Star Trek: Theurgy

Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

March 31, 2026, 04:34:13 AM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Conference Lounge | V. 1 D. 1 | USS Theurgy ]
ATTN: @Brutus   @Nolan   @ob2lander961   @chXinya   @Dumedion   @Griff   @rae   @Stegro88   @Eirual l  @RyeTanker  @tongieboi   @Pierce   @Tae   @Nesota Kynnovan   @Hans Applegate   @joshs1000   @P.C. Haring   @Krajin   @Eden   @TWilkins

Cross entered without breaking stride, hands clasped behind his back, eyes moving before the doors had fully parted — walls, sightlines, seating. He’d always been keen on these details but in the hours since his instatement as acting xo, Cross could feel certain aspects of his personality solidify. Strengthen. It was yet to be determined if they were the part of his personality that were the “warm and cuddly” type, or if Hathev was liable to tell him to be less Vulcan about things.

The conference lounge had not been fully restored.A maintenance case sat open near the far bulkhead, lid propped at an angle that suggested whoever had left it intended to return and hadn't. A coil of fiber conduit lay half-spooled across a chair that had been nudged out of alignment and forgotten. Someone had left a diagnostic wand on the table's edge, its indicator still cycling a patient amber, presumably under the impression that this was someone else's problem now.

Cross looked at it for a moment.He crossed to the table and lifted the diagnostic wand, thumb finding the active control and deactivating it. Into the case. The conduit coil followed — not perfectly spooled, not worth the time, but returned to something that would not catch anyone's elbow in the dark. The chair he realigned with a single precise push and did not look at again.
The air carried a faint metallic sharpness beneath the ship's regulated atmosphere. Heated circuitry, recent access. The smell of repairs that were ongoing rather than finished.

He noted this without comment to himself. There was no one present to comment to. Valin had entered behind him — the uneven cadence of the man's steps marking him as clearly as a name tag — but Cross did not consider Valin an audience for internal observations. He considered Valin someone currently proving, step by compensated step, that medical clearance and restoration were different categories of thing. Indeed, the command adjutant was already taking notes on the state of the conference room and formulating a list of suggested improvements for the repair crews.

"Thea. Environmental controls. Drop temperature two degrees. Ventilation up five percent."

The adjustment registered along his skin a moment later — subtle, useful. He moved along the table activating consoles in sequence, each station coming online beneath his touch with the quality of machinery that had been repaired recently and was being asked to demonstrate its confidence. Agenda framework. Attendance registry. Priority flags. Holo-interfaces rose at measured angles, uniform, contained, professionally indifferent to the fact that half the ship was still in the process of becoming whole again.

“Did the doctor give you any special orders before releasing you I should be aware of?” Cross asked the command adjutant without looking up from his work.

He paused at Tactical. Damage assessments hovered in his peripheral attention — hull breaches, shield failures, personnel losses categorized and recategorized into administrative language until they became something that could be filed rather than carried. Supply requisitions sat underneath them, more immediate and considerably less dignified in their specificity. Lieutenant T’Less had done an exemplary job of putting together the sit rep for their department. He closed the reports before they expanded and returned his attention to the seating configuration.

Valin’s cane was ostensibly to assist in his walking, but the subtle gilt work down the shaft and the rare wood that formed its core spoke to the man’s flair for opulence while just meeting Federation regulations. He could have remained sour about his medical situation but instead turned it into a statement.

“Nothing of relevance, Commander.” Any special orders that might have existed would likely have been ignored by the lieutenant in any case. Valin did not like sickbay nor doctors.

Cross nodded at Valin’s response before jutting his chin toward the table. "Seating will reflect operational necessity," he said. To Valin, nominally. To the room.

He adjusted. Operations drew closer to Tactical because the current situation demanded it. Science shifted into cleaner line of sight because the current situation demanded that too. Medical he placed at the center and did not move it — an axis of certainty in a meeting that would have several uncertain variables and Cross was not in the business of distinguishing between the two when they amounted to the same placement. Engineering he adjusted twice, narrowing the gap by increments, as though proximity to the other departments might compensate for what the supply lines had not yet delivered. He was aware this was not how physics worked. He adjusted it a third time anyway.

The President's address had been clear. Logistics would stabilize. Support would follow. The Federation stood with the Theurgy and intended to demonstrate that commitment through material means. A statement of intent was not a supply crate.

Cross had spent enough of his career working with the gap between what command structures promised and what arrived to have developed a very specific relationship with optimism — not hostile to it, exactly, but in the habit of keeping it on the other side of the table. Callahan had called this his "foundational suspicion of pleasant outcomes." Cross had considered that characterization and concluded it was probably fair. He had also concluded that foundational suspicion of pleasant outcomes had, on several notable occasions, kept him and others alive, and had filed this under not the worst trait to have and moved on.

He returned to the head of the table.

"Thea. Display meeting header. Classification level three. Internal record active. External access restricted to command authorization."
The header resolved on the far wall.

Cross looked at it for a moment. Then he said, "Lighting. Reduce ambient ten percent. Increase table illumination," and the room shifted, and the header remained exactly what it was regardless. He clasped his hands behind his back. "Thea. Confirm channel security." He nodded to himself. “Department heads will arrive within three minutes," Cross commented to Valin. Then he raised an eyebrow and asked. “Did you catch the president’s address during the memorial?”

The command adjutant was finalizing arrangements for the meeting on his PADD, having found a maintenance crate to lean against to free up a hand for typing. “I did,” he said, focused on the device. The words betrayed nothing as to Valin’s reaction to the speech. Rather, it was simple acknowledgement. After a moment, Valin looked up. “I suspect her advisors and the Federation Council had some choice words to say in private after the ceremony. I am not sure if bold or reckless is a better description for the speech. Possibly both.”

Whatever Cross had thought to say in reply remained locked in his throat as the doors opened and the first of the department heads arrived.

---

GM Notes: Although all active writers have been tagged so they can keep abreast of the sit rep the ship (that they can use for other threads) only departmental heads will be writing in this thread. Please write your chief arriving for the meeting and separately PM me the sit rep (dialogue only) that I will drop into a JP post style that will follow after everyone arrives and then we will go back to person by person replies to the sit reps. Please reach out if you need support in putting together your departmental sit rep.

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #1 – March 31, 2026, 09:33:24 PM

[Lieutenant Dr. Nathan Frost, Ph.D. | Deck 01 | Conference Lounge | USS Theurgy]
[Attn: @Ellen Fitz, @Brutus, @Nolan, @ob2lander961, @chXinya, @Dumedion, @Griff, @rae, @Stegro88, @Eirual, @RyeTanker, @tongieboi, @Pierce, @Tae, @Hans Applegate, @joshs1000, @P.C. Haring, @Krajin, @Eden, @TWilkins]

As he walked through the corridor on Deck 01, a soft yawn escaped the lips of Doctor Nathan Frost. The Canadian Immunologist had been appointed Acting Chief Science Officer only mere hours after coming aboard, which was a little over eighteen hours ago, and he had only slept two hours thus far; given the fact that he’d inherited a Department in disarray and didn’t even knew what happened to his own predecessor, Frost had deemed it a necessity in order to get a proper hold of the situation. Though, since he’d barely gotten any sleep aboard the IKS Vask’at either, the Canadian was now going a little over forty-eight hours with barely any sleep and it was beginning to show.

Shaking his head against the growing fatigue, Frost raised the mug in his right hand up to his lips. The white mug, which had the Theurgy-logo imprinted onto it, had found its way into the Acting Chief Science Officer’s possession during the briefing with the Science staff just eleven hours earlier and it hadn’t left his immediate vicinity ever since; even now it was full of warm coffee and, as Frost took a sip of the warm liquid, he sighed in content as he felt how the bitter liquid seemed to give him just that little mental boost. After another sip, the blue-eyed gaze of Doctor Nathan Frost was drawn to the PADD in his left hand. The small tablet computer displayed the information he needed for the upcoming meeting of the Senior Staff; the status of the various Science facilities and the science personnel whom now fell under his care, the repair requests made by the scientists in order to get their respective facilities operational again, a list of inner-department transfers to alleviate personnel shortages and, sadly enough, the list of casualties suffered during the battle.

While Frost’s blue eyes went over the casualty list again, a soft sigh escaped his lips. He had never met any of the fallen scientists personally, but there were three names in particular that felt like a punch to the gut; they were three exceptionally gifted scientists whose loss hurt the Canadian Immunologist on a personal level. The first amongst these was Tyreke Okafor, whom had been a bright scientist specializing in three different fields, ranging from Synthetic Biology to Nutrigenomics and Organic Electronics. After reading the man’s personnel record, Frost was convinced that they’d been able to nip the infected threat in the bud if he’d been able to meet Okafor six months ago. Then there was the second name; Asra Tek. She had been a brilliant Warp Theorist who, in Frost’s honest opinion, should have received a posting at the Daystrom Institute instead of a frontline commission. Now, the loss of such a prodigal scientist was bound to set research in her specific field back by decades, if not generations. Last but definitely not least was Kizra Tos, Theurgy’s resident Chemist. While Frost had never met the young woman, he’d read several groundbreaking papers written by Dezrin Tos; the previous host of the Tos symbiont. If Kizra had been anything like Dezrin, which Frost assumed she’d been, the loss of Kizra Tos and the Tos symbiont were significant losses to the scientific community of the Quadrant.

A soft sigh escaped Frost’s lips as he swiped back up to the top of the document. The loss of those three officers felt like a failure on his part; knowing that they would still be alive if he’d gotten to the ship six months ago. If he’d been here, Frost knew that he would have been able to work with the scientists and provide them with his insights, thus accelerating their research into the parasite and bringing Theurgy back into Starfleet’s fold much sooner. It made the Acting Chief Science Officer feel increasingly cold and empty inside; a feeling which, combined with his fatigue, innately drew his attention to the comfortable warmth radiating from the cup of coffee in his right hand.

Frost was pulled back to reality as he reached the doors of the Conference Lounge; the same room where he’d met his Science staff only eleven hours earlier. He briefly held his pace in front of the doors to quickly take another sip of coffee before taking another step and allowing the doors to open with their signature hydraulic hiss. As he stepped into the room, he noticed that Commander Cross was already present in the Conference Lounge, standing on the far side of the room along with another man who was leaning on a cane. Frost presented them both with a polite nod before looking around the room and realizing that he was the first to arrive. ”Ah, am I early?”

As he spoke with a Canadian-accented voice that hinted at his own confidence, which bordered at sheer arrogance, Frost walked into the room. Despite his tone, the Canadian’s fatigue immediately showed when he walked past an open maintenance case that sat open near the bulkhead; someone had placed a half-spooled coil of fiber conduit inside it, but the coil hadn’t been properly spooled and thus allowed the fiber conduit to spill out of the maintenance case. Frost’s foot caught the stray fiber conduit as he walked past, tripping him up and prompting him to spill the contents of his mug as he struggled to keep standing.

Whereas other people might have been embarrassed, Frost instead looked at Commander Cross and the other Starfleet officer with a look of sheer exasperation before turning his attention to the half-spooled coil of fiber conduit. The Canadian Immunologist remembered that the maintenance case had been there during his Science briefing eleven hours earlier, but Frost could have sworn that he’d placed that half-spooled coil of fiber conduit into one of the chairs to prevent anyone from tripping over it. How it had found its way back into the maintenance case was beyond him but, after several seconds of exasperation and semi-bewildered staring, Frost coughed and began to make his way to the replicator to refill his mug.

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #2 – April 04, 2026, 07:19:51 PM

[LT Arven Leux | En Route to Conference Lounge | Between Decks | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Nesota Kynnovan @Ellen Fitz @Nolan @ob2lander961 @chXinya @Griff @rae @Stegro88 @Eirual @RyeTanker @tongieboi @Pierce @Tae @Hans Applegate @joshs1000 @P.C. Haring @Krajin @Eden @TWilkins
[Show/Hide]

He rode the turbolift with his head back against the wall, eyes rested closed. The day had been much like the previous (minus the chaos of combat, explosions, and the ship quakes); despite the progress made with most patients left over from the battle, Arven was still behind on the administration side of the equation. The CMO’s office – unofficially his office and living quarters – held a treasure trove of PaDDs to that end, each one a personnel file that needed updating.

Life as the sole surviving medical officer was anything but glamorous, or lax.

In his mind, Arven was reviewing the upcoming testing required for Ms. Feynri’s upcoming treatment. The case was interesting, for several reasons; namely the fact that he’d never treated a Vulpinian, nor attempted to reverse trauma on such a scale. Part of him wondered if it was even possible, still, regardless of the success rates the simulations predicted.

His inner musings were shattered by a sudden arrival: a crack of one eye revealed a blonde – teal shirt, big doe eyes, stack of PaDDs under her arm. She greeted him with the kind of energy early morning “happy” people exhibited – that same annoyingly bright aura of optimism, and bubbly exuberance that most sane people simply couldn’t match and didn’t even try. Point of fact, they often avoided it. Arven mentally squirmed from the sheer onslaught of verbiage assaulting his ears.
 
Saints and ministers of grace, defend us, Leux groaned mentally; he hadn’t moved, only offered a noncommittal grunt in reply thus far. Blondie didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest – she seemed to accelerate right into full blown conversational engagement, rambling on about the state of the ship, what she’d seen during the battle, how she was part of a team hunting some kind of varmint in the bowels of the ship. It wasn’t that long of a ride; Arven wondered if her rapid-fire speech-pattern and inexhaustible supply of sunshine and rainbows had somehow distorted space-time, trapping him in an ever elongating bubble of hell.

