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Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 1 | 2100 hrs | The Charred Archive
Last post by Nesota Kynnovan -
[Lieutenant Dr. Nathan Frost, Ph.D. | Library and Research Room | Deck 15 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy]]
Attn: @Dumedion

Frost could heard a voice over the music, which was the first sign that he indeed wasn’t alone inside the Library and Research Room, and the music abruptly paused a moment later. The Canadian Immunologist didn’t really mind; while the music had a certain rhythm to it, he personally preferred jazz. To Frost, jazz and some of the Trill equivalents was much more soothing and that particular kind of music allowed his mind to wander while drinking. 

Just as the Acting Chief Science Officer began to rise back to his feet with his arms full of books, something suddenly scampered from around the corner. It startled Frost and he took a step back, still not fully risen, and felt how his heart rate instantly fastened and adrenaline began pumping through his veins; sending a cold shiver down his back in the moments before he identified that whoever -or whatever- had just charged at him as a woman wearing a Starfleet uniform. He saw how the black-haired Romulan began to pick up books as well while presenting him with a friendly smile, and as Frost fully rose to his feet he noticed the two pips on the blue collar of the woman’s uniform. He guessed that this was Lieutenant Vanya and, a brief moment later, he was proven right as the woman spoke up.

”Ah, miss Vanya.” As he spoke up, Frost’s Canadian-accented voice was uneasy and only further accentuated the uncomfortable smile on his face. Of all the possible ways this first meeting with the previous Chief Science Officer could have gone, he certainly hadn’t expected to be addressed as ‘cutie’ and ‘darling’ and it was rather obvious that it caught him completely off-guard. ”I’m Frost.” With his hands full of replicated books there was little he could do, let alone wave, so the Canadian Immunologist walked over towards the nearest research station and placed the books on top of the desk before turning around. ”Doctor Nathan Frost.” His hands now free, Frost raised his right hand in a somewhat uneasy wave.

While his intention had been to sternly talk to Vanya about the lack of supervision in the Science Department, it was much more difficult to remain stern while the woman was standing right in front of him. Especially if she smiled at him in such a friendly and disarming manner. Still uncomfortable and now not knowing what to do with his hands, Frost put them in the pockets of his black uniform trousers while he looked at the black-haired Romulan and thought of something to say. The brief silence that followed was equally uncomfortable, but how was he supposed to tell her that he’d come to replace her?

After several uncomfortable seconds, Frost cleared his throat and spoke up, deciding to just say it the way it was. ”I’m the… well, I’m the Acting Chief Science Officer.” A smile appeared on Frost’s face once more in an attempt to be friendly and disarming, but it only made him feel more awkward in the process. Regardless, the Canadian bravely battled on. ”I heard you’d been revived from stasis and I wanted to check up on you, see if you have everything you need.”

…that, and he came to check if he could unpack his boxes or if Vanya would take over from him again now that she was awake, but that was something he couldn’t really start with.
2
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 02 [0030 hrs] The Ready Room Catch up
Last post by Dumedion -
[LT Vanya | Ready Room | Deck 01 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Brutus

By the time Natalie reached her, Vanya had already moved forward a step, just past the threshold. That brief moment of time offered a plethora of informational observations: the stacks of PaDDs were noted, unsurprisingly — Nat had always pushed the limitations of what was considered by many to be a healthy and manageable workload. However, the shroud of exhaustion carried on Nat's features elicited a blink of surprise mixed with concern, as well as the obvious weight loss; Vanya estimated the former First Officer, now Acting Captain, had shed fifteen to twenty kilos since their last physical encounter.

Vanya kept these observations to herself, but let her smile fade just enough to convey concern as her arms closed around the shorter brunette in a long overdue embrace — one arm low, to support Nat’s weight, one arm high about the shoulders, fingers spread up into the hair at the base of the skull.

There they met, and there they remained; no words offered, only a hum of contentment and relief as the seconds turned into minutes. Vanya had no desire to relinquish contact — her nose was buried in Natalie’s semi-undone, tangled mess of hair — the entirety of her neck included in the embrace.

It felt wonderful.

Peaceful.

It felt like home — without ever knowing what that truly meant.

And yet, she could not ignore the rapid breaths, nor the desperately controlled tremors that coursed through the body in her arms...

Vanya let her nails tease the base of Nat’s scalp, then down the entirety of the humans neck; a soothing motion, intimate without sensuality, while she offered the faintest of whispers above a warm ear:

“I’m here, I have you. My sweet Nat, I missed you dearly. I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.” She could practically hear Natalie’s mind racing — which prompted a firm kiss to the temple. “I will explain everything, darling. But first,” Vanya pulled back, just enough to run her hand over a wonderfully flushed cheek, then continued under Nat’s delightfully cute chin, and lifted just enough for their eyes to meet. “An intervention is required.” She spoke gently, through a loving smile. A wink followed immediately.

The look on Natalie’s face was absolutely adorable.

“Oh yes. An intervention my dear. You see, by my reckoning, you,” Vanya booped Natalie’s nose, “are supposed to be several hours off-duty by this hour. Imagine my surprise to find you here, working instead. Oh nu,” she pouted. “That simply wont do at all,” another smile, impish and mischievous.

“So, first things first,” her free hand snaked up Natalie’s back and deftly untied the already loose scrunchie holding the tangled mop of hair up, which promptly fell about the shorter woman’s shoulders. Once that was accomplished, both hands rested on Nat’s shoulders, then circled across her collarbone as Vanya moved to stand behind her.

“It is perfectly acceptable to dress down while off-duty, Natalie, even for you, — especially when I'm around,” the synthetic whispered into an ear with a grin, as her hands unzipped Nat’s duty jacket, then gently pulled it back and away from her body with a hum of approval. With a toss, the garment was discarded to land atop the piles of PaDDs adorning the CO’s desk.

Vanya nodded her approval, then repeated the process upon herself, removing both lab coat and duty jacket in one action; she tossed these upon one of the twin chairs before the desk without concern.

“There, that's a little better,” she stated, hands on her hips, smile bright. “Now, you sit and relax. I will make you something to eat.”

She didn’t give Nat a chance to argue, nor would it have done any good if the woman tried; Vanya was there to take care of her — there was nothing to dispute about that fact —  and all this was communicated unashamedly in the light-hearted but serious look she gave the Acting Captain.

