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Main OOC Board / Re: Interregnum Season 2: 02-03
Last post by Krajin -Thane Va'rek on Back Channel Operations.
Thane Va'rek on Back Channel Operations.
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Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations
Last post by Krajin -Thane's experience in underworld dealings and questionable ventures had landed him a spot on this mission to acquire specialist materials for the Theurgy and her crew. The Ferasan had dressed down and out of his Starfleet Uniform and opted for something more practical. He wore black slacks and boots, a black form-fitting shirt, a grey vest and a leather jacket. His personal phaser sat tucked in a holster under the jacket, and Thane looked like your average Ferasan out in the galaxy. Only thing that remained was his face paint.
Every time Ghovek walked by, Thane made a note of it, and on one of the final passes, he shot the Tellarite a side-glare in a fairly typical passive-aggressive manner that Earth felines mastered centuries ago. Once the Tellarite stopped coming by with every little excuse, Thane passed Cross what data he could provide from S.I on Merra, at least what was at the classification level that Cross had access to and a little extra from Thane's own access credentials. He checked his satchel for all its bits and a the few toys he had brought along, just in case, and retrieved a PADD. This one was a personal one and looked like it had seen some life. Chunky, older, not Starfleet issue. He pulled up a game to occupy himself on this long flight.
"To those who haven't met me, I am Thane. That is all you will know me by here. He was only lightly paranoid and careful about how much he shared and when. Hours prior when this away mission had been arranged, Thane had made it known to Cross that he was an active telepath and if needed, would ply his skills to their negotiations and to potential threats. Any edge is a good edge in his book, even if it was kind of against regulations.
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Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [ 0700 hrs] The Salvage Job
Last post by RyeTanker -The motionless statue sat in the standard seat that equipped Starfleet shuttles and the mind inside didn't register the practical comfort the designers had incorporated into the standard small craft design. The return to the Starfleet fold and the pardon by the President was supposed to have returned the ship and its crew to legitimacy. Instead, it seemed to have had the opposite effect. His mind was in a state of cold fury as he checked the distance from the starbase to the standard safe distance when a ship could activate it's warp drive. It was stupid formality, but it seemed like someone had grabbed an extra thick and long broom handle to shove up their own ass just this time. Chief Arnold's mind replayed the scene with disgust as he stared out into space.
"Be that as it may Lieutenant Commander." The traffic controller said in a tone of professional indifference that maybe amounted to a sneer. "The rules are clear under section 37c subsection 3 of Starship Operations, you must be aware of the safe distance before a ship can activate its warp drive in the vicinity of a starbase."
Frank was well aware of the regulation, especially since it was one of the more winked at rules in the book. His eye caught the sight of another ship jumping to warp right next to them. "And that ship that just jumped to warp beside mine?" The traffic controller's face flushed as his expression hardened. "A case of different priorities. Your ship and crew will observe regulations while in vicinity of the starbase and will check in when you reach safe distance before departure. No exceptions. Traffic Control out." The communication screen abruptly went blank.
If Frank's eyes could have drilled holes into the display screen, the shuttle occupants would probably be breathing vacuum at that moment. The normally staid engineer closed his eyes for a moment before settling back into his chair and stared into space as the shuttle moved towards a useless empty point in space.
At least he could make the rest of the trip in quiet. What a waste though. Cold blue eyes moved to the screen underneath the outsized window and he checked on the transponders of the group of small craft. The Maslow was in the lead of the staggered diamond formation of four Type 11 shuttles. The Chief Engineer had requested more, and he'd even though of taking the Allegiance, but the Captain's yacht was undergoing significant repairs. The Apache was right out. At the centre of the formation was the Cargo shuttle Tesla. That craft was an absolute must.
Chief Arnold's mind went to the briefing that he'd held in the lower shuttle bay before the away mission had departed.
[Lower Shuttle Bay | Deck 21 | Vector 3 | A few hours earlier....]
