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11
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]
Last post by Brutus -
[ 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?"
12
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: Two sides, same coin [Day 03 | 0930]
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Lt. Enyd Isolde Madsen | Chief Diplomatic Officer's Office | Deck 08 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

She watched him wrestle. Not obviously — Hauq was not a man who did anything obviously — but she had spent enough time in rooms with people choosing their words like footing on uncertain ground to recognize the tells. The fractional hesitation. The decision to stop rather than continue. The careful landing and the thing left unsaid behind it. And she listened without seeking to formulate an immediate response, letting his carefully chosen words fall on her nerves casually.

Her chest rose and fell in a long exhale, and she stared at the ceiling a final moment before letting her head roll to watch him collecting bloodstones with the methodical movements of a man who has cleaned up after considerably worse than this.

"No." She said it to the ceiling as much to him. "You're right. I'm too stubborn for my own good. And besides, the spirit of my grandmother would rise from her grave and beat the ever-loving snot out of me if I were to even think about giving up." The grin came sideways, tired but genuine. "And I'll take the blade analogy. You've a way with words, when you want to, Hauq." Her eyes tracked him moving among the scattered stones. "Priceless blade. I'm keeping that."

She shifted on the floor and the smell reached her at approximately the same moment the word cleansed finished echoing in her memory. Her nose wrinkled.

"Oh." An exaggerated sniff. "Oh, I agree wholeheartedly with the cleansed part too. A long hot shower is in order."

She took his extended hand with a bemused smile. The grip was solid and she came up off the floor cleanly. She stood, steadied, offered him a wry look, then stopped. Withdrew her hand from his. Reached into the collar of her uniform shirt with the focused expression of someone performing minor surgery and retrieved, one by one, three bloodstones that had apparently made the journey south. She held them out in her palm, looked at them, then at Hauq.

"Joint effort," she said. "The mess and the cleanup both." She set the stones on the nearest clear surface of the desk. "I appreciate it."

She turned toward the largest cluster near the far wall and crossed to them, crouching to begin gathering — then stopped. Straightened. Turned back. She stepped back to him, leaned up, and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek, then stepped back to her own space without ceremony.

"Thank you." The wryness was gone, just for a moment. "For coming here and saying the hard things to my face." Her hand moved slightly, taking in the room, the conversation, the stones, the broken chair. "And for this. I can't promise I won't be a thorn in your side again — that would be a lie and we've been too honest with each other tonight to ruin it now." She held his gaze. "But I'll give you as much warning of the incoming chaos as I'm able. That much I can promise." She let her fingers stroke the roughened skin of his cheek for the briefest of seconds before she turned back to the stones.

She gathered. He gathered. Then she straightened, a handful of stones in her palm, and her voice shifted back into its working register.

"Hypothetically." She deposited the stones into the salvaged pouch without looking at him. "If the Theurgy crew needed to procure supplies. Parts. Resources. Off the record." She looked up before he could respond. "Before you tell me what you think of that — consider what the President said, and the pushback already moving through official channels. We have a pardon that exists on paper and is being contested in practice. We have a ship that needs repair and people who want us functional and accountable while making sure the means to become functional stay closed or watched." She set the pouch down. "I don't know this for certain. But I know I would do that if the roles were reversed, and I'm not even the most devious person I know." She tilted her head. "So. Off the record. Would you know which direction to point us — if it came to that?"
13
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]
Last post by Dumedion -
[LT Arven Leux | Main Sickbay | Biolab 2 | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Ellen Fitz
[Show/Hide]
Arven leaned into the Romulan’s response, almost fascinated; well, fascinated wasn’t exactly the right term – he had proposed the question out of idle curiosity, using it to fill the awkward silence that reigned while they waited – a risky endeavor, where most patients were concerned. While he noted the carefully masked twitches of physical discomfort in the Romulan’s movements (which was to be expected, of course), Leux hadn’t expected such a clearly stated justification in his response. Perhaps refreshing was a better term to use; yes - Arven found his honest use of dishonesty (however the Romulan chose to spin the phrase), refreshing.

Everyone lies, the doctor shrugged, brows bouncing a little with the movement. Some are better at it than others. His mind had already formulated a response, yet their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Ehfva Feynri, the Vulpinian of the hour, as it were.