Then she smiled warmly once again.

“BLT, toasted, mayo on one side only? Steamed broccoli smothered in cheese, and apple slices, peanut butter on the side, — with chilled cucumber water,” Vanya offered from memory over her shoulder as she glided to the replicator, hips swaying.

Then she stopped without turning to see what Nat was doing.

“If you touch another PaDD, there will be consequences, miss,” the synthetic warned playfully, then typed out the order into the replicator with an amused smirk.
3
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 02 [0030 hrs] The Ready Room Catch up
Last post by Brutus -
[ Acting Captain Natalie Stark | Captain's Ready Room | V. 1 D. 1 | USS Theurgy ] ATTN: @Dumedion
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To say that things had been stressful would be an understatement. Leaning over the desk in the Captain's Ready room (she refused to think of it as her ready room, Natalie Stark Fingered the fourth pip that rested on her collar, placed there on the recommendation of the President of the Federation herself. Yes, Natalie understood it was a temporary commission. There was no way she should be the one to hold this rank long term. But she had it now. And it had been suggested, heavily, that she wear it for the duration. Hard to say no to the President of the Federation. Harder still when it was the same woman that had stood in this office and given her a hug.


So here she sat, in the Ready room, when she should be in her quarters, asleep. But there were still too many reports to go through, and she didn't want to bring the stack of PADD's back to her room. Not when she had this office to use. And the stack was getting smaller, slowly. Still too many reports to go through. They were piled atop each other, next to a mug of coffee (decaf, at this point in the night - no, morning) that had long gone cold. She frowned as she read an update on, of all things, a vole hunt, and shook her head. Compared to everything this crew had been forced to deal with over the months since Jupiter Station, Natalie supposed that seeing a report on something so minor was something of a blessing.


It was certainly more lighthearted and welcome than the responses she was getting from the starbase command, or Starfleet in general. All those carefully worded replies, the apologies for unforeseeable delays, unavoidable complications. Things she had been prepared for. No outright hostility yet. Just...passive aggressive complications coated in a layer of polite behavior above outright reproach. And even that was preferable to medical updates, which she'd not yet been able to bring herself to check, out of fear of what would, or more likely, would not be there. Of the presumed lack of status change in one particular officer.


Something she could not allow herself to dwell on, or she'd break down. Again.


Instead she reached for a report on the Qo'noS mission. The need to send officers back, knowing that everyone from the team sent would be under polite (intense) scrutiny from fellow officers dispatched from elsewhere within the Federation. And there was less goodwill from the High Command to go around at the moment, though Natalie favored herself in thinking that despite it all, Chancellor Martok still favored the Theurgy more than he did the rest of the Federation at this point. Even with everything related to the Romulans at The Triangle, and after.


There was that report to look at too, more missions into Romulan space, and a general political update to review. She set the PADD back down and reached for the coffee, only to spit it back out into the cup as a wave of disgust flashed over her tired face. "Damn. It's gone cold. Again," she lamented, holding the cold mug in her hands, and pushing her chair back from the desk. With a sigh, Natalie closed her eyes for a moment and took a long breath to settle herself.


Which was, of course, when the door-chime went off. For a moment Natalie wanted to pretend that she was not there. That she had not heard the chime. But that was a level of irresponsible she would not allow of herself any more. When she had been merely Lt. Stark, Assistant Chief of Operations, she might have succumbed to the urge. Then again, when she had been Lt. Stark, the odds of something like this happening at this late an hour would be slim to none. But she was not Lt. Stark. And she was not an Assistant department Chief. She was, for the time being, Acting Captain Stark. And Captains (even acting ones) did not get to ignore a door chime. Despite all the authority that they possessed.


"Enter," Natalie called out, hoping she kept any irritation or fatigue from her voice. She opened her eyes in time to look up to the parting doors, and stare, dumbfounded at the site. For one short instant, she wondered if she had gone off her rocker. And then the apparitions spoke, and Natalie dropped the mug she had been holding onto the floor with a loud clatter, splashing the cold coffee over the carpet beneath the desk.


"Shit!" the escaped her mouth, and then her brain caught up with it all and the spilt coffee was forgotten. Decorum, was forgotten. Rank, right out the airlock. She nearly smashed her thigh into the corner of the desk as she scrambled around it, hopping to one side at the last moment. In a feat of improbable human athletics, Nat crossed the room, reaching over the threshold and grabbing Vanya's tunic with both hands. Of course, if the Android did not want to allow Natalie to move her, there would be no moving Vanya. But that didn't stop Natalie from trying to drag her across the threshold and into her arms all the same.
4
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 | 2200 hrs | The hunt is on
Last post by Nesota Kynnovan -
[Ensign Jaya Thorne | Forward Landing Strut Bay | Deck 30 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy]
Attn: @Eirual @Pierce @Dumedion

The catwalk was bent and twisted, making the crossing not only much more scary but also quite dangerous. Ensign Jaya Thorne had just made it to the other end, albeit with somewhat wobbly knees, when a voice suddenly called out. While Jaya didn’t recognise the voice, which was feminine and actually quite pleasant to listen to, the person apologized for her tardiness and proposed a new strategy. As the Assistant Chief CONN Officer listened to the idea, she looked down at the state of her uniform; the damaged catwalk had torn several gashes into the black fabric of her uniform pants and, through the gashes, the smooth skin of her bare legs could be seen. That alone was enough to convince Jaya to place her trust in the unknown woman, as the proposed strategy seemed a lot better than what they had going on at the moment.

One downside of that strategy, which Jaya bitterly realized as she turned around and was faced with the daunting task of crossing the catwalk one more, was that she’d crossed the catwalk for nothing. If the woman had spoken up a couple of minutes earlier, the Assistant Chief CONN Officer wouldn’t have crossed it in the first place. A deep sigh, full of annoyance and frustration, escaped Jaya’s lips as she slowly began to cross the catwalk with wobbly knees once more. ”This is just great…”

By the time Jaya made it back to where she started, she’d snagged her pants on the catwalk once more and further soured her already dour mood. It was there, at the top of the Jefferies Tube, where the Denevan Ensign finally met up with her team members and was immediately treated to the sight of an equally dour blonde-haired Scientist who had snagged her own uniform in various different places. In response to the woman, Jaya just shrugged and spoke up on a tone that only accentuated her smirk while gesturing at her own uniform. ”Tearing uniforms is what I do best.”