The imposing bulk of Lieutenant Commander Frank Arnold stood on top a set of crates as his eyes swept the assembled group of crew that had been assigned or volunteered to go on the mission to the Cayuga. He wasn't privy to most of the details of how the ship had been found, but he understood it had taken Astrometrics quite a bit of processing power to figure it out. Normally it would been considered a foot note and another ship would have been sent out when it was convenient to locate the wreck and proceed with a recovery operation. Except, these were not normal times, nor normal circumstances. In his simple straightforward Engineers mind, a presidential pardon meant everything was just fine and they were welcome back into the fold. He hadn't really been ready for the distrust Theurgy had managed to accumulate in her absence. No amount of heroics seemed to overcome the pall of suspicious that clouded the ship and her crew's interaction. Requests for non-replicatable parts and replicator mass seemed to take far longer than normal, and it was affecting the rate of repairs, thus messing up his timelines for getting the ship back into operation. He'd also made the mistake of asking Enyd about the seeming ineffectiveness of the pardon, and the legal ramifications of the declaration had made his head hurt afterwards.
Before leaving, he'd discussed the situation with the Captain and XO, and had made a request for just three things to put all their horsepower behind. Main line EPS relays for the warp core, repairing the hole in Vector 3 from the destroyed Romulan boarding ship, and quantum torpedoes. The last was properly Cross' area to deal with, but it didn't help to add the Chief Engineer's name to the recommendation.
When the Chief figured everyone had arrived and settled down enough, he cleared his through loudly and obviously.
"Okay people settle down. We don't have much time, and a lot to do." He waited a moment for everyone to quiet down. "We've located the Cayuga." He waited a second for that bit of information to settle in. "Despite out attempts to pass that information higher, command is still deciding what to do about that tidbit. We're not going to wait while we have people potentially running out of air. The objective is simple. We're going to take four shuttles and the Tesla to the Cayuga and rescue any survivors. A pair of fighters will provide escort and perimeter patrol while the away team is in the ship. When we arrive, we're going to remotely open the shuttle bay and proceed in from there with the primary objective being Main engineering to set up an temporary command post."
There was a moment's pause. "The shuttles are being readied for personnel transport with additional medical equipment for any wounded survivors. The Tesla will be our focal point for the collection of certain parts that we can't make ourselves and the Starbase seems reluctant to provide in a timely manner." The Chief paused again as he mentally flipped to the next segment. "The PADDs being handed out have a list of the items we're looking for, that will be the main responsibility for Engineering. Several of those items are classified technologies. You'll also work to restore minimal life support as needed so we can access areas quickly and efficiently.
Operations and Science. Get the sensor system operating to supplement the small craft that we're using for the mission. After that, start combing the computer systems for any additional information, personal and mission logs. Tactical will assist in pulling the necessary information and keeping a sensor watch on our surroundings."
He eyes settled on the medical staff. "All that is secondary though to assisting the medical team in helping any survivors we hope to find." There was a pause as he briefly wrestled with the next order he had to give. "We'll take any survivors we find, but we'll have to leave behind any dead that we find."
There was another pause as his eyes conveyed the seriousness of the order before shifting to the security contingent as well as several Tactical and Operations crew members. "Several of you have been selected because of your experience in handling explosives. You'll proceed to the anti-matter storage area to set remote command charges. After the recovery is complete.......We'll detonate the charges and scuttle the Cayuga."
Frank stopped to let that sink in. "We leave in two hours."
[Back to the present...]
The reminisces carried the group of small craft to the warp out point, the Chief Engineer pressed a button to establish communications with traffic control.
"Yes Chief?" A different controller asked, very clearly perplexed at the nature of the call.
"Theurgy flight Beta, Flight of seven preparing to warp out Traffic Control." Chief Arnold intoned formally and the non-expression on his face spoke volumes.
"Preparing to warp out, what? Why would you? Wait..." The controller looked down and began rubbing his temples for a moment before looking back up at the screen and it felt like his sigh of frustration was getting ready to burst from his head. "Understood beta flight. Apologies for the delay. Good luck."
