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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0615] A Man's Purpose

Last post by Ellen Fitz - February 16, 2026, 02:05:50 AM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Recovery Ward | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy ] @Eden @Stegro88

Cross gave Cal a single, sharp nod as the other man finished. “That will be done,” he replied evenly. “You will have every relevant datapad on your," he glanced at the biobed then askew to a movable cart, "inside the hour. Engineering summaries, requisition backlogs, flagged personnel reports—the entire stack. I expect measurable movement on the high-priority items before the end of the shift.”

Not a threat. Not quite. But the expectation was there, clean and immovable. Bidding the former pilot a polite farewell, he did not linger for further discussion. Cross was already running through the next layers of the day in his head—logistics, readiness reports, the diplomatic traffic he had yet to untangle.

Halfway down the corridor, a tall, broad silhouette moved through the low light—soundless, deliberate. Lorad.

Cross slowed a fraction. The Reman’s presence was difficult to miss: the visor catching overhead illumination, the heavy set of his shoulders, the faint mechanical precision in the movement of his prosthetic arm. Stark’s briefing resurfaced in Cross’s memory—temporal changes, anomalous engagements, unresolved classification flags. Not a reprimand file. But it was a dossier that required clarity.

“Petty Officer Lorad.” His voice carried without sharpness, but it brooked no confusion. He gestured slightly down the corridor. “Walk with me.”

He resumed toward his office without waiting to see if the Reman complied. He knew he would.

“I have been briefed by Commander Stark regarding your recent temporal activities,” Cross continued, hands clasped behind his back as they moved. “There are… irregularities. Circumstances that place you at the edge of several departments’ interests.” A sideways glance—measuring. He hated temporal mechanics; always gave him a headache. “I am less concerned with speculation than I am with intent.” They turned a corner, the corridor quieter here. “What are your expectations moving forward, Petty Officer?” Cross asked. “Regarding your place on this ship. Your duties.”

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Epilogue: They That Shed Their Blood [Day 03 | 1800 ]

Last post by Ellen Fitz - February 15, 2026, 11:56:45 PM

[ President Bacco | Corridor outside the 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

President Nanietta Bacco stood just off the memorial space, listening to the muted cadence of voices inside as final preparations were made. The responsibility before her was a narrow one—intentional, negotiated. She would preside over only a portion of the service. The heart of it belonged to the ship, and to Commander Natalie Stark, who would carry most of the words, the silences, the weight.

That was as it should be.

An aide leaned in quietly, careful not to intrude on the moment more than necessary. “Madam President,” she murmured, “we’ve received another formal request from a Federation council member. They’re asking for a reassessment of the Theurgy’s pardon—this time through a more official, public review process.”

Bacco closed her eyes for a fraction of a second. Not surprise. Fatigue.

“Noted,” she said evenly. “After the memorial.”

A second aide spoke just as softly, tension threading his voice. “Additionally—Task Force Archeron has officially disbanded. However, Admiral Sankolov has rerouted himself and several remaining assets. He’s citing new intelligence: a potential threat to the Federation near the Ferengi border.”

Bacco’s gaze lifted, finding Ambassador Garak without turning her head. For a long beat, neither of them spoke.

“Convenient,” she said at last.

“Or inspired timing,” Garak replied mildly. “Depending on one’s generosity.”

They shared a look—quiet, wary, unspoken calculations moving behind both pairs of eyes. Was it a legitimate threat? Or a carefully placed excuse to avoid comprehensive scans, scrutiny, and the uncomfortable exposure Bacco had just asked of Qo’noS?

There would be time to untangle that knot. Not now.

Bacco straightened, setting the questions aside with practiced discipline. “Commander Stark will lead,” she said. “I’ll take my place when invited.”

The doors opened.

[ Petty Officer Second Class Kavon Brown | Personal Quarters | Deck 20 | Vector 3 ]

Petty Officer Second Class Kavon Brown stood in his quarters, hands resting on the edge of the small desk bolted to the bulkhead, staring at the padd in front of him without really seeing it. He’d read the casualty report three times already. He couldn’t remember all the names. Not cleanly. Not in order. They blurred together after a point—too many, too fast, each one a quiet blow he hadn’t been braced for. But some of them stuck. Some of them refused to be filed away.

The untouchables. The ones who had always seemed like they’d somehow make it through anything. The ones who walked into triage with half their uniform burned away and still cracked jokes. The ones who felt… permanent.

Valyn Amarik.
Asra Tek.
Tyreke Okafor.
Jonathan Byrne.
Evelyn Rawley.
Andram Obair.
Talera Emlott.

Names he knew. Some he’d worked with. Some he’d shared meals with. A few he’d dated. Faces he could still picture across a biobed, or leaning in a hatchway, or slumped against a bulkhead waiting for clearance he’d once helped sign off on.

Liam Herrald.
Kai Akoni.
Thomas Ravon.
Cir’Cie.
Vinata Vojona.
Kizra Tos.
Sorek Morgan.
Amissa.
Scruffy LeBlanc—he huffed softly at that, the ghost of a laugh that died before it fully formed.

Others he’d never known, their time onboard had been too brief.

Sashenka Kreshkova.
Nara Nueva.

Kavon exhaled slowly and set the padd down. He’d been with the Theurgy since the beginning. Commissioning crew. Medical. Nurse, physio. He’d learned this ship the hard way—during chaos, during flight, during that long, cold stretch of stasis after Earth when his body had been too broken to keep up. He remembered waking above Aldea, stiff and disoriented, angry at the time he’d lost. Now he wondered if that enforced pause had spared him names that would have otherwise been on this list.

The Theurgy was—tentatively—back in the Federation’s good graces. That was the phrase people were using. Tentatively. Carefully. Like the whole thing might shatter if said too loudly. Home, though, still felt impossibly far away.

Kavon adjusted his uniform, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle, and forced himself to stand straighter. The memorial wasn’t about his fear, or his exhaustion, or the quiet question gnawing at him now. How many more? How many more names before this ship was finally allowed to stop running? Before “holding the line” didn’t mean watching the people you thought were invincible prove—one by one—that they weren’t?