A pause, brief as it was while she took a gulp of oxygen, prompted him to engage – just for the sake of slowing her down.

“You know what a v’traxian worm is,” he asked rhetorically, speaking over her head – which was basically at his chest anyway. “Blood parasite. Pulled one out of a Tellarite once; poor guy was so constipated he was nearly septic – worm had chewed through and made itself at home in the guy’s colon. Terrible situation,” Leux sniffed, still leaning against the wall, eyes still closed. “Anyway, I went in manually, pulled it out,” he wiggled the fingers of his right hand. “Amazing what you can accomplish with enough lube and a little elbow grease.”

The door swished open.

“Oop, that’s me,” Arven’s eyes popped open and he kicked off the wall, leaving her behind. He shook his head as he walked, wondering how the girl’s psyche eval played out. Before he could finish the thought though, he had to come to a sudden stop to keep from getting run into by a dark-haired male in a lab coat, too buried in a PaDD to pay attention to where he was going. Violet eyes narrowed in recognition; he was older, but still wore the same style of corrective lenses, still wore his hair the same.

Frost, Arven snorted mentally. Bloody hell.

He didn’t try to catch up or keep pace with the esteemed immunologist; Arven shoved his hands in his pockets and took his time at a distance. It had been many years since the Doctor’s guest lecture at Stanford; Arven doubted the man would recall their little…debate…on list of differential metabolic T Cell pathways and their interoceptive homeostatic functions in various tissues. Back when I was young and impressionable, Arven scoffed. He followed a few steps behind as Frost entered the conference room; saw the man trip, spill his coffee, stare indignantly at the offending coil, then walk off to the replicator.

Arven let the corner of his lips curl in dry amusement; not directly at Frost, mind – more for the fact that the man hadn’t seemed to have changed much at all. After greeting Cross and Valin with a silent nod, he scooped up the coil. “Is there a reason it’s so dark in here,” he muttered to himself, then set his PaDD onto the table and began to wrap the coil up around his arm in a figure eight, much like a piece of loose rope. Once bound up, Arven wrapped the loose end around the loop three times and tucked the tail in to prevent it from coming undone, then tossed it atop the open crate.

His eyes looked over the table, noted his assigned seat, and moved to stand behind it; the chair looked plushy – built in LCARs panel – the kind of seat one could expect for senior officers to polish their ass with.

Arven really didn’t want any part of it.

Voilet eyes met Cross’; nothing was said, but Leux let his expression speak for itself – surprised to find the same weary acceptance reflected in the Vulcan’s gaze. A hint of kinship threatened, between two officers that had never wanted or expected to have responsibility thrust upon them under such circumstances.

With nothing else for it, the Doctor took his seat and waited for the other department heads to arrive.

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #3 – April 07, 2026, 05:22:52 PM

[ Lieutenant Enyd Isolde Madsen | Conference Lounge | V. 1 D. 1 | USS Theurgy ]  @TWilkins  @Pierce  @RyeTanker  @rae  @chXinya  @P.C. Haring @joshs1000 @Dumedion @Nesota Kynnovan @Eden @Brutus

The D'ravsai Coalition as they understood it was forty-one hours old.

Enyd had been doing the math since the memorial — not the kind of math that resolved into clean answers, but the kind that kept revising itself. The Tal'Shiar didn't dissolve on command. It persisted the way certain problems persisted: structurally, below the surface, capable of expression the moment conditions permitted. She'd seen it on Cardassia, watching the machinery of a broken state outlive the state itself — cells operating with the confidence of an organism that had simply forgotten it was supposed to be dead.

The Reman question was worse, in its way. The ones who had lived free understood freedom as something built and defended and paid for. The ones who had come out of the processing centers understood it as a wound that was also a door. You could not hand both populations the same framework and expect it to hold. She'd been turning this over since their morning meeting and hadn't arrived anywhere that felt like ground.

And the Klingons. Warriors who had spent careers defining themselves against a Romulan enemy, houses whose honor was woven through with it, being asked now to hold steady while she and whatever was left of this ship's diplomatic capacity attempted to build something new with a people they had spent decades treating as adversaries. The alliance had endured worse in theory. In practice, it had never been tested at quite this angle before, and angles mattered. She recalled her tense meeting with Colonel Hauq earlier and inwardly sighed.

The presidential pardon sat uneasily beneath all of it.

She'd read the address three times. Bold was the accurate word. Reckless was also accurate. The problem was that pardons had a grammar, and the grammar of this one — however necessary, however politically intelligent — told a story to the people who had already decided what they thought of the Theurgy. You didn't receive a pardon for loyalty. You received it for transgression. And without a sanctioned mission on record, without something that said "here is what they risked, here is what it cost, here is what they prevented" that everyone could see and believe, the pardon was a reclassification, not an exoneration. The same people who had called them traitors would now call them "pardoned," and they would say it the same way. And the distrust would continue, only now the president had put a target on her back as well.

She was still holding this thought when the conference lounge doors opened and the room received her.

Enyd moved to her seat on the kind of autopilot that only held together after thirty-something hours without proper sleep — feet finding the path while the mind worked elsewhere. She registered Cross at the head of the table. The doctor with the coffee mug. The CMO already seated, expression suggesting he had developed a philosophical objection to optimism.

Her PADD slid onto the table. Her hand went to the back of her chair. Then she saw Cal.

The PADD stayed where it was. She crossed the room without particular regard for the conference lounge's seating geometry and put her arms around him. She held on. For a moment, she simply held on, cheek against his shoulder, and said nothing, because there was nothing small enough to say, and she was too tired to pretend otherwise.

She pulled back. Her eyes were bright in a way she made no effort to explain.

"I was in sickbay this morning." Her voice was steady, which was the best she could currently manage. "Going down the beds. I heard you'd been hurt and I -" She stopped. Her jaw tightened once. "I didn't see your face. Someone said you were upright." Her eyes dropped to the cane. She studied it for a moment, doing the rapid internal calculus of someone who had spent a career reading rooms — injury, severity, the fact that he was here at all, standing under his own authority, the cane itself turned out with that particular gilt work that was very specifically Valin — and then something in her face shifted away from alarm.

"For what it's worth," she said, dry as Montana dust, "chicks absolutely dig a man with a cane. Especially if there's a sword in it." She tilted her head. "Is there a sword in it?"

Enyd then became aware of her own hand. She had been holding his wrist since she'd pulled back — fingers loose around the pulse point, not a conscious decision — and had been holding it through the entirety of the conversation. The color that moved into her face owed nothing to the conference lounge's adjusted lighting.

She let go.

"Sorry." The smile she gave him was small and genuine and slightly undermined by the fact that her eyes were still too bright. "Forgot myself. We can catch up more later."

She turned and walked back to her chair with the posture of a diplomat who had absolutely not just done any of that. Folded her hands on the table and mentally prepared herself for another meeting.

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #4 – April 07, 2026, 11:41:32 PM

[PLT Selena Ravenholm | Conference Lounge | Deck 01 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] attn: @TWilkins @Pierce @RyeTanker @rae @P.C. Haring @joshs1000 @Dumedion @Nesota Kynnovan @Eden @Brutus

Wandering her way into the Conference Lounge with less than a minute left on the Chronometer, Lt. Ravenholm’s cybernetic feet clicked on the deck with each step. While empty handed, one of them was busy rubbing her earlobe. It had been recently restored to its rounded shape, and it still itched. At least I got to keep the dress. she mused to herself after the surgery, the black and grey getup safely tucked away in her minimalist wardrobe for future use.

A quick glance around the room as the woman weaved her way around the chairs and gathered officers showed plenty of blue and some red among those already here, most of them familiar faces, others somewhat new (though she’d correct that soon enough). The lack of yellow wasn’t too much of a surprise, with the state the ship was in everyone with at least some technical knowhow was hard at work trying to get it back together once again. At least they had the promise of actual Starfleet resources this time, no more scrounging on the fringes, or worse, raiding their own supply depots.

The readouts on the table showed Selena where she was intended to sit, her VISOR automatically linking up with the computer display the moment she saw it. Data flowed instantly between her personal databank and the table’s access point to update the current situation with the computer, Thea herself, and all the various systems tied together to keep them all alive and comfortable. Honestly, she could’ve made a pretty good argument that she didn’t need to be here, most everything she had could’ve just been read off of the report or she could call it in from whatever junction she’d currently be elbow deep in, (Or from the hot tub in my quarters… she dreamed to herself with a smirk), but it wouldn’t be nice to stand up their new XO like that.

Turning the chair to the side, Selena slid into the seat with the grace of a dancer, fingers immediately dancing across the table to organize the data she knew everyone would want to hear in a little bit, all in silence.

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #5 – April 08, 2026, 09:28:03 PM

[Ensign Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | Ensign Llewellyn-Kth’s Quarters | Deck 08 | USS Theurgy] @RyeTanker @Pierce @rae @P.C. Haring @joshs1000 @Dumedion @Nesota Kynnovan @Eden @Brutus

The cacophony that hit his ears was shrill enough to shatter his skull, noise piercing through his head, high-pitched and unrelenting, as it blared into his unconscious and roused him from his blissful slumber. The sheets beneath his body were soft, save for the few crumbs of debris that he’d failed to brush away, back before he’d collapsed into the mattress not two hours prior. Above him was the delicate pressure of his duvet, hugging down against him as his body flexed outwards, releasing his muscles from the prawn-like curl he had adopted as he’d slept. A pained grumble fled Sylvain’s lips as he stirred, sleep filled eyes wincing against the sound as he tried to burrow his head deeper into his pillow, duvet twisting around his shoulders as he struggled against his overwhelming desire to tell the alarm exactly where to go…

The Ensign knew that he only had himself to blame, but that didn’t offer his aching body much comfort as it wrestled with the desperate grasp of unconsciousness, his eyelids betraying him by accepting defeat in their battle against exhaustion. He’d known that the window of time between the conclusion of the memorial, and the Senior Staff meeting that he’d been asked to attend, was short; less than an hour and a half after he factored in all of the travel and preparation that he’d need to do before he could present himself again… He’d gone almost three days without any meaningful amount of sleep; he could have pushed himself through and saved his slumber until after the Senior Staff meeting…

But the allure of a bed, as it turns out, was a dangerously slippery slope.

It had started with the return to his quarters, where he was greeted by the consequences of his bad decisions; the genetically modified moopsy he’d smuggled off of the Euritite. He couldn’t wait to have the opportunity to inform someone more senior about his new pet; that was certainly going to be a fun conversation… Thankfully, it quickly had gotten bored of trying to chew through his boot with its toothless maw, and had instead settled on rolling back-and forth between his sofa and his dining nook, whilst Sylvain had listlessly tried to get the replicator to produce some bone-broth for the thing to drink… He’d probably need to ask sickbay to take a look at it at some point; make sure that the Savi’s genetic engineering wasn’t going to have it growing new teeth, or a second head, or start exploding, or whatever other nonsense the Savi had engineered it to do…

By the time the ordeal was over, and Potato was happily trying to drown itself in a shallow bowl of tepid bone broth, Sylvain retreated to the adjoining bedroom, fully prepared to dedicate another solid hour into compiling a report for the Senior Staff. Unfortunately, he’d not so much as glanced down at his desk, before he’d caught his reflection in the console above him…

It was a truly remarkable sight.

His typically pristine uniform was ragged, dirty, and even singed in places; somehow it was even resting lopsided across his shoulders… His copper hair was thick with grime and sweat, his face smeared with, what he hoped was just soot from the bridge explosion that had grazed him… Hells bells, he’d even managed to adorn himself with some miscellaneous stains down the front of his jacket…

No, that wouldn’t do.

The Ensign was anxious enough about presenting his department breakdown to an unfamiliar Senior Staff; he certainly couldn’t do it looking like he’d just been dragged through a Klingon refuse pit and then gotten beaten with a pain stick… So he’d stripped his uniform off carefully, ignoring the various bruises and red blotches that decorated his otherwise pale skin, and passed into the next section of his dangerously luxurious quarters, the bathroom. Unfortunately, being unaccustomed to such fancy things, Sylvain had taken quite some time figuring out how to master the shower; it had both a sonic, and an H2O setting, the latter something he discovered when he’d accidentally unleashed a downpour of warm water straight down upon his head. It was a woefully inefficient way to wash, but he couldn’t deny how blissfully therapeutic it had felt, to stand under the downpour of warmth and let the aches of the last seventy two hours slowly wash away from him.

The opportunity to relax under the water was a rare joy to conclude an otherwise dour few days, but it only led him to yet another obstacle to his endeavours, since he hadn’t thought to replicate himself a towel; the Bowman didn’t have such fancy facilities as H2O showers and bathtubs... As such, he’d been a man on a mission when he’d returned to his bedroom, leaning gently on his desk as he reached down to search through his belongings for a fresh pair of underwear and some sort of material to dry himself with.