Frank quirked an eyebrow at this as the communications link cut and he turned to the pilot "Take us out." He commanded and the starfield stretched as the Maslow went to warp.
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Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 02 [0815 hrs] We're Good, For Now
Last post by Brutus -[Show/Hide]
It was hard for Faye to say what was the oddest thing about the last few days. Honestly, as she stepped into the offices that had (extremely briefly) been her own, the young diplomat was fairly certain she did not want to truly think about it all. If she were to ponder anything other than what the meeting ahead would entail, the coal eyed Betazoid would probably choose to dwell on the relief of President Bacco's speech. In how the woman had believed and absolved them. That was much more of a positive focus than the surreal nature of being outside a Starbase again, and not being fired on.
Earlier that morning, as she had sipped upon a cup of tea to shake away the cobwebs of the previous evenings short sleep, the lithe Ensign had stared out the view port at Starbase 234 as Theurgy hung in space, tethered by a docking collar. She watched other vessels maneuvering about the area, from tiny worker bee type shuttles to an aging Miranda-class (the USS-Nautilus based on the call number Faye glimpsed) decided to do a damn near close fly by, for reasons that alluded the diplomat. Faye marveled at it all. How something that had once been so familiar now felt alien. What was it her human mother had called the feeling? Like walking on eggshells.
As she took her seat in front of Lt. Madsen, Ens. Eloi-Danvers did not feel the need to 'walk on eggshells' here. Whatever was to happen in this room, at the very least she trusted her boss not to snap suddenly and shoot her in the back, unlike how she felt when she had gone aboard the station yesterday. No itch of anxiety between her shoulder blades. No roiling waves of conflicted emotions in this room. She reached out and took the PADD from the Lieutenant and glanced briefly at it as she listened to the other woman walk her through the brief. She bit her lip as her eyes danced back and forth, feeling the frustration that Lt. Madsen kept tamped down behind her calm demenor.
"I'm surprised K'Temak has managed not to get himself killed at this rate," she mused, gauche though it was to think aloud. But it would not be out of place within the realm of Klingon politics. To call it a bloody affair was to understate the matter. Looking back up to her boss, she gave a soft, sympathetic smile. It was nice to be considered trustworthy. And Faye had plenty of experience in Klingon politics, having been stationed in Klingon space aboard the Cortez shortly after completing her graduate work at the Starfleet Diplomatic Annex on Babel. Not to mention all their recent time in both Aldean and Klingon space.
Speaking of trusted, she mused for a moment, then leaned forward. "I am open to suggestions on who to bring along. Obvsiously someone from security and probably the Intelligence department. And I want CPO MacGregor. She is the daughter of the House of Mac-mon, that has succeeded Mo'Kai. I know she has little desire to stay in Klingon space but her presence could be useful. If nothing else, she'll annoy K'Temak and put him on his back-foot." That she and Mickayla got along swimmingly didn't need mentioning, as far as Faye was concerned.
"I do have an actual question, though," Faye pressed on, those dark eyes watching Lt. Madsen. "Should we expect any...tangential operations from the Diplomatic corps or Starfleet on this matter? Are they sending someone else, or are we the 'official' party for this?" Translation: whose toes am I going to be stepping on from 'our' side?
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Main OOC Board / Re: Interregnum Season 2: 02-03
Last post by Stegro88 -T'Less and Samala Stay on Theurgy at Starbase 234.
Mickayal to Qo'Nos - She is the daughter of the House of Mac-mon, the house that has replace House Mo'Kai, at least officially.
Donna is going Back Channel - Using previous experience as an undercover operative. Which should be interesting given her recent personality difficulties.
Quick and dirty, reach out if you have questions.
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Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Day 01 [0815 hrs] Ressurection Protocols Initiated
Last post by Dumedion -[Show/Hide]
37.91 seconds.
That was the length of memory, looped repeatedly, that had become her prison.
It played out the same no matter how she wished to change it, because recorded data could not be altered willingly once it was stored in her memory engrams – it could only be deleted or physically removed. She was trapped, powerless; stuck reliving the last seconds before the invasive program hijacked and corrupted her processing capabilities.