With those words, the three Starfleet Officers began to make their way to the turbolift. It occurred to Jaya once more that this entire expedition to the lower decks had been a complete waste of time; if she’d waited for Lieutenant Junior Grade Ashley Kerina in the Upper Gymnasium, she could have taken a nap and relaxed instead. Thus, when the blonde-haired woman spoke up once more, Jaya nodded in agreement. ”I don’t know who contacted us, but her idea definitely beats what we’ve been doing thus far.”

[Physics Lab | Deck 17 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy]

Several minutes later, Jaya walked through the doors leading to the Physics Lab; followed closely by Mia and Ashley. The Denevan’s mood had improved a little since then, as she’d been introduced to the two Scientists and they had a pretty good, albeit sarcastic, laugh regarding what they’d been through thus far. Between the three of them, Mia’s uniform had definitely been through the worst; compared to the blonde-haired woman, Jaya’s black uniform trousers only had several gashes, the red-coloured undershirt had a gash in the side of the right sleeve and she was missing her uniform coat, which she’d forgotten somewhere in the Jefferies Tube.

As the three Starfleet Officers walked into the Physics Lab, Jaya spoke up on a friendly tone of voice that only accentuated the signature smirk on her face. ”Hello, housekeeping!”
5
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations
Last post by Nesota Kynnovan -
[Ensign Jaya Thorne | Docking Ring Two, Halkar Anchorage]
Attn: @Ellen Fitz, @Krajin, @Hans Applegate, @Eirual & pertinent writers

Jaya realized that her mood improved considerably after she disembarked from the Merchant’s Folly. As she stood there, tasting the familiar stale air and listening to the muttered curses of the gantry crew somewhere below them, the Halkar Anchorage felt not only like a trip down memory lane, but also strangely… familiar. While several years had passed since the Denevan had last visited anchorages like these, both as a smuggler, a freighter pilot and a little bit of both during the rowdy years of the Dominion War, Halkar Anchorage made Jaya feel like she’d never truly left that part of her life behind.

As Lieutenant Commander Cross briefed them on what was expected of them and the dangers of their mission, Jaya focused on the Chief Tactical Officer. While she listened to the Vulcan, the Denevan heard how a member of the gantry crew below them dropped a can of penetrating oil used for maintenance work. She could hear a metallic clang as the canister fell onto the metallic surface of the deck, followed by a loud curse as the canister apparently broke on impact and spilled its contents. Just a fraction of a second later, Jaya could hear a softer thud followed by loud laughter, prompting the Assistant Chief CONN Officer to believe that someone had slipped in the puddle of penetrating oil; much to the amusement of the gantry crew. It was such a common occurrence that Jaya could clearly visualize it and, as the gantry crew laughed, she couldn’t help but grin as well.

When the meeting ended and the various members of their little team began to disperse, Jaya couldn’t help but look around. While the Lieutenant Commander had told them about the subdermal implant and the civilian-grade weapons he’d passed around, which she’d checked properly before concealing it within one of the pockets of her dark brown cargo pants, her limited attention span had led to Jaya missing the part where Cross explained where she was supposed to go. With people heading off in various different directions however, Jaya shrugged and decided to follow the one person she recognized; Ensign Mia Dunne. She’d met the blonde-haired Scientist during the vole hunt two days earlier and, given how shared adversity breeds instant chemistry, Jaya had taken a liking to the woman.

Thus, she now followed Mia from a distance as the woman began to walk away with a Bajoran.

[Docking Ring Three, Halkor Anchorage]

As they made their way across the bulkhead of a corridor, with the floor to their left-hand side and the ceiling to their right-hand side, Jaya couldn’t help but chuckle as she watched Mia and the Bajoran woman. While the Assistant Chief CONN Officer didn’t knew the Bajoran, it was fairly obvious to Jaya’s more experienced eye that the two women who were walking in front of her weren’t part of the crowd usually found aboard these kinds of Space Stations.

When they finally came to a stop in front of the first stop, Jaya decided to walk up on them with her usual signature grin on her face. ”Want to bet that they’ll try to sell us a vole?” As she spoke, Jaya placed her left hand on Mia’s right shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. ”I think I’ll stick with you two boffins if you don’t mind.”
6
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 1 | 2100 hrs | The Charred Archive
Last post by Dumedion -
[LT Vanya | Research Library | Deck 15 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Nesota Kynnovan

The library had seen better days, although it had endured the battle without direct damage. Blown out EPS conduits, and the scorch marks they left behind, dotted the walls. More than a few shelves had been emptied of PaDDs —  more than one stasis field had shorted out, or lost power completely —  it was difficult to say for sure which. Likely both. Still, the data-cores remained undamaged, and in working order, once power had been rerouted. With her own memory engrams filled with gaps like Swiss cheese, Vanya valued the information stored here and in Thea herself more than ever.

So, she set about tidying it up; however, that inevitably led to reading, which…led to more reading. Information absorption was one thing, a need that all sentient beings possessed, whether they realized it or not; as a cybernetic organism — developed to be weaponized against the Tal Shiar’s enemies, no less — Vanya was more curious than most.

Knowledge was power, so the old saying went.

The music was an addition requested simply to fill the silence on a whim; Vanya didn’t really require more distraction but also didn’t particularly possess the endurance to subject her auditory receptors to the subtle, low-range harmonics of the ship’s powered down warp core. While some might have found it relaxing, or, at the least, ignorable — it was the absence of the usually vibrant hum that she disliked.

And so, the music played.

Vanya read, cleaned, and read some more.

The interesting bit about random track play was that Vanya hadn’t selected a genre, or time, or even species-specific performances; she’d asked Thea for music, completely randomized from the AI’s considerable databank...

Enter: “Smooth Criminal”

“Oh my,” Vanya grinned. She froze, legs slightly bent, hands raised – waiting. She didn’t move until the performer’s iconic “OW!” set the whole thing off: shoulders popped inward with the beat as her legs wiggled, one hand out, fingers splayed except the pinky and thumb. She stepped off, in beat, one long leg kicked out rapidly as her hand spun about.