By the time his modesty was covered and his skin was dry once again, the Ensign was cold, and the deep creases that had lodged themselves into the fabric of his spare uniforms, having spent the best part of a month neatly folded in his suitcase with the rest of his worldly possessions, were the next stanza in the saga of his undoing. He’d hung them up in the bathroom and asked the computer to run a steaming sequence, which it was thankfully capable of doing, and with that crisis averted, Sylvain could finally return to the task of preparing his situation report for the briefing…

But now, he was cold. Not an unexpected sensation, considering he was flouncing around in his underwear like a common Orion harlot, but certainly not optimal conditions to work in. Seeing it as the most viable solution, he’d peeled back the duvet on his bed, careful to minimise the spread of debris from the covering onto the bottom sheet, and figured that he could afford himself the rare treat of working from bed for an hour or so… He’d settled down onto the alarmingly comfortable mattress, PADD in his hands regurgitating the information he’d already accumulated from the time he’d spent working on a status report for the Captain, back before the President had arrived… It felt so long ago…

And then it was the little voice in the back of his head telling him that he could shut his eyes for a minute…

And alas, that was how he ended up cursing whatever Gods his father’s people had invented, face-down in a pillow as he awoke, feeling decidedly worse than before…

“-umputer, alarm off…” He grumbled hoarsely, his eyes heavy as he weakly attempted to blink himself awake, foggy and unimpressed. The silence that followed his request was rapturous, but he had little chance to enjoy the newfound tranquillity of his quarters, instead mentally bracing himself for the arduous task of getting himself ready for the Senior Staff meeting; as blissful as remaining in bed would be, Sylvain was an exemplar for being prompt and prepared. Still, he permitted himself a further ten seconds, counted softly under his breath, before he forced himself out of the warm embrace of his duvet. He wasn’t a masochist, after all…

He’d allocated himself a brisk forty minutes to get himself ready and venture over to the meeting, which gave him roughly twenty five minutes to get himself ready, ten minutes to get across the ship, and a further five minutes to politely nod at all of the unfamiliar senior officers he was about to have to interact with; the manifest had already changed since he’d arrived aboard not three days prior… He recognised one name, a Lieutenant Frost, from his time aboard the IKS Vask’at, but he couldn’t keenly recall if they’d had much interaction; Sylvain had prioritised trying to avoid Klingons, which had left little room for socialising. Of course, he also knew Commander Cross, but their interaction hadn’t been a shining example of Sylvain’s character either…

His mind wandered somewhat absentmindedly as he clawed himself out of his bed, proceeding into his bathroom to collect his freshly steamed uniform, and began preparing himself to look presentable for his first meeting as Chief CONN Officer aboard the Theurgy. It was perhaps even more important for him to be making a good first impression, now that they were on reasonably good terms with Starfleet once again…

Though, truth be told, not that he’d ever say it out loud, but Sylvain didn’t entirely relish the prospect…

Now that the Theurgy had been ‘forgiven’ by the Federation at large, there was no guarantee that he’d be kept aboard… After all, he had been a desperation pick by Admiral Anderson, a knee-jerk reaction to take the only person in Starfleet who could see the future, and throw him into the one place in the galaxy that would grant him safe harbour from the parasite threat. The only reason he’d even found himself heading a department, was because the last poor soul had died, and they’d needed a prompt replacement…

It wasn’t that Sylvain felt some sudden and great kinship with the Theurgy or anything… How could he? He’d only been there a rough seventy two hours, and most of those had been spent aboard the Euridite… Yet, the thought of being asked to find a new assignment, travel across to a new vessel, meet new people… The prospect of embarking upon yet another saga of socialisation was exhausting to even think about. He didn’t want to join a new ship and find himself branded as ‘someone from the Theurgy’, no doubt end up on the receiving end of countless questions about Starbase 84, or the battle with the Klingons above Aldea, events that he hadn’t even been witness too… Hell, even if the Bowman would take him back, the thought of having to face Captain Yume and admit that he’d lied to her face, even under orders from an Admiral, stung…

Not to mention that, given the feats he had accomplished even in such a short time aboard the Theurgy, he was worried that perhaps he’d outgrown his former vessel… Not that he’d ever voice such things out loud, and it certainly wasn’t any admission that he was enjoying the newfound mortal peril that the Theurgy had gifted him with… But he’d ended up on the Bowman because of his own self-imposed exile; his punishment to himself for ‘cheating’ during his examinations. But, if he was being ruthlessly logical, he didn’t think a cheat could have accomplished what he had done that day…

It wasn’t pride; Sylvain didn’t do pride…

But it was something close.

So, alas, a good first impression would be necessary, and Sylvain had spent his twenty five allocated minutes varnishing himself to perfection. His uniform was pristine, unscuffed, and certainly no longer lopsided, his hair was styled up into a tidy quiff, and he even took a moment to shave the whisper of stubble that had attempted to creep up onto his jawline. When he gave himself a final once-over in front of the mirror, his vision slightly distracted by the sight of Potato jumping up and down in some sort of elaborate dance, whilst staring fixated at a potted plant, he concluded that his efforts were satisfactory; his uniform was perhaps a touch ill fitting around his waist, but he attributed that to his general lack of appetite over the past few months… Why did every Klingon delicacy always involve some sort of entrail or worm…? He also considered briefly that he might have over-shined his boots, since they were reflecting the light a little too ambitiously, but his time allocation hadn’t left much room for pondering, and as such, he departed his quarters with a confident pace, though not without first making sure that the door was locked…

The last thing he needed was to be responsible for a moopsy getting loose.

The corridors of the ship were sparser in traffic than they had been all day, which gave Sylvain the freedom to dabble with his PADD as he moved. Truthfully, whilst it had been irresponsible of him to leave his report unfinished, he’d done so much cataloguing of the CONN’s relevant department issues earlier, that he was confident that he could deliver a summary without too many issues. CONN was thankfully not the most expansive department, and engines overlapped with Engineering, whilst navigation overlapped with Science; his evaluation would be thorough, but it wasn't impossible that it would be touched upon, in part, by his new colleagues.

No, the presentation wasn’t concerning him, beyond the usual baseline anxiety that the Ensign had when he was required to interact with another sentient being… No… It was the second PADD that he had perched behind the first, that was making his palms feel a little clammy.

The Savi data that Crewman Davison had stolen from the Eruidite…

“Deck One.” He requested softly, reveling in the moment of solitude he was graced with, as he stepped into an empty turbolift. The data had been burning a hole in his uniform for a day now, metaphorically speaking, and he was quite conscious that he needed to hand it off to Cross at some point soon… Preferably in the upcoming meeting. Unfortunately, Sylvain didn't relish the idea of having that conversation with a man whose thus-far impression of Sylvain, had been throwing his PADD across the room and hitting himself in the face with it… If that hadn’t already tarnished his reputation, being blamed as the cause of their alliance breakdown with the Savi, would certainly finish the job…

“Good evening Commander, I hope you’re well?” Sylvain mused under his breath. “I just wanted to take a moment of your time to pass on some data that I was given by a Crewman Davison, who was tasked by a man going by the alias of ‘King’, with stealing information from the Savi. She kidnapped me and forced me to infiltrate the bowels of the Euridite, where we were almost killed by a genetically engineered moopsy, so that she could extract some information from the Savi’s database. Oh, and she’s dead now, so there’s nobody else in the entire galaxy who can corroborate my story. Also, I rescued the moopsy after its teeth fell out, because it was cute and squishy, and I was somewhat delirious after being drugged, and it’s now living in my quarters and possibly trying to mate with a potted plant. Would you like some tea?”

The sigh that fled Sylvain’s lips was of herculean proportions, glad that he'd had the solitude of the turbolift to experiment with a terrible way of presenting such information to a Senior Officer, before he had to do the real thing; he'd maybe need to take a more chasrismatic approach, perhaps try his hand at emulating a politician, like how they used phrases such as 'we'll circle back to that', as a way of avoiding questions that they didn't want to answer... Who was he kidding... He had the charisma of a tricorder...

And it was with that demoralising thought, that Sylvain stepped out of the turbolift and onto Deck One.

The conference room was occupied already, Commander Cross in gentle conversation with a shorter woman whom Sylvain didn’t fully recognise, whom Sylvain deduced to be either the Chief Diplomat, or the Chief Intelligence Officer; she reminded him a little of his mother, so he decided to mentally vote on her being a diplomat. It was just the way she carried herself… Also occupying the room were two men in Science colours, one who appeared Human, and looked thoroughly exasperated with the replicator, and a second, who appeared to be Trill, who was standing behind a chair with an expression that suggested that he didn’t really want to be there… A final form was a woman, though, Sylvain wasn’t entirely sure what species she was, given how heavily augmented her body appeared to be, silently organising the data on her own PADD.

At least he wasn’t the only one who planned on doing some last minute admin…

“Good evening, everyone…” He politely announced his presence to the room, softly enough as to give his best effort not to actually draw any attention to himself… It wasn't that Sylvain was unfamiliar with being the only Ensign in the room, or the youngest in the room, but formal settings such as this always made him feel a little inexperienced. Not in his duties, but in professional conduct in a staff briefing; it had taken him months to learn the ins and outs of the Senior Staff aboard the bowman, and there had only been five of them; the ship wasn’t big enough to need a dedicated Science or Tactical department, let alone a Diplomatic team or an Intelligence department…

It was a lot of new people to deal with all at once…

The Ensign steeled his courage, really focused on not tripping over, or hitting himself, or inadvertently throwing his PADD across the room, and made a move for his assigned seat, furthest from the door, of course, so he had to awkwardly pass by the people already at the table to get there. Gosh, he hoped nobody would try to make small talk with him...

He was abysmal at small talk...

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #6 – April 09, 2026, 06:00:06 PM

[ Lieutenant Frank Arnold | en route to Conference Lounge | Deck 01 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] @Pierce @Brutus @Ellen Fitz @P.C. Haring @Nesota Kynnovan @Dumedion @joshs1000 @chXinya @TWilkins @Griff @Stegro88

Frank was bone tired and weary as he carried his PADD.  Coffee had given up the struggle and he really should be getting some sleep, but either the Captain or the XO needed to know what the state of the ship was now.  He'd barely had time to head back to his quarters to get a new fresh uniform and clean off the grime and sweat from his most recent bout of repair work he'd been doing near the breach on Vector 3.  The problem was re-reouting all the EPS and ODN conduits around the gap the Romulans had inconveniently blown in the hull, then dealing with the shock damage when Lieutenant zh'Wann had gotten the parasite off the hull. He wasn't normally one for grumbling, but now was as good a time as any as he rode the turbolift to the Conference Lounge.

His hand reached into his pants pocket and he pulled out a small single use hypo.  He hadn't seen one of these things since the Dominion War and he'd hoped he'd never have to again, but with the way timelines were vaulting forward and being compressed, sleep was starting to feel like a luxury he couldn't afford.  He sighed as he stared at the amber liquid.  It was a slippery slope he knew too much about.  It was the addiction to the illusion that everything was fine and one could keep going.  The body had its own price to pay though.  It was an act of credit that biology demanded would be paid later.  One could feel awake and alert on a stim, but nothing could replace the known precision control of one's body when they'd had sleep versus when they didn't.  His hand twirled the tube in his hand once more, and he could feel sleep calling him like a siren from the deep.  It had been very tempting, especially when he'd seen Kamilla lying covered up in their bed.  A very inviting sight.

This rumination sealed the deal.  Contemplative he was, indecisive, he usually was not and he stretched his hand out holding the PADD exposing his wrist.  The slim hypo's cold applicator pressed against his exposed skin and a quick press of the button released the liquid into his blood stream with the system's trademark hiss.  At first there was nothing, then there was a rush, not heard but felt in his head and his ears as everything became sharper, more intense as if power was being redirected to his senses.  The fog of the last few hours was fading to be replaced by a far sharper accuity.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as his mind mentally clicked down the time till he should be arriving on the deck.  The subtle slowing of the hum told the Chief they'd almost arrived and he straightened himself as he stood a bit straighter.  He finished exhaling as the system beeped his arrival and he exited.

The Chief exited the turbolift and moved briskly along the corridor.  He took a moment to look over the work that some of the other staff were doing on the way, noting to see if the repairs being made were matching what was being reported.  He nodded at the crew members that looked up and mentally noted that everything seemed to be lining up with the summary of the situation he had. It could have been much worse he concluded to himself as he continued his impromptu inspection before reaching the door to the conference room.  Several other people were ahead of him and his brow furrowed in confusion.  Lots of new faces. Again.  The Chief let out an audible sigh as he crossed into the conference room.  His eyes locked with Commander Cross and he nodded his acknowledgement of the de facto first officer of the ship now that Captain Stark was in command.  The blue eyes swept the room and he spotted the Chief diplomat and gave re-assuring grin with a friendly nod.  Then he spotted what he was looking for as he bee lined for the equipment.  "Coffee. Frank Arnold blend number 3. Black. Large." The replicator glowed and hummed as the largest possible coffee mug materialized inside the replicator chamber.  The aromas of fresh coffee wafted into his nose as he slid the mug out of the chamber.  Lifting it out was impossible since he'd programmed the replicator to use practically every last millimetre for cup height when he said Large.  Taking a quick chug, the burly engineer found a spot and promptly planted himself in it as he put his coffee mug and PADD down, and took a few more notes on the repairs as he waited for the meeting to start.

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #7 – April 14, 2026, 07:15:51 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Conference Lounge | V. 1 D. 1 | USS Theurgy ]  @TWilkins @Pierce @RyeTanker @rae @chXinya   @P.C. Haring  @joshs1000  @Dumedion  @Nesota Kynnovan  @Eden  @Brutus  

T'Less arrived first of the second wave. She moved to her seat without needing the seating configuration to orient her — she'd either reviewed it in advance or assessed the room in three seconds and drawn the correct conclusion. Both were consistent with what he knew of her. He gave her a nod that carried the weight of the sit rep she'd compiled, and she returned it without ceremony.