During the Triangle battle, Vanya had raced to Hydroponics, trying to secure the bulk of the specimens from damage via the emergency force-fields; fires had broken out, as the ship shook around her – EPS/ODN conduits overloaded, shedding sparks everywhere as smoke filled the room. Her eyes found the environmental controls, activated damage control.
Something hit her from behind, hard. Her face struck the LCARs panel with enough force to shatter the panel, then rebounded; her body – living tissue integrated biosynthetically to a dutoronium endoskeleton – was thrown across the room. She felt her shoulder joint dislocate with a snap-pop of mechanical wrongness before the crushing impact; physics had carried her through a workstation, sent her tumbling – then a slow stop as she slid over broken glass. Internal and external damage registered, as she struggled to stand and defend herself. A surge of energy – painful beyond anything she’d experienced – assaulted her; every motor control mechanism locked tight as her epidural layers flash-burned under intense heat. She endured this for approximately 29 seconds.
As in every iteration before, the excruciating sensation only abated once she was entirely paralyzed; every motor function overloaded to the point of uselessness.
Something rolled her over.
A figure emerged from a personal cloaking device, his body shimmering into existence as he cruelly knelt atop her. A Romulan. His face was young, blank, almost devoid of life. Cold, merciless eyes looked down at her. There were no words, no explanation, no hesitation; in one blurred movement, he jabbed a needled device into the corner of her eye – directly into the hidden neuro-port within. Her vision glitched into a wash of static; bytes of invasive scrap code multiplied exponentially as it ate into the positronic processes of her synthetic mind.
Vanya screamed.
The loop repeated: the fires – the smoke – the assault. The crunch of her face into the display console. The savage throw. Shoulder dislocation. The energy surge; melting her skin – the smell of cooked meat. The pain. Those dead eyes. The cold, invasive plunge of the data spike. Her scream.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Suddenly, everything stopped. Literally. Vanya, frozen in a single frame of her own recorded memory, found herself mid-flight through the air – the room a blur of movement. She tried to blink, to focus, and discovered that she could. Her body dropped from the air an instant later, landing in a heap, as the room shifted around her: Hydroponics melded away to resolve into another area of the ship – one she seldom visited but recognized easily enough…
“This…is the Holographic Lab,” Vanya vocalized cautiously, while she experimented with movement. She had been freed, apparently. “I am..,” dark green eyes watched her hands flex as she considered how this was possible. “This is a holographic simulation,” she stated, then looked up and around her. “Ingenious.”
Two fellow officers approached.
She recognized them, and a beautiful, grateful smile graced her lips.
“Selena, Alistair,” Vanya gasped, then got to her feet to embrace both. “I’m so happy to see you both!” She held them close, without an ounce of shame or restraint, simply joyful to be free once again. “That was an absolutely terrible experience,” she told them through a laugh, then moved back to return their space. “Tell me darlings, how bad is it? I cannot access my own operational systems, yet somehow, I’m able to function. Is this a back-up? Of course,” she grinned, then hushed herself. “Apologies. Go on lovelies, I’m all ears,” she laughed again.
[Meanwhile...Holographic Lab | Deck 24 | Vector 3 | USS Theurgy]
Vanya’s body – its biosynthetic epidermis healed – lay in a contained diagnostic apparatus, her various internal mechanisms displayed upon the flashing digital overlay. Despite being unresponsive to any external stimuli since the attack, the moment her internal prison shattered brought the weakest of curls to her lips.
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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S [Day 3 | 06:30] Wolves in the Den
Last post by Krajin -Dominic's big ears twitched as he saw the door open and the two women entered, first was a pilot and the last was an unknown. A tech? Flight crew? He just smiled and stretched out languidly on the couch and watched them for a bit. "Good Morning." Atlas says, adjusting his jacket slightly and putting his tray to the side so he had only his plate of fruit, nuts and crackers in front of him. He also had a mug the size of a jug filled with hot chocolate.