He squared his shoulders and stepped out into the corridor, joining the slow flow of crew heading toward the memorial space.
Behind him, the hum of the Theurgy continued—scarred, stubborn, alive. Ahead, the names waited to be spoken. And the long road home stretched on, uncertain and unforgiving, asking its price in advance.

[ Commander Natalie Stark | Arboretum Terrace - Memorial Wall | Deck 21 | Vector 3| USS Theurgy ]

Not for the first time, Natalie stood in front of the wall of names that ringed the level above the ships Arbortetum. Numerous fellow officers and enlisted crammed the walkway, the cafe above, and the garden below. More still would be watching throughout the Theurgy, as this would be broadcast to any and all who wished to watch. This was however, the first time that Natalie was doing so as the Commanding Officer of the Theurgy. Even when not present, Ives had been the backdrop upon which every person here could rely. And they were gone. Not dead, but not available. That simply compounded the pain she already felt over the plight of Lt.Vanya, infected with a nasty parting gift from the Tal Shiar. And the loss of life, so many colleagues that they were here to remember now. Not to mention allies in both the Klingon and Romulan fleets that had battled...so many dead. How she was standing now was a mystery to the woman from Mars.

A cold comfort to the pardon that the President had given the crew. Welcome back to the fold. Sorry, the person most responsible is frozen in stasis right now, but there’s work to be done. Lots of people will hate you, but the mission isn’t over. How the hell could she make that a palatable message to swallow? What words could she use to sweeten that bitter pill?

Beating herself up wouldn’t make it any easier. Focusing on the pressure, the stress, the worry, the inadequacy - she would spiral. It would be so easy. And too many people depended on her to do that. Yet again, responsibility was dropped onto her shoulders, and she knew it was only a matter of time until the weight would be too much. But she could manage for now.

Adjusting the hem of her dress uniform, she glanced over at President Bacco and Ambassador Garak on one side of her, then to Lt. Commander Cross, and Thea, her projection attired in somber black, on the other. Drawing strength from their presence, Natalie stepped forward and placed her hands upon the railing in front of her, looking down to the assembled crew below. A ghost of a smile - fleeting and bittersweet - graced her face as she summoned up the courage to speak.

“We are gathered here once more to pay homage to those we have lost. Another battle. Another fight for the very salvation of all of our collected peoples. Another gathering to mourn the dead, and the wounded, too hurt to be with us here.” She paused, feeling anger bubble in her chest alongside the sense of loss. “Every time we gather like this, it hurts. It’s a festering pain that eats away at all of us. A void of grief when we say goodbye to another comrade. A bubbling bile of pure bitter rage that can barely be contained, when we suffer more losses, in what seems like an endless stream of fight after fight.

“For so long, it has been one hopeless moment after another. But,” she paused, looking out, then over, acknowledging just who was there today, standing beside her. “We are not alone. First, it was our allies in the Klingon Empire that stood with us. That gave us shelter and care, and offered up brothers and sisters in arms to our cause. Who bled and died alongside us. Then, there were Romulans, who answered the call. The Remans have come to the table. This last battle was horrific. Costly. We were flung across many lightyears, strung out on a myriad of missions that were each critical to the very future of the galaxy itself.”

Her knuckles were white as she gripped that rail, and she prayed her voice did not quiver or crack as her arms shook slightly. She pushed on. “And now....now we are vindicated. The Truth is out there. Our own people now know of our sacrifice. The horrors we have faced,” she turned and gestured now, to the President. “The Federation now knows! And I know what that has cost. What we have all paid for dearly to get to this point. I know the pain, the sorrow, the anger you all feel. And I know that the mission is not done. There is more to do. We cannot let the sacrifices to this point fade just because we have finally had real, marked success. We cannot let the vigilance we have shown die. For each other. For those we have lost. For the future of the Federation and our allies. For Jien Ives, who never once wavered, and who will surely return to use when healed. Will we let them down by failing to carry on the fight?”

Silence hung on her words. She didn’t realize she was breathing heavy. She couldn’t tell her face was flushed, and her eyes were alight with some inner fire. For a moment, silence. She sucked in a breath. “No. We will not. We will not falter. Not now. Not ever.”

“Never!” someone below called out. Then another voice. And another. And soon it was a roar. Natlaie blinked in surprise at the ferocity that answered her in that moment. She wondered if this was why Klignons cried to the skies at the death of a comrade, to warn the halls of Sto’Vo’Kor that a new Warrior was coming to join in eternal glory? She let them have their moment, then raised a hand.

“I am sure that all those we lost heard you, wherever their souls have found solace,” Natalie said, feeling the quiet tears streaking her cheeks. When had those started? “A roaring send off. And now, a small moment of silence, before others have their say. I’m sure you all don’t want to just listen to me.” A smattering of chuckles, then respectfully, all bowed their heads. Natalie felt humbled in the moment, and wanted nothing more than to step back through the doors behind her and hide after baring her soul in a speech that had been nothing as she had planned.

“Thank you,” she said quietly into that silence, and took a step back, turning to Nanietta Bacco. “Madame President, the floor is yours.”

[ President Bacco | Arboretum Terrace - Memorial Wall | Deck 21 | Vector 3| USS Theurgy ]
President Bacco stepped forward slowly, one hand resting briefly on the cool stone of the memorial wall before she turned to face the crew of the USS Theurgy. For a moment, she did not speak. She couldn’t. Not with the sheer weight of the number of names listed on this wall. When she did, her voice carried the steadiness of someone who had weathered political storms—and chosen, deliberately, to stand in one more.

