, to the CONN console.

“Ensign Llewellyn-Kth reporting for CONN.” He called as he darted past the Captain’s chair and down towards his station, a small ripple of perturbation flickering across his face as he noted that the CONN was to the right of the bridge, whilst Sylvain was used to it being centred; it would take some getting used to. Coming to a breathless halt beside the CONN, where the black-furred Caitian was hammering down on the control panel as if they were playing percussion in a Klingon orchestra, the Ensign took a moment to evaluate their circumstances, hazel eyes already alight with analytical scorn as he focussed down on the control panels that flickered underneath the Caitian’s hands, the dazzling array of sensor readings already detailing a rather harrowing set of circumstances before him.

In less stressful circumstances, the Ensign wouldn’t have dreamed of stepping foot onto the bridge of a new vessel without formally addressing the Captain and waiting for permission to take his station; it was an unthinkable act of belligerence to do anything but, after all... However, these were perhaps the most stressful circumstances of his life, and in such trying times, pleasantries sometimes had to wait. He would apologise if they survived the trials ahead, but right now, he had to focus. He had a vessel to pilot.

“Crewman, I'll take it from here; they need you in the shuttlebay.” Sylvain spoke as firmly as possible, his trembling hands thankfully not infecting his mouth with their fear, the few seconds he’d taken to get acclimated with the sensor data already serving as a tonic to cool his tense and flustered mind. Yes, their circumstances were dire, but sensors and data were a safe space for him; there was always an answer in the numbers, a solution, a safe passage, and Sylvain was good at numbers, finding the pattern, solving the problem, reaching the destination… He was no tactician, but he understood how to pilot a ship, and already he was playing through a litany of evasive patterns in his head, analysing them for their pros and cons, discarding those that didn’t fit their needs: Beta, no, Gamma, no, Delta, no, Lambda, no, Theta, no, Epsilon… Epsilon.

If he could thread a shuttle through a breach in the shields of a space station, that was shooting at them, he could manage this.

He’d settled himself into the Caitian’s seat the instant that the crewman was no longer occupying it, narrowly avoiding sitting himself on the officer’s tail, his mind completely occupied with the task at hand, no far corner of his psyche able to compute anything outside of the console his eyes had become affixed to. The console felt uncomfortably warm as his fingers descended onto the glass, clammy almost, but the Ensign pushed the displeasurable sensation out of his focus, fingers dancing a waltz across the panel as he felt the mighty vessel’s engines flex under his control for the first time.

It was like a sip of iced water on a hot afternoon on Vulcan…

This was what Admiral Anderson had sent him here to do. His departure from the Bowman, lying to Captain Yume’s face despite everything she’d done for him, despite the danger that the Bowman themselves were flying into. The weeks he’d spent being ferried across the quadrant, avoiding conversations and having to be elusive with everyone he’d met, seizing up every time a security officer so much as glanced in his direction. The time spent in a stupor aboard the Klingon transport vessel, and every inch of grotesquery he’d been witness to there, the sleepless nights and the constant images of himself being stabbed in his sleep by some parasite-infested Klingon. His harrowing misadventures with Cora in the bowels of the Erudite, witnessing their scientific advancements perverted into weapons of mass destruction, and their efforts to liberate the Moopsies from their fate. The battle he’d fought at the Hobus Star, everything he’d pushed through just to survive this far, the aid he’d provided in halting a genocidal attempt to destroy the Romulan Empire…

Now, finally, after all of that, he’d found himself sitting in front of the console that he’d been recruited for, his control over the USS Theurgy’s engine for the first time rippling up through his arms like a calming salve against his wracked nerves. The console was unfamiliar, so was the vessel, but the data was not. The Theurgy may have been far bigger than the Bowman, but somehow she responded even more lithely, dancing through the void as he shifted their evasive pattern and banked to starboard as the Romulan torpedoes thundered through their wake like a pair of drunken Cadets too late for a party. Sylvain almost notice a tiny smile slip onto his lips.

He might have been a terrible intelligence agent, a poor engineer, downright atrocious at socialising... But he was a brilliant pilot.

“CONN reporting, moving into evasive pattern Epsilon Eight.” He called calmly, fingers flying across the panel in a blur of pale flesh, as the behemoth of a ship that stretched out over one thousand metres from his seat, eagerly responded to his commands. “Engine power holding steady at eighty seven percent, Tactical let me know what you need and I’ll get us into position.” His voice rang out over the din of the bridge, unsure as to who his colleagues even were in this conflict, unknowing as to the names of the people around him that he was tasked with keeping safe from the volleys of weapons fire that was locked onto their vessel like the only port in an ion storm… Yet it didn’t matter; he’d give his everything no matter who they were.

That, after all, was what it meant to be Starfleet.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: CH2: S [Day1|1900hrs] Show us what you got!