Then she sang along after a rapid, full 360 spin:

“As he came into the window - It was a sound of a crescendo,
He came into her apartment - He left the bloodstains on the carpet,
She ran underneath the table - He could see she was unable
So she ran into the bedroom - She was struck down, it was her doom,”

Her step increased during the chorus; rapid flutters moving inward and out again, as her shoulders rotated and arms waved slowly next to her body. She’d seen the ancient holovid footage of the dance choreography and was delighted to discover that she remembered it all without flaw.

Her favorite part was the leaning; it was difficult to do, even without the heels she currently had on. Of course, she’d much rather go barefoot, but there had been concerns brought up about certain dress codes and regulations – blah blah blah – so of course, Vanya played along.

Her dance completed with another signature “OW!”, after her arm snapped up like a gun, legs bent, like she was leaning on the toes of one booted foot; a particularly marvelous few minutes spent for entertainment. She set about reading once more, humming along, without missing a beat.

Then a voice rose over the beat, as the song inevitably faded to a close.

“Pause music please,” Vanya pouted in the silence that reigned, hands on her hips as she slowly turned, searching for the speaker. She watched his head appear from the other side of a bookcase as he bent to retrieve something from the deck; human male, thin, with an unruly tangle of dark hair – attractive, but obviously uncomfortable. That last observation seemed to be a staple for the entire species; she still hadn’t discovered why – the reasons tended to vary moment to moment.

Unidentified humanoid – initiate data collection immediately.

“Ooh, new person!” The synthetic’s eyes widened with excitement as soon as she met his gaze, then she proceeded to quickly scamper towards him with absolutely no warning at all, to assist with the broken pieces scattered across the floor with a warm friendly smile. The entire motion took less time than he had to straiten back up.

She flashed him her friendliest smile.

“Hello there, cutie. I’m Vanya; what’s your name? Are you new? Well, your new to me,” she giggled, “you must tell me all about you darling – who you are, what you do, everything.”
7
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0255] The Cost of Continuity
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Deck 01 | Executive Officer's Office | USS Theurgy ] @P.C. Haring

Cross had settled himself behind the desk again, though the distinction between sitting and actually settling was becoming increasingly academic. There was always another report. Another personnel request. Another problem that had apparently decided the Theurgy was the most convenient place in the quadrant to become someone else's responsibility. And in the case of Hathev standing there, it was also to keep space between them. She'd come to him in an offical capacity and he did not want to violate that for either of them by giving in to any physical desires for affection.

Hathev's request, however, stopped him. His pale eyes lifted from the PADD in front of him and fixed on her.

"Intelligence."

He repeated the word quietly, not because he had failed to understand it, but because he was considering it.

Of all the things Hathev might have requested, it was not the one he had expected. She was capable, certainly. More than capable. Her particular talents had proven useful often enough that Cross had stopped thinking of them as exceptional and simply begun accounting for them whenever a situation became complicated. Which, given their lives, was frequently.

He leaned back slightly in the chair, studying her expression. There was hesitation there. Subtle enough that most people would miss it. Cross did not.

"You've already spoken with Pierce?" The question was rhetorical, and he knew it. Hathev had said as much. Still, there was something reassuringly methodical about confirming the obvious. His prosthetic fingers tapped once against the arm of the chair. "Then I assume this isn't an impulsive decision."

A faint pause followed. His mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

"That would have been concerning."

Cross looked away briefly, toward the viewport. Beyond it, the stars remained indifferent to their recent victory, their losses, their political rehabilitation, and whatever new disaster was undoubtedly waiting for them just beyond sensor range.

They were back. Officially. The thought should have been comforting. Instead, Cross found it deeply suspicious.

"For months," he said at last, "we survived because we had information that Starfleet either did not possess... or did not want to acknowledge." His gaze returned to Hathev. "The Infested operated in shadows, within institutions that were supposed to protect the Federation. We learned rather painfully what happens when you assume the people providing you with information are necessarily on your side." His jaw tightened. "And now we're back within the Federation. But I fail to see how that makes intelligence gathering less important."

If anything, it made it more important. They had spent too long outside the system looking in. Now they were being invited—or perhaps permitted—back inside it. There would be new alliances, political expectations, old enemies with newly legitimate uniforms, and people who had spent months deciding precisely what the crew of the Theurgy represented.

Heroes.

Traitors.

Embarrassments.

Assets.

The labels would depend entirely upon who was speaking.

Cross folded his hands on the desk. "We have no idea what we're going to encounter next. Being officially welcomed back into the Federation doesn't mean we're suddenly operating in a safer environment. It means the environment has become more complicated." His expression hardened slightly. "And complicated situations have a tendency to become dangerous before anyone bothers informing the Executive Officer, or in my case, the ACTING XO." That earned the faintest trace of dry irritation in his voice. "We are going to need every advantage we can get if we're going to stay ahead of whatever comes next.  Your experience, your analytical capabilities, and your... particular ability to notice things others overlook would be valuable to Intelligence." Cross's eyes narrowed just slightly. "Especially now."

He picked up the PADD on his desk and activated it. "Consider this your authorization." His gaze remained on hers. "You have permission to pursue the joint duty assignment with Lieutenant Commander Pierce and Intelligence. Coordinate the details of your responsibilities with her, but I expect your primary duties not to suffer as a consequence. Though, knowing you, I'm reasonably confident Pierce will be the one complaining that you're doing too much."
8
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 02 [ 1015 hrs ] Calcium Deficiency
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Corpsman Ehfva Feynri | Lab Four | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] @TWilkins

He had come off the far side of the plinth. His hands were on the console now, spread flat, and she doubted he knew they were there. Whatever fence he had built after she took his wrists, he had walked straight through it without noticing, and she filed that away with the rest: he was not fragile, he was fenced. Different construction entirely. She had been reading bodies for ninety-two years and she had still gotten his wrong within four minutes of meeting him.

Among the Okashii Atama you took a patient's hands without discussion, because discussion was slower than helping. Ninety-two years, and she was still handing people buckets they had not asked for. She would ask next time. That was cheaper than an apology and considerably more use to him.

"Bohrium," she said, and let it sit in her mouth a moment. "There may be a hundred loose atoms of it between here and the Beta Quadrant, and every one of them will be gone before you finish saying the word. If you fed it to your creature you would only kill it faster."