Arven moved as soon as he saw her, face blanked of all amusement in an instant: she’d shuffled into the room, fanged maw clenched, clearly in agony. Her body, caught between physical forms (thanks to the meddling of unethical, arrogant beings that Arven would love to beat senselessly for what they had done) had continued to slowly morph - unhinged and uncontrolled - into an amalgamation of all three forms.

And it was slowly killing her.

A hand reached to steady Ehfva as he easily took her weight. “Steady,” he nodded to the chair, guiding her there. He didn’t need to scan her to see the obvious. “Your condition is deteriorating faster than I expected,” he admitted quietly, his tone dry yet clearly apologetic.

Once he had her seated – as comfortably as she was able – Leux returned his tired eyes to Hirek before moving back to the array of display screens. He pulled a hypo from a shelf, activated it by rote without looking, then broke eye contact to program it as he spoke.

“I’m giving you a mix of synthetic herbal compounds you should be familiar with; alliprous root, conferatii copus, extract of pyre-weed. These are used to postpone the pain of uninitiated kits, I believe,” he told Ehfva. The Vulpinian blinked at him slowly, then nodded with a faint whine. Arven returned the gesture, then pressed the device to her outstretched arm gently. “I noticed you two know each other – does that mean you trust him enough to help with your treatment? I need your consent to show him everything.”

Again, the Vulpinian blinked, then nodded, her muzzle wrinkled with effort.

“Let’s get to it then,” he sighed quietly, then glanced at the Romulan before moving to the cluster of display screens, fingers moving as he spoke. “Here’s the thing, Mr. tr’Aimne,” the Doctor’s tone returned to his dry, matter-of-fact bluntness.

“This isn’t Frost’ department; while I’ll freely admit the good Doctor possesses a certain...natural arrogance that could easily be taken advantage of – I’m not about to offer you the same leeway. No one operates solo here; we work as a team, supervised, checked and rechecked, verified by peer review and adhered to protocol. This isn’t personal, mind. I don’t know you. I haven’t read anything you’ve published - if you’ve published anything at all - I’ve never seen you work; I don’t even know if you’re capable or completely full of shit,” he stopped, turned, and met the Romulan’s eyes evenly. “But I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and test the theory.”

He let that sit.

“As far as what register I expect from you – I thought it obvious, but I will certainly clarify: I expect authenticity. Not only for me,” Arven shook his head, and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to the ward. “For the staff, and especially for my patients. Gaslighting will not be tolerated. Deception will not be tolerated. If you can’t step up to that plate, for whatever reason, I suggest you do as I mentioned earlier; let the nurses do the talking, or limit your activities here accordingly. Authenticity matters here,” he paused, hesitating; he didn’t have time nor the right to lecture the man. His eyes broke away, returning to the screens with a sigh of resignation. “Look, bottom line: we all have our reasons for being the way we are. Intent and action matter here more than interpersonal skills; I’m a perfect exemplar of that fact. Keep all this in mind while you offer assistance, and we’ll get along swimmingly,” Leux concluded.

On the screens, Ehfva’s medical case lay unredacted; the brutality of the Savi writ clearly upon the various scans – how they had savaged the Vulpinian’s ability to cleanly and controllably shift forms by surgically removing the lupercalis potestas majoris gland from the base of her skull, nestled deep in between the rear quarter lobes of her brain. Various treatment simulations played out alongside, each resulting in various degrees of success before ultimately failing in agonizing death.

Leux proceeded to brief them both without further ado - his tone moderated and clinical - stating facts; known traumas, condition, pain levels, vital statistics, responses to pain management and treatments thus far. He dictated the unfortunate death of Ensign Sashenka Kreshkova, whom the Savi had implanted with Ehfva’s stolen morphogenic control cluster; details were spared, for obvious reasons – yet the outcome was not. Any hope of salvaging the stolen neurological tissue was hopeless, as it had already become contaminated beyond recourse by foreign DNA. He moved on to the most hopeful of treatment simulations: a series of theoretical methods of neuro-pheromonic control, utilizing the proper combination of RNA/DNA reciver/transmitters to trigger a form shift. Each one depended on completely untested and unverified levels of biogenetic manipulation, keyed to every individual cell in the patient’s body.

“That,” Arven sighed at the Romulan in conclusion, “is where, I hope, you come in.”