Pierce came in behind her. Cross knew what she chose to show him, and he had catalogued the distance between that and what she likely knew. He filed this as normal rather than adversarial and indicated her station.

Ida zh'Wann came through the door and Cross's attention went to her antennae before his eyes did — old sha'mura habit — then settled on her face and stayed there a half-second longer than it should have. She moved correctly. Took her position with the precision of someone who had earned it. None of that changed what her presence meant. Akoni was dead. Cross had known this. He had filed it and had not taken it back out, because there had been no functional moment to do so and there still wasn't. He looked at Ida zh'Wann and felt the absence of Kai Akoni like a pressure differential in the room and said nothing, because nothing he said would make it smaller.

Rel entered, spine straight, eyes controlled. Cross read him the way he read everything he hadn't fully catalogued yet, noted that the man looked like he'd rather be in a cockpit, and found this understandable.

Hathev came in without announcement.

She never did.

Cross's hands, clasped behind his back, did not move. His weight did not shift. His eyes went to her once — location, bearing, status — then returned forward. Everything he didn't do with his face after that was a significant amount of effort he would not be acknowledging to anyone, including himself.

Lok came in last, unhurried, carrying the FAB's numbers the way he carried everything — like a man who had been doing this since before most of this room learned to walk and had long since stopped being impressed by conference tables. He found his position without being directed to it.

Cross looked at the empty chair that should have held Natalie Stark.

"Commander Stark is with the President," he said. "She'll join when she can. I'll give her the highlights." He left no space for commentary on this arrangement. "We'll proceed."

He scanned the table once — not for effect, but because he wanted confirmation that everyone who was supposed to be here was here and seated and pointed in the right direction — then clasped his hands behind his back.

"CONN."

Every head in the room found Llewellyn-Kth with the collective efficiency of people who had sat through enough briefings to know exactly what that word meant for whoever came after it. Cross watched the ensign register this, stand, introduce himself, and collect his knee against the table edge in the same approximate motion, and filed all three events without expression.

“Thank you, Commander.” Sylvain began, making a move to stand, though hesitating as he appeared to second-guess himself, before haphazardly continuing to rise to his feet, a soft thud sounding in the room as his knee appeared to collide with the edge of the table. “I-i'm Ensign Llewellyn-Kth, the new Chief CONN officer, for those of you who haven't met me yet...” He paused, straightening himself up and trying to present himself as professionally as possible, his pale face adopting the slightest twinge of red as he spoke.

"I’ve run CONN activity reports across all three vectors, and the most immediate material concern is the loss of four of our shuttles, with five more severely damaged. A further three shuttles were damaged when the Romulans boarded the ship, but it's mostly low-yield disruptor burns, so we should have them up and running again within the next few days.” He paused, taking a small breath. “As for the more severely damaged ones, we’ve tractored them into Shuttle Bay one, pending an engineering assignment, but it looks like it'll be quite resource-intensive to get them back in working order.” He shot a somewhat furtive glance towards the Chief Engineer before he continued. “That leaves us with only four functioning shuttles as it stands, so we’re going to have to be quite frugal with how we assign them until we get the repairs completed on the rest.”

“Moving on… Navigation. We’ve taken damage to our secondary navigation sensors on Vector One, the primary navigation array on Vector Two isn’t far off needing a complete rebuild, and the Stellar Cartography sensors are completely misaligned.” He paused once again, pale finger gliding deftly along the side of his PADD. “We’re making a temporary fix by rerouting Vector Three’s navigation array through the main deflector, but it won’t be enough to compensate if we run into any sort of spatial phenomena. Even a subspace eddy could cause us some real damage if the computer can’t map it.” His finger flicked across his PADD, to bring him to the next section of his report. “We’ve also got some sort of malfunction in the inertial damping system; something is causing the ship to think that impulse speed is threatening the structural integrity, but all internal scans confirm we’re not in danger. We have a team working on finding the source of the error as we speak, but between that and the navigational issues we’re having, I can’t recommend that we head anywhere in a hurry; we could risk doing more damage to the hull than we’ve already got.” His mouth opened to deliver a final point, and then closed again, hesitating somewhat. Something processed behind his brown eyes, and then his mouth reopened, clearly having decided that whatever he had to say, was important for the Senior Staff to hear.

“The President’s entourage also gave us some updated Federation star charts, which I’ve been cross-referencing with the information in the Theurgy database…” He paused, referring once again to his PADD. “… and there are some rather alarming discrepancies between the two.” Sylvain took another brief pause, sending a copy of the map to display on the conference room monitor, so that the rest of the Senior Staff could see for themselves. “There have been notable changes in the borders of several species that neighbor Federation territory. We’ve seen expansions from the Tholians, the Sheliak, the Breen, the Tzenketh, the Kzinti, and the Talarians. There have been incursions into both Federation and Cardassian space, and entire systems seem to have been absorbed into their respective territories. There’s nothing in the charts to indicate when these changes took place, or why they occurred, no mention of any wars or diplomatic exchanges;  the Federation has even lost territory in the Beta Quadrant to the Shackleton Expanse, which doesn't really have any explanation that I can think of...” He paused once more, glancing over at the display as though it meant something more personal to him. “I don't really know what this information means to us, I just thought it was something that we should be aware of, given how long the Theurgy has been without any updates from Starfleet…” He turned towards Cross, somewhat bashful looking, given the amount of time he had spent talking, and gave the man a small nod. “That’s all from me, Commander.”

The report itself was competent. Cross listened the way he listened to everything — tracking the numbers, flagging the gaps, noting where approximation had been substituted for certainty and whether that substitution was honest or evasive. Four functioning shuttles. Navigation rerouted through the main deflector. Inertial damping throwing false structural warnings that nobody had located the source of yet. He did not write any of this down. He did not need to.

Then the star charts went up, and Cross went still, the way he did when something required his full attention rather than his operational attention, which were different things that felt different from the inside. Border expansions. Tholians. Sheliak. Breen. Tzenketh. Kzinti. Talarians. Territory absorbed, systems gone, no corresponding diplomatic record, no indication of timeline. Federation losses in the Beta Quadrant to the Shackleton Expanse, which was not an entity that acquired territory through conventional means.

He looked at the display for three seconds longer than he looked at most things. The Theurgy had been running in the dark for a long time. Cross had known this in the abstract. The abstract had just become considerably more specific.

He gave Llewellyn-Kth a nod when the ensign turned to him, brief and direct. "Noted, Ensign. Well done." He let his eyes move back to the star chart for one more second, then pulled them forward. "Engineering."

Frank took a sip of his scalding hot coffee. At this point, it was more of a ritual than something that would keep him awake. It had been a very long day and it still wasn't over. The closest thing he'd gotten to any sort of rest was the funeral service for those that they knew were dead at the moment. It was still a long and terrible list. It wasn't likely over at this point yet since they weren't sure who was going to make it or not from the wounded list. Those would be much smaller affairs though.

He waited till he was called on to give a status of the ship.

"It's bad, but could be worse. The hull has sustained a significant number of micro fractures, several dozen blown out windows that have forcefields in place, and one major breach on vector three where a romulan boarding shuttle was connected to the ship."

He flipped a button and the page changed. "Over system capabilities are within tolerances. Weapons, and engines are ready at your command." He flipped a page and kept going as his mouth turned into a grimace. "I would advise that we keep the amount of fighting to a minimum. Though the major combat systems are intact and being brought back to full capacity, the shield system took a beating and will need several hours to repair. It can operate, but won't hold out for long. The boarding of the ship is where the majority of the damage is going to be dealt with." Another PADD flip. "Our side and theirs were fairly liberal with the use of their weapons and in some cases, explosives. We have damaged ODN and EPS relays all over the ship, along with the accompanying computer systems. If the majority of the effort wasn't allocated to removing various hazardous bodily fluids, I would redirect the efforts to restoring the data and power systems." The Chief Engineer checked the numbers again. "So far the damage survey has counted on average 15 damaged EPS relays, 8 ODN junctions, 45 interface units across every deck. There's also damage to the lsolinear and Bioneural data storage systems that will necessitate replacement and testing. Re-routing systems are working for the moment, but the ship is currently working in spite of the damage since data packets are being rerouted, but this is causing a slight degradation to computational processing and communications speeds as other systems have to take up the slack." Chief Arnold tried to keep his sense of being miffed at having his shiny repaired ship in such a state of disrepair, but it was fair to say he felt he had the right to be slightly salty about the whole affair. The Chief looked up and saw a slight glazed look over take the others and he let out a grunt of irritation as he decided he's made his point and moved on.

More flipping. "The other area of major concern is the FAB. The bulkheads held despite multiple major explosions inside the hanger decks. There is wreckage still littering the flight areas and flight operations at this time are limited. Launching, recovery and servicing operations are major concerns with damage still being surveyed at this time. There's about a dozen wrecks littering the FAB. We barely have the space at the moment for the storage of the surviving fighter complement till we can get all those wrecks cleared out. So that leaves the question of whether you'd prefer we salvage the ships or just dump them out into space? I have our people going the wrecks for sensitive and dangerous technology, so maybe we can get something useful, or at least easily dump all the hazardous parts out of the ship soon."

Another flip. "Casualties amongst the engineering staff are not heavy, but are still significant with over a dozen dead and an equal number wounded and not likely to return to duty soon." This was the tough part. "Assuming we can find the necessary non-replicatbable materials, I'm estimating repairs out of our own resources will be at least 4 days." The ice blue eyes of the engineer looked into the Commander Cross as he would not flinch from his conclusion, especially after what he'd heard from the President. "None of these repairs are going to be as solid as if they came from a starbase, so some of the systems are going to be less durable. It would help if the Starfleet task force could transfer personnel and materials to assist in our repairs? It would save a lot of time to have ready made components."

Cross listened to Arnold's report the way he'd been listening to all of them — tracking numbers, noting the gaps between what was said and what was implied. The engineer didn't dress it up. Cross appreciated this.

Hull micro-fractures, blown windows on forcefields, the Romulan breach on Vector Three. Weapons and engines functional. Shields degraded and needing hours he didn't currently have to give them. The interior damage was the longer problem — EPS relays, ODN junctions, interface units across every deck, the bioneural and isolinear storage systems flagged for replacement. The ship was routing around its own injuries like a man favoring a bad knee, and at some point the compensation would cost more than the original damage.

The FAB numbers landed and Cross's eyes moved briefly to Lok, who was already looking at Arnold with the expression of a man listening to someone describe his living room on fire. A dozen wrecks in the flight areas. Salvage or dump. Cross filed this under decisions with resource implications that required Lok's direct input and moved on.

Arnold looked at him when he got to the conclusion. Didn't flinch from it. Four days minimum, assuming materials. Repairs that wouldn't hold like starbase work. The ask for personnel and components from the task force was framed as a recommendation, not a request, which was the correct way to frame it.

Cross nodded once. "Noted on the task force transfer. I'll raise it with Commander Stark." His eyes moved across the table. "Medical." Cross looked at Leux. Leux looked back at him with the expression of a man who had written the report, knew exactly what was in it, and had no interest in performing surprise at any of it. "Doctor."

Leux picked up his PADD and read in one of the most tired sounding voices of the meeting thus far.

"Acting CMO Report: Medical staff has been reduced to approximately 2/3 strength, with the entire senior officers cadre either KIA or placed in stasis. Vi-Nine is functional, and carrying a significant patient load. LT Leux has assumed the CMO's duty role temporarily. Vector 01 (V1 Battle Clinic) damage: minimal – repairs ongoing. Utilized as an extended ICU/UCU. Vector 02 (Main Sickbay) damage: moderate – critical systems affected include decontamination chamber, primary holographic table, blown/destroyed EPU conduits to consoles A3, A7, B4, B8, B12. Two biobeds, main replicator, and Vi-Nine’s secondary recharge station. Repairs ongoing. Utilized as a primary care facility with minor injuries attended via the first aid station at reception. Wait times improving, but remain longer than optimal." He took a breath, heaved a sigh, and continued reading. "Vector 03 (V3 Battle Clinic) damage: severe – almost all critical systems are offline/destroyed. Utilizing what we can as a secondary aid station. Repairs ongoing. Ongoing treatments and damage to replicator systems has hindered on-board supply of plasma, platelets, and blood; until all systems are operational, a donation drive has begun to restore back-up supplies. As humans hold the majority demographic, all blood-type donors are needed, but universal donors and receptors take precedence. Morale concerns – medical is working around the clock to catch up with treatments post-battle. Primary concerns based on observation/cases tended thus far: sleep deprivation, malnourishment, lingering psychological trauma. In essence – while repairs are needed, it behooves us not to work ourselves to death. Medical staff requests LT. Ryn remain detached from engineering repairs to medical facilities." He finally glanced up and found Cross's eyes before adding. "End Report."

Leux delivered it clean. No editorializing, no softening of the numbers. Two-thirds strength. Senior officer cadre gone — KIA or stasis. Vi-Nine carrying load. The vector breakdown went up and Cross tracked it: V1 functioning as an extended ICU, V2 running primary care with the damage list that made Arnold's engineering numbers feel optimistic, V3 stripped down to a secondary aid station on salvaged systems. The replicator damage had hit plasma and blood supply, which meant the donation drive wasn't a suggestion — it was a logistics problem wearing a morale hat.

The morale assessment at the end was the part that would not appear in most CMO reports, which was why it was the part Cross intended to keep. Sleep deprivation. Malnourishment. Psychological trauma presenting across cases. No surprise there.