She stood, and put her boot against the chair, and rolled it across the deck plating toward him so that it arrived on its own and nothing of hers had to come within reach.

"Sit down, if you like. You have been at attention since the corridor." She took a deep breath, catching the lingering scent of his earlier anger. “I will not approach.”

She turned back to the display and pulled the internal scan up, rotating it until the second lesion sat center-screen. Her hand went to her hair, tucked it behind the ear, and the hair came loose again before she had finished the gesture. This shape had never cooperated on that point.

"Strontium is the element you were reaching for. Group two, one row below calcium. It deposits into skeletal matrix in a dozen species. If the problem were only the material, strontium is where I would begin,” she angled a look at him and gave a respectful nod, “and you would have found it yourself if you’d been looking at the chart, no doubt." He could take the compliment or leave it; she did not intend to dress it up. "The problem is not the material."

The pointer moved up the throat, to the pale seam of cauterized tissue.

"This is the regulator. It tells the body where to put what it drinks and when to stop putting it there. The Savi took a very small knife to it and were very careful about where they set the blade. Pour strontium down that animal's throat until the tank runs dry and it will sit in the gut doing nothing at all. It would starve with a full stomach."

Potato had rolled itself upright while she spoke and now sat facing the display, head canted, its enormous eyes tracking the rotation of the scan.

"You may ask me next whether we can put the regulator back. The answer is no. Eight centimeters separate the two lesions. Repair one and you are working within a hand's width of the other, and the other is the trigger for the fangs, I know that much as least from the incident report. I will not hand that back to it; three bulkheads from a hundred people."

She reached over and tapped the plinth's edge control twice, dropping the field to its lowest cycle. The creature lifted one paw and tapped the inside of the field. Twice. Ehfva did not remark on it. She logged the time, the sequence, and the interval by hand on her PADD rather than dictating them, and decided she would think about what that meant later.

"There is a third road, Ensign. You stop trying to repair the animal and you replace the function beside it."

She unfastened her collar and drew it down two centimeters. Below the notch of the collarbone, riding the muscle, sat a raised surgical line no longer than a thumb. They’d left it like that for easy access should repairs be required later on.

"Arven put a device in me. My forms did not come back because he mended what the Savi cut. It cannot be mended. The bioengineer, Hirek tr’Aimne, built me something that does the work the cut part used to do, and now I have my shapes again." She refastened the collar. "It requires recharging before I can shift to other forms, meaning I can’t shift as readily as I used to, but at least I can shift."

She let it go at that and turned back to the analyzer.

"A regulatory shunt is a smaller problem than a genome. It has to sit somewhere the creature cannot reach with its own mouth, which, given that mouth, is a genuine engineering constraint, and it has to be calibrated against a metabolism no one in the Federation has troubled to chart. Eight weeks is enough time to chart it and devise the shunt, though I will need to request support from Specialist tr’Aimne in that area. I do not intend to lie to you. This may not work."

Potato tapped the field again. Once. Then it lay down flat with its paws tucked beneath its chin and watched the pair of them with an expression that could have meant absolutely anything.
9
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [ 0800 hrs ] Maybe By Next Tuesday
Last post by joshs1000 -
[CPO Avandar Lok | Flight Deck | Fighter Assault Bay | Deck 16 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Ellen Fitz @Hans Applegate @Brutus @Dumedion @Eirual
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It was a beautiful sight, clean, spotless, everything aligned, even the lighting was just right. Lok beamed to himself, hands resting on his hips as he observed the repaired fighter bay, back up to a Starfleet standard that the Ferasan was familiar with. Something caught the corner of his eye. What was this? A wrench out of place? He picked up the polished chrome tool and examined it. A standard issue Starfleet Mark One 60 centimeter pipe wrench, made the same way for over 200 years now. Lok racked his brain as to why this tool was carelessly left out on a portable workbench, disrupting the surgical line of tools upon its polished clean top. It would come to him eventually.

The flight deck was mostly empty at this point, in both crew and spacecraft. The only crew present were there to conduct the required daily inspections of the remaining eight fighters or simply keep the place sparkling. The rest were off-duty either back in their quarters, elsewhere on the ship, or even on the station, though he had heard of hostility towards several Theurgy crewmembers. None towards his guys yet, but he knew they knew he would take care of any such “bullies”.

Still enjoying his cleaned up deck, Lok’s ears perked up at the arrival of a large group of echoing footsteps and boisterous conversation. He turned to see who it was and spotted the five entrants in Starfleet uniforms with white shirts. Pilots. Lok was about to turn back around and ignore them when he realized he didn’t recognize any of them and had been told directly by Janus that for the moment they wouldn’t have any new pilots for a little bit. Granted Janus could have been wrong, these could have been replacements sent to reform the devastated Wolves. However, the direction they were walking and the fact they didn’t seem particularly interested in talking to him or even looking at the row of dormant fighters made him curious.

He watched the group continue on a straight line directly into the starboard maintenance bay. Where they kept the Reaver fighter from the future ship. An explicitly off limits vessel - THAT ONE OF THEM WAS CLIMBING ON!

“Hey! You there, clear off that and get on this deck!” Lok shouted, his voice boomed in the cavernous bay.

The group of pilots turned around in surprise but their grimaces and hostile eyes showed clear annoyance. The one who had started to climb onto the Reaver took his time getting down while Lok stomped his way across the flight deck.

“Now now Crewman, we have permission to be here from Commander Vance,” responded the apparent leader of the group, a human lieutenant, “I was told to inspect this thing then fly it to the Station.”

“That’s Chief to you and nothing leaves my deck without my say so - sir,” the ‘sir’ was so bolted on as to be considered an afterthought.

“Look -  Chief - I’m ordering you to spot this spacecraft immediately, I’m flying it out of here.”

“I have no prior authorization from Flight Ops for this craft to leave, it stays, sir.”

“Are you disobeying my orders?”

“No sir, I simply cannot allow you to touch this craft without prior authorization from my superiors.”

“I’m giving you the order now, and you will do it or I will confine you and find somebody on this rotten tub that can.”

By this point the two had closed the distance, the little posse of pilots seemed to be backing up their human leader, though Lok noted how the rest were all rather young ensigns. No doubt followers seeking his approval.

