Star Trek: Theurgy

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CHAPTER 06 BATTLE LOG: OPERATION 'RETURN TO SENDER'

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STARDATE 57654.58
APRIL 18, 2381
1340 HRS

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Lower Shuttle Bay | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @Griffinsummoner

Theurgy’s Chief Intelligence Officer had just about had enough of passivity when it came to the efforts of his Department; they had been lurking in the shadows as spies are want to do. They had been playing a purely defensive game thus far, but it high was time that he and his people finally went on the offensive. It was time to take the fight back to those who would sew the seeds of discontent and discord throughout the Galaxy, thus ensuring its ultimate demise.

Originally, when he had initially drawn together the concept of this ‘Operation’ in the wake of the ‘Spearhead Lounge’ bombing, it had called for the use of the SS Sabine; as her speed and soon to be upgraded stealth systems would have allowed Fisher and his team to get close enough to their eventual targets without drawing attention. Well, as it was that flight had already been booked solid somewhere else, at his behest of course, which left him and said operation without a means for execution. At least, that was until right after the adjournment of the meeting his department had held in concert with the Diplomatic Council, when he upon re-examination of the ship’s compliment of embarked craft he stumbled upon another non-standard ship sitting idle in one of the shuttle bays. The ‘Apache’ as it was named, was a relatively small Reman ship, yet still larger than their standard Scorpion-class strike-fighters and roughly on-par with a large Starfleet shuttlecraft. It wasn’t as fast, maneuverable, or as sleek as the Sabine was, but upon inspection of the Apache and some of her finer details, he found that it possessed one of those remarkably brilliant Reman cloaking devices.

That more than piqued Fisher’s intrigue.

So, he made the call to seek approval from their acting Commanding Officer up on the bridge, affording Nat a succinct rundown of the operation in the process, attached with prior approvals from Captain Ives in which he had put its ‘Go or No-go Status’ as contingent on the manifestation of just the right set of circumstances. This situation certainly seemed to check a number of those boxes off of the list, and as such sent the veteran spook into immediate overdrive with coordinating everything that was necessary for this little operation to take place. While waiting for that command level approval to come in, he forwarded a requisition to the owner and operator of the Apache, their most-junior member of the crew, a young half-Reman woman by the name of Samala. He hadn’t yet found the time to meet with her, or her brother since coming aboard Theurgy as it was on a rather lengthy to-do list, so he was counting on her holding status as a ranked crewman, regardless of how low that rank was, as enough to elicit her cooperation in the matter. He was even careful to enlist her in the mission, as she had been designated a support craft pilot. That was fortunate, as it gave her a legitimate reason to be involved, and something that he hoped would decrease any reservations she may have had about her ship being brought into service.

The time would come soon enough though, when he needed to explain it all to her, and the outline the ludicrous but technically feasible task that lay ahead of them. For now though, the support crews down here would work hastily to ensure that all weapons and equipment that he had ordered for the operation were loaded aboard the Apache in a timely fashion. Likewise, any additional security officers that had been assigned would find their way down here, and eventually aboard. Which left him standing just within the doors to the shuttle bay, a PADD in hand as he went about reviewing any relevant information that were necessary for the ensuing operation. As he did however, a thought soon crossed his mind that as he was about to embark upon an operation which didn’t entirely necessitate his involvement, should he consider sending a subordinate in his stead? Pierce? Byrne? Koilos? No. Given the relative high-risk, and lack of extended planning associated with this mission, he couldn’t rightly justify betting their lives on it.

Not when it would demand a level of improvisation that he wasn’t sure any of them would be capable of operating under. That wasn’t a slight against them, or their abilities. If anything, it was a damning of his own thoroughness in the matter. He didn’t feel comfortable burdening any of them with this task since it wasn’t rock solid. They likely possessed the skill necessary, but that didn’t make it any less wrong forcing one of them to risk themselves.

No, he could only really task himself with such a potentially ill-prepared venture.

But before he could actually set off on that venture, he still needed someone with better engineering expertise than he had. It wasn’t so much that he was lost when it came to the subject, but he knew that if he was going to be successful and alacritous in sabotaging Gorka’s ship, he would need a more deftly skilled engineering mind than his own. He had put in a request with Commander Tiran to have someone sent to the shuttle bay, but thus far they hadn’t materialized. He knew that the Engineering team was busy with a plethora of items, given the scenario unfolding around them, and the stress placed upon the ship during Quantum Slipstream travel. He was also aware that their Chief Engineer was something of a firebrand and going through the rather agonizing near death of her husband, their Executive Officer on ice, Commander Ducote. Still, he needed an Engineer, and was just about ready to make the short trip over to the heart of Theurgy to get one when the doors behind him opened and strolling through came another gold-collar.

“You my Engineer?” he turned to face the man, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

[ PO1 Scruffy LeBlanc | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift

Here it was, the first direct conflict between the Theurgy and those responsible for the Spearhead bombing.  He had felt the icy tendrils of fear when he thought about how close it had been for him, but he pushed those away with a fire fueled with the thought of revenge for those lost.  He couldn't directly strike out, but he could give his best to support those who would.  His mind was an AU-a-minute in the calm before the storm, filled with too many potential disaster scenarios, but he tried to direct them, to keep them relevant to the task at hand.  It was the only way to keep him from being distracted and overwhelmed, and postulating what could go wrong allowed him to prepare for how to respond, at least on a technical level.

Scruffy was surprised when he had been assigned to the repair team for Vector 3.  As the primary propulsion section, it was the most agile, but also the most vulnerable section.  The Damage Control Teams would have to be quick on their feet to respond to any problems that popped up, especially with the strain of the QSD.  Then again, maybe I actually made a good impression on Blue at this morning's meeting.  Shortly before his team left Main Engineering, however, he had gotten fresh orders.  Apparently an Engineer was needed for some technical expertise and Klingon interfacing, though he wasn't told exactly what was involved.  So, he grabbed a bunch of tools and components and loaded them onto a cargo-pallet, headed toward the lift up to Deck 21.

[Lower Shuttle Bay | Deck 21 | Vector 03]

Backing his way through the doors of the shuttlebay, he pulled the pallet behind him.  When he was addressed shortly thereafter, he looked over his shoulder.  "Apparently so.  Don't really know what you need, but I wanted to be prepared."  He pulled his load of supplies fully into the bay and turned to directly address the officer.  "What are we up to, Commander?"

[ Crewman 3rd Class Samala | The Apache | Lower Shuttle Bay | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift @Griffinsummoner
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"I wondered when someone would remember that the Apache was still down here,” Samala thought to herself as she ran a series of pre-flight checks. She had performed the same checks dozens of times in her short life, and to be going through them again, after everything that had happened recently was a small comfort in an otherwise troubled time. It wouldn’t be long before the Klingons that were chasing them would catch up and everyone knew that no quarter would be given. She’d heard whispers that there were other Klingons out there, their alignment unknown. This did little to ease the doubts creeping into Samala’s gut, her mind idly wondering if joining the crew was such a good idea now.

A soft tone heralded the end of her checks and she confirmed the results that she knew would be shown. The Apache was as ready as she could make her. Smiling, Samala left her seat in the cockpit and walked back down the main passageway and into the cargo bay. Several support crew members were securing crates of supplies to the deck, their contents unknown to the pilot at the moment. She’d be told when and if it became pertinent, or she got nosey and looked for herself.

Descending the rear ramp, she saw a bearded man watching the ship before movement behind him drew his attention and he turned to speak to an engineer. Guessing that the man, a Lieutenant Commander by his collar, was the same man who had contacted her about the Apache, Samala made her way across the deck to him, stopping a respectable distance away.

“Sir, the Apache is prepped and ready for launch with a full load of weapons. Several crates are being loaded but no other crew have arrived yet,” Samala reported, her arms behind her and resting over the hidden sheath of her knife. It had been returned to her when she had joined the crew, though they had kept her disruptors. “May I ask where we are headed?”

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OOC: I will make finishing the Apache's Wiki page a priority for the next couple of days. Any questions, now or afterwards, just ask.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Lower Shuttle Bay | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Stegro88 @Griffinsummoner

Fisher hadn’t much to go on in terms of familiarity with the particular Engineer that had made his way into the shuttle bay, dragging along with him a pallet of supplies and tools. The Chief Intelligence Officer had of course consulted the ship’s personnel roster since coming to Theurgy, but there were just too many names and faces to memorize in such a short span of time given how big of a ship Theurgy was. And that was without mentioning all of the new ones that had since come to join the mission via other means. Logistically speaking, he imagined it was something of a nightmare for the ships Security team, especially considering the losses they had sustained of late.

“It's Fisher.” Holding out a hand to greet the man, he peered at the pallet of equipment and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Well, better prepared than not, as we’re unlikely to run across any convenience marts while we’re out and about.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he listened to the follow-up question posed and realized that the Petty Officer was without an understanding of what this venture would entail. Considering the crisis raging throughout the ship, and how hastily the approval of this Operation had manifested, it didn’t much surprise him to hear that those details hadn’t been relayed. “Oh you know, just the usual spy game stuff. Boarding an actively hostile-enemy ship through one of their open hangar bays in the middle of battle. Then skulking about that enemy ship, planting some explosives here and there, maybe rigging up a few other tricks of the trade in the process, and lastly escaping before the explosives go off killing us, or we’re detected and executed.” He smirked at the man with a modest sense of personal amusement, aware that though there was a modicum of hyperbole hidden in his explanation, it wasn’t all that off from the reality they were soon to face.

Turning about once more as another voice announced her presence, Fisher recognized the face that it belonged to from the file relevant to the ship he had requested access to. The young Reman/Romulan hybrid that occupied the lowest afforded rank aboard the ship yet was privy to what amounted to one of its most underutilized assets. “Excellent! Crewman Samala, thank you again for being so... receptive... to my request. Hopefully that receptiveness doesn’t change now that I’ll have a chance to fill you, and the Petty Officer in on this mission.” Reaching down at his feet, where a small duffle bag lay, the spy retrieved a pair of PADDs and handed them off to each of the respective personnel. “These PADDs can give you a more complete picture of the pending operation ahead of us. But to answer you pressing question, Crewman, we’re headed to the IKS Ta’rom.” As he let that fact settle in, he gestured beyond the young woman to her craft awaiting their boarding. “Considering we’re not currently in the business of assassinating the prick. As disappointing as that is, and in spite of how difficult it is for me to accept, we’re instead going to make an attempt at exposing the cowardly and duplicitous actions of High Chancellor Martok’s rival, Gorka, to the rest of gathered Klingon fleet.”

“Hearts and minds and all that.”

He could see beyond Samala, that their security team had finally arrived in the shuttle bay and were making their way toward the craft. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t exactly a necessity for them to accompany the already assigned members of this Operation, but it also never hurt to have a couple of additional guns in case things moved in that direction. “We’re just awaiting the arrival of a bit of vital equipment from our Diplomatic corps, and then we’ll be ready to get underway. The two of you may wish to further consult your orders aboard the Apache, and after I’ve made my way aboard, I’ll be able to answer any questions you have when we’re underway.” Fisher wasn’t unreasonable, he knew that he was asking a lot of the two of them by expecting them to just go along with this plan that seemed so hastily put together, but in reality the foundations of this plan had been in place for quite some time. It was just that there had been some new holes poked into it due to a few changes relative to the circumstances surrounding it. That was why he, and only he, could take the lead on this mission, rather than any of his people.

"Barring any last minute additions."

[ PO1 Scruffy LeBlanc | Lower Shuttle Bay | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift

“Fisher, right,” Scruffy said, shaking the offered hand.  He faked a chuckle at the “convenience mart” joke.  As the Commander began to lay out the mission, Scruffy’s grin dropped with each sentence.  He definitely wasn’t expecting anything of that nature.  He was thinking maybe there was salvage that they needed tech expertise on.  But, here he was and he’d do his duty.

Taking the offered PADD, Scruffy resisted the urge to dive into the written brief, knowing that he couldn’t afford to miss anything the Intel officer said.  However, his face definitely lost color when he mentioned their destination.  As the task before them was laid out in very broad terms, Scruffy began to wonder if he was the wrong person for the job, if he should suggest Fisher get someone with a better digital skillset.  What would a Systems Engineer even be doing on this mission?  But he knew that the request hadn’t been for a program expert, so he began to think about where he could be of use.

He was slightly reassured by the appearance of the security team, but really hoped they wouldn’t be necessary.  He was still recovering, mentally, from his near-death experience, and had no desire to repeat the process.  When  he heard the dismissal to board the shuttle, he placed the PADD on top of his pallet of equipment and pushed it toward the cargo hatch of the vehicle, shaking his head.

[ Crewman 3rd Class Samala | The Apache | Lower Shuttle Bay | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift @Griffinsummoner
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"Receptive, that’s a good one,” Samala thought as officer replied to her. “It was either that or allow someone else to fly the Apache around and no one aboard even knows how to fly it. I’d be lucky if they brought the ship back in one piece.” Still, she was here now and just like when she had taken the oath and formally joined the Theurgy’s crew, Samala would do her utmost to protect the ship, and its crew, that was now her home. And she reminded herself of that fact as she read the PADD that Commander Fisher had given her regarding their mission to the IKS Ta’rom.

“Get in, cause trouble where possible and then somehow get out again,” Samala summarised to herself as she read the screen. “I assume he as a plan for getting through the warship’s shields without being detected. As well as a way for us to move about without being detected on the ship’s scanners. It’s not like we can blend in with the other Klingons on board.” Still, there was enough detail in the PADD that Samala could get the general idea of what they planned to do. The details, well, they could be filled in later as the situation evolved.