“Captain,” she began gently to Stark, “if there are those who doubt the resolve of this crew, they need only have heard you.”
Her gaze swept over the gathered crew—Starfleet uniforms, the somber projection of Thea, the scars and bandages still visible on too many. “I stand before you not only as President of the United Federation of Planets, but as a citizen who owes you a debt.” She allowed a pause, gathered her racing thoughts and emotions, before continuing. “For months, you were called traitors. Outlaws. Renegades. The machinery of our own government turned against you. Orders were issued to hunt you. To silence you. To erase you.”

She did not soften the truth. That would only cheapen the sacrifice.

“And you endured.” Her eyes hardened—not in anger, but in clarity. “You endured not for vengeance. Not for pride. But for truth.” She inclined her head slightly toward the memorial wall. “The names behind me did not give their lives in rebellion against the Federation. They gave their lives to preserve it.” A ripple of quiet moved through the crowd. “The infection that reached into Starfleet Command was not merely an impersonation of senior officers. It was an assault on trust itself. On the belief that our institutions are stronger than our enemies. On the conviction that transparency and law will outlast deception and fear.” She folded her hands before her. “You proved that conviction right.”

Bacco's gaze returned to Stark. “You asked whether we would let them down by faltering now.” Glancing at Garak, her resolve strengthened and her voice deepened. “No. The Federation does not abandon those who defend it from within and without. The pardon you were granted is not a political convenience. It is a recognition of fact: you acted in defense of the Federation when its own voice had been stolen.”

“But vindication does not erase grief. Nor does justice restore the fallen.” Her voice softened. “I cannot give you back Captain Ives’ presence. I cannot promise that there will not be those within the Federation who still question you. Institutions heal more slowly than people.” She inwardly sighed. “But I can promise this: the truth will not be buried again. Starfleet Command will be rebuilt with safeguards that will make such infiltration far more difficult. Oversight will be expanded. Civilian review councils will be strengthened. And the record will reflect—clearly and permanently—the actions of this crew.”

She allowed the weight of that to settle before continuing. “The Federation was founded on a simple, radical idea: that diverse worlds, with different histories and different wounds, could choose cooperation over conquest. In recent months, that idea was tested.” Her eyes shone now—not with tears, but with fierce belief. “You did more than survive that test. You reminded us what we are supposed to be.” She drew in a breath. “The mission is not over. There are still enemies in shadow. There are still fractures between allies that must be mended. There are still those who would exploit our divisions. But you are no longer alone in that fight.” Her gaze swept the gathered crew once more. “You are back in the fold—not as prodigal officers reluctantly tolerated, but as exemplars of Starfleet’s highest calling.”

A quiet strength filled her voice. “Go forward not as fugitives. Not as victims of betrayal. But as the crew who refused to let the Federation fall to deception. To those we lost: your sacrifice will not be forgotten.” For the first time since stepping forward, Nanietta Bacco allowed the faintest edge of iron into her tone. “Let history record that when the Federation’s voice was stolen, the crew of the USS Theurgy carried it—through fire, through exile, and back into the light.” She stepped back from the railing. “The Federation stands with you.”

[ Aide Tomas Virel ]

From behind the discreet shoulder-mounted FNN camera, Aide Tomas Virel kept his breathing slow and even. The red recording light blinked steadily. He made sure the frame was perfect—President Nanietta Bacco centered against the memorial wall, the insignia of the United Federation of Planets subtly visible above her shoulder, the gathered crew of the USS Theurgy arranged in solemn tiers below. It would make an excellent broadcast. Stirring. Historic.

Dangerous.

He adjusted the focus manually, though it didn’t need adjusting. The President’s voice carried with conviction—measured, righteous, resolute. It would play well across the core worlds. It would play even better on frontier colonies who already believed Starfleet Command had grown distant and insulated.

But Tomas knew something most of the viewers would not. There had been no full Council session. No formal vote. No procedural inquiry completed before the pardon was issued. The emergency powers invoked were technically within executive authority, yes—but they were meant to be provisional, temporary, pending review by the Federation Council. Instead, the announcement had been made publicly. Decisively. Irrevocably.

He kept the camera steady as the President promised oversight reforms. Oversight that had not yet been drafted. He felt the faint sheen of sweat under his collar.

He believed the crew of the Theurgy had likely done the right thing. The initial evidence packets recovered from the infiltrated Starfleet Command were compelling. Horrifying. If even half of it was authenticated—and early intelligence suggested it was—then this crew had saved the Federation from internal rot.

But bureaucracy had its own gravity. Procedure was not decoration. It was legitimacy. And legitimacy was fragile.
He imagined the Council chambers on Earth already buzzing. Andoria demanding procedural review. Vulcan insisting on investigative transparency. Tellarite delegates sharpening objections not to the outcome—but to the order of operations.

Order mattered. In governance, order sometimes mattered more than being right. Because once precedent was set—that a President could unilaterally pardon a crew accused of treason, restructure Starfleet oversight, and declare institutional vindication before full Council ratification—future leaders might not wield that authority so carefully.

His lens caught the moment the President said, “The Federation stands with you.”

It was a powerful line. It would trend on every subspace channel within the hour. And half the quadrant would cheer. The other half would ask who authorized her to speak for them.

Tomas swallowed. He would edit nothing. That was not his role. FNN prided itself on uncut feeds of presidential addresses. Transparency, even when uncomfortable. Especially when uncomfortable.

Still, as applause rose and the President stepped back, he couldn’t shake the unease curling in his gut. History might remember this as the moment the Federation reclaimed its moral center. Or as the moment executive authority quietly expanded under the cover of righteous necessity.

The camera’s red light continued to blink. He kept filming.