“I’m sorry sir, can’t help you.”

The Lieutenant laughed in exasperation, “You people really are something else, steal a ship, go on a killing spree, and the President gives you a pardon and some bullshit about worms or some shit taking over the Federation.You should be in prison for the rest of your lives hauling garbage!”

Lok felt his hands grip and heat building in his ears as his eyes narrowed. The Lieutenant shook his head.

“You know what, we can get it ourselves, stay out of our way.”

The Lieutenant turned to leave and started issuing orders for his little posse to spot the Reaver, while Lok doubted they could actually do it easily, considering they were only pilots, he could just have contacted Commanders Stark or Cross for help, he none the less made the most reckless decision in what would spiral into a rapid sequence of bad decisions.

“You aren’t doing shit!” Lok growled and grabbed the shoulder of the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant whipped around and attempted to remove Lok’s hand to which Lok attempted to forcefully stop. With the small scuffle starting to intensify the other pilots turned around and started to rush over and help. The Lieutenant, upon getting his right hand free, swung and struck Lok in the neck which, from the surprise, made the  large ferasan let go and take a step back. However the Lieutenant did not have much time to do or say anything else as Lok almost autonomically swung with the full force his massive furred arm could muster. There was a dull crack of something striking flesh, the Lieutenant crumpled into a heap on the floor.

Lok took a step forward to say something, his heart pounding, his breathing intensified, but stopped at the sight of blood dripping from the side of the lieutenant’s head onto the steel deck. A gnarly gash ran along the left side of the human’s head above the ear. Lok looked down at his right hand firmly gripping the chrome handle of that Starfleet Mark One 60 centimeter pipe wrench with blood on the jaws. His stomach dropped as he realized what he had done.

“Shit.” He mumbled as he squatted down to make sure the guy was still alive and was relieved somewhat to feel a pulse.

He tapped his badge, [Medical team to the Fighter Bay on the double. We have an emergency.]

[LT CMDR Thaaryn Tyr | Turbolift A | Deck 7 | Starbase 234]
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The turbolift music was cloying, something inoffensive to help cover the whirring noise of the lift as it made its journey through the station. Starfleet had started adding music to its turbolifts recently, the Judge Advocate’s Building on Earth was absolutely lousy with the noxious sound, and Thaaryn utterly hated it. It intruded on his thoughts, stymied his ideas, and derailed his concentration. Some of his best work was born out of a long quiet turbolift ride. However, he couldn’t let something like insufferably unobtrusive music distract him from what he was here to do, represent the vessel and crew of the Starship Theurgy.

He was no fool, he had seen the FNN coverage of the whole affair, from the dramatic escape from Earth to the President personally pardoning them for everything they had done. They were lauded as both traitors and heroes, their actions had sent ripples through Starfleet that could almost be considered to have caused a civil war in its ranks. Were you for or against Theurgy? Thaaryn, as usual, played his cards close to his chest, never revealing his true thoughts on the whole thing, frankly he had other things to worry about and thus it truly never entered his mind. That was at least until minutes after the live pardoning of the crew when he got a subspace message from an Admiral Anderson requesting Thaaryn represent Theurgy from the inevitable legal issues as well as the metaphorical and literal dissection of the ship and its crew. When Thaaryn asked why him specifically, Anderson revealed that he was impressed with his work during the War Crimes Tribunal and the zeal and thoroughness with which he worked as a defender for what on its face was a rather hopeless case. Despite the little voice in the back of his head telling him not to touch Theurgy with a ten meter pole, Thaaryn accepted.

He had to work fast though, Anderson indicated that it was likely the ship was to be torn apart for the advanced tech that it had acquired almost immediately and that there was a good chance the crew might be split up. Further several Federation councillors were urging their homeworlds to initiate their own prosecutions. It took him the better part of a day to gather the relevant case files. Starfleet v. Kirk et al was the primary basis for his case to protect the crew, though that required that this supposed Infested threat was actually provably real, the rest involved several other legal cases, a few less known Starfleet directives, and other precedents that would, if not clear everything up right away, at least stall things long enough that a more robust defense could be made. Of course nothing was guaranteed, a fact that Thaaryn found rather exhilarating as he poured through case files and everything Anderson had provided him on Theurgy and her most prominent crew.

The turbolift doors slid open onto the noisy docking ring. Theurgy had become the nucleus for just about all Starfleet activity on Starbase 234. As Thaaryn walked past pallets of equipment, hoping he was not too late and something important and engineery hadn’t been ripped out yet. He looked for someone who he guessed was not a member of Theurgy’s crew. He spotted a familiar face, Commander Stark, if his recollection of the dossiers that Anderson had provided was correct, but she would need to wait, first he needed to stop the work being carried out on the ship. At least for the moment.

He spotted a group of officers and crew loitering around the docking port and briskly walked that way. The group noticed him as he approached, as he did stand out a bit among Starfleet officers, he was Orion for one, he also had a tall imposing build, and finally his uniform, while standard, included a tailored version of the Starfleet overcoat, black leather gloves, non-regulation boots, and an attache case. His handsome features were well groomed with his hair tied back into a top knot.

“Who is in charge here,” Thaaryn demanded as he approached.

One of the group looked surprised and hesitant at first as she realized she was in charge of this location, but was not ready to deal with whatever headache this Orion was bringing. She gestured towards the docking port with her thumb and replied, “Commander Vance, he just went on board. Do you need help?”

“Thank you, and no, carry on.”

He strolled through the scanner, noting its oddness over other security scanners, a perfect metaphor for the ship itself, odd.

“Computer,” he asked directly, “locate Commander Vance.”

“Lieutenant Commander Vance is located near the Lower Science Labs on Deck 17.”

Another turbolift down, thankfully with no music, and Thaaryn was there. He turned a corner and could see the group of Starfleet personnel with various cases and equipment standing by the open labs.

While the law was the law, everything he had on paper was legitimate, in times like these a little showmanship was required. To bombard your opponent with so much data they felt overwhelmed, it bought perhaps a little extra time on top of the extra time he had from what he carried in his briefcase, while they sorted through the tsunami of information handed to them.

“Excuse me, Commander, I’m going to need you to stop everything you are doing!”