“Understood, sir,” Samala acknowledged as she turned back to the ramp of the Apache and the cockpit beyond.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Samantha Rutherford (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Samantha_Rutherford) & Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Lower Shuttle Bay | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Stegro88 @stardust @Griffinsummoner

Samantha had not known how similar the sentiment would be, until she was pulled under by the current of mementos. It would be the closer examination of the gentle churning within her stomach which would reveal that it wasn’t exactly the same, not by a longshot, yet by mere matter of timing, it was still oddly familiar. Realizing that Andrew had taken it upon himself to embark on a mission, previously conceived under the manipulative prowess of intelligence and diplomacy combined, the sense of duty and conviction conveyed, had struck a chord. Especially in light of impending doom. And despite the nagging assertion of her subconscious, that it was not the same, that she was not reliving past experiences, just with a different cast and characters, despite the gentle ping of guilt towards even entertaining such considerations, she had found her way to the lower shuttle bay on confident footing.

Donning a PADD of her own, the sole token that made this whole thing bearable and acted as a life-raft of reassurance, in the clasp of her crossed arms, the blonde made her way along the width of the lower bay, having opted for the long approach, slowly easing her feelings into a sense of complacency. It was still an official visit. Or such was the guise of it, that held no little amount of covert operations skill itself. Adopted, of course, not inherent to the slender blonde. Coming up behind the trio, obviously in the stretches of their final pre-launch briefing, she remained by the sidelines, behind Fisher’s back, waiting for an opening in the conversation to assert herself with a gentle - and exceedingly warranted - clearing of her throat. Even if she could convince herself that it was not the same, the sour aftertaste of past experiences pushed the moment to the cusp of unbearable. Yet, unbearable to a Vulcan, she convinced herself, was just another interaction with humans.

-

“Alright. Seems like we’re just about ready.” Fisher hadn’t yet become overtly aware of the fact that the entryway to the shuttle bay had opened and closed, allowing the Chief Diplomatic Officer to sidle in without his noticing. Normally, at times of great stress his trained instincts as a spy were on such high-alert that he would have been keenly aware of the encroaching blonde, but it was now becoming increasingly evident to him that Sam had apparently been operating in a relative blind spot of his. That she either possessed a deftness he had yet to fully comprehend, or that his ability to appropriately keep a gauge of her had been compromised by what she was coming to represent within his thoughts. Or both. Regardless, she always seemed to hold the upper hand whenever they were together, no matter how good his own might have been at the time of a call. She always held Aces to his Kings and were it anyone else he might have found the dynamic utterly insufferable. But it wasn’t anyone else. It was her.

As Samala and Scruffy left him, no doubt to attend to last-minute checks and board their ferry on this relatively ludicrous mission of his, it finally dawned on the Chief Intelligence Officer that someone was waiting behind him. Casting a gaze back over his shoulder, his sage green-eyes found their azure counterparts, and for the briefest of moments his rigid focused exterior melt away. He had indeed been waiting for the prepared data that they would set to bleed out of Gorka’s command ship; essentially letting the crazed usurper to incriminate himself in all of his illicit dealings. But he hadn’t expected that Sam would be the one to personally deliver it to him, rather he’d expected her to dispatch a member of her staff with this mundane task. As far as he was concerned, while this endeavor was fraught with dangers at every turn, it wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary for him or his experience. But he wasn’t going to deny how pleasant it was to have her near him, if even just to hand over a PADD.

“I take it that’s the smoking gun we need to plant?” he asked with a slight smile as one of his thick eyebrows perched itself just incrementally higher than its cousin.

-

And while it may not have been necessary for the Chief Diplomatic officer to deliver the final piece of Gorka’s demise personally, the notion held a measure of personal gravity, that went beyond sticking it to that overbearing, backstabbing targ. Soon the myriad of transistors and microchips, contained within a sleek, booklet like container, would hold far more in terms of symbolic value than the information contained within.

Finding it hard to listen to the merit of his words, over those of his look betrothed on her, Samantha stumbled over the fabric of time, as it lay pleads beneath her feet, as her silence to his query stretched on. “Yeah …” she found herself back in the unstoppable measure of progression, their four-dimensional existence. “I had Kyle translate the last paragraphs into proper, spoken Klingon … I figured it would lend the information a certain credibility. Or Hi'Jak ... or Robert, how he's now called." the diplomat stalled for a moment, readjusting her tangent. "Then I had the computer check the translation to make sure there weren’t any personal slights included, out of sheer spite.” she explained, handing over the now lukewarm PADD to her intelligence counterpart.

“I also weaved in some mannerisms of Gorka’s record-keeping … he apparently files everything under threat levels. Should make the accidental broadcast even more convincing.” she noted, leaving the rest of her thoughts on the matter hanging in the air.

-

Regarding her with an almost quizzical look as she stumbled through list of names of Theurgy’s resident half-breed Klingon, the skin on Fisher’s forehead drew upward to his scalp in the forming of deep pleads as he reached out to accept her offering. Once in his possession, he consulted the data upon it with a quick once-over out of habit, before nodding with a succinct measure of appreciation. “No, we certainly wouldn’t want any thinly veiled swipes at Gorka’s personal honor to be detected among the revelation of his duplicitous dealings.” His temperament obviously one of teasing, as he of course understood how the credibility of the data might be called into question more easily if there was a non-biased tone to it. Her prudence in ensuring exactly that could not be overvalued, as he trusted her professionalism over the matter explicitly so. After all, smiling dutifully in the face of one’s adversary was and integral aspect of her career. And though it may also have been shared aspect of his, he doubted her smiles were so readily followed by the literal plunge of a knife into said adversary’s chest. No, it was far more likely that her deceit was hidden somewhere within the text of an accord that she had written and signed off on.

In the days when such matters were written on physical materials rather than in digital ones and zeroes, he’d read tale of diplomats getting their satisfaction by sharpening the edges of an accord so as to elicit deep paper cuts.

In a way he admired that level of cunningness. The only question was, had Sam hidden her own means of satisfaction within the data?

“I’m excited to air his dirty laundry for all the Empire to see. Polka dots, hearts and all.” A wry smirk crossed his face more fully as he tucked the PADD under his arm, the firing of atmospheric thrusters from the Apache now blasting throughout the cavernous space of the shuttle bay as the time was drawing nearer for his departure. “I guess that’s everything.” Looking back over his shoulder at the oddly shaped craft, which he might have even thought of as ugly, he found himself filled with the same anticipation that he generally felt before any operation. But there was still a lingering consideration in his mind which kept him firmly planted in place, bringing his attention back to the woman standing before him. “Actually, there’s one more thing!” he exclaimed, a sudden seriousness to his voice as he snapped a finger. “You have any food allergies I should be aware of?” The playful confidence he meant to extoll was deliberate, as he recognized the potential ramifications that existed due to the venture he was about to embark upon.

“Y’know. So that I don’t accidentally poison you over dinner tonight.”

-

Four words that conveyed all the definitive reassurance of an obituary, had the diplomat’s face falling somber. She assumed as much was true, as the meaning of his words had been called, which didn’t add any levity to the situation. And just as she contemplated the precipice of murky nothingness, lurking in the wake of his departure, she had not counted on his very nature, to alleviate the impeding suffering.

A gentle, almost elf-ironic chuckle, flared from dainty nostrils, as plump lips arched into an infallible smile. Dipping her pate down in almost demure considerations, the sudden shift of air was not one the adamant woman embraced lightly. “None.” she replied quietly, elevating her glance once more to let light blue clouds of Valhalla fall on vibrant spruce in the spring.

“Just don’t stand me up.” she added, solemnly. A whisper of a shrug, tucking weakly at her dainty scapular, definitely.

-

It was that little escape of laughter which was starting to mean everything to him. A genuine breakdown of her own rigid exterior, even if it only lasted for the faintest of quantum existences. An existence which would have been lost among an eternity of time to anyone else, but to him it would be cherished and remembered forever. “I wouldn’t dare it.” He promised her, taking one side-step backward before stopping once more in his tracks, his attention torn between the ship and dangerous journey which awaited him, and the here and now which beckoned him to stay just an instant longer to fulfill a want, or more specifically a need. He was agonizingly aware that he couldn’t delay forever, spending valuable time pouring over the situation and what it merited, so instead he made the ultimate determination in hasty fashion, damning whatever consequences he might render from prying eyes, or from her for breaking proper protocol.

“Fuck it!” He uttered softly, recalling the memory from the start of their blissful night spent together in open embrace of the mutual feelings which had manifested between them. With a turn back on his heel he quickly closed their proximity and planted a gentle kiss at the periphery of her left cheek near where her jawline met a glorious neck. He let the scent of her perfume fill his senses, and his green-eyes reflect within her own of azure one last time before departing with broad strides toward the waiting Reman vessel, ready to once more unto the breach, and filled with all the confidence in the world that he would in due time be with her again.

“See you in a few!” he called back to her over the roaring engines, a spin round before climbing the ramp up into the belly of the beast that was the Apache.

-

A part of her had been counting on the very predictable nature of emotions and passion. A skill honed from years and years in the service of manipulating people and situations in favor of the Federation - or a far more self-indulging matter. To the point where the minute actions that put the cogs of fate into motion came almost habitually, like an innate magic, that shaped destiny into a more suitable reality.

With his return came a flurry of heat and anticipation, making her muscles flush with liquid gold. The gentle kiss against her cheek, and the more dominant sensation of his auburn scruff against her peach skin, left a semblance of reassurance that somewhat eased the longing. But it was a notion that only held as much value as was bestowed upon it through sentimental craft. And as such, the leggy blonde clung to it like a pillar in an earthquake, while the floor crumbled around her.

When he left, heralding back a reassuring nod, the diplomat raised her hand for a feeble wave, that both conveyed the internal weakness as well as the perceived incredulity of the very display. Words echoing as the last memento of his being, registering almost as a shadow of the past. A promise that none could make, in these trying times. Yet it was cherished as best as an intent could be. For that was all there was left, in the end: The intent.

-

[ Cockpit | Reman Assault Craft | Apache ]

“All systems ready, Crewman?” Fisher asked as he made his way into the unfamiliar confines of the cockpit of the ‘Apache’, peering out through the viewports at the shuttle bay just outside. Reman consoles were surprisingly different than what he was used to, but he had read enough of a dossier that he felt moderately comfortable around them if the need should arise for him to man one. “We have clearance to engage the cloak and disembark at your leisure.” He added, giving the young woman the authority to act with relative autonomy in the moment. She may have technically been subject to the order of ranks, and thus under his command, but he wasn’t ignorant of the fact that he had essentially requisitioned use of her personal ship, and that she hadn’t outright protested.

“Settle in back there!” he hollered toward the aft compartment where their accompanying security detail, and Systems Engineer were huddled.

Tapping his combadge, Fisher was ready to raise the Bridge and inform them of the development. “Mailman to the Bridge, we’re ready to depart from Theurgy. Will keep you apprised from this point on. Good luck!” the callsign he’d chosen for their mission was reflective of their goal, and the name of their pending operation.

“Time to make the delivery.”

[ Crewman 3rd Class Samala | The Apache | Lower Shuttle Bay | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift @Griffinsummoner
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It felt good to be back in what she had come to consider her seat. After Bacury III, she had done all the flying and half fighting that the Apache had been involved in and she had done it all from the very seat she was now occupying. It felt like home. Or at least as she was going to get for a long time to come, she realised as she began the familiar start up sequence that she had learnt years before. As her checks had verified earlier, everything was running precisely as it should be, and the hybrid found herself excited with the mission before her. It was going to be a challenge, but it was one that Samala was looking forward to beating. Footsteps behind her heralded the arrival of Commander Fisher and Samala turned to look at him as he stood behind her.

“We are ready, sir,” Samala responded to the officer’s question. At his mention that they had clearance to launch, Samala grinned before turning back to the forward viewport as Fisher contacted the Theurgy’s bridge. Bringing up power, Samala lifted them off the deck and eased her way out of the Theurgy’s lower shuttlebay.

“Sir, have a seat,” Samala directed as she directed the Apache to the standby station in her orders, waving her hand to indicate the starboard station behind her. “Just be careful what you press. We wouldn’t want to accidentally fire a torpedo.”

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OOC: Apache Layout and Deckplan, such as they are.
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[PO1 Scruffy LeBlanc | Cargo Bay | Reman Assault Craft | Apache ]

Scruffy had just finished securing the component collection in the cargo bay when he felt the deck beneath him rumble as the final preflight steps were finished.  He took a seat within reach (at a lean and a stretch) and pulled the PADD off the top, digging into his mission.  Quickly realizing the extent of what he was involved in, he pulled his other PADD from its holster and began cross-referencing anything he was cleared for about the layout of a Negh’Var warship, about the differences between Klingon and Federation designs of common ship components and how to interface them, and other technical details.  At a minimum, it looked like he’d have to pull some neat tricks with the Ta’Rom’s communications systems, especially to do so without setting off any alerts.

Buried in the briefing, he barely heard the call to "Settle in" and only acknowledged it by quickly glancing up and seeing the security officers seated across the bay from him.  He didn't linger, not wanting to get distracted, and poured back into the PADDs.

He also frequently checked in with the tactical status of the battle ahead as the ships moved into position around Theurgy , the tension of the situation weighing on him.  His newfound concern over his own mortality bled through as heightened concern for his shipmates as well.  There was a bit of discretionary leeway in the mission with regard to other sabotage, but how much of a difference could he really make, even aboard the command-ship.  Especially since blowing it up was apparently not an option.  Still, his mind worked overtime throwing possibilities around, trying to find some keystone he could push to give Theurgy or the fighters even a brief window of opportunity.