"Lieutenant Ryn will be detached to medical facilities," he said. "I'll clear it with Engineering." His eyes moved to Arnold briefly — confirmation, not a question — then back to Leux a moment before he looked to Frost. "Science."

"Science." Frost straightened under scrutiny. The report was on his PADD but he didn't look at it. "I'll begin with personnel, because the rest of it needs that context first." He kept his voice level. "Five dead. Tyreke Okafor — synthetic biology, nutrigenomics, organic electronics. Asra Tek — warp theory, Daystrom-caliber work." A beat that was shorter than it felt. "Kizra Tos and the Tos symbiont. Nara Nueva. Cir'Cie." He set the PADD down. "I didn't know any of them. I want to be direct about that, because it would be easy to stand here and perform grief for people I never met. What I can tell you is that I've read their files and their work, and the losses are significant beyond the personal." His jaw tightened. "Okafor in particular. If I'd had six months with him, we might already have answers we're still looking for."

He picked the PADD back up.

"Facilities. The majority of Science is functional or in the process of becoming so. The exception is Xenozoology, which experienced a power loss during the fighting that resulted in a catastrophic containment failure." He said this with the careful neutrality of a man who had chosen, consciously, not to lead with it. "Most specimens have been recovered. We are currently missing one vole." He looked up briefly. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Kerina and Ensign Dunne have been assigned to assist the Xenozoologists in retrieval. I expect a resolution shortly. The vole is small. The ship, relative to the vole, is not."

He flipped to the next section.

"Hydroponics sustained significant damage. We lost a substantial portion of the current growth stock." He paused. "Among the losses was a specimen that had shown preliminary indications of therapeutic potential in individuals affected by Infestation. Early stage — nothing peer-reviewed, nothing I would have staked a treatment protocol on yet. But it was promising enough that losing it is not simply a botanical casualty." He set the PADD down again. "Our botanist is also gone. Hydroponics is currently being maintained by Crewman Jensen and Crewman Kane, both botanical technicians. They are doing the job. I want that noted. They are doing a job that is not theirs by rank and they have not stopped."

He looked at Cross.

"In response to medical." The words came out with the clipped precision of someone who had rehearsed not saying them and then said them anyway. "I have been awake for approximately forty-eight hours. I am, by any reasonable clinical definition, a liability to my own department, and so is anyone else who has been awake and working for that long or longer. I concur with the medical recommendation to rest and recuperate to avoid further damage." His eyes moved briefly, involuntarily, to Leux.

Cross nodded, thanked Frost for his time, then he looked to their resident "cowboy diplomat." He'd personally had little interaction with her up to this moment but her reputation certainly preceded her. "Diplomacy."

Enyd set her PADD flat on the table and did not pick it up again. She had written the report herself, which meant she knew what was in it, which meant she did not need to read from it, which was the only advantage she currently had over her own exhaustion.

"Diplomatic Corps." She kept her eyes level and her voice even. "Staff strength is at roughly half. We lost personnel in the battle, and we've had transfers in that haven't fully oriented yet. What we have is functional. Whether it's adequate is a question I'll answer after the next seventy-two hours."

"The D'ravsai Coalition." She turned her head slightly toward the display. "The President has sanctioned trade routes through the Neutral Zone as a soft-presence measure while the Coalition consolidates. We are not establishing official diplomatic ties — that's off the table for now, and I think that's the correct read. What we're doing is building a door before we knock on it." She paused. "Initial reports from personal contacts of the Romulan bioengineering specialist who defected to Theurgy prior to the battle, Hirek tr'Aimne, indicate the Coalition is already gaining ground among the Romulan population. That's the good news. The less good news is that there are early whispers of disconnect from some of the Reman groups — fracture lines appearing before the structure has fully set." She glanced briefly at Pierce. "Intelligence may have more granular data on that. From a diplomatic standpoint, trade is where we start and where we stay until the ground tells us otherwise. I have made some recommendations to the President regarding current personnel who may do well with the soft presence, and I will forward those names to you." She briefly looked apologetic, as if it just occurred to her that she'd put the cart before the horse but she continued her report before the emotion fully settled.

"The Klingon alliance." Her tone shifted slightly — still even, but careful in a way the previous beat hadn't required. "Chancellor Martok, as a personal favor, sent a friend to discuss the state of the alliance directly." She did not elaborate on the personal side of that conversation. "What came out of that conversation is that Martok is holding, but he's holding against significant internal pressure. Several of the Houses are reading this new alignment with the Romulan factions as something close to a betrayal — not of treaty, but of identity, which is considerably harder to argue against." She set her hands flat on the table. "My official recommendation is that we continue to provide reassurances where we can, but that the heavier diplomatic lift needs to come from the President herself, not from us. Bacco has officially recognized the Infested threat and welcomed the Theurgy back into the fold — that carries weight Martok can use with his Houses in ways that our word alone cannot." She inclined her head toward the PADD. "My personal recommendation is that we share any intelligence on combating the Infested with Martok directly and then step back and let him handle his own people in his own way. He did not get to be Chancellor by needing someone to hold his hand through a political crisis."

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, pushing slightly back from the table before continuing. "The pardon." The word landed the same way it had in her head for the past eighteen hours — necessary and complicated in equal measure. "To this point, the Infested have used every step forward as raw material. Every alliance, every public statement, every moment of apparent progress — they find the seam, and they work it. This pardon is visible, and it is politically thin, and it has put a target on the President's back from two directions simultaneously." She kept her eyes forward. "There is still no large-scale method to scan for Infested. No reliable way to combat them at scale. We don't know their numbers or if they are growing. What that means in practice is that how we respond to official orders in the coming days — how we are seen to respond — will determine more about how our allies receive us than anything Bacco said at that podium. We cannot afford to give anyone a reason to revisit the word traitor. The pardon bought us standing in some circles and further condemnation in others. Only time will reveal which circles feel what towards us."

She looked down the table toward Pierce, brief and direct.

"The Dewitt intelligence out of the Akh'Terel Veil — Commander Pierce will likely have more to say on this, and I'd ask her to elaborate further." She brought her eyes back to the center of the room. "What I can add from the diplomatic side is that I received corroborating information through a private channel from Doctor Marlowe, reporting along much the same lines — coordinated alignment among the Orion Syndicate, Tzenkethi, Kinshaya, Gorn, Tholian, Cardassian True Way, and Breen elements, all of it oriented against a Federation they are reading, correctly, as fractured and distracted." She let that sit for a half second. "Dewitt died getting that data out. Marlowe is still on the proverbial, or literal, front lines of this unrest and can be called upon for further insight should we need it. I think we owe both of them the courtesy of treating what they sent us as the strategic context for everything else on this table, not a line item at the end of the report." She looked at Cross. "That's what I have, Commander."

Cross nodded, letting a brief silence fall over the room as everyone ingested and wrestled with the reports up to this moment before moving on to the next report.

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #8 – April 17, 2026, 05:08:14 AM

[CPO Avandar Lok | Conference Room | Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Brutus    @Nolan    @ob2lander961    @chXinya    @Dumedion    @Griff    @rae    @Stegro88    @Eirual  l  @RyeTanker   @tongieboi    @Pierce    @Tae    @Nesota Kynnovan    @Hans Applegate    @Ellen Fitz    @P.C. Haring    @Krajin    @Eden    @TWilkins
[Show/Hide]

Lok arrived last to the conference room, he had to come the farthest after all, but he was also just exhausted; it was etched on his furred face, eyes resting heavy, his fur unkept, ears drooped, the past few days had been a lot. The last thing he needed was to go over what he already told and wrote down for Commander Cross earlier in the day, but in typical fashion for The Pips they wanted to talk about it in a comfy conference room. Just do the work and get it done, was his thoughts on the whole thing, but perhaps a bit of inter-department communication was helpful.

He sat heavily in one of the chairs and set a device as well as a parts and tools on the polished table. A cabin air resequencer valve controller, for one of the Valkyries, a standard piece of Starfleet tech that hadn’t changed in nearly a century, its robust simple design utilized solid state transtators as opposed to isolinear systems. Good and solid, something that Lok could fix with his eyes closed, which based on his level of fatigue was a real possibility, but more importantly it would keep him mentally occupied enough to not fall asleep during the meeting. As everyone got settled and started speaking, Lok brought the controller to him, inspecting it for obvious damage. The main board was in good shape as was the capacitor, but the transtators and some of their ports were pretty banged up. Occasionally glancing up to show he was somewhat listening, he went to work removing the transtators and setting them neatly in a row to the side. With that done he inspected the ports again, four out of the twelve were damaged, the rest were fine but a bit sooted up.

The meeting went on with stuff that generally didn’t have much to do with him or his department, not that he ignored it, but he only mentally noted any key bits that might be important for later. When the Chief Engineer started speaking though he did give his full attention, a little annoyed that Frank was discussing matters that didn’t really fall under his purview, however it did dawn on Lok that he didn’t know exactly who he reported to specifically, maybe it was the Chief Engineer. Once Frank was finished, Lok went back to his tinkering while the others reported on their departments. Finally it was his turn, some of it would be redundant, but he didn’t really care, just whatever finished this faster and got him back down and working before he fell asleep.

“Chief Lok, Fighter Bay,” he began as he picked up a PADD and cleared his throat, “as Commander Arnold stated, the flight deck is a bit of a mess right now, my guys are taking care of it. So let’s run down what we got.”

“Structural Damage and Operations: the flight deck itself is in good shape, just some scratches, a few dents, and light blast damage, we’ve swept the deck so it can be used for flight ops but with the facilities damage we have sustained in the hangar, launch and recovery will be slow. As you probably know by now, during the action with the Romulan carrier, a damaged piece of ordnance self activated and detonated on the starboard side of the hangar, the explosion and fire has completely destroyed the operations office and assembly room. EPS damage in the area also has rendered all facilities on that side of the hangar non-operational for the time being. Also rendered non-operational due to the fire was the flight deck magazine, its safety systems did their job and kept the ordnance from detonating, once the fire was taken care of we moved the ordnance to the primary torpedo magazine. Until the magazine’s safety systems can be repaired we have grouped some light ready use munitions into a bomb park on the deck, protected by a series of portable forcefields that can contain any accidental explosions of the ordnance. So in the event we need to launch any sorties the fighters will have a near full weapons loadout minus heavy torpedoes.”

He glanced around in case there were any immediate questions then continued.

“Next, Spacecraft: currently there are eight fully repaired and ready to go fighters on the deck, I have two set up on alert, the rest are parked on the centerline while we use the regular parking spots for repair work. There are a further two fighters that are flight capable but have some systems damage. Now as for the wrecks that Commander Arnold mentioned, for the moment, those are being kept aboard to be evaluated and salvaged or used for parts, I think we can put together six airframes into working spacecraft again, whatever is left can be stored for parts or used as matter for the replicators. I don’t recommend dumping anything into space until it has been thoroughly evaluated. Further it should be noted that with the assembly room destroyed, my guys do not have an industrial replicator for parts and will need to share with the Engineering Department, so work will be hindered due to that.”

“Ok now onto Personnel: based on the crew manifest I have, the deck crew is at roughly fifty percent strength after taking into account the casualties of the previous day. All division heads are acting and everyone is having to handle multiple duties…” he paused for a moment as he pondered how best to broach the next topic, “based on what I’ve seen, overwork and fatigue are becoming a real problem among the deck crews even before our recent losses; it is causing problems in efficiently, safety, and most importantly morale. If proper relief is not given, for the sake of keeping something going down there I’ll need to cut operations by half.”

“And that’s pretty much it,” he leaned back in his chair as he went silent.

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #9 – April 19, 2026, 01:21:56 AM

[ Lt. Callax Valin | Conference Lounge | Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Brutus    @Nolan    @ob2lander961    @chXinya    @Dumedion    @Griff    @rae    @Stegro88    @Eirual  l  @RyeTanker   @tongieboi    @Pierce    @Tae    @Nesota Kynnovan    @Hans Applegate    @Ellen Fitz    @P.C. Haring    @Krajin     @TWilkins
[Show/Hide]

Cal heard her come in. A moment later, she was crossing the room. The former fighter pilot had just enough time to shift his weight and place his PADD on the maintenance crate behind him before her arms came around him in a warm embrace.

He didn't move. Cal's free hand found her shoulder blade and he held still, letting her have the moment because he could tell she needed it. He needed it too. In the short time after his injury and promotion, Cal had memorized the list of the dead and knew her name was not on it. Still, he felt a deep relief when he finally laid eyes upon her and in doing so verified her omission from the casualty report beyond a shadow of the doubt.

She went to the beds this morning. She looked.

He filed that away somewhere it would not be easily reached and said nothing, because she hadn't either, and that was its own kind of answer.

When Enyd finally pulled back, he watched her face go from alarm to something more neutral and measured.

"For what it's worth," she said, dry as Montana dust, "chicks absolutely dig a man with a cane. Especially if there's a sword in it." She tilted her head. "Is there a sword in it?"

"That," he began to say, voice slightly hoarse but evenly measured, "is a deeply personal question, Lieutenant."

Cal met her gaze with, betraying nothing as to the thoughts behind his piercing blue eyes. "However, I am more offended that you even needed to ask."

It was not often one had the unique opportunity to use a cane on-duty. For someone as eccentric and prone to extravagance as Cal, the answer to that question was obvious. However, given the present company, he did not reply in the suggestive manner he might normally have done.

She is still holding my wrist.