Thaaryn made his presence known as he powered down the corridor, opening his briefcase along the way in a practiced motion and extracted a PADD. The PADD, which contained Theurgy’s newest “get out of jail free” card was then shoved into Vance’s hands whether the officer was prepared or not. Before he could respond though the bombardment began.

“Commander, as of this moment you hold a stay order in your hand that stops all removal of equipment, artifacts, or biomatter of a sensitive or foreign nature from the Starship Theurgy immediately as well as returns anything that has already been removed. This order, requested by one Admiral Anderson and countersigned by the sector command Judge Advocate as well as the Judge Advocate General herself is at this moment landing on the desks of your commander, the sector commander, the fleet commander, and the specified offices of Starfleet Command, including the C-in-C. Per, Starfleet Regulation 102c and Starfleet General Order 448 or The Voyager Directive, all foreign technologies, artifacts, and biological materials both alien, dimensional, and temporal aboard a Starfleet vessel must not be removed from said vessel until said items have been properly examined and catalogued by qualified personnel. Further, as stated in Regulation 102c it is the right of any member of Starfleet to disregard any order that would constitute, in their view, a danger to their health or life in a situation that does not threaten the safety of the ship.”

Not finished, Thaaryn reached back into his briefcase and extracted an old book, the cover of which featured the stylized silhouette of the Constitution Class Starship circa mid 23rd century, and an old version of the Starfleet Delta with the title Starfleet Operations Manual Volume II Edition 2246.09. Thaaryn shoved the book into Vance’s hands as well.

“On top of that, I noticed that none of your crew are wearing lift-belts, a violation of Safety Code 13 Paragraph 5, I bookmarked it for you. This is one of the oldest worker safety rules we have in Starfleet, as you can see, and I would be remiss if I learned that a member of Starfleet was injured due to negligence on the part of their superior officer.”

“Could really stall a promising career.”

Thaaryn let that last sentence hang as he closed his briefcase and waited patiently with a polite smile while his eyes watched the officer intently. This was the end of the bombardment, for now.


OOC Notes:
-The fight with Lok is basically over and while the Lieutenant isn't dead hes hurt pretty bad and will need rapid help.

-While Thaaryn may have stopped Commander Vance and those with him with his boisterous entrance, until a call is made, the other Starbase teams will be en route to make everyone's lives annoying.
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Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [2100hrs] When All is Stretched Thin
Last post by Dumedion -
[Ens. Talia "Shadow" Al-Ibrahim | Private Transport, Submerged | Barrier Reef, Uuluma Chain | Romulus] Attn: @Ellen Fitz

Hirek’s warning earned the softest of chuckles and a smile; small miracles, given the rapid deterioration of the situation. The hull groaned again, and the water had steadily risen, but Talia stood there anyway, trying and failing to find a way to deactivate the emergency beacon, gloved fingers tapping across one forearm-mounted PaDD. Her eyes rose to meet his after he'd pulled back. The pilot tilted her head up and to the side at him, lips still curled, despite everything going on around them.

Darling had slipped without remorse or regret — her feelings were what they were and there was nothing either of them could do for it. As pet names went, it was a rather generic term of affection, for humans at least; Talia had given Hirek another name since the first time they’d met. In her mind and heart, it would always hold more intimate value, but that was beside the point. She realized what he had done, and what he had said — by noting what remained unsaid.

“Mhm," she hummed, "I might do it anyway just to watch you squirm,” she teased back. “Just know that you'll always be Pretty-Eyes to me, and there’s nothing you can do about it — but if you’re so concerned about what I call you, in public or otherwise, then I wont use it again,” a pause to lift her chin, the smile spreading wider. “Unless you ask me to.”

A chime from her arm sounded; Talia swore at it.

“There’s no override for the beacon. I can’t disable it, which means as soon as I hit that water we’re fucked,” a hand raked the hair from her face, mind and mouth racing. “Listen, I’ll lure them away, and when your people arrive —”

‘Turn around.’

Talia’s mouth worked silently for a few heartbeats, then she surrendered, knowing what he was about to attempt; the curtain of damp, black hair pulled aside over the front of a shoulder mid-turn to expose her back and neck.

“Its just below the thruster assembly. The seal runs parallel to the spinal actuators, marked with hazard stripes. See it?”

She heard him hiss something, then felt the softest of clicks through the layers of the exosuit. She tried not to look at the darkness beyond the canopy, or the water climbing its way up her legs. A glance back at Hirek revealed the Romulan holding a wrench.

‘You’ll want to hold still. I’ve been told my percussive maintenance lacks finesse.’

Talia braced herself and nodded. “Careful, please,” she added. The first whack made her grimace, mostly due to the noise. By the third, her reaction reduced to blinks. By the sixth, she was ready to stop him before he inadvertently damaged something more vital — but the strikes hadnt slowed, and Hirek showed no signs of stopping as he spoke, until he finally succeeded.

A quick glance at the suit’s systems display confirmed it; the emergency beacon was offline.
Talia huffed a quiet chuckle of amusement, both for his dogged determination and commentary.

“Noted, and accepted,” she whispered, as Hirek’s lips pressed against the skin of her neck. A deep breath followed the brief contact, eyes closed of their own accord; nothing like enough, but more than she ever realized was needed. “I recall consent being an issue before; for the record — you have it, officially,” was added, thrown into the limited space between them to settle nowhere in particular; just another statement jettisoned in the moment in case there wasn’t another opportunity to do so.

He moved away to flood the compartment.

Talia readied herself mentally for what was to come, focused on Hirek’s voice. She didn’t argue, didn’t interrupt; there was no time, even if she wanted to — which she did. It didn’t matter. The fear, the anxiety, the absurd irony — all of it was pushed down and away, to be dealt with later, if there even was a later.

She forced herself to match Hirek’s breathing instead, as they rapidly ran out of air. Cold crept in through the suit and stung her face; both arms braced against the roof of the compartment as the water reached her neck and kept rising. He reached and squeezed her hand, she squeezed back. Enough air remained for one final, desperate breath...

Then the pressure rushed in with cold darkness.

Her hair was everywhere; noticeable by the shadows cast from the exosuit’s dim light — which seemed even brighter now in total darkness. The auto-inflatables activated almost instantly, followed quickly by the buoy; Talia felt herself pulled along, towards a grey mass — ears screaming in protest — eyes squeezed almost shut against the salty sting of the chilly water.