To that end, he pulled up the list of components he had brought along.  It was quite thorough, but still just a list of components.  He’d have only the flight over to assemble whatever they needed without delays, so he had to be sure.  After his experience on the Allegiant, his mind kept coming back to the idea of a systems-bypass: a hardware solution to what was usually a software problem, accessing an enemy’s systems without being noticed.  His research seemed to be paying off, as he tried to find points of access in the technical plans available to him.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Fore Compartment | Reman Assault Craft 'Apache' ] Attn: @Stegro88 @Griffinsummoner

It’d been nearly half a decade since Fisher had last felt any kind of real nervousness at the onset of a mission. It wasn’t so much that he was arrogant, but rather he had simply grown numb to that kind of worry and or doubt. But now, as he had taken a seat under the behest of the young pilot at the helm, he found an unease settling in at the base of his stomach. The sensation was surprising to him. Of course he understood that things rarely ever went entirely in accordance with how you planned. Hence why it was such a necessity that he be able to improvise and adapt on the fly. But whereas before his self-confidence had brought him a feeling of calmness, it was now decidedly absent. What was causing this in him? He wondered as the ‘Apache’ ever so slightly tilted and jostled on its way free of Theurgy’s lower shuttle bay. Sure, the odds were stacked a little higher, and the stakes themselves a fair bit grander too. But that didn’t seem to explain why he was feeling such apprehension, and why in the back of his mind he could hear a series of words on repeat. Blinking a moment as the light of the shuttlebay gave way to the darkness of space, backdropped by a crimson hue of anomalous gas, he tried to shelve the myriad of thoughts that had suddenly burst forward into his consciousness.

“Alright. Now we just wait for the colossal prick to show up.” Commenting as he stood from the seat, he began moving toward the aft compartment of the craft before he stopped at the hatchway. “Oh... Crewman, you may want to take a moment when you can and slip into one of the Infiltration suits that we’ve brought aboard. Just in case something goes awry, and you found yourself aboard Gorka’s ship.” It was likely an unnecessary precaution, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared for any eventuality, and Fisher had made sure to have a number of the modified Savi suits supplied for this mission.

[ Aft Compartment | Reman Assault Craft 'Apache' ]

Stepping through the hatchway into the aft compartment, he peered over the assembled security team as they were checking each other over. Fisher had too ordered a set of suits for them, in the hopefully unlikely yet entirely possible event that they had to venture beyond the relative safety of the ‘Apache’. With his mind still lingering on what had been bothering him, he approached the containers that had been brought aboard the Assault Ship and began perusing them for one which contained said suits. “You’ll need to slip into one of these as well, Mr. Leblanc.” He explained as he found the right container and pulled one of the sleek black suits free. Technically Starfleet Issue, it had clearly been modified with tech that wasn’t. The suits had been lined with a bio-dampening fabric which would mask their life signs from internal sensors, and though they also provided a modest amount of armor protection in the form of separated ceramic plates, it was better they remain undetected, as most weapons would still generally be capable of punching through. They were after all about to sneak amongst a crew of worked up Klingons itching for an excuse to fire off a couple of shots and make a kill that they could sing about over a cup of warm blood wine.

“Especially since you’ll be accompanying me on this little expedition.” He added as he unzipped his duty jacket, slipping it off of his shoulders to bare the crimson shirt worn underneath.

“You spend any time in the field before?”

[ Crewman 3rd Class Samala | The Apache | Outside USS Theurgy | En Route to Qo’noS ] Attn: @Swift @Griffinsummoner
[Show/Hide]

Once past the doors, Samala had activated the gunship’s cloaking device, rendering them as less than a hole in space. True, she knew that the cloak was less than infallible, but it was far better than the alternative. Besides, without out, their little stealth mission wouldn’t even be a possibility, never mind be occurring. She knew the reason why the Federation didn’t use cloaking devices, but in her opinion, it was a stupid reason give who their enemies had been in the past.

“Their loss,” Samala mused as Commander Fisher stood up from his seat at the Apache’s tactical station. He spoke as he did so, and the young hybrid listened as he requested that she change into one of the infiltration suits that he had brought along. “Should probably had done that back in the shuttle bay when we had more time,” Samala pointed out to herself. “Would have definitely been a more convenient time to do it.”

“Understood sir,” Samala acknowledged without looking back at the officer. “As soon as we reach our station, I will change.” Seemingly satisfied, Fisher disappeared down the passageway and Samala brought the Apache around, adding almost 100,000 metres on the Z-axis to put them almost directly above the Theurgy, relative to the dreadnaught. It, hopefully, put them out of the immediate vicinity of Klingon arrivals. “Take two points, draw a line and then mark a point on that line and you end up with a two-dimensional intercept vector.”

It was good in theory, Samala knew as she locked the controls and headed out of the cockpit. The Theurgy would tell her if the situation changed, either from the Klingons changing course or cloaking. If that happened, well... they’d figure it out. Entering the cargo bay, Samala quickly retrieved the suit set aside for her and returned to her quarters. Once changed, Samala returned to the cockpit to await the Klingons arrival.

---

A Short Time Later...

“They’re here!” Samala called though the Apache’s internal coms.

[PO1 Scruffy LeBlanc | Aft Compartment | Reman Assault Craft 'Apache' ] @Swift

Scruffy glanced up as he heard the rear door of the compartment open, seeing Commander Fisher stepping into the cargo bay.  He briefly noted the slightly distracted look on Fisher’s face before going back to his notes.  That is, until he heard his name spoken and looked up.  Practically habit at this point, his skin paled and he took a steadying breath as the implications hit him.  He gazed at the suit like it was a charged phaser pointed at him, before scratching the back of his head with one of his PADDs. 

As Fisher started to slip into his suit and asked him about field experience, Scruffy squirmed a little.  “Not in actively hostile territory, no.  I’ve done supply and repair missions, of course.  And a tour with the SCE often puts one outside of ‘safe’ zones, but the fighting is usually done before I show up.  Damage control aside, of course.”

“Don’t suppose I could just use one of the standard-issue stealth suits?  The plates tend to hamper movement, and I’m already going to be loaded down with equipment.  Might need to be able to squeeze into some tight places.  Besides, the hope is to not be seen, right?”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) & PO2 Scruffy LeBlanc (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Scruffy_Leblanc) | Aft Compartment | Reman Assault Craft 'Apache' ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @Griffinsummoner

With his duty jacket off, Fisher then began to remove his crimson undershirt as it would have been a mistake to wear it, even as moderately reserved in hue it may well have been. Simply put, darker colors were almost always a better option when embarking upon clandestine operations, especially aboard an actively hostile vessel like the Ta’rom. Stepping out of his duty slacks next, he then retrieved and slipped into a set of form fitting black trousers, and a black long-sleeved shirt which would afford more in the way of general stealth. “Normally, I too would have probably opted for the lighter variant. Better to be fast and agile, than slow and clumsy, right? But...” taking a moment to retrieve the lower carapace of ceramic armor plating he would need to put on, the spy examined it for just a moment. “...these Savi suits are still surprisingly nimble, and it won’t hurt to have a bit of a tougher hide in case we do end up entangled with some angry Klingons and their pointy bat’leths.” Stepping into the carapace, he actuated a switch at the waist which caused the slightly oversized garment to cinch tight around his legs, conforming to his specific build and size.

“That said, Mister LeBlanc. Since it is my intention to immediately shuffle you out of harm’s way, should it so cross our path, I afford you the choice of whichever suit you prefer.” Grabbing at the upper torso carapace garment next, Fisher likewise examined it for a moment before hefting it over his head and slinging his arms through, until his head emerged from the neck hole. “If you prefer the lighter suit, so that you’ll be better able to lug around whatever equipment you’re bringing, then by all means. Just...” he actuated a similar control at the waist of this half of the armor, and it cinched tight around his torso. “...if we do run into any wannabe Kahless’, remember to duck down behind me. Yeah?” Grinning a moment as he admired the feel of the full suit, Fisher then grabbed at a nearby belt which had an attached sheath and wrapped it around his waist before pulling free a carbide steel tanto knife. Turning it over in his hand once or twice, he wanted to get a feel for its weight and the dexterity of his movement in this suit of armor.

-

Scruffy considered everything Fisher was saying to him as he slipped off his equipment harness and duty jacket.  He did a quick reference on his PADD, then walked over to the crates, extracting one of each suit. "Yeah, I can definitely see how having some extra plating might be good for deflecting blades, beyond the normal energy-dispersal fabrics."  He quickly slipped on the standard Starfleet stealth suit before slipping his harness back on.  Grabbing the Savi suit, he took it with him over to the workbench nearby.

He pulled out a precision cutting tool from his belt and stretched the arm of the Savi suit across the workbench.  Quickly but carefully, he severed the suit at the elbow and wrist, then repeated the procedure for the other arm and both legs.  As he was working, he spoke to Fisher, “Did you have any particular way you wanted the ‘dirty laundry aired,’ as it were?  And what other sabotage were you wanting to do?  I need specifics before I can really load up.” When he was done, he slipped them onto his forearms and legs, a bit of a bracer/greave combination bulking out his otherwise lanky limbs. "There.  Now I've got something protecting my narrower extremities, without compromising my overall profile."

-

Returning the tanto knife to it’s sheath where it locked with a satisfying snap, the spy listened as his infiltration partner expressed an apparent understanding of the benefits offered by the Savi variety of sneak suits, though he could detect something behind the tone of voice which potentially betrayed a hidden notion of ingenuity. He’d not known the Petty Officer beyond that of a quick once-over of ship’s personnel conducted when Fisher first came aboard Theurgy some two weeks prior, but he imagined there must’ve been some reason the man named ‘Scruffy’ had been selected among his peers for this mission. Hell, in contrast to Fisher’s own limited Engineering capabilities, he felt relatively certain that LeBlanc would do just fine, though that wasn’t saying much. All the same, he did feel a certain confidence, however unfounded and unwarranted it may have been, that the man would and could hold his own. Perhaps it was that old ‘spy intuition’ at play, he figured.

Selecting a second, yet smaller close-in weapon from a small black duffle bag he’d brought with him, Fisher refrained from unsheathing the little curved karambit and instead clipped it to the inside of his left ankle.

“Well, the data has been translated and transcribed by our Diplomatic Corps, so that it’ll be better received. Meaning it hopefully won’t sound like any kind of a deceitful attempt by Starfleet to denigrated Gorka’s honor.” Reaching for a Pulse-Phaser pistol from one of the equipment crates the Security detail had brought aboard, Fisher latched onto a bulkhead an instant later as the ship jostled about beneath his feet. “Ideally...” he checked the power-setting on the Phaser before holstering it at his right hip. “...I’d like to try and find a way for the data to be dumped from his ship’s communication system each time he attempts to command his fleet. The idea being that it’s being leaked by the people closest to him, aboard his own ship. If that doesn’t win over some hearts and minds of the undecided portion of this gathering, then I’m out of ideas. Aside from that if we can hamper his targeting sensors I’d like to try. But our priority is the disclosure of files which will condemn him among his people.”

Turning back as the man had made alterations to his suit, Fisher nodded in approval at the modifications made.

-

Scruffy replaced his tools and took notes on his PADD as Fisher began clarifying some of the points of the mission.  He pulled up his Negh'Var schematics, focusing on the communication systems and tracing the systems. "As long as his ship hasn't been too heavily modified, there appears to be access to the communications systems not too far from the fighter bays.  The shape of the ship, of course, necessitates most of the systems being aligned down the center column, essential systems near the base where they've got the most plating between them and the enemy, but there's transmitters and access points up on the secondary hull near the hangar bay, probably to reduce interference.  I can probably rig up a bypass for the communications array if I can get physical access, where any outgoing messages transmits one of our prepared messages instead." He made a couple notes for what equipment he'll need to prepare.

"A few decks down from the hangar should be the aft computer core.  There are likely measures in place to limit access to the main core, but we should be able to access one of the auxiliary cores in the secondary hull.  If you wanted to introduce something more blatant, that'd probably be a good access point.  However, if I can trace either the incoming sensor feed or the outgoing targeting data though, I should be able to rig up a hardware-loop that'll put a slight delay into the system.  It won't be much, but it shouldn't set off any system alerts, so it might take them longer to notice.  They might also be able to manually adjust for it once they are aware, but that's tough to do with chaotically moving targets."

He made sure his engineering-tricorder was linked with his PADD and set up a passive tracing program. "I can also use the same scans to map the local access tunnels, allowing us to bypass the main corridors. I don't want to get spotted any more than you do." he said with a smirk.

-

Listening as the Engineer began to work his way through the layout of a Negh’Var-class warship on his PADD, Fisher began making a few personal checks of his personal gear, so as to ensure he didn’t leave anything behind, and that he knew where everything on him was at all times. In addition to the knife and phaser, he had selected a number of trinkets and gadgets which he had come to rely upon during past infiltration missions; each of them with varying use, and which would make this particular mission viable. ‘Spies and their tricks!’ he remembered the snarky words used to describe his methods and couldn’t help but let an amused smile cross his face for a faint moment. “Klingons aren’t generally known for toying around with the designs of their ships. Usually they take whatever they can get their hands on and fly the things until they’re damn near falling apart at the seams. In fact, I’m willing to bet the schematics you have are surprisingly accurate for Gorka’s ship.” Reaching for a pair of black lightly-armored gloves, Fisher began slipping them on one after the other as he was feeling a sense of adrenaline well up within him.