He had known since she pulled back but had no reason to shift and adjust from her grip. It was comforting. Confirming in a way physically what his eyes already done. She was alive and well.

"Sorry." The smile she gave him was small and genuine and slightly undermined by the fact that her eyes were still too bright. "Forgot myself. We can catch up more later."

"You didn't forget yourself," he said, simply. "You found it."

He let that sit for a quiet moment before offering a playful wink. Then he turned toward the table, adjusted his grip on the cane, and reached for his PADD. While he had the opportunity to sit, he continued to stand as he listened to the various department heads give their reports. He stood not to put himself on the periphery of the meeting and diminish his importance, but because he refused to be defined by his injury. Standing was a quiet act of protest against life's circumstances and a reminder to himself that he would not allow this injury to dictate his future.

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #10 – April 20, 2026, 06:49:26 PM

[ Lt. Commander Alana Pierce | En-route Conference Room | Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] | ATTN: @TWilkins @Ellen Fitz @RyeTanker @rae @chXinya @P.C. Haring @joshs1000 @Dumedion @Nesota Kynnovan @Eden @Brutus  [Show/Hide]

Alana was running late, for multiple reasons, but she had to gather her reports. The dead, the comms, the mission. She had a lot on her plate at present. There was a lot of content she had to bring to the table, and hopefully, there wasn't much missed at this point.

Pierce hoped that her tardiness didn't piss off the command crew. After all, this was a rare occurrence. She ran through the corridors of the ship, arriving at the turbolift, riding it, and arriving on the proper floor. 10 deck travel thankfully goes faster than anticipated on a starship like this. Beginning her sprint again, she dashed towards the conference room, slightly winded in her high-speed jog with the PADD in hand, with her report.

The doors swished open, and she strode in quietly to the table, setting up shop. Her hands were dashing across the official report on her PADD and listening to the ongoing discussions. Trying to quickly catch up from the notes taken.

When she was thoroughly caught up, she took a deep breath and managed to get the data pulled back up to pass along to Lt. Cmdr. Cross so she could relay that information.

Still pissed in the back of her mind about how late she'd manage to be, she made a mental note to get up earlier if she had as much to tackle as she did to get to this point.

Alana had to force her breathing to steady, although her pulse still hammered from the sprint. The feeling of red warmed her skin as she felt slightly flushed. Too much going on, too much tension, or maybe just her own embarrassment radiating off her in droves.

She slid into her seat with a quiet nod toward Cross, hoping the gesture conveyed both apology and readiness.

Thankfully, the command crew barely spared her a second glance.

She tapped through the PADD again, double‑checking the casualty numbers, the comms breakdown, the mission timeline. Every line felt heavier than the last.

The department heads trading updates caused her to realized that they weren't in the best of shape as a whole and that somehow made her feel somewhat better about her own situation and her own department.

Still, in the back of her mind, the frustration simmered. She hated being late. Hated feeling like she was scrambling. Hated that she’d let the weight of everything like losses, logistics, her own leadership to slow her down even for a moment.

Next time, she promised herself, she’d be ahead of the curve. Better prep. No excuses.

For now, though, she focused on the voices around the table, absorbing every detail. The mission wasn’t waiting for her to feel better about herself. Now she just needed to focus and be present for the conversation at hand.

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #11 – April 22, 2026, 06:25:18 AM

[ Lt Cmdr. Jaru “Janus” Rel | Conference Room | Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Brutus @Ellen Fitz @Nolan @ob2lander961 @chXinya @Dumedion @Griff @Stegro88 @Eirual @RyeTanker @tongieboi @Pierce @Tae @Nesota Kynnovan @Hans Applegate @joshs1000 @P.C. Haring @Krajin @Eden @TWilkins
[Show/Hide]

Ten minutes ago…

He’d been taking a nap under his valkyrie – totally planned if anyone asked, but truthfully he’d just fucking fallen asleep – when the computer alerted him of the impending staff meeting. Jerking awake and whacking his head on the hull did nothing to improve his mood, the impromptu snooze earning him one more ache and not the least bit of rest. Such was life. You were either dead or wishing you were.

Unlike other departments, Janus didn’t have much to do. His normal day to day job revolved around being battle ready, preparing extensively for yesterday’s action. But now… He’d sent his people to either sickbay or their racks, written a report, postponed the after action briefing until more pilots were out of sickbay… then he was stuck waiting for medical to release the pilots and the deck crew to fix the birds. Even a first year cadet could immediately see how totally screwed the wolves were.

As much as he’d hated his past bouts of regular mandated therapy, they had left Janus with a decent idea how downward spirals started – and having nothing to do in this moment was handing himself over to the pah-wraiths. So he’d spent most of the day offering his services to the understaffed deck crew. He wasn’t the greatest technician, but he had the basic repair skills that all pilots trained for in the event of crashes or in-flight damage. It gave him something to do while freeing the others to work on more specialized systems.

Unfortunately, sticking his head in the sand – or beneath a valkyrie – also meant that he’d lost track of the overarching repair status of his squadron. He’d meant to get that around 15 minutes ago. But fuck it, plan B. “Lok!” Janus shouted, letting his voice carry over the bay to wherever the big ferasan was. “Come give a status report at the senior staff meeting!”

He didn’t bother waiting for a reply, grabbing the PADD with his own report and heading out of the bay, debating whether or not he had time to go beg a stim off medical.

Now…

He supposed the good news was that Lok had heard the invite, though Janus had to bite back a laugh when the chief sat down at the table and went right back to work. No pretenses with that one.

Janus had never enjoyed big staff meetings. This one would be particularly grim, though he doubted it would top the routine-meeting-turned-accidentally-learning-Starfleet-command-had-been-compromised-by-a-race-of-parasitic-aliens that had kickstarted this whole shit show. As he’d entered the conference room, he realized he was the last man standing out of that original group (unless one counted Nicander, and Janus didn’t fucking count Nicander). Every chair in here had a different occupant than that original day. Most of them had switched hands more than once.

The realization alone made him want to turn around and leave. Duty took him to his seat instead.

He stayed awake through all the reports through pure force of will, then tacked on as Lok finished.

“There are eight ships ready in the bay, but we don’t have eight pilots to fly them.” Janus was sorely tempted to leave it at that. One sentence, dropped like a stone, summing up the entire problem. But he elaborated, because they would want specifics. “I have five active pilots who can launch anytime.” Himself included. “Two more uninjured - a valravn pilot who lost her RIO and an RIO who lost her pilot. I can throw them together if necessary, but teams normally need training runs to build a rapport.” Especially considering that Gemini had linked telepathically with Athen in flight, a bond she wouldn’t have with the replacement.

“Three injured. A Valravn team who will make a full recovery. Another pilot has extensive injuries that will keep him off the flight roster for months.” Janus purposely didn’t call attention to Archon, who was in the room, keeping his eyes on his PADD and leaving names out of it. He had to be losing his mind. Janus certainly would be. The only thing worse would be if everyone at the table turned to him with pity.

Instead, he kept the report dry and factual. Clinical. His tone would do a vulcan proud.

“Two in stasis. Nine dead.” He stopped for a moment there, their names on the tip of his tongue. Then he swallowed them.

“Once Dix is cleared by medical I’ll have seven pilots. Less than half a squadron. Not even two full flights. I can run patrols in pairs. Another one or two pilots on ready alert in the bay in case the patrol needs backup. Five minutes from red alert to wake up and scramble the rest. My people are the best of the best, but if we go up against other fighter squadrons like we did last night – at some point it becomes a numbers game.”

“If Starfleet likes us now, tell them I need nine pilots. They’re welcome to bring some shiny new fighters with them too.”

---

OOC: Remembered the RIOs for once and added them to my counts

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #12 – April 25, 2026, 02:26:17 AM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Conference Lounge | V. 1 D. 1 | USS Theurgy ]  @TWilkins  @Pierce  @RyeTanker  @rae  @chXinya    @P.C. Haring   @joshs1000   @Dumedion   @Nesota Kynnovan @Eden   @Brutus  

Cross looked at Ravenholm when her name was called. She'd already been tracking the room through her VISOR since she sat down — he'd noted it the way he noted most things that were happening slightly ahead of where the conversation was. She knew the numbers before anyone said them. He didn't consider this an advantage or a disadvantage. It was a fact about Ravenholm.

"Operations is a mixed bag at best." Her head had been tilting toward whoever was speaking; now it was on him. "While most systems are functional at some level, thanks to the damage listed already, everything has been impacted in some way. We've got all able hands working as hard as they can on repairs but I agree with Commander Arnold's estimate of four days and echo his request that we approach the task force for assistance."

She moved on without pausing.

"All that said, all the basic necessities are available: water, gravity, environmental controls, and even the replicators, but everyone should be ready for random glitches at times. On my way here I gained and lost nearly 20 kilos it felt like, and saw someone try to replicate a raktajino only to be given a puddle of burnt bootblack."

Cross filed this under Arnold's problem and kept his expression where it was. He looked at Pierce. Pierce had come in running and had spent the first portion of the meeting catching up on what she'd missed, which Cross had observed and not remarked on because she was here, she was current, and the sprint was its own explanation. She had the contained energy of someone who had been furious at herself since she sat down and had decided that the most productive response was to be precisely useful for the remainder of the meeting.

"Intelligence department lost a number of key personnel. My deputy assistant among the lost crew members." She kept it flat. "I'm presently looking into officers who requested a transfer or at the very least are offering assistance to the department as we progress. So staffing isn't the strongest at present. I'll have an update within the next seventy-two hours after meeting the potential candidates. "As for the function of the department itself, we're presently extrapolating data sent to us, as well as received while we were out on Romulus. Despite our capture, we were able to bring aboard a lone Romulan-Orion hybrid who was on a personal mission and set to join the Science department." She didn't stop. "Regarding the Dewitt intelligence — Lieutenant Madsen's assessment is correct, and I want to underscore it. Commander Dewitt lost her life getting that information out. Before her ship became critically damaged she passed the full report to a Vulpinian pilot who had been acting as her escort, who then ferried it onward at considerable risk. The urgency of what Dewitt found has already been shared with members of the President's council for forwarding to the rest of Starfleet Intelligence. We are currently waiting on verification of several items in the report, but the corroboration Lieutenant Madsen received through Doctor Marlowe's private channel moves this from pending to credible." Her jaw tightened "Coordinated multi-faction alignment against a Federation they correctly read as fractured and distracted is not a future problem. It is the condition we are currently operating inside."

She pulled back to her broader concern without softening the transition.

"My concern with us regrouping and repairing — not to mention digging through piles of data and communications — is that despite the Infested being exposed publicly, they're likely still at large. We still don't know who we can trust or who is compromised, and that means we need to be vigilant in our search as we head back out there. My hopes are we'll hear from the Admiral with further news, but I doubt it will be that easy for him to reach out."

Cross let a half-second of silence hold after Pierce finished. The Infested still at large. The trust problem with no current solution. The Admiral's silence, which was either circumstantial or not, and there was no reliable way to determine which. And now Dewitt's report sitting in verification limbo while whatever it described continued to move. He looked at zh'Wann.

"First off, sir." Her fingers moved on her PADD. "I believe the entire crew did very well during the battle and as far as I can tell, everyone performed ably and with great courage. I have several reports from the Klingons who were quite impressed with the fight we put up. There were several notable mentions of the warrior's heart many exhibited, especially amongst those who are not necessarily what they would consider of the path of the Warrior. I have a list compiled of those that were mentioned and they'll be sitting in your inbox by this afternoon."

Cross nodded. He would read every name on that list.

"Security took quite the hit, but thanks to most of our people being in the new security exosuits, we got off far more lightly than previous engagements of this type." Her jaw tightened visibly. "I've got 29 dead and 68 wounded to varying degrees. Most of the wounded are walking wounded and can perform light duties. They can be expected to hold the line till the more fit can show up to deal with the situation. At the moment, there are 20 in sickbay with injuries varying from standard recovery to incapacitated. This includes Lieutenant zh'Ptrell who would have normally taken over my deputy spot."

zh'Wann's eyes moved briefly to Madsen. Cross's eyes moved briefly to Madsen. Cross's eyes returned to zh'Wann.

"I have Ensign Duboid holding down the slot for the moment. She's quite capable but inexperienced for the duties. The Chiefs are doing an admirable job of keeping things going at the moment, but we'll need a more experienced officer to make the calls when the time comes. There is another person who just arrived who can take the spot and I'd like to have the three of us meet together so the situation can be explained."

"The worst part from our standpoint is the damage to our complement of exosuits. Keeping those wounded from being killed took quite a bit out of our current operational inventory, which are all currently undergoing repairs as fast as we can, but we don't have that many armorers and the engineering staff is already over-stretched with the ship's repairs." She didn't pause. "If we're asking the task force for replacement parts, it would help save time and stamina if we could get new suits as well. This would help the armorers since they still have to replenish the stock of munitions we used in addition to doing the repairs to not just dead and injured suits, but practically all of them since everyone who wore a suit took a hit at some point."

The hologram went up. Two hundred and twenty-six prisoners. Cross looked at it for three seconds. Cargo holds on Deck 8, triple-quad bunks, sanitation, rotating forcefield access, Neurozine in the ventilation. Thirty-five officers and senior enlisted in the security centre under round-the-clock surveillance. Two hundred and twenty-six warm bodies on a ship running at half strength. He did not say this because zh'Wann already knew it.