Last post by Krajin - January 11, 2025, 06:48:01 AM

[ Dominic Winters | Holodeck 3 | Vector 2 | Deck 21 | The Ranger ATTN: @Dumedion @Pierce

Dominic ordered from the Replicator a meat platter to snack on, along with a pair of chopsticks over the use of a fork or similar tools as they were inherently messy and this would in some weird little way test his dexterity while the suit was on. He pulled up a crate and parked his butt on it with one leg crossed over the other and the platter resting against him. “Stories, stories..” He picks up a vegetable and eats it.Taking his time to get the positions of the sticks correct and get the mechanics of it all working. Sure enough, though many who knew the carnivorous nature of a Kzint may see this as crazy or ludicrous.

“So. Stories.. You want one of mine.. I am not about to relive the Dominion war. I already have a reminder and plenty of shit from that. Pretty sure none of you want that either..” He muses. Flexing his right hand slightly and doing that thing all men do when it comes to tongs, chopsticks, and everything else by testing them by clicking them together. Granted, that hand had those implanted claws in them.

“Alright. When I was first getting into the conn role. When I graduated the Academy, I was posted to the USS Akira. I worked as first shift conn, handled third shift tactical on occasion and flew the shuttles. Now the Akira was the Prototype, first of the Class, and is the testbed for many of the upgrades that go into the class. Now I have built a bit of a reputation for flying the Akira like I stole it. My first combat run was against some Orion Pirates. Now we had just had an impulse drive upgrade so things had been a little shaky. We were investigating some pirate activity along a trade route which as you can guess turned out to be Orion Pirates: three Corvettes and a Brigand class. Now the engagement was a little hairy, we got ambushed by two corvettes first, we crippled one corvette and after scoring an engine kill on the second, we had the damn Brigand plus another Corvette show up. We were outnumbered and outgunned just from force multiplication and well, we engaged.”

Dominic eats a bit and then continues on. “I got told to perform evasive maneuvers. Sooooo.. I pushed the Akira and made the cruiser dance. Phasers, Torpedoes.. We won! But I have the captain some new grey hairs when we took on the Brigand and danced around its disruptors. I think I taught the crew how to make an Akira dance and that it can really, really move. Engineering though.. really disliked me.”

He looked pleased as punch. “What about you two?”

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Last post by Ellen Fitz - January 10, 2025, 10:53:55 AM

ALL ACTIVE WRITERS: @Brutus @Nolan @Havenborn @chXinya @ob2lander961 @Dumedion @rae @Eirual @Griff @tongieboi @Stegro88 @Tae @AbsintheDeux @Sqweloookle @Hans Applegate @RyeTanker @Dree @Galaxymind @Number6 @joshs1000 @Krajin @Pierce @Relatively Insane @Nesota Kynnovan @P.C. Haring @JacenSoloDjo @Eden @TWilkins @SomeBunny @Ellen Fitz

[Triangle Space]

Sometime after the commencement of the battle, at the turning of the tide...

In the ancient Terran Greek plays, they called the phenomenon “deus ex machina,” where a seemingly impossible situation was remedied by seemingly implausible variables. Legendary Starfleet captains of old, and even peers to Captain Ives in the present day, could all testify to having been on the receiving end of such an occurrence once or twice (how else has the Federation continued to endure if not for a friendly push from the occasional deus ex machina?).

Of course, these same captains and the Federation itself had far more often been the victims of “diabolus ex machina,” or the unexpected worsening of a situation (often already terrible enough). In this instance, as Theurgy’s crew faced off on one (or could it be two) fronts with weakened ships and discord among their allies, should an old foe like the Borg show up, that would assuredly be seen as diabolus ex machina. And, in the opposite corner, the sudden arrival of two ships (in this case, the Allegiant and the Apache) at just the right time to fend off what could have been a killing blow to the Ranger or to Chancellor Martok’s fleet ship, would be classified as deus ex machina.

Lucky for the continuation of the Federation and Theurgy’s fight against the Infested threat against it, the latter occurred and NOT the former. Granted, no one on any of the ships had the quiet of mind to think of such literary devices. They were too busy manning their stations in the desperate attempt to stay alive. Perhaps later, when the proverbial dust settled, one or two ivory tower minded would wax eloquent over a glass of Romulan ale.

GM Notes: This opens up the battle thread for the writers of the Apache and Allegiant. Understand that they arrive after the battle has begun so in the supplemental threads, and also this one, you should depict that accordingly (i.e., Hirek arriving on the Allegiant would note the destroyed ships already littering the area as well as responding to arriving in the middle of a battle vs. Enyd, already on the Helmet, would be from the perspective of seeing the battle start).

UNDERSTAND YOU'LL NEED TO CHECK IN ON ALL THE SUPPLEMENTALS TO MAKE SURE YOU AREN'T DOUBLE DIPPING ON SOME ACTION OR SCREWING WITH DECISIONS MADE IN OTHER THREADS.

There should be the occasional post from a member of these supplementals back in this main battle thread to recap/update major decisions and such in-character ((as in they're reporting to Stark/Cross what they're doing and accomplishing)) as this will help us keep on the same page and track major battle moments without having to note all the details in one place. Once the supplemental threads are brought to a close, the battle will be officially finished in this main thread, and all writers are then encouraged to write a final response to the battle ending before the GM FINs this thread.