“The less far we need to stray from the ‘Apache’ the better, so if you think you can hide our data packet within their communication systems from one of the auxiliary computer cores, and that it’ll still be transmitted accordingly, then I think we have our destination in mind.” Stepping over to where the gathered security personnel were toying with their phaser rifles, he peered back at Scruffy for an instant. “I have no doubt that at some point they’ll discover our piggybacked signal, and try to adjust and remove it, but even if we can only get the Ta’rom to spill Gorka’s dirty little secrets once, it’ll have a tremendous effect on the battle. His honor will come into question, and those ships which don’t outright turn on him, will likely withdraw out of a lack of sureness in his intentions. It might not win the war, but it’ll stall things just long enough for the Captain and the High Chancellor to hopefully turn the tide in our favor.” Taking a deep breath, he actively began to quell the energetic response of his body, knowing that he needed to be cool, calm, and collected in order for this whole thing to even have a chance of working. This wasn’t the first time he’d be boarding a Klingon ship in the midst of a battle, but it was the first time he’d be doing so with the intent of remaining undetected throughout said infiltration.

“We’ll try and stick to those access tunnels as best we can. I might be dressed for the occasion, but that doesn’t mean I want to dance the night away with if I can avoid it.” He nodded to the other man, just as a call came from the fore of the ‘Apache’ alerting them to the arrival of the Klingon fleet, and the target of this somewhat idiotic endeavor.

[ Fore Compartment | Reman Assault Craft 'Apache' ]

Grinning slightly, Fisher moved quickly to rejoin Samala in the cockpit, peering out through the canopy at Gorka’s fleet as they were one-by-one dropping out of warp around them. At the very fore of this fleet and standing out predominantly was a Negh’Var.

“That’s the Ta’rom. Now we just wait for the window to open up, and we’re in like Flynn.”

[ Crewman 3rd Class Samala | The Apache | Outside USS Theurgy | En Route to Qo’noS ] Attn: @Swift @Griffinsummoner @Auctor Lucan
[Show/Hide]

Despite knowing what was coming for the Theurgy, seeing all the Klingon ships dropping out of warp was a fearsome sight to behold for the young hybrid. She had heard stories of the wars fought by her father and brother, the most ferocious of which they both agreed, was the war against the Dominion. They told tales of huge fleets of powerful starships smashing against each other until neither side resembled more that flickering hulks awaiting the scrap pile. She wondered how close the imagery before her would line up with their stories. The sound of footsteps behind her heralded the approach of Fisher and her peered past her out the canopy at the emerging Klingon vessels, directing her attention at one in particular.

"That's the Ta'rom. Now we just wait for the window to open up, and we're in like Flynn," commented the Terran next to her. 

“That will be much easier said than done,” Samala reminded the officer. “Getting to it, without being hit by anyone is the first challenge, then we must be able to breach their shields without being detected. After that, well, getting into the hanger will be easy,” Samala remarked before a warning tone sounded in the cockpit. “The Klingons are firing,” Samala said, though it was obvious to them both what had happened. It was happening right before their eyes. “Looks like it was just Gorka’s way of greeting them.”

“There we go, the Ta’rom is launching its raiders,” Samala announced several moments later. It was what she had been waiting for. She needed to know which hanger would be the one for where the Klingon fighter craft would be returning too so that she could be in position and ready when they did. “Tell everyone to strap in, I imagine this next part could be a bit bumpy.”

Keeping a close eye on the battle, Samala began to move the Apache, using a light hand and low power, she brought them around behind the bulk of the Klingon ships. It was a relatively safe place, all things considered. They would all be focused on the Theurgy’s divided vectors and the wolves among them to look behind at the empty space. No, what worried Samala the most was if there were any further Klingon ships hidden under their cloaks behind the main fleet. She couldn’t see them, and wouldn’t, until she crashed into one. That and random weapons fire were her biggest concerns.

“Fvadt!” Samala cursed in Romulan as her current plan went out the cargo bay doors. “The Ta’rom just changed course. There are bearing down on the Helmet instead of sitting back like they were.” Now she had to make a choice, follow her target or try and intercept them elsewhere on the battlefield. “I cannot risk following them through that. If we take a hit, we’ll be lucky to have the time to transport out of here. I’m going to circle around and see if I can close on the Ta’rom from the other side.”

It was all they could do as the space between the battle-carrier and the Theurgy came to life with disruptors, phasers and photon torpedoes. Samala, even in her craziest moments wouldn’t dare trying to follow a target the size of a Negh’var through that storm. It was simply too dangerous. If they were to complete their mission, then Samala had to fly the long course.

Time seemed to drag on as she orbited the battlefield. She had to be patient, to stalk her prey until the moment was perfect. Too early or too late on her strike and all would be for naught. No, she had to bide her time. Her lunge must be perfect.

“There!” Samala announced, more to herself than to anyone listening. Two of the Theurgy’s warp fighters were attacking the Ta’rom, striking it multiple times and causing the Negh’var’s shields to flare brightly under the strain. Several Klingon raiders were pursuing them, eager to protect their mothership from the onslaught. Samala couldn’t help them though, not if she was to exploit what appeared to be an imminent shield failure. If she could get to the hull, then she could hug the hull and sneak into the hanger that way. Afterall, it wouldn’t be like they would just leave the doors open for her.

Weaving through the carnage, Samala’s fingers danced across the control surfaces as the manoeuvred the Apache like it was dancer in the performance of their life. Energy blasts and torpedoes zipped past them close enough to rattle the ship with their passing, but the crew woman ignored it, her sights set on the rear of the Ta’rom. Ahead of her, the shields of the mighty Klingon vessel flared once more as the fighters attacked again, and this time, they collapsed under the strain with several explosions on the green hull signalling their fall.

“HANG ON!” Samala shouted, her voice as loud as her eyes were focused. One of the fighters detonated from the impact of the Ta’rom’s weapons but not before getting several shots off at a raider they had slid in behind. The shots, while not destroying the raider outright, seemingly did some serious damage as the craft began trailing coolant while turning back towards the battle-carrier. “Perfect”

Slipping in behind the damaged raider, Samala kept the Apache slightly above the trailing stream, using it as a guide for where she needed to go. The Ta’rom loomed large out the forward canopy and Samala gritted her teeth as the hanger came into sight. She could only hope now that there was a space large enough for her to park the Apache without them being noticed. Recalling the layout of the hanger as provided to them, Samala inverted the Apache and prepped the maglocks built into the ventral surfaces of the gunship.

“Here we go,” Samala announced as the slowed to enter the hanger, with the Apache coasting invisibly in behind them. Killing her speed, Samala nudged the Apache upwards into a gap between two of the main structural members for this section of the carrier. Thankfully, the Klingons didn’t feel the need disguise them and the distance between them was just sufficient to house the Apache. Checking the closing rate, Samala killed her engines and engaged the maglocks just before the Apache collided with the roof. Impact sounds echoed through the hull, along with a vibration and the hybrid could only hope that they had gone unnoticed in the hanger due to the battle outside.

“We’re down,” Samala confirmed as she checked her systems. “Shutting everything down except the cloak, gravity, life support and the mag locks. The access hatch for the utilities shaft under the deck above us should be just beyond the rear ramp. You’d better let them know that we’ve....” Her words were cut off as the Apache vibrated again. But this one was different, the source coming from the Ta’rom itself. Checking her displays again, Samala’s face lost colour as she turned back to Fisher.

“I’ve lost the uplink to the Theurgy,” she revealed before moving on to the worse news. “The Ta’rom has gone to warp!”

---

OOC: Apologies for the delay. A quick sitrep to clarify the Apache's location in the bay.

The Apche is upside down relative to the Ta'rom (yay for artificial gravity). There is an access hatch for the Klingon version of Jefferies tubes, just beyond the rear ramp of the Apache. Crawl upside down out the ramp and then hoist yourself up into the tube where the Ta'rom's gravity takes over.

Enjoy.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Fore Compartment | Reman Assault Craft 'Apache' ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @Griffinsummoner

Narrowing eyelids around his sage-green orbs, the spy watched with a slightly reserved notion of awe as the ships of their conniving opponent continued to drop from warp one after the other. Unlike the young hybrid seated at the controls, Fisher had personally seen and in fact stood opposite fleets of this fashion before, and on several occasions. Still, a mass of Klingon warships was hardly anything to scoff at. Taking a soft yet deep breath, he sought in advance to temper a surge of his nerves before they had any chance of overtaking his general calm demeanor. Nodding succinctly as Samala reminded him of the relative difficulty of their mission, he felt a sense of relief at once more being aboard a cloaked vessel. Sure, while cloaked they were without shields and as such dangerously vulnerable to any wayward shot which could strike and essentially blow them out of the stars in a fiery instant but given the circumstances, he still much preferred the odds of a potentially incidental death over those which were virtually guaranteed with a wholly exposed and visible ‘Apache’. Soon the ambient red haze of the nebula gases in the backdrop were contrasted by a green disruptor bolt as it scorched the distance between one of the ships, and Theurgy. A greeting of sorts, as Samala had so aptly described it.

“I trust your piloting skills, Crewman.” He reassured, and though he of course had little fore-knowledge of Samala or her abilities, his tone of voice was deliberately intended to convey a notion of confidence in her.

“Buckle up, back there!” He announced after tapping his combadge, heeding her charge to alert the passengers in the aft compartment of the relatively bumpy flight ahead of them. Settling back into his seat a little more as the inertial dampeners, which he imagined were running on lowered power settings, struggled to adjust for the relative g-forces being pulled during maneuvers. Beyond the cockpit windows he could see as more weapons were being fired, and as ships began to break formation as the battle was getting underway. In the back of his mind he felt comfortable that Theurgy would see the day through, but there was still an added ounce of concern which he normally hadn’t found nagging at him in past skirmishes. With an exhale, he immediately knew the source of said concern, and despite an attempt to try and quell the associated nerves in his stomach by reassuring himself that ‘she’ would be fine and was in fact far safer back aboard the immense Multi-Vector Dreadnought than he was out here on the modest little assault ship, he still couldn’t quite dismiss the feeling outright. Blinking a few times, he tried not to focus on the distracting uncertainty of it all, but rather instead the details of the mission they were about to embark upon.

Left as little more than a passenger, Fisher watched as the young pilot moved the assault ship about so as to better position themselves near the Ta’rom, though before they could really get aligned appropriately, the big Negh’Var surged forward so as to more directly join the battle. That complicated matters, as Samala so described for his benefit, but it didn’t necessarily preclude the success of this operation. They still had a chance, if as he had stated earlier, the right window could be pried open for them. “Understood. Do whatever you have to, Crewman!” He had considered re-emphasizing the importance of infiltrating the Ta’rom, and how much was riding on their success, but understood how it would only have been an added stress which she didn’t really need in the moment. Her job was in effect difficult enough, given the task set out before her, and the intensity of weapons fire erupting all about and around them. Maybe his assumption was incorrect, and it wasn’t better to be invisible and unshielded, as he had previously theorized? Well, it was too late to make a change now, not that any of the sort would have improved the odds of their survival, or the mission prospects.

Thankfully, there was a momentary lull in the intensity of the battle, at least it so appeared to him in the cockpit as the ‘Apache’ hung around at the periphery of combat, stalking its prey like a great owl ready to swoop in at just the opportune moment. He was willing to attribute a degree of the relative calmness to the skillful piloting of Samala, as she had remained active at the controls throughout it all. No need for, or no willingness to engage the auto-pilot, that is if Reman ships even came equipped with such a consideration.

“Let’s not waste what they’ve won us.” He commented as Samala pointed out the pair of Lone Wolves, who had struck a blow, and had in essence given them just the opportunity they were hoping for.

“Take us in!”

Throttled against his seat, Fisher instinctively gripped at the armrests on either side of him as the ‘Apache’ danced and weaved in and out of the line of weapons-fire, which was being exchanged between Theurgy’s warpfighters and those which had been launched by Gorka. It was an impressive display, as the ‘Apache’ had not struck the spy as a ship which was overly maneuverable, but it evidently was. Or at least, it appeared to be under her command.

“Damnit!” he winced as one of those friendly warpfighters had been destroyed, and he recognized how its occupant had paid the reaper’s price on behalf of them and the mission. There were always going to be casualties when a battle of this kind erupted, and in his mind, Fisher knew that there were no guarantees that he and the others wouldn’t wind up as some of them. But while he had known this, and grown accustomed to it as a reality, he had never fully adjusted to the feeling of implicit responsibility which accompanied those casualties. That feeling was especially paramount whenever those casualties came as direct result of missions and orders which he had in fact made. And while not having necessarily made the order for whichever pilot had swooped in on their behalf, this mission had been drawn up by him, and as such meant that he had played a part in their fate. Exhaling through his nostrils, he leant in to observe how Samala was now trailing one of the Klingon raiders, a constant stream of leaking cooling acting as a guide for them to follow as it homed in on the hangar bay of the Ta’rom. It was going for repair, which would give them the means to sneak into Gorka’s command ship.

“Apache to Theurgy, delivery is approaching the neighborhood.” Tapping at a console attached to the chair he was still seated in, it was the lone bit of encrypted communication he could afford to send to their own mothership, just prior to their entering of the Ta’rom. After they were inside, communications wouldn’t only be an exceedingly dangerous prospect, it would likely be impossible.

They were in effect, cut off entirely.