It felt like he had talked non-stop for at least an hour before he ran out of words. Arven moved and gestured for the Romulan to approach the screens while he tended to Ehfva, taking a clean towel to her maw where it dripped red-tinted saliva. “I can take you to the ward, if you prefer. You needn’t sit here in agony.”

He let the Romulan review in the silence that lingered, waiting with a patience his bone tired body didn't truly feel. He blinked then, remembering Hirek's obvious mobility discomfort. The Doctor reached around Ehfva and secured another hypo, programmed it, then reached out and offered it to the man.

"Romotrin, 200 mg dose. Take a hit every four hours, as needed. I'd offer you something stronger, but I'd hate for you to get loopy and let loose your secret identity."
14
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: Two sides, same coin [Day 03 | 0930]
Last post by Dumedion -
[Colonel Hauq | Diplomatic Suite | Deck 2 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Ellen Fitz

A frown of genuine concern pulled at the Colonel’s bearded face as the diplomat laughed; Hauq had never been accused of being a well-humored warrior – Martok himself had commented more than once upon his dour, duty-bound stoicism – yet to his ears, Eynd’s amusement in the moment seemed far too close to delirious.

On guard, brows crossed, he eased his torso upright yet remained seated beside where she lay. He did not meet her eyes when she did not seek his; he had served the Empire all his life, and in that span had seen countless warriors in a similar state – exultant yet exhausted in victory, or, on the other end of the spectrum, feverish and wrathful,  drowning in glory at death’s door.

All is fleeting madness, he mused silently, distracted by his own thoughts. Yet all is good.

He began to collect the stones nearby while the diplomat collected herself – two or three at a time, dropped into the palm of his hand. There were hundreds of them; he had neither the time nor the patience to gather them all – yet this was one mess he had made with her, instead of the other way around. He could not leave her alone to accomplish it; not in her present state.

Her question earned a look of confusion from him at first, yet that melded into wry amusement after her reassessment and subsequent reclassification; he made no remark upon the matter, regardless – a warrior needn’t be boastful, nor arrogant enough to presume his own greatness. Only fools and charlatans walk such a path.

There is always someone better. Always more to learn.

Her reformed question seemed to hang in the air between them like a fisherman’s net; heavy, impossible to slip out of. Hauq’s eyes fell to the stones in his hand, considering his answer, his lips pulled down in thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was modulated carefully in tones of consideration; a low throaty rumble versus the coarse bark of dutiful respect he usually employed.
 
“You will not dissolve, Eynd Isolde Madsen; we both know you are too stubborn – too willful – to allow it. You have accomplished much this day, it is true, yet the work has only begun. You will not lie idle and allow another to continue without you in this,” he paused to glance at her, choosing his words carefully, then nodded with the briefest of shrugs.

“Were it my place,” he answered with blunt honesty, “I would see you cleansed and refreshed, as a priceless blade: restored and rested, body and spirit, for the next time I had need to draw you in battle,” he blinked, then hesitated on his words again. After a moment, he simply stopped trying to get the words out, and let his answer lie in the air between them.

Then he got to his feet.

“If I may,” a meaty, open hand extended to her in aid. “It is not my place to restore you, Eynd Isolde Madsen. That honor surely belongs to another. Yet I will, once again, help you back upon solid ground,” his lip curled as a glint of amusement reached his eyes, “and see your mess cleaned up, as well.”
15
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epilogue: Sit Rep After Hell [ Day 03 | 2130 ]
Last post by TWilkins -
[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."



16
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epilogue: They That Shed Their Blood [Day 03 | 1800 ]
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ President Nanietta Bacco | Arboretum Terrace | Deck 21 | Vector 3 | USS Theurgy ] ATTN: @Brutus  @Nolan  @ob2lander961  @chXinya  @Dumedion  @Griff  @rae  @Stegro88  @Eirual  @RyeTanker  @tongieboi  @Pierce  @Tae  @Nesota Kynnovan  @Hans Applegate  @joshs1000  @P.C. Haring  @Krajin  @Eden  @TWilkins

The ceremony had a before and an after, and the after was where the real work happened. Bacco's formal role was done. The words were on record, broadcast across subspace to every listening ear in the quadrant. She knew several of those ears were currently convening emergency sessions. She had made her decision and was prepared to defend it. She stayed anyway.

An aide materialized at her elbow — silent, waiting until she turned. She turned. He offered a padd. She read the first two lines — Council reaction, Andorian bloc, procedural challenge already filed — and handed it back without finishing.