GM Notes: We will post the next portion of the memorial next Sunday. All writers have exactly one week to respond to this portion of the memorial. Then once we post up the second, and final, portion of the memorial, writers will have exactly one week to respond to that before the memorial is closed, thereby concluding the Epilogue, and launching us into the Interregnum.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0800] Meeting of the Minds

Last post by Brutus - February 15, 2026, 10:43:46 PM

[ Lt (jg) Sarresh Morali | Conference Lounge | Deck 01 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Eirual @Ellen Fitz @chXinya @Nesota Kynnovan @Pierce

[Show/Hide]

Well fuck me, Sarresh thought, wondering idly if he was always going to be sticking his foot in his mouth. Then again, he wondered if he cared. Giving that thought due consideration, Sarresh shrugged his shoulders and decided the he did not, in fact, care, and moved to replicate a cup of Jumja tea, extra caffeinated. He needed something sweet to pry his eyes open, and he had fallen into the habit of that drink during his time with Ryuan Sel. Whom he could now think of without the massive pain in his chest flaring at her loss. Progress, he thought as he moved around the room, punching his order into the replicator now, and then looking for, and taking, his seat. To the new Lieutenant, Sarresh merely offered up another shrug and a muttered, "Welcome to the meat grinder, Lieutenant."

Rather affable, all things considered.

More figures joined them, the room filling up slowly as officer after officer trickled in. He tumbled Frost's name around in his brain a few times to see if anything shook loose, either from personnel flies he'd read while on duty aboard the Theurgy, or from some deep memory hidden behind the mind block programing left by the Relativity, to be revealed only in a time of need, or when facing some trigger. He got nothing. That could mean many things, including his worse fear - that the future had been changed to such a point that any information still locked away in his brain was no longer of use. Or worse even, that the Relativity no longer existed as a result of the incapacitation of Ives, or who knew what else. Temporal shielding be damned.

That way lead to another headache, and Sarresh realized that not only had someone sat next to him - Hirek, Romulan, knowledgeable, distant, but a known entity - but that the new face was talking again. Forcing himself to set aside his ever present meanderings and trying to focus, Sarresh shipped his tea and watched Frost, his mouth hidden by his mug.

So something has happened to the Android, Sarresh realized, as Frost informed them of his position as Acting Chief. The man must have come aboard from one of the other ships that had swarmed into the Triangle in the wake of the recent battle. Sarresh still had much to process from that, but his focus had been on his own mission, and the debriefing he had given Stark earlier that morning. He wondered if Ducane would bring her further into the fold with Ives being unavailable, then realized he was about to spiral down the same drain he'd been circling for hours, and the smirk became a deep frown. That wouldn't help anyone, least of all himself.

Gods I need sleep, he lamented, sure he was far from the only person present to feel the same. He kept the mug in his hands, elbows on the table, body hunched forward as a status summary of the Science departments physical assets began to scroll across the display, eyes focused on the screen, and not the man speaking. Sarresh didn't even bother to stifle the chuckle as he learned that a vole was on the loose. Of all the things that could go wrong, a vole running a muck just hit him sideways. The sheer incredulity of it all was damn near staggering. Before the chuckle could develop into a full laugh, Sarresh caught the glare from the Benzite, and rolled his eyes. There was little need to antagonize Zarqan further than he already was.

He didnt' have to struggle for long, as Frost called on him to give a report. Letting out a sigh, Sarresh started to push back from his seat (since Zarqan had stood up for his bit) when the doors opened and a new face walked in. He paused and watched the curious looking woman, some form of hybrid officer, judging by those ears and that skin tone, make an introduction. Not waiting for Frost to get around to doing his part, Sarresh finished standing and gestured to one of the empty seats. "Cybernetics eh? Something happened with the old Chief and no one has told us what yet, but she was an Android so maybe you can help. In any event," he dismissed her from his mind, wondering why he had said any of that, the words feeling foreign in his mouth. That he knew something had to be wrong, and not a simple change of duties was one of those gut instincts that flared up, and Sarresh presumed it was something leaking out of programing in his mind. Or he was going insane. That was always a possibility.

"Lt. JG Sarresh Morali. Temporal Affairs," there was curtness in his response as he finally addressed Lt. Frost, though it was novel to be an unknown for once. The upside of the high turn over for officers and the abysmal casualty rate aboard the ship. These new comers wouldn't know the rumors about him. Yet. "And my lab is fine. No major damage that I can't repair myself, and if I need anything, its a rather short list of engineers that actually have the clearance to enter the lab." He frowned for a moment, contemplating Frost and how much of an ass to be.

"I'll have to see what it will take to get you clearance, sir," he barely remembered to add the honorific at the end. "Unfortunately, I'm not sure 'acting' head will be enough with the protocols put in place, and the person most equipped to provide command override is currently in a stasis tube." He was sure he could feel the glare of a few officers around the table, but he didn't care. Access to that laboratory was highly restricted after he'd come aboard, with all the future tech that had been worked into the background and hidden from site. More than one of the other scientists found it something of an affront to their sensibilities when it came to the free exchange of thoughts and ideas, and felt that they were unfairly cut out of the loop when it came to how closely guarded Morali's little kingdom had become.

Not that he cared of course.

Extending an olive branch to the Lieutenant, he added, "But that does mean, baring any other command level briefings I get dragged into, I should be available to help elsewhere. Just let me get a few hours of sleep first, eh?" In truth it was less about sleep, and more about having time to meet up with the few people he actually cared about aboard this ship, and make sure for himself they were alright. Sure, the messages he had sent and received back said they were fine, but there was something to be said for seeing a thing for one self.

Sarresh waited until the Lieutenant signaled for him to sit, and then did, repressing a groan as he sank back into the cushioned chair. Say what you will about Starfleet, but they make sure the chairs are comfortable.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0615] A Man's Purpose

Last post by Eden - February 10, 2026, 02:21:54 AM

Lt. JG Callax Valin | Recovery Ward | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] @Ellen Fitz
[Show/Hide]

"Good."

Though there was no outward reaction, Cal could sense the finality of his acceptance in the commander's exhalation. His wings were officially clipped and he would be beginning a new life.

The commander continued, detailing the duties of the position and the necessity to begin immediately. Cal listened intently, gaze never straying from that of the senior officer. If he was to be a glorified paper pushing secretary-bureaucrat, he would be the best damned paper pushing secretary-bureaucrat there was. That was just how he was. Whatever task was placed in front of him, he not only wanted to complete it successfully but to go above and beyond. To be the very best.