“Well. Down is a relative term.” Fisher corrected as the ‘Apache’ impacted against the upper bulkhead of the hangar bay, then mag locked and settled into place with the disconcerting visage of the inside a Klingon hangar bay beyond the viewports as an ominous backdrop. “Don’t see that every day.” He soon added as he stood up from his seat and approached Samala from behind, stopping to lean over her shoulder so that he could better inspect their new surroundings. A few seconds later, the hybrid had only just finished going through the readouts of systems when her words were cut short as the ship shifted beneath them. Green eyes going wide, he had thought that maybe the ‘Apache’ was slipping loose from where it had moored. “Are we secure?” Reaching for a stanchion to brace himself against just in case the ship was about to drop like a rock from the ceiling down unto the decking below, Fisher hadn’t been expecting to hear of the actual cause of their sudden alarm. At least, he had been hoping that of all the possible scenarios they could have found themselves in, it would have been the least likely to occur. Yet here they were.

Letting an uncomfortable silence linger in the cockpit after Samala had revealed what the consoles were telling her, Fisher exhaled sharply before stepping away from her. “Other than the potential point of our rendezvous, it doesn’t change a thing. Time is still a factor, and our mission is still on. Keep monitoring things as best you can and make adjustments wherever you need. Maybe put together some contingencies for how we’re going to get out here. Be it in a hurry while Gorka and this damned ship is still at warp, or after we get to wherever we’re going.” Fisher couldn’t be sure, but he was willing to bet he knew where the Ta’rom was headed, after all, there was really only one destination which mattered. Qo’nos. But that still an assumption, however calculated it may have been. “If shit hits the fan, and we haven’t reported back or returned in thirty-minutes time; or if it becomes apparent that we’ve been compromised, take the ship and go.” Approaching the hatch which led into the aft-compartment, he turned back to Samala. “Keep comms clear. We’ll relay what we can if it’s safe. Otherwise, countdown starts the moment we’re off ship. Understood?”

[ Aft-Compartment | Reman Assault Craft ‘Apache’ ]

Emerging into the aft-compartment, Fisher could see the confused looks on the security personnel but paid them little regard. “Mister LeBlanc. We ready?” He asked as he hefted a small black satchel from where it was set on the pile of equipment, slinging it over his head and shoulder.

[PO1 Scruffy LeBlanc | Aft Compartment | Reman Assault Craft 'Apache' ] @Swift @Stegro88

As the call went out that the Klingons had arrived, and Fisher returned to the cockpit, Scruffy decided that their plans were about as well-defined as they were going to get.  The rest will be improvising.  He sat down in a chair deployed adjacent to the workbench and started pulling components out of the pallet-crates he had brought aboard.  As the ship began to swing with the maneuvers being pulled, he had to focus that much more, keeping his hands steady in near-surgeon precision as he made connections and assembled the devices he’d need: two processor-bypass units, one with a delaying circuit for the weapons arrays and one with a link for Fisher’s data dump.  He checked the coding with his PADD as he finished the second one to be sure that whatever data packets came in to the unit (outgoing communication), they’d be replaced by one of the ones from the data drive.  The ship started picking up turbulence (or more erratic maneuvers) as he assembled his third unit, a power-bypass that could be used to disrupt conduit flow.  Might be good for a bit of sabotage depending on where they needed to put it, though the effect would be a lot more obvious than the other devices.  He tried not to linger on it, but for a moment he thought back to the Spearhead and what he could do with a power surge. After that, he started just attaching tools to his utility belt and securing them in place, slipping a few basic devices into pouches. 

Improvise indeed, the thought to himself as the ship shuddered and he heard the distinctive sound of physical contact through the ship.  Something nagged the back of his mind when he heard it, but he didn’t have time to figure out what the problem was before the ship shook, nearly throwing him out of the seat despite the restraints.  He held his breath for a moment, looking at the security personnel, but things seemed calm again, so he pulled himself upright and checked his PADD.  As he had programmed, his tricorder was already taking in background signatures from the Ta’Rom’s systems nearby, providing him a 3-D map of the power-distribution systems and helping him find the standard access tunnels.

Which is when he noticed they were hanging upside-down from the ceiling.  He realized what had been bothering him since they touched down and had just gotten up from the chair when Fisher returned to the aft section.  “Sir, are we really hanging upside down from the hangar ceiling?  Are we planning on shimmying along the structural beams to the access hatch with all our equipment?”

[ Crewman 3rd Class Samala | The Apache | Hanger Bay | IKS Ta’rom | En Route to Qo’noS ] Attn: @Swift @Griffinsummoner
[Show/Hide]

Running through the checklist she had written up was a helpful distraction for what had just occurred. The Ta’rom wasn’t meant to leave the engagement site, much less with them only having just made it on board. Commander Fisher’s reassurances were of little comfort to the hybrid as she had listened to him but now, thinking about it, Samala didn’t have as much to worry about as she had thought.

“The Apache is in good condition. Nothing can detect me. All I have to do is get back outside the Ta’rom and I am gone. After that, head for Qo’noS and convince Martok to contact the Theurgy for me. Assuming I cannot reach them myself,” Samala told herself as she checked the last item off her list. Standing, she exited the cockpit and began heading towards the back of her ship. Fisher had told her to figure out a few ways for them to get out and to do that, Samala had to get a better look at the hanger they were now in. She was just in time to hear the shaggy-haired human ask if they were meant to shimmy along the beams to get to the access hatch.

“Only if you want to, sir,” Samala offered with a smile, feeling better now that she had a plan. “But if it makes it easier for you, I hid us right next to a ceiling hatch. It should be right at the end of the ramp.” With that explained, Samala moved across to the rear of the cargo hold to a control panel and began to lower the ramp slowly. When designed, the idea of a stealth infiltration had been considered and the ramp had several speed settings to reduce the noise generated by its descent. While waiting for it to come down, Samala also activated the into barricades and watched as several panels rose out of the floor, creating defensive positions they could fight from. “All you have to do is watch out for the gravity flip when you leave the ramp,” Samala said before walking down the ramp to its end. 

What might have appeared insane to the others, was perfectly safe to Samala as she knew that the ramp had its own gravity plating and was within the Apache’s cloaking field. As long as they didn’t drop something from too far off the ramp or made too much noise, then they should be fine. Looking around, she spotted the hatch right at the end of the ramp, allowing the team access into the maintenance tunnels of the Klingon ship. They would be able to crawl right into it. But she had other things she needed to find as she looked up/down at the Klingon raiders on the deck, multiple Klingons moving about them.

[ Chief Petty Officer Amlas Keyah (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Chief_Petty_Officer_Amlas_Keyah) | Cargo Hold aboard the Apache | Hangar Bay ceiling of the IKS Ta'rom | En Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]Running her hand over her blue, bald head, Chief Petty Officer Amlas Keyah waited for her orders - listening idly to the conversation she overheard. She was dressed in the strange Savi-tech suit she'd been given, just like her three fellow Security officers in the cargo hold.

They were human, all three of them. Petty Officer Jean Paul Rivard (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Petty_Officer_First_Class_Jean_Paul_Rivard) was experienced enough, she knew, having been in the boarding party during the supply raid on the Black Opal and fought by her side at Starbase 84 when they seized the reactor room. While injured during the mission, he had survived and served below her again when they repelled an Asurian boarding party that attempted to capture Main Engineering on the Theurgy. Besides Rivard, Keyah also had crewmen Cabrera (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Crewman_Cabrera) and Vansen (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Crewman_Petra_Vansen). Between those two, Keyah didn't really trust Cabrera's judgement, knowing he'd been one of the Devoted, but since the Temporal Affairs Officer he'd idolised talked him right over a month ago, the man had done his best to redeem his name. Foolish. Impressionable. Hope he has his head on straight...

As for Petra Vansen, she was really pretty to look at - the Savi suit leaving little to the imagination - but Keyah had no idea about her level of experience with away missions.

In quietude, she listened, keeping her nerves in check where she sat, and tried not to be too disconcerted with being upside down. She could hear Klingon voices outside the Apache's hull. Her combadge translated some of the Klingonese, and from what she could gather, the ones working in the bay had to be oblivious about their presence, because judging by their shouting, they were confused about why they had left all their Phantom raiders behind and just bolted out of the battlefield. Hope they don't look upwards if we're to go through that ceiling hatch...

And once the order came, Keyah checked the power level on her pulse phase pistol, holstered it at her hip, and walked towards the airlock. She looked between the three fellow officers from Security, made a judgement call, and waved for Cabrera to accompany her. Rivera and Vansen would defend their means of escape, while she could keep her eye on the former Devoted. Without a word, Cabrera got up and followed her, armed the same way she was and looking calmer than she'd expect from a lower ranking officer.

Once it was their turn, Keyah carefully heeded the advise to not let gravity surprise her, held on to the edge of the opening, and pulled herself through after dangling for a couple of seconds. All the while, she wondered if the cloak would really hide them, and hoped none of the Klingons below would look up. Cabrera followed her, albeit a little bit more slowly, and they both awaited further orders from the Chief Intelligence Officer.

---

MEANWHILE, ON THE BRIDGE

---

[ Captain Gorka, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Story_NPCs#Gorka_son_of_Margon_of_House_Mo.27Kai) | Bridge | IKC Ta'rom | En-Route to Qo'noS ] Attn: All
[Show/Hide]Cursing, Gorka stood up and walked towards the exit of the bridge. Usually, he was calm, collected. Known for his cunning, but in hearing that Martok had a head start towards Qo'noS, the ire boiled in his veins.

"Whatever can be done to get to the Great Hall more quickly, do it," he snarled quietly, glaring at the present officers. "Martok has a head start, so spare no resources. The future of our Empire hangs in the balance. I will challenge the old Targin front of the council if that's what it takes."

And then he left, preparing to spread the word about what he meant to do next, and rally his forces to try and intercept whatever ship Martok was on. He still had forces closer to the First City, and he'd use them to grant himself some time. Alone, in his ready room, he would use all the assets he could reach to secure his ambitions. He had subspace messages to send all across the Empire, and he had little time to rally those distant forces to his cause.

"What about the raiders we left behind?" asked the weapons officer before the doors shut behind Gorka.

"Have them continue the fight! There are still Martok loyalists aboard the Theurgy. Kill them all, along with the renegade collaborators."

If Martok was still alive, Rov had failed, so he was expendable.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Auxiliary Maintenance Corridor | A-Deck | IKS Ta'Rom ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @Griffinsummoner

The transfer from ‘Apache’ to Ta’rom had actually gone rather smoothly; far smoother than the veteran spy had anticipated at the onset of this slightly ridiculous venture that he and his Intelligence cohorts had concocted. Especially so, when taking into account the mildly odd positioning of the Reman Assault Craft which had mag-locked itself to the upper ceiling of the hangar bay, upside down.

“Now that we’ve had our little refresher on the relativeness of concepts like up and down...” he mused, having helped the last of the boarding party up through the access panel, and letting the Klingon vessel’s artificial gravity take ahold of her. At a crouch in the confined passageway, Fisher peered past their requisite Engineer for this operation in an attempt to get his bearings. “...according to the schematics dug up by Mister LeBlanc, this corridor should run another fifty or so meters fore toward the bow, where it’ll intersect a turbolift shaft.” Reaching for a tricorder at his hip, he brought up said schematic (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/images/thumb/8/89/ORTS001.png/800px-ORTS001.png) and followed along it with a gloved index finger. “We can then take that shaft down to Deck Four, where we should have access to a communications subsystem processor.” He didn’t need to spell out the specifics of what would happen then, as they were all on the same page in terms of their mission parameters, at least with regard to the primary objective. “Once we’re done there, we double-time it back to the ‘Apache’ for exfiltration.” Scampering on ahead a little, Fisher stopped once more to look back to the accompanying group aft of him to add another tidbit of advisement. “If we run into any kind of interference along the way, no killing. We can’t be sure of the level of attunement of the internal sensors. I get that this is a Klingon ship, and as such they aren’t likely to be keenly aware if one of their comrades were to suddenly disappear off of readings, but keep your phasers holstered, and your knives clean if you can.”

Moving on a little further, the spy stopped beside what he presumed to be an exposed power conduit that was running adjacent to the maintenance corridor, and after rifling through the black shoulder bag slung around his waist, produced a demo-charge, and planted it. “Just in case.” He said simply, offering a wink back to Scruffy and the others.

‘Y’know, in case we really screw this up.”

Of course, it was just as likely that he would detonate the charges he was setting regardless of whether or not they made it off of the Ta’rom without any sort of calamitous incident occurring. While their primary goal was absolutely geared toward exposing the lies and deceits of Gorka, Fisher also recognized the chance they had at disrupting an enemy warship, and it’s capability to inflict harm upon Theurgy or any of their allies. In the spy game, you never passed up the kind of opportunity for sabotage that he was now presented with. Another few steps forward, and he stopped at a wide-open gap in the bulkhead decking beneath him, which was still directly overhead of the cavernous hangar bay they had arrived in. At roughly four-meters across, the gap was an exceedingly treacherous one for them to attempt crossing, but it wasn’t an entirely impassable obstacle, as running along it on either side was a thin strip of railing that they could crawl across on their hands and knees. “Normally I’d advise against looking down, but I suppose that’s something of an impossibility in this case.” Carefully he approached the railing on the right side of the open decking, and with slow deliberate moves he began to make his way out onto it. Exhaling suddenly as the railing swayed ever so slightly under his weight, but since it didn’t give way, he assumed it was just a little loose but still solidly anchored. “Just uh... take it a little easy on the crossing, yeah?” He whispered back over his shoulder to the others.

This whole level of sneaking was serving as a fierce reminder of the days he’d spent crawling through compact hatchways aboard illicit cargo ships back on the Orion Syndicate controlled world of Farius Prime. Though, the enemies standing guard and milling about their business some twenty-meters below him weren’t of the petty crime and smuggling variety, rather they were of the Bat’leth and Sto-vo-kor kind.

“Anyone else feel the need to hawk a loogie?” he whispered.