"At the moment we have 226 prisoners. There would have been more, but the Klingons were very thorough when they helped us and stun isn't an option most of them use." She walked through the arrangements without elaborating on what she'd already outlined in the hologram. Then she looked directly at Madsen. "I'm hoping there is some sort of arrangement that will have the prisoners off the ship soon."

Her eyes came back to Cross.

"Overall, security has enough to maintain a presence, but we're going to be stretched for a while and we'll need to stand the troops down on a rotating basis as more people come back onto the job." Her jaw tightened once. "Sir, I would recommend that we be circumspect in whatever external forays we have to make, otherwise we seriously compromise security's ability to protect the ship and crew."

Cross held the silence for exactly long enough.

"Lieutenant Madsen." His voice was even. "Prisoner disposition falls to you. I want a proposal on my desk before 0800." No softening, no expansion. His eyes went back to zh'Wann. "The recommendation to limit external forays is noted and agreed. We don't go anywhere until we can cover the door. The request for new suits goes on the task force list alongside Arnold's components and Leux's personnel." His eyes moved to Arnold. "I'll need that consolidated list from you within the hour."

He looked down the table.

"Counseling."

Hathev did not move. She sat with her hands folded on the table, her posture the same as it had been since she arrived — correct, still, giving nothing away to anyone who wasn't paying the kind of attention Cross had been paying since she walked through the door.

"Counseling's primary function during the post-battle period has necessarily shifted from proactive support to crisis response." Her voice carried without effort. "Staff strength within the department is reduced. Three counselors are managing caseloads that would adequately require five. We are triaging." She did not say this as a complaint, though she had every right to complain. "Priority cases are being seen. Non-priority cases have been placed on a schedule. The schedule is not meeting the need. That gap will widen before it narrows."

"Lieutenant Leux's assessment regarding sleep deprivation, malnourishment, and psychological trauma aligns with what Counseling is observing at the individual level. I would add one detail the medical report does not capture: a significant number of crew members are currently functioning on deferred response. The acute phase of the crisis has passed. The psychological processing of what occurred has not yet begun for most. When it does begin — and it will — the caseload will increase substantially." Her eyes moved briefly around the table. "I would recommend that department heads be prepared for a secondary wave of personnel impact within the next two to four weeks, independent of physical recovery timelines. It would be inadvisable to mistake current functionality for resolution."

She looked at Cross. "Counseling's request is straightforward: additional personnel, and protected rest rotations for existing staff. We cannot assess the crew's fitness for duty if we are unfit ourselves." Her eyes held his for exactly one second longer than strictly necessary. "That applies to this department as it applies to all others."

"Noted," he said. "The personnel request goes on the task force list." He moved on. "Tactical."

T'Less had the sit rep in front of her and did not require it. Cross had seen her put it together — thorough, precise, organized in a way that indicated she had not simply compiled available data but had audited it for gaps before submitting it. She folded her hands on the table.

"Tactical systems are functional across all three vectors, though not uniformly." Her delivery was clean and without inflection, which suited the content. "Primary weapons arrays are operational. Torpedo inventory stands at sixty-three percent of pre-battle complement. Phaser emitter segments on Vector Two sustained damage consistent with the boarding incursion — three segments offline, two degraded. Repair estimates place full restoration at thirty-six to forty-eight hours under current engineering resource allocation." Her eyes moved up briefly. "I would note that estimate assumes no further demand on engineering resources. Based on the reports delivered this evening, that assumption may prove optimistic."

"Tactical sensors are intact on Vectors One and Three. Vector Two's lateral array has a calibration fault producing a four-degree offset in threat-assessment targeting data. The fault has been flagged and isolated. Tactical is compensating manually until the array can be recalibrated. This is workable but introduces a margin of error I would not consider acceptable under combat conditions. I would recommend that Vector Two not be designated primary tactical response if engagement becomes necessary before the array is corrected."

"Shields, as Commander Arnold noted, require hours of repair we have not yet had. I concur with his assessment that offensive engagement during this period is inadvisable. Tactical can respond to a threat. Tactical cannot currently absorb a sustained exchange without meaningful risk to hull integrity in the areas already compromised."

She set her PADD flat.

"Tactical personnel casualties are within the range reported by other departments — not light, not catastrophic. Stations are covered. I have junior officers performing duties above their current grade. They are performing them adequately." She did not add so far. She didn't need to. "I have submitted a full personnel assessment to your inbox. It requires a decision regarding two positions that cannot be filled from current complement." She looked at Cross. "That is all, Commander."

Cross held her gaze for one second. The sit rep she'd assembled had saved him two hours of work he had not had two hours to spend. He didn't say this.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." He looked at the table. "Any other reports before we open for questions, concerns, or anything that requires the room?"

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #13 – May 08, 2026, 09:04:35 PM

[Ensign Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | Conference Lounge  | Vector 01 | Deck 01 | USS Theurgy] @Ellen Fitz @Pierce @RyeTanker @rae @chXinya @P.C. Haring @joshs1000 @Dumedion @Nesota Kynnovan @Eden @Brutus

Going first was something of a double-edged sword.

On the one hand, he got the task over with quickly, which was certainly something of a salve to his anxiety. Sure, having his department be the first to get called by the Commander was like having a fistfull of ice pressed upon the back of his neck, but it was bettet than going last at least... Still. given how new he was to the Theurgy, standing up to deliver his report, in a room-full of people who were senior to him in both age and rank, feeling their eyes on him whilst he warbled on about starcharts and navigational systems, things that the menagerie of senior officers probably couldn’t give two hoots about, was exceptionally nerve-wracking after being aboard a mere three days… But, he’d gotten through it, and even earned himself a ‘well done’ from Commander Cross, thanks to his discovery of the star-chart discrepancies throughout Federation space, and that had filled the Ensign with enough pride to wash away most of the residual nerves he was suffering from.

Most…

Because on the other hand, going first meant that when he delivered his presentation, he wasn’t in the slightest bit aware of how the Theurgy crew conducted their meetings… And that rang oh so true, when it turned out that he was the only person to stand when delivering his report; the rest remained seated, casual, whilst he himself almost sprained a muscle from adopting such an acutely rigid posture... He’d have been mortified about it, had he not been too consumed by mortification over a different matter entirely… In his haste to stand in formality, he had had the merry misfortune of clouting his knee on the underside of the table… Loudly. In a completely silent and somewhat echoey conference room.

It easily made the top ten list of the most embarrassing things he’d done in his life.

However, the true boon of going first meant that despite his red-tinged cheeks, twinned from his embarrassment and the praise he’d received from the Commander, he could focus on the rest of the reports with far more integrity than he would have been able to, had he still been worrying about his own delivery. His initial relief had quickly died down, as he’d sat down and felt the focus draw away from himself and onto the chief engineer, a slightly grizzly looking man, as he realised that their ship was in far more dire straits than he’d really been prepared to confront.

Microfractures across the hull, damaged relays across the ship, something about bodily fluids that truly turned Sylvain’s stomach… But at least the engines were functional, not that it did them all that much good with the damage their navigational systems had sustained… But the Ensign’s melancholy over that thought wasn’t retained for long, as according to the the acting Chief Medical officer, a handsome trill gentleman who seemed perturbed to have to even deliver his report, they had lost a third of their staff, had damaged systems across all three sickbays, ranging from minimal to severe, and their supplies had been hit to such an extent that Dr Leux was encouraging a blood drive across the ship. Sylvain’s own blood wouldn’t be of much use, given his half-Yattho heritage, otherwise he might have offered himself. Instead, he just cast his eyes down as the man continued to discuss morale, feeling a sinking sensation in his chest that told him that Lieutenant Leux was correct; it would probably do everyone some good not to work themselves to death.

Then science delivered their report, and had the courtesy of naming their dead. Five names, five people who Sylvain wouldn’t have known from Adam, but yet he still felt a knot tie itself into his heart at the thought of just how many individuals had laid down their lives, in order to bring them victory in the battle with the Romulans. CONN had been fortunate in that their casualties in the battle hadn’t been so numerous as the other departments; they were a smaller department, and most of their duties surrounded non-critical areas of the ship, so they’d largely escaped the wrath of the Romulan boarding parties… Still, they’d lost three shuttle pilots in the conflict, and suddenly Sylvain felt a great shame that he hadn’t thought to mention them in his report…

Officer Lok and a man who appeared to be at least partially Cardassian in heritage, gave a thorough account of the situation in the fighter bay, whilst the glamorous looking diplomat he’d noted earlier, gave an impeccable detailed description of how the Romulans were faring politically, following the confrontation; honestly, a lot of it went over his head, but he nodded anyway. She reminded him all-too-much of how his mother spoke about things. Operations was probably the most upbeat of all of the reports, though Security at least opened with a positive spin, before the death toll was announced. Then came the Intelligence report, which once again drew the conversation back down towards the grim topic of death, this one hitting slightly closer to Sylvain’s home, given that Crewman Davis was amongst the dead being referred to. Then the meeting concluded with input from Counseling, a Vulcan woman who detailed the same point that Dr Leux had made, but far more severely, whilst the person reporting for Tactical offered a detailed report of their damage, and once again reiterated the shared issue that seemed to be the bane of all departments...

Staffing.

Sylvain pondered that thought for a moment.

He couldn’t much help with staffing. CONN was a small department, and though he was beyond confident that under normal circumstances he could perform the role of navigator as well as a CONN officer, he’d done so without issue aboard the Bowman, these weren’t normal circumstances… With the damage to the navigation systems as substantial as it was, it would need a full recalibration, and then be re-programed using the updated Federation star charts, an endeavour that could take days; he wouldn’t be able to neglect his other duties for that length of time. Perhaps he could spare one or two members of his department, but that wasn’t going to make enough of a difference to warrant bringing it up in a staff meeting.

However, Sylvain could offer the crew something else. Something that was currently burning a hole in the pocket of his uniform.

The Savi database that Crewman Davis had stolen from the Euridite.

Truthfully, he had no idea what would be on the device. Cora had downloaded it, not him; he’d been busy having an existential crisis and investigating the genetically engineered moopsy. Perhaps it would be useless. Perhaps all it contained was the Savi’s equivalent of a cultural database. Perhaps it would contain advanced medical knowledge that would help save lives, or perhaps it would just get him thrown in the brig for jeprodising their alliance with the Savi… There was no way for the Ensign to know... But if there was even a chance that information in his pocket might help the Theurgy crew, a chance that it might be able to ease some of the burden that the ship was under… He had a moral duty to share it, didn't he? Sure, that it was in his possession at all was a violation of pretty much every Starfleet code of conduct that Sylvain was aware of, but he had it now, and it certainly wasn’t down to the decision of an Ensign as to whether or not they should use it…

In an ideal scenario, Sylvain would have hoped to address the matter in private with the Commander, taken some time on a one-to-one basis to explain the circumstances behind the device, and how he’d been roped into that particular act of espionage entirely against his will… But it wasn’t an ideal scenario. Medical and Counseling had just shared how imperative it was that people on the crew needed rest, and the shared lack of energy that spanned the breadth of the conference room was practically palpable. Sylvain wasn’t about to try and request even more of the Commander’s time…  Besides, anyone he’d need to discuss it with was present in the room with them at that very moment; it was certainly the more efficient time to bring it to the table…

Besides, they’d shared enough talk of death and damage.

“If I may, Commander…” And so, Sylvain was the first of the officers to take up Commander Cross’ invitation to speak, wary that he might have been all-too eagerly embracing the ‘enthusiastic Ensign’ stereotype, but also conscious that if he didn’t speak up immediately, there was a fair chance that he’d lose his nerve. “When I was aboard the Euridite, an officer working for the Intelligence department, Crewman Cora Davis…” His eyes briefly flickered to the copper-haired woman who managed the department in question, hoping that she would at least be able to offer some sort of confirmation that Crewman Davis at least existed. Sylvain had forgotten just how much of an unflattering light this story painted him in… 

He continued nonetheless.

“...she approached me with ulterior motives… She rendered me unconscious, and used me as a distraction in order to gain access to the areas of the ship that had been classified as off-limits.” His mouth felt chalky as he spoke, admitting such a clear example of his inexperience to the rest of the senior staff; between this and his general clumsy conduct, it would be a miracle if any of them ever respected him again. “She then proceeded to rescue me from the Savi patrol that apprehended us, following which she gained access their internal transporter system, and used it to infiltrate one of the Savi’s genetic research facilities…” Sylvain reached down below the table, and produced the data-PADD in question, its weight feeling all too heavy in his hands as he felt the warmth of other eyes upon it for the first time since Cora had handed it off to him. “She took the opportunity to download as much of their database as possible, and asked me to deliver it to yourself, and to let you know that it was what ‘King’ had asked for, if that means anything to you.” The Ensign hesitantly presented the datapad to Cross, offering it to the Commander as though he were handing over a scalding hot coal, eager to be rid of it, yet hesitant to hand it off…

“I’d hoped that she could have been involved in this discussion, but, unfortunately Crewman Davis did not survive the encounter with the Romulans…” Sylvain paused, swallowing tightly over a lump that formed in his throat, forcing himself to meet the Vulcan’s eyes, despite his deep desire to keep his gaze firmly affixed to the table. “To the best of my knowledge, we weren't discovered at the time, however, it's entirely possible that the Savi discovered our actions after we'd departed." Sylvain swallowed again, his words thick with guilt.  "And there is every chance that it may have been a contributing factor to their abandonment of us during the battle...”