Hirek disappeared into the darkness somewhere behind.


[…Meanwhile, Agent Raja | Private Transport | In the storm above]

He was fairly certain the target had been neutralized, but the Tal Shiar didn’t deal in personal assumptions; they dealt in evidence.

The storm intensity had increased exponentially — dangerously — but that couldn’t be helped. The mission took priority, especially over his own personal safety. Being disposable came with the job.

His hands remained steady on the controls, circling back onto a wider track around the last reliable sensor return; the skid-flyer banked hard, buffetted by the wind, leaving contour trails of rain mixed with sea spray in its wake. Whoever the target really was — whatever he’d done to earn the organization’s ire — Raja hoped it was worth all the considerable inconvenience. He refused to think about his family; how he’d been forced to leave them suddenly, without warning, all due to a communique out of nowhere, from no one he could accurately identify.

All it mentioned was an activation codeword, the mission, and, of course, the consequences of failure: his wife and boys, to be specific.

Everything else was left for him to figure out.

Sensors were useless in the soup. Visual was almost as bad. A tap on the dash powered up the external flood lights — which revealed little more than pounding rain and rolling surf. Raja hauled back on the stick; the skif hovered in place, nearly on top of the transmission burst.

His eyes searched the waves, almost frantic:
 
Nothing.

A moment passed. Two. Sweat had broken out atop the bare flesh of his head; cold sweat — the stink of it filled his nostrils. His mind raced; trying to calculate how far he could make it before they found him, and killed him, after forcing him to watch his family die first.

A glimmer of light caught his attention; small, half obscured by the waves it moved through, barely above the surface. He swore, then pulled up the disruptor targeting on manual, trying to catch sight of it while keeping the skif stable at the same time.

It was a body; the outline motion blurred, at horrible resolution, but there was no mistaking it — foolishly lit up like a glowing beacon in the dark.

“Got you,” Raja breathed out in relief, then spun up the twin disruptors up as the targeting system locked in. Green flashed beyond the canopy — twin streaks of emerald fire punched into the storm-wracked sky — to chew into the frothing sea on each side of the target.

Another curse turned into a bitter string of them as the wind pushed the skif off-trim, forcing him to adjust wildly before he lost too much altitude. The engines screamed through it all, as the craft swung around in a steadily increasing arc, barely ten meters off the surf.

Lightning flashed all around, as he struggled to stay in the air. He wrenched the controls back out, only for a wave to crash into the bottom hull — tossing the entire craft up in a heave of violence. Raja opened the throttle to max, engine flare burned into the rain slicked air behind him. He climbed hard, to fifty meters, then leveled off and searched the sea for his prey.

It was gone; lost in the churning sea — or worse — eliminated with a lucky shot by some malicious trickery of fate. Time stretched out like a blade as Raja hovered, circled, rode the surf and braced against the storms fury, hunting the waves for any sign.

The minutes turned by — five, then ten…Raja felt his guts grow cold with dread. Sensor sweeps remained useless, filled with ghost pickups and negative returns. If he didn’t find the target soon, he’d be forced to withdraw…

Suddenly the system finally pinged an accurate return: the target had chewed up the distance while he’d fought the storm trying to reaquire —  it was now less than 200 meters from a solitary island barely a kilometer wide. He didn’t relish the idea of handling business in person, man to man. He swung the skif around to engage, turning into the wind.

“Just die already,” Raja pleaded, and squeezed the trigger again.
 

[…Meanwhile, Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | In the sea]

The waves were merciless; even with the inflatables, Talia couldn’t keep her head above the water longer than a few seconds. She’d swallowed more water than air, each breath reduced to a ragged wet gulp between hacking  coughs.

Powering off the exosuit was a dream — between the waves, wind, constant motion, complete lack of visibility and non-existent dexterity — it was impossible. She kept trying anyway, spinning uselessly behind the buoy as it dragged her along, with nothing holding but the strap across her chest.

The bastard shot at her again; twinned lines of emerald — close enough to flash-fry the sea into steam less than a meter away before the waves absorbed them. She reached for the buoy in desperation; knowing what she was about to do might very well kill her. It didn’t matter; the sea didn’t give her a choice — It swallowed her whole in the next instant, into a tumbling, uncontrollable, disorienting roll beneath the waves. She crashed, hard, into something painfully solid and sharp. Lines of pain registered on her face, through her knee and thigh, but most of all through her shoulder.

The buoy tugged her up, back to the surface. In the distance between flashes of lightning, emerald and orange fire bloomed and died. Light swayed in the rain before another wave took her sight. This one lasted far longer. Something had wrapped up around her limbs, dragging her down. Her lungs burned for oxygen, then screamed, and her back hit something hard enough to knock what little air they held out altogether…

She felt everything fade away, weightless, drifting into oblivion...

Moments or an eternity later Talia woke choking up water; she was laid out on her side in the wet sand, nudged by gentle waves crashing against her — deafened by the surf and the storm. Her armor was wrapped up in stinging weeds that clung to her limbs and trailed out behind her in a broken line of vegetation that lead back out into the waves.

She crawled; the movement sent pain searing through her whole body — shoulder dislocated, or broken — something sharp and spiny lanced through the meat of one thigh, lodged under the armor plating — half blind by blood and salt, face stinging and bleeding...

But she was alive.

Talia grit her teeth with a groan of effort; she got to her knees — then hauled herself up out of the surf. One PaDD was cracked, useless. The other still functioned. A tap killed power to her suit, and the lights died as a hand swept the salt-and-sand filled mop of hair away from her face.

She searched the darkened beach for Hirek, still coughing up fluid; that didn’t stop her from calling out his name. Another attempt followed — louder, longer...

Nothing — just an empty beach, rain, wind, and somewhere out there, some asshole trying to kill them.

Twenty meters in, then stop and wait for me.

One hand gripped the buoy, deactivated now that its function had been served. The other hovered over her thigh, over the object impaled through flesh and suit, as Talia hauled herself up and stumbled ashore. Running was a myth — every step was laced with agony — but she didn’t stop.

The tree-line took an eternity to reach.

Talia kept moving anyway.
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