Reaching the opposite side of the chasm, Fisher stopped and turned about to ensure that each of them made a similarly clean crossing, not that there was much he could do if one of them had any kind of a mishap. No, they were each of them on their own in that regard, and for a moment he sincerely hoped that none of them were hindered by sensations of vertigo or acrophobic.

“Nice and easy now.” He cautioned them in a hushed voice.

[ Crewman 3rd Class Samala | The Apache | Hanger Bay | IKS Ta’rom | En Route to Qo’noS ] Attn: @Swift @Auctor Lucan @Griffinsummoner
[Show/Hide]

Standing at the end of the ramp, looking like a bat hanging from the ceiling if the Klingons below could see her, Samala was gazing out at the hanger bay, examining and cataloguing everything within view. As the team departed beside her, the hybrid was figuring out the best way for them to get out alive while also doing as much damage as possible. If it harmed Gorka’s chances at success, all the better.

“Pity there aren’t more raiders in the hanger,” Samala mused. “Could have used the additional cover while moving around and they’d each make a nice little explosion. With a little help.” They had loaded a fair amount of equipment for a stealth mission, yet she was pleased to note that there was a good number of explosives present. She liked making things explode. “Time for me to get to work,” she considered with a final look before heading back inside.

“Alright,” Samala said, her voice raised to get the two remaining security officer’s attention. “We can use the same access hatch the team used. We go the opposite direction until we come to a ladder and then we climb down to the hanger deck level access hatch. Then we start setting some charges in discreet locations on different channels. Some to aid our escape and others to make a mess after we are gone.”

“I only have one question,” Samala said as she found the right crate and popped it open, smiling at the explosives carefully stored within. “Which of you is coming with me?”

[PO1 Scruffy LeBlanc | Auxiliary Maintenance Corridor | A-Deck | IKS Ta'Rom ] @Auctor Lucan @Swift

Given the various pieces of equipment he had hanging from or strapped to his harness, Scruffy pulled himself rather adroitly into the access shaft.  Catching his breath a moment, both for the exertion and to control his nerves, he again checked his PADD and the developing detailed system-trace his passive-scan was acquiring.  He kept his place behind Fisher, just in case his scans revealed a different path from the schematics on file.

As they reached the large access gap, Scruffy watched with some amusement as Fisher demonstrated a slight nervousness at the narrow ledge.  After some of the locations I’ve had to climb around to get maintenance done, this is a piece of cake.  Thanks for that, Blue. Pulling a magnetic clamp from a pocket, he secured it to the wall and attached a cable.  After carefully making sure the rest of his equipment was secured, Scruffy flattened himself against the wall and quickly (and quietly) shuffled his way across the gap.  However, he did stop for a moment half-way across to do a visual inspection of the hangar below; a quick inventory and bulkhead read from an engineer’s perspective.  Finishing his way across the gap, he stepped back from the hole and threw Fisher a wink, “No problem.”  He reached up and secured the cable with another magnetic clamp.  “Just in case anyone needs something to hold on to,” he smirked.

[ Petty Officer First Class Jean Paul Rivard (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Petty_Officer_First_Class_Jean_Paul_Rivard) | Cargo Hold aboard the Apache | Hangar Bay ceiling of the IKS Ta'rom | En Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]When asked, Rivard looked towards Vansen and had his answer ready for the woman, who seemed rather bold given not just her lower rank but being a pilot as well. Rivard knew far too little about the Crewman, but was willing to hear her out.

"So, you are saying this is sanctioned, and that we're supposed to risk being exposed?" he asked to clarify, and walked up to the edge of the airlock so that he might look up (down?) upon the milling deck crew that could spot them. "What can I say, crewman. It's bold. I like it, but aren't we risking the mission by leaving the shuttle behind?"

"If you don't go, I will. I don't care to just be idle here. We can be careful," Vansen suddenly said, which made Rivard stand a bit straighter and clear his throat.

"No. Fine, I will go. Just... let me lead the way, all right? You seem keen on using the explosives so you bring them, while I try to make sure we're not caught. Vansen, you guard the shuttle, and don't use comms lest you want to give away our position, all right?"

"Fine, I'll be a good girl," said Petra, giving him a smile, which had him feel his neck go red, thinking about the off-duty escapades of Aldea in her company. He busied himself with checking the energy level on his phase pistol and then walked up to the edge of the airlock, and then proceeded to climb into that maintenance tunnel. He led the way, as he said, and took care not making too much sound as he brought them to the point where they could begin climbing down.

[ Chief Petty Officer Amlas Keyah (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Chief_Petty_Officer_Amlas_Keyah) | Auxiliary Maintenance Corridor | A-Deck | IKS Ta'Rom | En Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]Meanwhile, CPO Keyah and her lower ranking officer Cabrera traversed the opening with the help that the engineer had given them, allowing to pass by without falling down to the hangar far below. Keyah was practised enough to keep her breathing slow, and thus allowing her heart to beat at a moderate pace despite the suspense of the situation. Keeping her cobalt blood cool in the face of adversity was a commonly known recipe for success, and she was mindful not letting the 'what if's getting to her.

Once they were past the opening, she breathed through her nose and kept pace with the small group, heading for that shaft that would take them down to the deck where their objective awaited. She kept her ears attuned to the movements heard, with Klingons moving about in the large ship. She hoped not having to figure her way out of the current situation, because there were a lot of Kingon bodies to get past if they were to reach the shuttle after they were compromised. She kept her eye on Cabrera as well, seeing how the Human was sweating profusely, but made no comment. As long as he didn't fall behind or did something stupid, she'd leave him be.

Once they reached the turbolift shaft, Keyah offered her quiet question. "I know what to expect on a Federation starship, but can we safely use that maintenance ladder if the turbolift is operational?"

She would follow the directions offered, regardless, but she was unsure how safe the descent would be, and how time-consuming it would turn out. Time, which they had little of, if they were to ensure that the Klingon usurper's comms traffic was corrupted. If the Ta'rom had already gone to warp, it was obvious what the destination ought to be. Then, she suspected that he was calling ahead to tell his forces around Qo'noS that Martok was already heading there.

[ Captain Gorka, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Story_NPCs#Gorka_son_of_Margon_of_House_Mo.27Kai) | Bridge | IKC Ta'rom | En-Route to Qo'noS ] Attn: All
[Show/Hide]Which was exactly what Gorka was doing, being in his ready room and shouting at the screens before him - showing the faces of Captains loyal to House Mo'Kai.

"Martok, the Romulan defector, has left the Theurgy on some small ship with a Klingon transponder, and he's been picked up by another Federation starship, right at these coordinates!"

With a brusque gesture, he indicated the computerised sequence in which the veQDuj merged with the Starfleet warp signature on long range sensors, the imagery sent to him by Kopek, having espied this on Qo'noS. The Starfleet ship was then seen going to warp, heading straight for Qo'noS.

"Destroy that ship, or at least keep it from reaching the First City. I am on my way... Gorka out."

With another gesture, he silenced the acknowledgements from his loyal Captains. He paced the room, blood running hot in his veins, as he planned to contact other Houses loyal to his own, so that they might aid as well. They might be even closer to that Federation ship, but he needed to be more crafty in his approach to them, for the loyalty they held towards House Mo'Kai could be fleeting, in case the odds of the development turned against him. He bared his teeth, and thought long and hard on how to best approach the Houses that had sworn themselves to his cause...

When ready, he'd raise them on subspace comms and ensure that Martok died long before he reached the Great Hall.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Auxiliary Maintenance Corridor | A-Deck | IKS Ta'Rom ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @Griffinsummoner

The chasm in the maintenance corridor had only been one in a number of what were sure to be a series of treacherous obstacles that likely lay in the way of the team’s path to their ultimate objective, and as technically dangerous as it may have been, it was still only a chasm, and as such lay way down at the bottom of the list of concerns for running through veteran spy’s mind. They were after all, most unwelcome visitors to a place which wouldn’t exactly respond in a pleasant or hospitable manner toward any wayward Starfleet Officers. In fact, in the back of Fisher’s mind he imagined himself tempting fate with having to traverse a dozen such chasms on route, if it meant they could avoid detection by any Klingon security officers, or internal sensor sweeps. But as he inched closer toward the end of the access shaft, reaching an apparent bulkhead door which would need opening, he pushed such frivolous and silly thoughts of the supernatural concern from the forefront of his conscious thought. Worrying about matters which he couldn’t directly control, or influence wouldn’t have placed him, or the rest of the incursion team in any better position. No, it would only hamper his ability to focus on the tasks immediately in front of him.

Reaching for the tricorder at his waist, he flipped it on to make a low-yield scan of the bulkhead door blocking their way into the turbolift shaft, ensuring that if opened it wouldn’t trigger any alarms or sensors. “Thankfully, this isn’t a Cardassian ship. Otherwise...” he paused to touch at the control panel just to the right of the door’s frame, and with an audible clank that echoed down the corridor it parted at the central seam and snapped open. “...an alert would have been sent to security teams that an access hatch was opened.”

That was the one fortunate aspect of their setting, for while Klingon ships were especially well known for their prowess and durability in combat, they were not necessarily known for their internal security measures with regard to counter-espionage efforts.

However, before he could even peak in through the now opened hatchway which fed into the turbolift that he’d hoped would take them down the requisite four levels, a speeding carriage sped down past at some speed, sending a gush of wind down the maintenance corridor. The movement of the carriage was every bit something that Fisher was anticipating, as this wasn’t the first time that he’d make an attempt at using a turbolift shaft to discretely move about a ship. Of course, that didn’t mean this endeavor was safe, or even remotely sane for anyone to attempt, but given the alternative of sneaking through the main ship corridors with the hope of not alerting anyone to their presence, it was still preferable. Though, as the sage-eyed spy peered down into the blackened depths which descended downward, he wondered if maybe he’d been too hasty in making the theoretical offer to fate for more obstacles. “Alright. Klingon turbolift shafts are a bit roomier than those back aboard Federation ship designs.” Looking back over his shoulder at the others, he knew that an explanation of the layout was important, otherwise they might not have been capable of making the decent without dying a nasty death. “Maybe ‘roomier’ isn’t the right way to put it, but there’s a modest enough bit of space which you can duck into if a carriage approaches."

Actuating a light attached to his right gauntlet, Fisher pointed out into the turbolift shaft at the service ladder that Keyah had mentioned, then over to a small, recessed cubby just adjacent to the left of it. Shining his light down along the ladder as it descended, Fisher made sure to emphasize the presence of said cubby on each subsequent level of the ship.

“The carriages themselves make something of a high-pitched whine as they’re moving.” For an instant, Fisher remembered way back to the beginning of his tradecraft development, when the Intelligence trainers back at SFI on Earth were explaining the intricacies of Klingon turbolift designs to him and the other members of his class. It was a bit of training which served him well years later, when infiltrating a Klingon ship that had been stolen by members of the Orion Syndicate, as unlike in training, he discovered that the high-pitched whine was roughly ten-times louder in reality, than it was in holodeck simulations. “If you hear that pitch, it means there’s a carriage approaching.” Reaching out around the corner, the Chief Intelligence Officer knew it was easier to demonstrate the next part of his impromptu safety briefing, rather than explain in words. Grasping at a rung of the service ladder, he pulled himself torso first out of the service corridor and into the turbolift shaft, his boots audibly making contact with a rung commensurate with his height beneath him. Climbing down a few more rungs, he stopped to swing himself off of the service ladder, his back tight up against the bulkhead interior of the recessed cubby. “From here, I’ve got a good half-meter between me, and the turbolift carriage exterior as it passes by.”

[ Turbolift Shaft | IKS Ta'Rom ]

As his voice echoed from beyond the veil of the darkness above, and beneath, he nodded to the others as they were at the periphery of the dangerous vertical tunnel that they would need to traverse. “Just... don’t get caught between levels when a carriage is coming.” He pointed down the light down beneath him, shining into the next cubby which was separated by the one he was standing in by a roughly four-meter gap. He knew better than to spell out the seriousness of the repercussions which would ensue, should any of them be stuck in the very unfortunate situation he’d just described. “Everyone clear?” Giving it a second for any objections, he swung himself back around to attach to the turbolift service ladder and began climbing down once more. Once more, he recognized how inherently dangerous this was, but there was simply no time afforded to them taking a slower, and safer route. It was either this, or risk not making it in time to have an effect on the outcome of the struggle between Martok and Gorka.

“Good thing is, we’re only going four levels. This would be a whole other shitshow if we were going further.” His tone was meant to be sardonically reassuring, though he doubted it would do much to quell any fears or concerns the rest of the team had. All the same, Fisher made the descent from A-Deck to Deck 04 with surprising alacrity, knowing that it would be better to avoid turbolift carriages all together if possible. Touching at a control panel, he opened a hatchway which led into another service corridor on the level they needed to be on and stepped aside from it so as to allow the others entry, and to ensure they all made it, his keen ear listening for the telltale high-pitched whine.

“Through here! C'mon! We’re making good time!”

[ Crewman 3rd Class Samala | The Apache | Hanger Bay | IKS Ta’rom | En Route to Qo’noS ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan
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"I’m saying I have been told to make sure that we have a way to escape this ship. The commander was a little lean on the details, so I am filling them in,” Samala answered. If they both objected to accompanying her, she’d go alone. It wasn’t like they could risk making noise about trying to stop her. “And we aren’t all going. One of you is staying here,” she pointed out. The two had a short discussion before the male, Rivard, decided that he would come with her. And lead the way. 

Samala was almost about to object at his condescension before figuring that if they were discovered, he’d get shot at first. Shrugging her shoulders, she patted her knife again, reassuring herself that it was still present before following the man into the access tunnel. The crawl, and subsequent descent didn’t take long and soon Samala was crawling out of the access hatch at deck level, unconsciously looking up to where she knew the Apache was clamped, noting that even knowing it was there, she couldn’t see the gunship.