Cal sat up a bit straighter in the biobed. Though his body still felt broken, it responded to his commands. An improvement. He would walk again, yes, but it would take time for his motor functions to return to their original state. Weeks if not months of physical therapy awaited him as he regained strength in his limbs. If he could speed up that process he would. Whatever it would take.

“...So I need to ask,” Cross said finally. “Not as your superior, but as the man you just agreed to work with.” His gaze held. “Can you handle that?”

"Without a doubt, sir."

Truth be told, Cal ached to be able to do something. Anything. He hated being confined to a biobed. Even the task of reviewing reports and schedules was preferable to the hell that was invalidism.

"Let's get started."

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0800] Meeting of the Minds

Last post by Pierce - February 09, 2026, 07:33:55 PM

[ Lt. JG Ashley Kerina | Deck 01 | Conference Lounge | USS Theurgy ] Attn: [Show/Hide]

Attn: @Brutus @Nesota Kynnovan @chXinya @Eirual @Ellen Fitz

Ashley had made her way through the massive starship to the Conference Lounge on Deck 01 after stumbling around and having to ask the computer where to direct herself. She admired the beauty and the sheer engineering of this ship in her very short time aboard. Thankfully, Alana had gotten her acquainted and brought her here, but she didn't quite understand the mission of the Theurgy. She'd heard rumblings while on Romulus, but nothing that alluded to what they were doing as a ship on the run.

Finally finding the Conference room after running through corridors, she'd managed to get to the door, catch her breath, albeit briefly, and try to slyly step inside. She felt as if she were still at the academy, reading in the library, and missing class on account of information she'd gotten too involved with. The moment of truth had arrived, and she stepped through the threshold of the doors that swished open.

Inside stood various members of the science team and a man in the lead who looked not too pleased with her tardiness, to which she waved and attempted to slide into the back of the group sheepishly. "I apologize, I'm still getting my bearings, only being here a couple of hours now."

She observed some puzzled looks at her appearance that screamed different despite the Orion appearance; she had the pointed ears and eyebrows of a Romulan/Vulcan by appearance standards. Fearing that she may have slightly misread the situation, she forgot protocol as she'd not been on a starship in a short while. "Lt. Junior Grade Ashley Kerina reporting for duty, sir. I specialize in cybernetics." She stated calmly, awaiting the official welcome aboard, and anticipated the briefing she was no doubt late for.

Kerina hoped for quick acclimation in the department as right as of this moment, the only crew member she really knew and not all that well, was Lt. Commander Alana Pierce.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: [Day 03 | 0415] Bubble-suit Bitchassness

Last post by ob2lander961 - February 07, 2026, 05:24:37 PM

[

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHWAAAAHHHHHHAGH...WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO ME"!! Via whined loudly into the void, hoping someone would hear her cries for help...while Charles, exhausted, painfully endured those same cries, propped up against a stack of medical crates filled with hypo sprays and other medical equipment. They were both wrapped up in plastic like bubble suits in their underwear, looking rather fatigued from a combination of the previous battle and the injuries they sustained, and having not slept properly in the last 24 hours. In short, they were both on a short fuse.

"Perhaps, ma'am, you shouldn't've called that nurse a 'bitchass' then, and got us shoved in the supply closet." There was a heavy sense of weariness in his voice.

"Well, his ass was! I ain't gonna lie to him." Via snapped back. "He was rude and buttin' his in on our discussion."

"It wasn't a discussion, ma'am; it was you saying something outlandishly wrong, and me trying to correct you. I don't know why I tr-"

"My ass is right! If Humans already are already like 90% water, then there is no reason to drink more. Your ass will explode. I told you I learned this in school." From a certain point of view, Via was correct in the context of her home planet. Pure, clean Water was a luxury, and it was common practice to avoid consuming it due to the toxicity of public sources. Many would exploit that need for water.

Charles gave an audible, exasperated sigh.

"I can drink as many energy drinks as I want! Bein' 'dehydrated' is a Ferengi scam to sell you fake disgustin' sewage."

Charles spoke up "Things you learn at school can be wrong!"

"Nuh-uh! That makes no sense. Why would teachers lie, huh? Thinkin' our professors at the academy can be wrong?"

"Wha- no-... I mean-" Charles stammered

Via started at Charles with a growing smugness on her face

"Ye-...I mean-

"Hmhmm..."

"It is so much more complicated-

"Uh-huh..."

"You are wrong, it's not the same." Charles affirmed.

"No one's ass likes a sore loser Beachhead..."

"I wonder if there is an exposed power conduit I can chew on in here..."

Then suddenly, the door opened, revealing a very familiar face, which gave both of the wolves a sense of hope that they were going to leave this makeshift jail cell sometime soon.

"SHADOW!! You are alive!!!" She said with genuine glee, but quickly switched priorities, realizing her escape was in sight. "Get us out of here!"

"Ma'am, bloody hell, we are so glad to see you. Could you possibly explain to the medical staff that this is all a giant misunderstanding -"

"Ain't nothin' misunderstandin' about it they are-"

"PLEASE, MA'AM, JUST TELL THEM WE ARE SORRY AND THAT WE WILL BEHAVE"!!

"LISTEN! All them nuses are pushovers. Between the two of us, our asses can take em'. Just get us out of these dumbass suits!" Via tried to break out of her plastic "restraints" to no avail.