"I don't think I recognise you two?"
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Main OOC Board / Re: Interregnum Season 2: 02-03
Last post by rae -- Nysari is going to Romulus, as ordered.
- Azrin is going on the salvage mission, not at all as ordered. Don't worry about how she's going to get there. Don't tell Arven or Frank. Everything is fine.
- Janus can stay on the ship or go on whichever mission needs another pilot.
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Main OOC Board / Re: Main OOC Thread
Last post by Ellen Fitz -40
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations
Last post by Ellen Fitz -The seat was not designed for comfort, though Cross had sat in worse. The Merchant's Folly was an Antares-class freighter that had seen better decades, operated by a Tellarite named Ghovek who had made clear within the first three minutes of boarding that he didn't care who they were, didn't want to know what they were looking for, and expected payment in Federation credits with no questions about the exchange rate. Cross had agreed to all three conditions without argument, which had visibly unsettled Ghovek, who seemed to have prepared for a negotiation. The Tellarite had spent the first hour of transit finding small reasons to walk past the passenger compartment and look at them.
He'd stopped after the third pass. Cross hadn't looked up from his PADD once.
The orders from Stark had been verbal. Unofficial in every way that mattered legally and entirely official in every way that mattered practically. The back-channel lead had come through Lieutenant Enyd Madsen, Theurgy's Chief Diplomatic Officer, who had produced three names and a waystation coordinate. Cross had taken the data chip, thanked her, and then spent a longer moment than he intended looking at the chip and thinking about what it meant that their diplomat had that information ready to hand.
Madsen was good at her job. That was not in question. What Cross found himself quietly turning over was the specific way she was good at her job — the contacts she kept, the speed at which she'd produced the lead, the way she'd offered it without being asked twice. Diplomatic work required a certain fluency in back channels by definition. He understood that. He had enough operational experience to know that the line between cultivating sources and running them was one that people in sensitive positions crossed regularly and not always with full awareness that they'd done so. Whether Madsen was aware was the part he couldn't settle.
He transmitted two of the names to Stark and kept the third for this run. The contact was a Bolian freight broker operating out of a waystation three hours from the Triangle at civilian speeds. Her name was Merra, and she had a reputation for moving medical supplies, EPS components, and weapons-adjacent materiel to parties the Federation preferred not to formally acknowledge doing business with. Which meant she had inventory, she had discretion, and she had pricing that would make the Theurgy's quartermaster wince.
Cross pulled up the ship's current inventory deficit on his PADD. Torpedo casings. EPS relay stock. Bioneural gel packs. Exosuit components. Blood plasma — though that one was moving through other channels and he'd been told not to worry about it, which meant he was worrying about it.
The away team he'd selected was smaller than what he’d like, considering they were moving into potentially hostile territory. But he’d chosen people he trusted to keep their mouths shut and their hands steady if the conversation with Merra turned complicated. It almost certainly wouldn't. Freight brokers with reputations to protect didn't generally allow conversations to turn complicated. But Cross had stopped assuming things wouldn't turn complicated sometime around the third day aboard the Theurgy, and he saw no reason to revisit that policy now.
He set the PADD face-down on his knee and looked out the narrow viewport. The Triangle where they'd rendezvoused was already behind them, reduced to a navigational notation in Ghovek's system. Out here, there was nothing to indicate that three major powers had just finished shooting at each other, that a president had broadcast a pardon across subspace, or that a Starfleet vessel was struggling to replace components because certain people within the institution had decided procedural compliance outweighed a functioning starship.
He picked the PADD back up. Merra's dossier was thin on personal detail and thorough on professional history. She had never failed to deliver what she'd contracted to deliver. She had never been formally charged with anything. She had, on two separate occasions, been interviewed by Starfleet Intelligence and released without incident. Cross noted that and moved on. He had two hours and forty minutes until arrival and intended to know exactly what he needed and exactly what he was willing to pay before the Merchant's Folly dropped out of warp.