“Alright then, time to leave some packages where they won’t be found,” Samala whispered, looking across the deck to where she could see some of the Ta’rom’s crew. Thankfully, Klingon’s liked their lighting toned down which just helped conceal them without impacting on her vision at all. If anything, it made it better for her. “Priorities should be the door release and anything that will cause secondary explosions. The more damage we can do to this ship, the better when the time comes.”

“So, if you want to keep leading, you can make sure we aren’t discovered,” Samala said, trying, and probably failing, to keep her whispered voice even.

[ Petty Officer First Class Jean Paul Rivard (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Petty_Officer_First_Class_Jean_Paul_Rivard) | Hangar Bay of the IKS Ta'rom | En Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]"Hush, crewman," whispered Rivard, giving the woman a quick glance while also trying to keep track of the individual Klingons in their closest proximity - trying to predict their movement patterns and determine when it was safe to move the last of the distance. The hinges of the bay doors would be their priority, but they were completely exposed... so it might be they had to divert the attention of the deck crew somehow.

"I'll create a distraction, and you plant the charges on the bay doors... just give me two of them so that I can set them somewhere along the way. Keep your eyes on the Klingons and you'll know when you can make your move. We'll rendezvous inside our shuttle. Good luck, crewman."

Rivard couldn't see any better way to go about it, not very keen on the risks he'd have to take, but for sake of securing they escape route, he would just have to stifle that notion that he was out on a limb. Was he trying to be brave or was he just foolish? No, he had to tell himself that it was the best option for sake of the away team, and quell his fears.

He retraced his steps a little bit, just so that he could get into a better vantage point, and then spotted the next cover he'd aim for. The hangar wasn't rife with hiding places, but there was a small anti-grav platform of Phantom raider hardpoints, which would serve for an ideal place to set a charge. Problem was he couldn't stay there for long, since his feet would be visible below the floating platform, so he had to plot his next step in advance. There was a door, likely leading to either a magazine or a corridor, but beyond that, nothing...

Until two Klingons began to set out utility boxes - likely containing spare parts - next to that door. Rivard watched them finish what they were doing, until they vanished into the door. He counted to four, scanned the deck crew to see if either of them were looking in his direction... swallowed hard, and made a run for it.

He kept his head down, reached the floating platform, and hastily set the charge underneath it's edge and out of direct view. Once it was armed, he gave the hangar another look, and made for the boxes next to the door. His heart was beating loudly in his ears, he hid behind the boxes, and he tried to keep his hand from shaking as he unclasped the lid from one of them. Inside were an array of machine parts he couldn't tell apart. Either of them would do. He picked something of small enough size... made a silent prayer, and threw it as hard as he could towards the other end of the hangar.

The loud, metallic clatter echoed through the bay, and the present Klingons looked in that direction, trying to see what it was. They looked towards the ceiling of the bay, thinking something had fallen down, while others went to see what laid on the deck. Rivard, however, didn't remain where he was, instead using the distraction to try and retrace his steps and not get caught.

He could but hope the crewman would get the opportunity to set her charges...

[ Chief Petty Officer Amlas Keyah (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Chief_Petty_Officer_Amlas_Keyah) | Turbolift Shaft | IKS Ta'Rom | En Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]The chasm they were to descend wasn't very inviting, but Keyah followed the instructions the Chief Intelligence Officer gave to the best of her ability.

She went before Cabrera, making sure to keep her ears open for the carriages so that she wouldn't get caught between levels. Luckily for her, she had almost completed the whole descent before one of them shot up from below. He had ample enough time to get into safety, but after it had passed, she could hear Cabrera's laboured breathing. Frowning, she looked up, and saw how he was sweating more than before, and he was climbing down the maintenance ladder much more quickly. Had he been startled by the carriage? At least he was still alive. Worse yet, however, as he was hyperventilating, it was difficult for the whole away team to hear anything else. "Cabrera, calm down."

Looking up at the panicking human, Keyah didn't hear the same carriage descend from above.

She saw it.

"Cab-" she began to warn, but she had to get into cover herself. No time. The crewman had no chance. The sound of the former Devoted's body as it bounced back and fourth between the sides of the shaft on the way down wasn't something she'd likely forget anytime soon. If the impact of the carriage hadn't killed him instantly, the fall would, and thus, the away team had to hope his body wouldn't be found before they completed the mission...

Eyes wide as she looked down the shaft, Keyah took a deep breath, ran a hand over her bald head and cursed under her breath.

They had to move on. Without any words to offer, she looked grimly upon Commander Fisher, expecting him to lead the way. When he did, eventually, Keyah kept her focus entirely on the path ahead - not allowing herself to look back.

Eventually, they did reach the area with the communications subsystem processor, and it was time for the engineer to do his magic.

[PO1 Scruffy LeBlanc | Auxiliary Maintenance Corridor | A-Deck | IKS Ta'Rom ] @Swift @Auctor Lucan

As they reached the turbolift shaft, Scruffy’s passive scans continued to map the ship via its various conduits and systems they passed.  The lack of security on the access hatch was a relief, one which, while by-passable, would have slowed them down.  After swinging onto the service ladder, he tried to keep as low a profile as he could as he climbed down.  It occurred to him as he swung into his first alcove that, although he might have been thin enough to survive the passage of a turbolift car, the equipment he carried would almost certainly get him caught.  There was a brief moment of panic before he caught his breath.  All I have to do is pay attention and I'll be fine.  New ship, new dangers.

Unfortunately, those fears were amplified when one of the security team failed to get to safety.  Scruffy’s own breathing was short, but quiet, and his mind was split between images of the falling body being his and the technical plans he tried to focus on.  Eventually, he reached Deck 4 and pulled himself into the corridor, checking the layout as they neared their first objective.

Pulling himself into the outer section of the secondary computer core, he began a more detailed scan, trying to map the unit in front of him and trace it back along his detailed map to the communications systems.  “Guess this is my turn.”  Climbing into the small access space, he pulled one of the devices he had assembled and nestled it in a crevice.  Pulling his PADD, he checked the software he had set up.  Outgoing communication received, check. Successful transmission signal sent back to source console, check. Communication file replaced with provided data file, check.  Signal changed to broad-spectrum broadcast so more ships receive it, check.  Outgoing signal forwarded to communication array, check.  Leaning back out toward the access corridor, he made eye contact with Fisher, “I’m ready for the data packet.”  After receiving the chip, he reached back and plugged it into the unit.  Using his tricorder to make sure there wasn’t an active signal being sent, he quickly connected his bypass and engaged the program.  “To be safe, I’d like to monitor the unit until the next outgoing transmission, so we know it is working.  But each attempt Gorka makes to contact his fleet should instead put out another bit of incriminating evidence to discredit him, thanks to our wonderful Intel team.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Service Access Corridor | Secondary Computer Core | Deck 04 | IKS Ta'Rom ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @Griffinsummoner

Even during the earliest phases of planning, the likelihood of casualties on a mission of this sort had been considered high. To have presumed otherwise would have been outright foolish of someone with Fisher’s history and level of experience with regard to clandestine operations, yet that hadn’t meant that he’d not hoped for a clean run, because of course he had.

Get in. Complete the objective. Get out.

That was the theory. In practice however, acts of sabotage rarely went off without someone paying a dear price in the process, and unfortunately for him, Cabrera simply hadn’t been fast enough, or exhibited the steadiness of approach which was a requisite of survival. Instead, his momentary slip-up had cost him everything as the speeding turbolift cab descended from above and slammed into him at enough of a velocity that it sheered his arms and legs off from where they had been attached to the service ladder. His body crumpling and contorting unnaturally in the tight space between the car and the walls of the shaft as it moved on without any hindrance, no doubt crushing and mangling the poor man’s body into an unrecognizable state. Were it not for the pitch black which went on for quite some distance beneath them, wherein his corpse had fallen, the members of the away team might have born a more direct witness to the carnage that had been wrought. The first thought which had crossed Fisher’s mind, was that at least Cabrera’s death had been a quick one. But the ‘bright-side’ of the sad affair soon gave way to the stark realization of the threat that Cabrera’s death now represented. His body, having fallen down the shaft, would be discovered, it was just a matter of time now, and any thought of recovering it would have been utterly ridiculous given the tight timeframe they were operating under.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, not necessarily sure of whether he had sworn out of frustration for the man’s passing, or for the tenuousness of their mission now.

Sarcasm had always been something of a shield, a barrier of sorts meant to protect the sage-eyed man from the harrows of loss which had come with working in such a profession, but in truth, these days it was doing little to lessen the internal impact of any deaths which occurred under his command. Forgoing any further commentary on Cabrera’s death, he made sure that each of the remaining members of his team made it into the corridor safely. In the back of his mind, he could hear the moderately repetitive sentiment of a condolences letter that he would now have to pen on behalf of Cabrera. A memory of a time wherein he had been reminded of the importance of a ‘good tale’ for bereaved family and friends to read, so as to know their lost loved one had given his life in the service of something greater than he had been. The bitterness of war and loss had long since tarnished his own sense of sentimentality, which had made such a matter seem almost ludicrous, but he would see it through, and ensure that whoever would be missing Cabrera, understood how his sacrifice had meant the difference between success and failure, even if the details which were relayed might have been exaggerated on his behalf. No one wanted to hear that their son, brother, or husband had died simply because he hadn’t ducked back into a cubby before a descending turbolift grinded him to a pulp.

No. Cabrera would be remembered as a hero, even if he hadn’t necessarily died as one.

Pacing about as LeBlanc began the process of fulfilling his particular role on this mission, Fisher had pulled the holstered phaser pistol from his hip and approached the nearby closed door which led into the main corridor outside. He knew the clock was ticking now, and that at any moment, their presence would be detected. No sense in pretending otherwise, he knew that the fan blades were spinning, and that a big fat steaming pile was just about to hit them. The only thing to do now, was to ensure that neither he, nor any of the others were standing behind it when impact came. “How we looking?” he asked the man, a gloved hand motioning to Keyah to take up a defensive position at the opposite door, likewise ready to act if it became necessary. The question seemed rhetorical, as he understood the Petty Officer to be a capable man, and that his pestering wouldn’t exactly exacerbate the situation in any favorable way. The man, aptly named ‘Scruffy’ would either succeed, or he wouldn’t, and there wasn’t a damned thing that Fisher could do about it. Engineering was far from his strong suit, after all, he was more akin to blowing things up, or assassinating the occasional dirty politician. Hacking computer subsystems in the manner which this mission called for may well have been an impossibility to him.

Thankfully however, fate seemed to take a slight turn in their favor, as after having taken the data packet from Fisher’s care, Scruffy had found some modicum of success, as he had attested to.

“You’ve got five mikes. After that, we need to pull out, regardless of whether or not it’s worked.” They had already lost one man on this endeavor, and now it was time to ensure that no other names found their way onto the butcher’s bill. Yet before he could even begin to countdown the promised five minutes, a sound which filled the spy with utter dread blared with sheer abruptness. Peering about as wall-mounted light panels began to surge with a pulsating crimson hue, the Chief Intelligence Officer knew with absolution that his prophecy of Cabrera’s body being discovered had come to fruition. There had been a wish, however silly it may have been, that said corpse wouldn’t have been found until after the team had begun their exfiltration, or even after they had left the Ta’Rom entirely. With an exasperated sigh, Fisher’s gaze went from Keyah to Scruffy, and then back to the open turbolift shaft access panel just as it snapped shut with a sense of finality. Their route back to the hangar bay was cut off now, as internal security teams would have immediately attempted to seal in any additional spies that they might have thought to be contained within.

“Scrap that, we need to move. Now!” he ordered.

They would need to make the way back to the ‘Apache’ via more traditional means now, a daunting task for even the most battle-hardened of assault teams, let alone an assassin, an engineer, and a lone security officer. The fact that a party of Bat’leth wielding Klingons hadn’t materialized alongside them in the confines of the computer core room, spoke to the efficacy of their Savi sneak suits.

“We’ve got four levels to ascend in order to get back to the hangar bay.” Pulling his tricorder from his hip, he brought up the Negh’Var schematic and highlighted a series of corridors which he intended for them to take. “Left out this door...” he jerked a thumb to the door he’d been guarding an instant earlier “...and fifty meters distance, there’s a gangway we can take. Only problem is, with them likely shutting down turbolifts in this section, we could see some heavier traffic than usual.” Putting the tricorder back into it’s holster on his thigh, Fisher set his phaser level before continuing to speak over the alert klaxons. “No sense in tickling them, set weapons to kill. LeBlanc, you’re behind me. Chief...” he looked to Keyah “...you have our six.” If there had been one additional bit of fortune at play for Fisher, it had been that he’d remembered to bring his trusty bag of tricks for this little trek they were about to undertake. And so, without any additional time to spend giving order, or reassurances for either of his fellows, Fisher tapped the console at the side of the door.

The very instant it snapped open, he raised his weapon and fired point-blank into a pair of armed Klingons just as they had been making their way down the corridor, two ruby-red pulses catching each of them in their chest by complete shock. With a sickening thud, their lifeless bodies hit the deck plating and Fisher stepped over them, tossing a poison gas grenade down in the opposite direction that they’d needed to go.

At about ten meters distance, the grenade burst and began filling the tight corridor with a thick toxic smoke with a sickly green hue. The grenade would visually mask them, as well as make it impossible for anyone to pursue from that direction.