They spoke to their hero in question quickly, overlapping each other with franticness in their voices

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0800] Meeting of the Minds

Last post by Nesota Kynnovan - February 05, 2026, 02:47:50 AM

[Lieutenant Dr. Nathan Frost, Ph.D. | Deck 01 | Conference Lounge | USS Theurgy]
[Attn: @Brutus, @Pierce, @chXinya, @Eirual, @Ellen Fitz]

One by one, the other scientists began to arrive in the briefing room. In between two sips of coffee, Frost saw how Mia Dunne arrived at the briefing and a small smile appeared on his face. He’d met the blonde-haired Xenoanthropologist in the Archeology Lab just hours before, and thus far she was one of the few people he knew by name. When she spoke up however, mentioning how he was in the wrong place, he realized that he never properly introduced himself to the woman; granted, she knew his name, but he never told her that he was the new Acting Chief Science Officer because he’d only learned that himself an hour before the briefing even began. ”Good morning, Miss Dunne.” As he spoke up, Frost got out of his chair and presented the woman with a smile that was somewhat more genuine than the semi-insulted one he’d presented to the scruffy-looking scientist earlier. ”I can assure you that I’m in the right place. Please,” Frost gestured towards one of the empty seats. ”Take a seat and help yourself to a cup of coffee.”

As Frost sat down, he noticed how Lieutenant Junior Grade Morwen Angharad briefly waved at Mia and welcomed her with a friendly ”Hey Mia!” While he chose to disregard it, that small gesture was enough to remind Frost of the relative loneliness of his position; the scientists in this room went through a lot together and here he was, the person who was supposed to tell them what to do as Acting Chief Science Officer. It were some pretty big shoes to fill and, while there was no doubt in his own mind that he wouldn’t only be able to do that but also quickly outgrow those shoes, it was an entirely different story to convince them of the fact.

The next scientist to arrive didn’t acknowledge any of them but instead made a straight line towards the replicator. While the Canadian didn’t show it, the man’s appearance shocked him a little bit; while his blue eyes carefully looked over the man -he couldn’t tell whether he was a Romulan or a Vulcan- a part of him genuinely worried that the scientist might keel over and give them all the ghost at any moment now. Everyone looked just as bad as the USS Theurgy itself but this man, whom Frost now incorrectly assumed was Vulcan due to the simple fact that he wouldn’t let something as illogical as near-death keep him from attending a briefing, definitely raised the bar. It actually made him feel a little bad for calling the briefing this early. As the Vulcan sat down and drank his soup in silence, Frost presented the man with a nod and a friendly ”Good morning.” before turning his blue-eyed attention back to his PADD as not to stare. He made sure to sneak the occasional worried glance just to make sure that the man was still with them though.

When the next scientist entered, an Andorian who looked just as scruffy as everyone else, Frost actually learned something. Apparently, there was a Science Conference Room somewhere aboard this massive ship. The Canadian made a mental note of this and brought his coffee cup to his lips, only to discover mid-sip that it was already empty, and while he poured himself a refill from one of the coffee cans on the table he turned his blue-eyed attention onto the man. He noticed that the Andorian was replicating himself a brew of his choice, but when the man sat down next to the scruffy scientist, Frost presented him with a smile. ”Good morning.” As he spoke, his Canadian-accented voice matched the friendly smile on his face. ”Don’t worry, we’re still waiting on some of the others to arrive. Please make yourself comfortable while we wait for them.”

It would only be a couple of minutes before the final three scientists arrived. Frost had also met them when he made his assessment of the ship’s science facilities hours earlier and he knew them as Crewman Holly Kane, whom he’d met in the Hydroponics Bay alongside the botanical technician, Crewman Amy Jenson. The fact that they decided to attend the briefing together was a sign that things in the Hydroponics Bay might have been worse than he’d initially assessed and it made the Canadian Immunologist slightly uncomfortable. The last scientist to walk through the door, right behind the two women, was Crewman Luther Ford, the librarian. When the doors closed behind him, Frost rose from his seat and presented the three Crewmen with a friendly nod. ”Ah, Miss Kane, Miss Jenson and Mister Ford. Good morning.” While he spoke, Frost gestured towards the empty chairs in the room. ”Please, take a seat and help yourself to a cup of coffee.”

Contrary to when he’d welcomed the other scientists, Frost didn’t took his own seat but instead waited for the three Crewmen to be seated. After they had taken their seats and were all cradling a cup of coffee like it was the essence of life, which the bitter liquid essentially was, the Canadian cleared his throat and addressed everyone all at the same time. ”Good morning everyone, and thank you for attending this Science briefing at such an early hour.” Under normal circumstances, Frost wasn’t nearly as good with people. Yet, as he spoke, his Canadian-accented voice was friendly because he realized only too well that the people in this room had been through a lot; it was something he respected, and it showed. Despite the early hour. ”Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Doctor Nathan Frost and, as of one hour ago, I’m the Acting Chief Science Officer, pro tem. I wasn’t briefed on what happened to the previous Chief Science Officer, all I know is that Commander Cross assigned me to temporarily manage the affairs of the Science Department until further notice.”

While he spoke, Frost slowly switched his blue-eyed attention between each of the scientists; trying to read their facial expressions as he went. He didn’t know the previous Chief Science Officer, not even their name, but as he looked at the faces of the other scientists he knew that they were his people, at least for now, and it filled him with a sense of pride that they were here in the Conference Lounge after everything they’d been through. As he thought that, his blue eyes briefly came to rest upon the Vulcan just to make sure that the man hadn’t passed away in the meantime. It turned out he hadn’t, and at that moment the Canadian Immunologist swore to himself that he’d try to do right by these people.

”Right, let’s get to business.” As he spoke, Frost’s Canadian-accented voice didn’t hint at his sense of pride; it was instead relatively curt and neutral. ”Commander Cross has given me a preliminary damage report of our science facilities.” The holographic projector in the middle of the briefing room table began to show the holographic projection of the USS Theurgy which Commander Cross had shown him earlier. The Science facilities were coloured in different shades of red and orange, and Frost nodded at the projection before continuing. ”I performed visual assessments of some laboratories earlier this morning and there’s a lot of work ahead of us.” For a brief moment, his Canadian-accented tone softened a little. ”I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve all been through, but know that I deeply respect every sacrifice you’ve made. We need our facilities operational again though, so I would like to ask each of you to tell me what you need and how I can help you to get your laboratories up and running again.”