"After," she said.

He retreated. Garak, who had been standing four feet away and pretending not to hear any of it, said, "You're staying."

"Apparently."

"They'll notice."

Bacco glanced across the terrace. A young officer — lieutenant's pips, hadn't slept in a day and a half from the look of him — moved through the thinning crowd with his eyes fixed somewhere past all of it. He was heading toward the stairs down to the garden level. Not the exit. She didn't stop him.

"Stark did well," Garak said.

"She did." Bacco watched Commander Stark across the terrace, still upright, still present, fielding quiet words from officers who approached and retreated. Her face was composed. It was costing her. "She'll need real support. Not dispatches."

Garak said nothing. Which meant he agreed, or had already thought of it first. From somewhere below, in the garden, a sound reached them — muffled, quickly controlled. Someone who had held it together for as long as the setting demanded and then stopped. Bacco did not look over the railing.

An aide touched her arm. "Admiral Al-Tulan's flag bridge has acknowledged our position update. No change to patrol assignments."

"Good."

She moved along the railing, unhurried, letting the remaining crew navigate around her or approach as they chose. A petty officer — older, steady-eyed — caught her eye briefly and dipped his chin. She returned it. Nothing else was needed. At the far end of the terrace, partially visible through a gap in the dispersing crowd, a man stood just beyond the arboretum's threshold. Romulan. Arms clasped behind his back, gaze angled toward the floor. A pilot passed within arm's reach heading for the exit — dark eyes still carrying the gloss of recently wiped tears, spine deliberately straight. Bacco didn't reach out. She was a stranger here in every sense that mattered, and that woman's grief wasn't hers to manage.

"The speech will trend," Garak said, appearing at her left shoulder. "The line about carrying the Federation's voice through fire." He watched the crowd a moment. "Which is precisely why what comes next is going to be unpleasant."

She looked at him.

"You invoked executive authority that no sitting President has used in this capacity." His voice was mild, the way it always was when the content wasn't. "The Andorian bloc will call it unconstitutional before the day is out. The Vulcan delegation will demand a full procedural inquiry. Tellarite representatives will smell political blood and start drafting resolutions. And that's before the journalists finish writing their first round of commentary on what it means that a President pardoned a crew accused of treason without a Council vote." He clasped his hands behind his back. "You've given your opponents a very clean target, Nanietta."

"I know."

"You'll face sustained opposition. Not just in chambers — in the press, in the member worlds, from people who agree with everything you said and still object to how you said it."

"I know that too." Bacco turned back to the terrace, watching a young ensign stop in front of the memorial wall and stand there with her hands at her sides. "Elim. This isn't the first time I've walked into a room and done the thing that was going to cost me politically because it was the only thing that made sense."

"No," he agreed. "It isn't."

"Cardassia. The Dominion War accords. The Romulan Neutral Zone negotiations after Shinzon." She ticked them off without heat. "Every time, someone told me I'd overreached. Every time, the Council spent six months arguing about process while the situation finished resolving itself." She glanced at him sidelong. "We survived all of it."

"We did," Garak said. "Though I'd note that 'survived' covers a fairly wide range of outcomes."

"It does." She didn't smile, exactly, but something shifted at the corner of her mouth. "Start drafting the response framework. I want something in front of the Council within the week — full legal justification, precedent citations, and a proposed oversight structure that gives them enough procedural satisfaction to stop calling it unconstitutional in public."

"And if they don't stop?"

"Then they don't stop, and we make the argument somewhere louder." She looked back at the wall. The names from here were legible. So many of them. Each one had been someone's crewmate, someone's reason to keep doing the job. Her institution had spent over a year hunting this ship. The people who kept those names alive had died anyway, for something they never stopped believing in.

She thought of the Andorian bloc's challenge. She thought of Sankolov, somewhere out there, patient.

We have work to do.

But not yet. Stepping away too soon read as dismissal, and she had not come this far to dismiss anything. She folded her hands behind her back and stayed. Around her, the crew moved — people finding their way back to themselves after something large had passed through. The Theurgy hummed, scarred and stubborn, its air carrying the green of the arboretum below. Bacco watched, and waited.