“I understand that I acted well beyond the responsibilities of my role as Chief CONN Officer, but, I made my best judgement that I could, using the information I had. I don't pretend to be a inteligence officer, and belive me, I think those few hours were enough espionage to last me a lifetime..."  His voice wavered a little, the symptom of equal parts nerves and his watery attempt to lighten the mood. “I can only hope that whatever data Crewman Davis downloaded, will benefit our crew, and I can only hope that this doesn’t have any negative reflection on my character moving forwards…” The Ensign let his eyes flicker down to the table as he placed the data-PADD down as close to the Commander as he could reach, his voice laced with the severity of a court martial.

"I can only apologise if my actions have caused you, any of you, to think less of me."

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #14 – May 11, 2026, 01:39:20 AM

[ Commander Natalie Stark | Conference Lounge | V. 1 D. 1 | USS Theurgy ] ATTN: @Ellen Fitz  @TWilkins  @RyeTanker  @rae  @chXinya @P.C. Haring @joshs1000  @Dumedion  @Nesota Kynnovan @Eden  @Pierce  @Tae  @Stegro88  @Griff  @Nolan  @ob2lander961  @Eirual  @tongieboi  @Hans Applegate  @Krajin

[Show/Hide]

Cross saw her before she'd fully cleared the threshold. "Commander. I've sent a summary of all department reports to your PADD." He stepped back from the head of the table, the nod that accompanied it leaving no ambiguity about what he was doing or why. The commander - Acting captain she reminded herself, then discarded the thought - looked from the man, to head of the table, and repressed the urge to sigh, simply nodding once instead. Anything the group had been talking about before her arrival - if it needed to be immediately addressed they would do so when she was finished.

Cameron came in half a step behind Natalie, slightly breathless, and pressed a PADD into her hand. Natalie took it, found Cross's summary already queued at the top, and did the thing she least wanted to do in front of a room full of department heads — she stood there and read it. Quickly. Not quickly enough. She could feel every set of eyes doing the polite thing, which was looking somewhere else, which somehow made it worse. Hull. Weapons. Navigation. Shuttles. Medical. Personnel losses by department. She did not linger on any single line long enough, which meant she was going to be issuing orders on incomplete information.

That was command. Apparently. She looked up.

"I apologize for my absence." Her voice came out even, which she noted with something close to relief. "I was with the President. Commander Cross may have already told you that. What he couldn't tell you is that while I was in that meeting, we received new intelligence from our contact at Starfleet Intelligence." She glanced down at the PADD. Back up. "I'll address what that means for each department."

She found Arnold first. Then Ravenholm. Her eyes dropped to the PADD, located the engineering summary, came back up.

"Engineering. Operations. The President is — " She stopped. Read one line. Her jaw moved slightly before she continued. "Encountering resistance regarding our access to Federation supply lines. Authorization exists. What doesn't exist is confidence in us, and that gap is going to cost us time." She kept her eyes up now, away from the PADD. She knew this part. Knew to keep the emotion out of her voice, the frustraton at the delay and what that meant had to be done. "You are authorized — by me — to use back channels. Off the record procurement. Whatever this crew has accumulated in the way of relationships and favors operating outside the system." Her chin lifted slightly. "Document what you can. Don't document what you can't. Commander Cross will coordinate with me on anything that needs command cover."

She shifted her weight, turned a fraction toward the center of the table.

"There is a sanctioned operation that will offset some of what we can't requisition through official channels." She glanced down. Found it. "USS Cayuga." She said it simply. Never mind that she did not want to think about those people. Many of them were friends and former crew-members to herself, and those around the table. "The President has formally tasked us with a recovery mission. All hands are presumed lost. We retrieve sensitive data cores, recover advanced systems, and deny classified technology to anyone who finds that wreckage before we do." She did not elaborate on what else the mission was. Her eyes moved briefly across the faces nearest her. She suspected some of them already could. "The operation goes on the books exactly as it is: a sanctioned Starfleet salvage. We execute it cleanly."

Llewellyn-Kth. She checked the PADD. CONN. She looked around until she found his face. "Routing options to Cayuga that account for our current navigational limitations. Whatever keeps us out of trouble while we're operating degraded." She moved past the star chart discrepancies he'd raised — those were a conversation for when she'd had six consecutive hours of sleep. [/color=red]"Options on my desk before 0600."[/color]

Lok. Rel. She looked at both of them, dropped her eyes to the PADD, scrolled until she found the info, then glanced back up. "Fighter Bay. Wolves. The request for pilots and new frames goes formally to the task force. Cayuga salvage will need escort coverage in the meantime." Her shoulders dropped a fraction, something in her posture conceding the obvious. "I'm not asking for what I know you don't have. Commander Rel — tell me what's possible and I'll work inside it."

Pierce. Natalie kept the PADD at her side for this one, her eyes steady on the intelligence officer's face. "The information we received tonight corroborates Dewitt's report and Lieutenant Madsen's private channel both. I'm not reading the full picture into the record yet, but work from the assumption that what Dewitt sent us is the beginning, not the whole." Her chin dipped once, sharp and deliberate. "Internal pattern recognition as well. The supply line obstruction we're already seeing doesn't emerge from nowhere. I want eyes on it."

Madsen. PADD up. Find the line. [/color=red]"Diplomacy. Prisoner disposition — proposal on my desk by 0800, as Commander Cross directed. The back channel work with the Coalition and with Martok's people continues."[/color] She looked up from the PADD, held Madsen's gaze. "Whatever you need from me to support those conversations, you have it."

zh'Wann. One brief check of the summary. "Security. The recommendation to limit external forays is affirmed at the command level. We don't extend the ship until we can cover what we already have." Another glance down, back up. "Exosuit replacement goes on the task force list alongside Arnold's components and Leux's personnel request." She squared toward zh'Wann slightly. "And I want the conversation about the deputy slot — the three of us, soon."

T'Less. She didn't need the PADD for this one. "Tactical — Vector Two stays off primary tactical response until the array is corrected. Defensive posture holds. We are not in a position to absorb a sustained engagement and I will not place us in one."

Science. She looked at Frost and dropped her eyes to the PADD and kept them there, because this part she had composed carefully while the President's staff talked logistics around her and she hadn't wanted to lose the thread of it. Certainly not for any other reason. "Two standing research priorities, effective immediately." She read the first one cleanly. "Continued development of a method to separate an Infested entity from its host without killing the host. Whatever interdepartmental resources that requires, bring the request to me directly. Second — a scalable screening method. Not case by case. Something that works at volume." She lowered the PADD and held it at her side. "I know we're not there. Getting there is the assignment, because until we have it, the institutional suspicion we're operating inside doesn't diminish." She thought of the President's aide. She thought of the word Anderson. Neither made it out of her mouth. "Whatever was lost in Hydroponics that showed promise — flag it for the Cayuga salvage list. If Cayuga doesn't have it, we find another way."

Medical.She looked down at the PADD. The summary was right there. Two-thirds strength. Senior officer cadre KIA or in stasis. She had read it three minutes ago. She read it again now anyway, because her eyes had stopped moving and she was looking at the word stasis and not entirely seeing Leux's department anymore.

Vanya was in one of those bays. Her Vanya, who had contracted something on her last mission that the doctors and engineers had not been able to treat, and whom Natalie had not allowed herself to think about at length since because thinking about it at length led somewhere she could not afford to go while there was still a ship to run. Whether Vanya would come back from it — whether there was a version of this where she walked out of that bay intact — was a question without an answer, and Natalie had been keeping that question at the very edge of her attention. The sheer incredulity of a virus - or whatever it was - that affected an Android...now was no the time. Would it ever be?

She became aware that the room was waiting. Her throat moved. She looked up and found Leux's face.
"Lieutenant — " She stopped. Something in her jaw tightened, released. "Leux." Her voice was where it needed to be. Close enough. "Lieutenant Ryn is formally detached to medical facilities. The personnel request goes to the task force." She held her ground in front of the weight of what she hadn't finished reading. "Your report's recommendation regarding rest and recuperation — I'm implementing rotating rest schedules across all departments within the next twelve hours. That is not optional." Her eyes moved across the table. "I need this crew functional for what comes next."

She turned toward Hathev and kept her eyes there and did not look back down at the PADD.

"Counselor Hathev. I want department heads formally informed of what to watch for in their people over the next two to four weeks as deferred processing begins." Her hands came together briefly in front of her, fingers pressing once before dropping back to her sides. "Not as a directive. As information. People take better care of each other when they know what they're looking at." Her eyes held the Counselor's for a moment longer than strictly necessary before she pulled them forward. "Protected rest rotations for your staff are approved. Non-negotiable."

She looked at the room.

There were things she hadn't said. The anomaly. The full scope of Anderson's intelligence and what it meant for where this ship was going and why it mattered that they arrived there intact. That conversation would come when the ship was more whole and the crew had slept and she had figured out how to say it without her voice doing what it was currently threatening to do.

"Those are your orders." Her hands stayed at her sides. Times like this, she felt as if she had no idea what to do with them. "Some of what I've asked won't be immediately possible. I know that. The intent is that you know the direction so when things stabilize — and they will — we don't lose time reorienting." She glanced at Cross. Once. Briefly. "Are there any questions or concerns?"

Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]

Reply #15 – May 11, 2026, 08:22:19 PM

[LT Arven Leux | Conference Lounge | Deck 01 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: All
[Show/Hide]

Frost’ commentary earned the slightest curl to Arven's lips, accompanied with an unnoticed bob of his brows; there was no recognition in the esteemed scientists tone – none that the Doctor’s admittedly poor social skills could detect, anyway. He'd spoken his report verbatim, naturally; utilizing the same factual, carefully rehearsed tone he'd always lectured in.

He always was consistent, Leux snorted mentally, while the other officers spoke. Turn by turn, the depth of their current circumstances revealed itself until the whole clarified into what they all had already known, or, at the very least, had guessed: ship and crew had taken a beating, but managed to survive.

So far, Arven added silently.

Cross took it all in, without much visible reaction at all. Arven couldn’t help but respect that; the Doctor had delivered enough bad news to enough people to know that simple acceptance was never easy – yet the Vulcan made it appear effortless.

A brow twitched as the kid – CONN officer whats-his-name – opted to stumble through an additional report-slash-confession; 'kid' seemed completely appropriate to Leux, as the man looked like he was twelve, trying to explain how he’d fucked up something at the dinner table.

Once the Savi were mentioned along with genetic research, Arven’s ears stood up instantly; given the evidence he’d seen with his own eyes – not to mention the history this crew had with them – Leux couldn’t care less if they’d pissed the bastards off. They never should have aligned themselves with the damned Savi to begin with, as far as he was concerned.

The Doctor’s mouth opened to formally request that data be turned over to Science and Medical for preliminary decoding and review, before Intel took their sweet time with it, but his steam was stolen with Cmdr. Stark’s arrival. Utilizing a measure of respect for decorum, he held his tongue in the silent moments while she read, elbows up on the table with his fingers steepled. That silence was eventually broken as, one by one, Stark addressed each department head in turn; her voice clear, composed, yet unmistakably burdened with an emotional undercurrent – he could feel it by the effort she used to conceal it.

Like an orchestra with one performer out of time, Leux mused sympathetically. Whatever fate had in store for his career, he knew command level wasn’t one of them; the very idea of it was beyond ludicrous.

Stark’s carefully constructed composure threatened to crack once she reached his department, however. Arven didn’t show any outward reaction; he simply waited for her to adjust and compensate, then offered a brief nod that went unnoticed as her attention moved on to Counselling.

Arven’s brows knitted in sudden confusion as he realized a miscommunication had occurred: Ryn. His eyes re-read the verbiage he’d used in his report regarding that particular individual:

Medical staff requests LT Ryn remain detached from engineering repairs to medical facilities.

That’s what he’d said, right? Keep her out of medical repairs – there was plenty other areas to fix, apparently! Arven didn’t want that menace anywhere near medical…she couldn’t even be trusted to maintain her own health, not to mention —

Wait, Arven interrupted himself, (which was mildly neurotic behavior, but he was too tired to give a shit). Let it be. It’s easier to keep her under supervision. Treatment can proceed apace, given the circumstances…two to three days, tops.

Stark’s conclusion brought him back to the moment, and he didn’t waste any time or energy; violet eyes snapped from Stark’s to the CONN kid’s.

“I recommend that data be handed over to Science and Medical for immediate decoding and review,” Leux stated, then pivoted back to Stark with a glance at Cross. “Captain,” he addressed her position rather than rank, having glossed over it in his haste to speak; a minor fumble easily recovered without a break in stride. “Given the technological advancements the Savi utilized, especially in our relative fields of study, regardless how it was obtained,” he nodded to the kid, “that data just might set us on the path of solving some very difficult problems, some of which the Savi created.”

Unlike Commander Stark’s beautifully controlled and composed tone, Arven didn’t even bother trying to hide the venomous edge from his. He paused long enough for everyone to feel it, then pushed on to address another issue – one they all likely recognized the moment she’d walked in, but few had the authority to address. He held Stark's eyes evenly, letting her see that he recognized her symptoms.

“I'd also remind you that rest is also vital for your performance as well,” the Doctor stated, his tone softened to something closer to default factory setting before he turned to address all present. “For all of us. The temptation to shoulder the lion's share of responsibility exists, yes; to push ourselves beyond sustainability for the sake of others. I urge you to avoid this trap – I’ve seen it – lived through it. Believe me, you aren’t helping them if you burn out before the crisis is managed; you only compound the problem.”

That said, Leux opened his hands in silent conclusion.