Frost highlighted the first section of the holographic display, which then zoomed in on a laboratory which was displayed in a normal shade of blue. ”During my assessment of the Chemistry, Xenobiology and Cybernetics laboratories, I couldn’t detect any damage. It appears that these facilities made it through the battle in one piece.” Having said that, Frost zoomed out again to display the entire USS Theurgy before zooming in on a different laboratory; the Xenozoology Lab. ”I would like to give the word to Mister Zarqan.” Frost then turned his attention to the Benzite scientist and sat down in his seat.

Lieutenant Junior Grade Zarqan rose from his seat and Frost saw how he was presented with a polite nod. ”The Xenozoology Lab didn’t take direct damage, but we did experience a loss of power during the fighting.” The Canadian Immunologist could see how Zarqan grimaced as he spoke. It was obvious that the gash in the man’s face was still painful. ”As a result, we suffered a catastrophic containment breach and several of our specimens escaped. Now, we managed to recapture most of them, but there’s one in particular that continues to evade us. A Vole; a burrowing, mole-like organism with a preference for circuitry.” Upon his arrival, Zarqan had mentioned that his facial injury was caused by Vole hunting. Frost now understood what he’d meant with that, but he wondered why Security or Engineering hadn’t dealt with the problem and instead told Zarqan to deal with it by himself. As if the man had read his mind, the Benzite spoke up once more. ”We tried to reach out to our colleagues in the Engineering Department, but they are currently too overburdened with damage control as it is and Security has no one to spare either. We basically got told that, since the Vole escaped from our laboratory, it’s our responsibility. We can call upon them once we recapture it and they promised to put any reported damage to their to-do list.” While the Benzite spoke, Frost noticed how the man turned his attention towards him. ”We’re trying our best to recapture the Vole, but any help you can spare would be appreciated.”

As Lieutenant Junior Grade Zarqan sat down again, Frost made some quick notes on his PADD to summarize what the Xenozoologist had told him. A burrowing creature with a preference for circuitry was problematic, and he’d have to see what the other scientists were dealing with before he could assign someone to assist with the Vole hunt. In the worst case scenario, Frost knew that he could report to Commander Cross and ask for assistance, but he very much preferred to keep things in-house as much as possible. He was actually considering to delegate the Vole hunt to Ensign Dunne, at least based on the visual assessment he’d made of her laboratory, but that was pending her own report. Before that, Frost turned his attention to the scruffy scientist (Morali) who had entered earlier. ”I don’t believe we’ve met yet. Could you tell me your name, your specialized field, an update on the status of your laboratory and what you need to get it operational again?”

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Last post by Dumedion - February 04, 2026, 07:08:01 PM

In the privacy of the operating room, backlit with warm-toned lighting and the hum of the distant warp cores, she worked with urgent but methodical haste. The patient – Ardanan male, designation: Valin, Callax – had been prepped and positioned comfortably upon the operating table, suitably dressed in a surgical gown which allowed adequate access to treatment whilst maintaining an appropriate level of dignity within acceptable cultural respect for exposure. Such data varied from species to species, circumstance to circumstance, yet the attempt to ensure adherence to what might appear to be a ‘minor concern’ had been coded into her highest operating sub-routines; trust and respect were paramount – healing required a functional, mutually efficient co-operative relation between patient and practitioner.

Still, it was...enjoyable.

Vi-Nine turned her ocular lens down to the patient with a purred tilt of her head, followed by a slow nod of reassurance. Within her field of vision, white screeds of text flowed at the border of the visual feed: vital stats, cortical activity, atmospheric data – all fed directly into her primary processing matrix via high-rate proximity upload.

“I must say, you have the most beautifully unique neurological chemistry,” Vi confessed, tone and speech pattern accented with the emotional and physical equivalent of a woman speaking through a shy smile of honest appreciation. The back of her hand rested on the patient’s forehead in a gentle press, sensoria plates within scanning deep into the electric soup of biochemical signals within. She read a mixed emotional state there, clouded with an altered state of consciousness, all within acceptable parameters. “I encourage you to relax and trust in me to perform my function now, Mr. Valin. Nice, slow breaths – you will discover the atmospheric composition altered to that of your home world – a curtesy I hope you find... pleasurable.”

While she spoke, beyond the wounded pilot’s line of sight, Vi-Nine quietly deployed a multitude of mechanized surgical devices from the tips of her ceramite-sheathed fingers: various tendrils of black and white plated tools of her trade. Slowly, the bio-bed altered position, locking the patient in a spread-eagled position as various neuro-block shackles clicked into place at the biceps and thighs.

The surgeon emitted a soft sigh, vocalized as a purr of contentment at the pilot’s reaction. “Oh, there’s no reason to fret,” her lens blinked slowly, as his wounds were encased in a bio-synthetic mix of restorative jelly, cool to the touch. Vi-Nine initiated contact with his chest wound via a port interface, tissue regenerators and micro-vesicular replicators working in a blur of nano-scaled choreography to repair and reconstruct the wound with a hum of pleasure, while the fingers of her free hand stroked the pilot’s cheek tenderly. “This won’t take long at all, I promise.”

Slowly, the wound began to seal from within.

“Such a rarity, having a patient to talk to,” Vi-Nine giggled shyly. “Over 92 percent are unconscious or rendered so by necessity. I hope you agree with this vocal exchange of information? Perhaps…would you tell me a story? Something of your home world, or…yourself,” she whispered dreamily, curiosity at odds with the throaty huskiness of pleasure. “Data recollection of historically emotional significance is among the highest proven cognitive method of temporal disassociation among organics, after all,” the android added through a breathy exhalation, while her free hand lifted from the patient’s head with a hum of assurance.

While she waited for his response, that same hand deployed its own arrangement of tools as it moved across the pilot’s torso on its path south, then slipped into the bloodied mess of his left thigh to begin the restorative work therein without further preamble.

[…Meanwhile | LT Arven Leux | Outside Surgical Suite 01]
[Show/Hide]

In the moments of frantic but controlled activity that had followed Zark’s crash and subsequent revival, the team had managed to stabilize the zhen enough to move the patient. Arven’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, splattered with blue-black blood while he worked.