FIN
17
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 3 | 0459 hrs.] Whose Room Is It, Anyway? (Redux)
Last post by rae -
[ Lt. Azrin Ryn | The sad remains of what used to be someone’s personal quarters | Deck ??? | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Dumedion
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Azrin had totally lost track of what she was doing, lost in thoughts that really weren’t thoughts at all. She came too with a start, the half dismantled bed frame tilting and nearly falling over as the support she was removing dropped to the ground. What was– there was something, something had just happened– she should focus on– a voice!

She spun around, an action that was much cooler in theory, since Azrin had forgotten that she was crouching, and whirling around in that position meant that she went the way of the bed frame support. That was how she found herself on the floor, looking up at Dr. Arven, who had reappeared like something out of a nightmare. Like he wasn’t annoying enough over the comms system. The best part about losing her PADD was that she wasn’t getting constantly bombarded with messages about her vitals.

Her vantage point provided one unexpected boon – she had a perfect view of him kicking a small pile of dismantled components while entering the room. Parts of the door mechanism.

“Hey!” she practically shouted, scrambling to her feet in a burst of energy. Her coordination was more successful this time, but the movements were still jerky, as though every step were a random impulse from her brain, lacking any fluidity of motion. “Watch where you’re going! Everything in here is. meticulously. Organized!” She even pointed a finger at him, just to drive home that he was the one at fault.

But throwing her arm out in front of her impacted her balance, and Azrin swayed, blinking a few times as her eyes lost focus. “Did sleep,” she mumbled, “Boring. Woke up. Work to do. Battle. Repairs.”

Without really thinking about it, Azrin reached out and grabbed the nearest thing off a shelf. She briefly wondered why there was a medical tricorder randomly sitting on a shelf in whatever room this was, then shrugged and started taking that apart too, dropping each piece to her feet as she removed it. “Why are you following me around anyway?” she asked, the words coming a bit clearer now as the task helped her focus. “My shoulder is fine, there must be people who actually need medical attention somewhere.”

Then her head jerked up towards him again, a thought making its way through as though she’d been struck by lightning. “This is your room?” Azrin asked, a new, manic light making its way into her eyes. She looked around with fascination, like she’d never seen the place before this very second. Then she continued, genuinely impressed, “Wow, it’s even messier than mine.”
18
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Specialist Hirek tr'Aimne | Main Sickbay | Biolab 2 | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion 

He followed at an unhurried pace, watching.

The nurse — Kitty, apparently — had intercepted Leux with a no-nonsense energy likely developed from working directly with Leux. Hirek observed the exchange with the neutral attention he gave most things: the doctor's jaw working, the calculation behind the eyes, the decision arriving not because the problem had resolved itself but because deferring it further cost more than deciding. The answer was delivered, the nurse dispatched, and Leux moved on without breaking stride.

Hirek fell into step behind him and said nothing, though something shifted briefly in his expression. He had told Leux, not ten minutes ago, that his own interpersonal skills were functional at best and required deliberate effort to deploy. He was now watching a man who communicated with his nursing staff primarily through sighs and the strategic deployment of "I don't care" tell him about the importance of finding the head nurse to coordinate with. It wasn't often that he came across someone with worse interpersonal skills than his own. Granted, what made his skills "bad" was a far cry different than, say, Leux, or a certain pilot who would remain unmentioned though clearly pictured and with scant clothing on in his mind's eye.

He did not share this observation as they entered the lab. The lab was utilitarian in the way that working spaces belonging to competent people always were — organized according to a logic entirely legible to its owner and nobody else. Hirek settled into the chair with the careful deliberateness of a man whose body had recently reminded him it was not indestructible, and watched Leux's fingers move across the console, redacting, sequencing, arranging the data into what could be shown and what had to wait.

Then Leux spun to face him with the question, and Hirek looked at him for a moment before answering.

"Animated." He repeated the word thoughtfully, as though testing its accuracy. "When you spend the better part of your life with an organization of considerable institutional patience and zero ethical restraint tracking your professional output, attending your family gatherings, and making note of everyone you've ever cared about as potential leverage — you learn fairly quickly that a genuine emotional response is a resource." He settled back fractionally. "Spent in the wrong room, in front of the wrong person, it costs someone else something they cannot get back. I have paid that tuition more than once. I stopped being generous with it."

He looked at the redacted screens without really seeing them.