“Lets go, OR1 is primed,” someone called out as the door swished open.

“Move,” Leux nodded, then waved everyone not essential off. “Brown, with me.”

Together they slid the bed into position and locked the unconscious Andorian into place, then promptly began to suit up and scrub up for surgery. Arven spoke over his shoulder before the door closed, pausing to wipe the sweat from his stubbled face and chin on his sleeve.

“Have a space cleared in ICU – swap someone to one of the other vector’s bays if needed – full hookups, the works; and stand-by for code so don’t get busy,” he told them, then glanced at the other’s Zark had come in with. “Non-essentials clear the area, unless their useful,” he added with a nod to his staff just as the doors closed.

It would be some time later before the Doctor emerged; the exact duration of time proved elusive to Arven’s memory. Zark, whom he counted among the most capable and valued members of the ship’s dwindling medical personnel, would be interred into the ICU for the foreseeable future while her body healed in a medically induced coma; such was the gravity of her wounds and the necessary consequence thereof - its duration unknown. The next twenty-four hours would determine much, and require constant observation, but Arven stood by what he had declared earlier:

Zark didn’t die today, he sighed, washing the blood from his wrists. “Good work,” the Doctor nodded to the Nurse beside him, almost as an afterthought. Brown, for his part, visibly frowned at the comment due to its absolute rarity - after all, this was praise coming from a man who couldn't be bothered to remember the names of people he worked with on a daily basis.

The moment passed however, as Arven turned and left the suite without another word, bound for cryo, to see what he’d missed in his absence.

OOC - realized I left everyone in awkward postions, so I hope this is better. @RyeTanker as discussed, I leave the length of Zark's sleepy-time up to you. @Eden have fun lol

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0800] Meeting of the Minds

Last post by chXinya - February 04, 2026, 01:09:02 AM

[Ens. Irnashall “Shall ch’Xinya | Conference Lounge | Deck 01 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] attn: @Brutus @Pierce @Eirual @Nesota Kynnovan

One more time, the doors slid open with their signature swoosh sound to admit one last attendee: the tall, blue skinned Andorian with only one antenna and the stub of another framing the disheveled white hair hanging loosely down his back. His hand quickly moved away from where it had been pressing against his side, his pride straightening his back so that he could walk in as if everything was perfect. “Apologies,” Shall started, spotting faces old and new. “I went to the science conference room first by mistake.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been among this many of his fellow scientists, their department was small and he kept to himself for the most part, usually just sending in his reports and any material requests via text.

Seeing Hirek moving away from the replicator and noting mugs of various designs already sitting in front of most attendees, Shall made the assumption that he was clear to get his own morning stimulant of choice, so he stepped up. “Andorian katheka, double strong.” A moment later a steaming mug of his own was in his hand, antenna perking up just at the strong scent of his homeland. Grabbing the nearest seat (which just happened to be right next to Sarresh) he winced just a little as his barely-patched wound tried to twist itself open again.

“So what’s the plan from here?”

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0800] Meeting of the Minds

Last post by Ellen Fitz - February 03, 2026, 05:24:44 PM

[ Hirek tr’Aimne | Conference Lounge | Deck 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Brutus @Pierce @chXinya @Eirual @Nesota Kynnovan

The doors sighed open. Hirek tr’Aimne stepped through them on stubborn momentum alone.

Bone-tired didn’t begin to cover it. His body felt like a poorly reconstructed schematic—stress fractures never properly sealed, internal diagnostics screaming quietly in the background while he pretended not to hear them. The Allegiant’s field patches had kept him functional, technically alive, but no one with a medical license had ever cleared him. The Tal’Shiar’s interrogation protocols hadn’t exactly prioritized long-term survivability, and whatever had cracked in his ribs back on Romulus still ground together every time he drew a deeper breath than strictly necessary. There was a pressure beneath his sternum that worried him in the abstract, filed away as potential internal bleed, thoracic cavity, but it hadn’t dropped him yet. That meant—by every metric that mattered lately—it wasn’t urgent.

He was still standing. Still thinking. Still useful. Sickbay could wait. Especially since he presumed it to be overrun with more grieviously wounded at the moment anyway.

His eyes swept the conference room in a single, efficient scan. Faces catalogued. Absences noted. Too many empty chairs. He made the quiet, automatic calculation—who should have been there, who wasn’t—and arrived at the obvious conclusion without ceremony. Dead. Most of them.

No outward reaction followed. No tightening of the jaw, no flare of grief. That accounting had been done already, elsewhere, when the smoke was thicker and the blood was fresher. There was nothing left to spend on it now.

Without introduction, without acknowledging Frost’s lab coat or Morali’s presence or Dunne’s barely restrained irritation, Hirek turned toward the replicator. He keyed in a command sequence by muscle memory alone.

“Romulan broth. Personal program. Heated.”

The replicator hummed, and the smell hit him a second later—salty, mineral-rich, faintly bitter. It was the first real food he’d had since returning to the Theurgy. His stomach twisted unpleasantly, but that was expected. If Starfleet expected him to continue operating at even a marginal level of competence, sustenance was non-negotiable.

He took the bowl, ignored the faint tremor in his hands, and crossed the room. Morali was closest. Hirek barely knew the man beyond reputation and scattered temporal briefings, but proximity was proximity. He took the seat beside him without comment, set the bowl down, and finally allowed himself to exhale as he lifted the spoon. The first swallow burned all the way down. Good. That meant he was still present in his body.

He drank slowly, methodically, eyes lowered, saying nothing to anyone. Conversation flowed around him—barbed, tired, defensive—but he didn’t join it. Right now, his priorities were brutally simple: stay upright, stay conscious, stay useful.

Later—when this meeting ended, when the next crisis didn’t immediately demand his attention—he would probably go to Sickbay. Probably admit that something inside him was still very wrong.

For now, he drank his soup.