"What I am better at — what most Romulans become better at, whether they choose to or not — is giving a room what it expects. The appropriate register. The correct amount of warmth or gravity or indignation. It is not deception, precisely." He paused. "It is more that the performance and the reality have simply been separated for long enough that one no longer assumes the other is present. Whether that changes with this new faction and its stated ambitions, I genuinely do not know. Culture is not legislation. You can rewrite the charter without rewriting what three centuries of institutional paranoia has built into the people."

He glanced at Leux.

"We keep secret names. Every Romulan. Not the name on the record, not even the name a spouse uses — a name that goes no further than the self, and sometimes not even to a spouse unless you are certain, at whatever level certainty actually reaches in a person, that the telling carries no risk." The corner of his mouth moved. "To an outsider, it is probably the most pointlessly guarded piece of information imaginable. To us, it is the part of yourself that your deepest motivations come from. The root of the thing, before the performance starts."

He raised his eyebrows.

"As for working register — what would you prefer from a collaborator on this case? I can manage peppy if the situation truly demands it, though I make no guarantees about the structural integrity of peppy under sustained clinical conditions." He smirked. "The sardonic humor, I should warn you, is essentially load-bearing at this point. Non-negotiable."

The door opened. Hirek turned. Ehfva Feynri stepped into the lab, and his expression shifted into something that was, for him, relatively warm — the particular quality of recognition he reserved for people he had stood next to while things were going badly and who had acquitted themselves well in the process.

"Ms. Feynri." He inclined his head. "I see you've managed to get the blood out of your fur since we last spoke. An improvement, though I admit the previous look had a certain — authority to it." The corner of his mouth curved. "Well done, on both counts."

He left it at that and turned his attention back to Leux, ready to proceed.
19
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0615] A Man's Purpose
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Corridor | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy ] @Stegro88

Cross looked at him for a moment after the confirmation landed. Not measuring it — Lorad's file had given him nothing to measure against suspicion, and Cross had no use for skepticism that wasn't grounded in evidence.

"Good," he said. He resumed walking toward the junction, hands clasped behind his back. "Your file supports what you've told me. There is no reason on record to expect otherwise, and I do not operate on hypotheticals." He turned the corner, Lorad keeping pace beside him. "You will report to Engineering as soon as you are cleared from your current assignment. I will have the transfer notation entered before end of shift — engineering primary, security secondary. That order of priority will be reflected officially."

He stopped at the turbolift. His hand went to the call panel.

"What I am going to tell you now is not a caveat to that order. It is a fact about the current state of this ship." He looked at Lorad directly. "We lost personnel in both departments at a rate I would not characterize as acceptable. Security is stretched. Engineering is stretched. At this moment those two departments are in direct competition for every available body, and that competition does not care what any of us have decided on paper." The turbolift doors opened. "Be prepared for that reality. Your orders are clear. The situation may not always be." Cross stepped into the turbolift. "Keep up the good work, Petty Officer."

The doors closed on the conversation, literally, as Cross headed back toward's the xo's office.
20
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S [Day 3 | 06:30] Wolves in the Den
Last post by Stegro88 -
[ Lt. JG Donna ‘Chance’ Petterson & Crewman Samala | Fighter Assault Bay | Deck 06 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Krajin
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It had taken Donna both time and effort to find the young woman, and even more of both to convince her to stop working on repairing the damage to her ship and allow Donna to express her thanks properly. The wolf had reviewed the combat data from the battle and come to the conclusion that she would have died had the Apache not arrived when it did. Thea had agreed, calculating that Donna had had an 87% chance of death, a 12.9% chance of successfully emergency teleporting but suffering serious, if not catastrophic injury and a less than 0.1% of teleporting with only minor injuries. So yeah, in Donna’s opinion, Samala had saved her life.

“I figured we could get some food first and then go for a walk around the FAB and I can show you a few of the things that we do here,” Donna suggested casually as they walked down the passage that ran beside the bay proper.

“Why?” Samala asked as she glanced out through the clear wall into the Bay proper and the fighters housed within. “I already have a ship I need to fix. And this isn’t my department.”

“Departments can change and I am not asking you to fix them,” Donna commented casually. “I’m wondering if you wanted to fly one.” Samala paused, looking out again at the parked craft as technicians worked over them. Behind her, she heard a door open and Donna walk through it and, after a few more moments of considering what the Human woman had said to her, she followed after her.

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