[ Main Corridor | Deck 04 | IKS Ta’Rom ]

“Let’s go!” he ordered back at Scruffy and Keyah, entering the corridor to the left, his weapons raised and firing as he downed a third Klingon that had turned about to come and investigate.

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OOC: Some appropriate badass 'theme music' for the fight back to the Hangarbay in the spoiler. ;)
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[ Crewman 3rd Class Samala | The Apache | Hanger Bay | IKS Ta’rom | En Route to Qo’noS ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Swift @Griffinsummoner
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Samala was about to object to the Petty Officer’s plan, thinking it completely crazy, but she didn’t have a better one and time was running out on their little foray. They had to get back to the Apache before the others did. So, the pilot waited, and watched, as the Terran made his way across the deck, setting a charge before moving on. She was itching to move but knew that if she moved at the wrong time then it would all go bad.

Finally though, Rivard made his move and Samala wasted not a moment as she dashed out and set a charge on the inside of the lower hinge for one of the doors. The Ta’rom’s hanger doors popped outwards slightly before retracting across the hull and this left a slight void between the hinge and armoured door when closed. Her second charge went towards the centre of the door, placed on the deck against the door join. Yeas, it was easily visible if nearby it but there was no better place to leave it.

Samala wanted to place her last charge on the upper hinge but wasn’t able to reach it without climbing, something that would surely get her noticed. Without any other option, Samala was forced to toss the charge up as best she could, praying that the magnet worked and the charge seated itself where she wanted it. The sound of the clump signalling her success was deafening to the hybrid but she had little chance to celebrate as an alarm began to sound throughout the hanger.

Panicking and fearing she had been discovered, Samala turned back to the access hatch in time to see it slam shut. With no other option available, the hybrid looked for the closest place to hide, pulling herself up into the underwing void of a damaged raider. Pressing herself against the hull, her mind began to try and figure out what to do next with only bad options materialising. 

[ Petty Officer First Class Jean Paul Rivard (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Petty_Officer_First_Class_Jean_Paul_Rivard) | Hangar Bay of the IKS Ta'rom | En Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]When the alarm blared, Rivard cursed under his breath, eyes darting back ad forth. He told himself to calm down, that the suit he wore - which left little to the imagination and not entirely comfortable about it - dampened his bio reading. Unless they actually saw him, they wouldn't necessarily catch him. Unfortunately, however, the hatch had closed when the Klingon equivalent of an Intruder Alert had sounded, and Rivard had few options. Making himself as small as possible, hunching down by some crates, he looked towards the Crewman and saw that she had yet to be detected too. Damn, we need to get out of this damn fighter bay, now.

He wasn't sure, but he thought the Crewman had managed to set her charges at least, so it was all about getting out of sight, and their task would be complete. They simply needed another maintenance shaft to climb, and try to find their way back to the Apache. Taking deep breaths, relying on his training and not panicking, he looked for another hatch... though they would likely all be sealed. What about a corridor? Closest one was the one behind him, which he had passed before, and from there, they would simply have to improvise somehow...

"Psst, come here. We need to use the door," he whispered loudly enough to reach the ears of the Crewman. "Can't see any other way out of this, unless we try to get through that hatch somehow."

Rivard was on the lookout, hoping no Klingons would venture close to their corner of the bay, while waiting on Samala to either join him in trying the corridor or having some idea of her own.

[ Chief Petty Officer Amlas Keyah (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Chief_Petty_Officer_Amlas_Keyah) | Turbolift Shaft | IKS Ta'Rom | En Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]Keyah wasn't pleased at all about the development, knowing that it was the damn ex-Devoted and his poor nerves that had screwed up the mission. As instructed, she brought up the rear of the formation as they moved as quickly as possible for the gangways, attempting to reach their single means of escape - the Apache in the deckhead of the bay.

It took them one minute before things turned even more sour.

"I hear footsteps," she supplied through lips thinned in focus and determination, the Klingon search parties afoot in their area of the Negh'var ship. She paused by the intersection they left behind, taking a moment to lean out and gauge the numbers of their pursuers, and within seconds, they fell into view. Four Klingons, running, quickly gaining on them, but they still had the element of surprise. What they didn't have, with the hatches to the maintenance shafts sealed where they currently were, was a means to get out of sight and let the Klingons pass them by. That meant they either had to begin running and hope for the best, or deal with the Klingons...

"Run or shoot them down?" she asked, ready to act on whatever the order might be.

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OOC: With Rivard and Keyah being picked for Sabine Crash Site Objective, I seem to have to let them both survive somehow, lol! :)

[PO1 Scruffy LeBlanc | Auxiliary Maintenance Corridor | A-Deck | IKS Ta'Rom ] @Swift @Auctor Lucan

Scruffy realized he was out of time when the alarm went off.  He could no longer wait to see if his rigged sabotage would work, he would just have to hope he had done everything right.  He rigged his PADD to send him an alert when the Ta’Rom sent its next message, and slipped it back into its holster.  "So much for the secondary objective."  As the access panel snapped shut, Scruffy began to reach for his tricorder.  Maybe he could hotwire it open?

The decision was made for him as Fisher ordered them out into the corridor.  His breath was coming shorter now that he was back out of his element, but he kept a level head for the moment.  As Fisher gave their marching orders, Scruffy reached for the phaser at his side, checking the setting so it was at least high enough to overcome the standard Klingon armor.

In the rush out the door and down the hall, Scruffy tried to keep his arms raised, phaser in hand, just so the armor and dispersal suit he wore would cover some of his head.  As more Klingons began to emerge from the intersections they passed, Scruffy began to feel more closed in than he ever did in a Jefferies Tube.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Main Corridor | Deck 04 | IKS Ta'Rom ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @Griffinsummoner

Behind him, Fisher could hear the hiss of the gas grenade he’d thrown, it’s toxic fumes filling the corridor with a noxiousness that could turn even the sturdiest and hardened of Klingon Warriors into little more than mewling lumps as they coughed for air, windpipes stinging as though they were on fire. In fact, he heard just that as it sounds as though a pair of them had been brazen enough to attempt making their way through it. Incapacitated, they would know far more pain than the Klingons that Fisher had dispatched with his phaser, but at least they would survive. It was the only measure of sympathy he would show them in his efforts to lead his team back to the hangar bay, for he knew that to expect any in return was a downright silly notion. No, if caught they would each be beaten, tortured, and mutilated without let or hinderance until they revealed whatever useful information was locked away within their heads. That’s if the Klingons were even in the right mood to forestall death, which was another notion he had little reason to expect, since it was likely tensions and adrenaline was still running at a high in the wake of the battle with Theurgy.

Passing an intersection after clearing both the left and right, he could see the open gangway they were headed for just another ten meters distance. Yet as he neared it, he heard Keyah call out from the rear as she’d picked up on a quartet of hastily encroaching Klingons from the intersection he’d just crossed.

“Chief, take the lead. LeBlanc, stay on her ass.” He ordered, shuffling past the pair of them as he took up the rear now, his free hand rifling through the bag slung over his right shoulder for something in particular. “Move!” he reiterated his command, an instant later his gauntleted hand emerged with a small rectangular device, on its face a sensor nodule, and on its rear a gravitic clamp. Holstering his phaser in one quick move, Fisher punched his right index finger into three consecutive triggers on the face of the device, then slapped it against the upright bulkhead of the intersection corner, where it latched with an almost inaudible hum. An instant later, a green disruptor bolt seared the air as it soared by the left side of his face, splashing against the bulkhead behind him. “P’tahk! You shoot like Romulans!” he hollered out in their general direction, spinning round the corner once more as he looked to rejoin Keyah and LeBlanc, confident that he wouldn’t need to worry about those four Klingons now that he’d riled them up with the kind of insult which would send their blood boiling.

Pulling his phaser once more, he raised it at the ready as without another glance he left the intersection. A few steps later, the cacophonous thump of a Starfleet Claymore detonating echoed down the corridor, it no doubt having eliminated the unsuspecting and aggravated Klingons that had sought to pursue Fisher, Scruffy, and Keyah. The spy felt fortunate he’d not have to witness their bodies, torn and shredded to pieces by thousands of tungsten pellets blasted into them by a few ounces of high-explosive. Flying up a few flights of stairs, bounding three in the single stride, he caught up with his teammates, and their next dilemma. “Well shit!” he exclaimed, the gangway closed off via a retractable bulkhead between Decks 02 and 01. The Klingons were making this difficult, and whoever was manning their security center wasn’t as entirely useless as Fisher had hoped they’d be. Peering out into the corridor on Deck 02, he scoped it out in both directions, and at least for the moment, they weren’t in any immediate danger. But that wouldn’t last. They needed a new route.

[ Gangway Entrance/Exit & Main Corridor | Deck 02 | IKS Ta’Rom ]

“Right.” Pulling up his tricorder, he punched up the schematics of the Negh’var again.

[ Crewman 3rd Class Samala | Hanger Bay | IKS Ta’rom | En Route to Qo’noS ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Swift @Griffinsummoner
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When a horde of angry Klingons didn’t come storming into the bay, Samala realised it wasn’t she that had set off the alarm. Nor was it Petty Officer Rivard for the same reason, a lack of Klingon reinforcements. “That also excludes the Apache as the cause for the alarm,” Samala noted to herself, unconsciously glancing up at the ceiling where her ship was concealed. “Which means the alarm was caused by the others, or something else is happening and it is an unfortunate coincidence.”

Looking about, Samala noticed that Rivard wasn’t too far away, hiding behind a stack of crates near a closed door. Seeing that he had her attention, the petty officer urged her to join him as he wanted to use the door. Not having a better plan, as well as being the subordinate, Samala glanced around carefully from her hiding spot before she dropped down and slunk across the deck as fast as she was able before diving over the row of boxes and dropping out of sight.

“What are the odds that alarm wasn’t triggered by the others?” Samala asked, reaching out with her telepathy to count the number of minds nearby. It was one of the first skills she had learnt during her active skills training, the ability to sense other minds nearby. There was some risk to it if another telepath was nearby, but Samala felt confident in using it aboard the Klingon vessel. Klingons weren’t exactly known for their psionics. The other downside to the skill was its lack of detail. She could sense the minds, and with experience, even get a rough idea about how far away they were. But what she couldn’t tell, was where they were in relation to the walls and corridors. A mind moving in a straight line could be in a corridor, an access tunnel or in an open room.

“There are two Klingons behind the door,” Samala announced drawing her knife, knowing that what she was saying would raise questions later. “How do you want to do this?”

[PO1 Scruffy LeBlanc | Main Corridor | Deck 02 | IKS Ta'Rom ] @Swift  @Auctor Lucan

Scruffy made sure to keep his head down as they made their way through the corridors, though he did pay enough attention to notice when one of those with him revealed less-conventional equipment.  When Fisher caught back up with them, they were cut off from their second escape route.  Before Fisher had the documented schematics pulled up on his tricorder, Scruffy already had his PADD out and his updated power schematics displayed.  He was already tracing the systems and trying to find his own solution.

“Sir, I can offer a couple suggestions,” he spoke up once they were settled, without prompting.  “I can try to hotwire the bulkhead here, but I don’t know how many we’ll have to repeat the process with between here and the hangar.  Not to mention we’re a little exposed.  Alternatively, back down the last intersection is a turbolift and, as luck would have it, the car is sitting at this level.  I know they’ve all been shut down, but I can rig a portable power supply into it and bypass the ship’s power completely.  It should allow us to use it without having to overcome the security lock.  It’ll take a little longer to set up, but we should be able to get right to the hangar deck, and we’ll have a bit more cover while I do so.  One quick hotwire for the door, a bypass for operational power, and we’re on our way.”

[ Chief Petty Officer Amlas Keyah (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Chief_Petty_Officer_Amlas_Keyah) | Turbolift Shaft | IKS Ta'Rom | En Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]Listening to what the engineer said, Keyah had her senses more attuned to any more Klingon search teams coming their way, but she deemed she knew a good plan when she heard one. "No time for a committee of consensus. Just do it, Petty Officer. On the double."

With her eyes fixed in the directions in which more Klingons could appear, feeling how the Savi suit clung like a second skin to her body given the amount of perspiration she'd shed, Keyah was taking deep, slow breaths to control her rampant heartbeat - making her skin more blue than usual. She lost track of the amount of time it took for the Petty Officer to get the turbolift to do as they wanted it to, but eventually, the doors parted, and Keyah backed inside the carriage without looking away from the area they left behind. Just as the doors closed again, there was movement in flashing lights, and she locked eyes with a Klingon. Then, the doors separated them, but she knew they'd been spotted. "Damn it. Now, they will track the carriage... They will know where we get off. We must run as soon as we can to put some distance between us and this death-trap."

So, when the sliding doors parted, Keyah instinctively took point, having made sure to look at the deck layout well enough to know in which direction they ought to run. With her eyes along the sights of her weapon, ready to fire at any moment, she set the pace, and for better or worse, they made it far from the turbolift....

Before a blast door closed behind them - the sound deafening.

They are on to us now, was all she could think, only giving it a glance before setting off again, turning down an intersection to break off from their path and confuse whichever Klingons were tracking them. No more had they changed their direction, however, before the sliding doors at the end of that corridor parted and a search team of six Klingons began shouting and pointing in their direction. "Damn it!"

She squeezed her trigger and began to fire against them - taking out two immediately before falling back. They would have to take cover behind a corner and avoid the incoming disruptor fire, and any moment, another blast door could cut them off. The odds of their survival were plummeting by the moment.

[ Petty Officer First Class Jean Paul Rivard (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Petty_Officer_First_Class_Jean_Paul_Rivard) | Hangar Bay of the IKS Ta'rom | En Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]"Not great," whispered Rivard in answer to Samala when she asked him what the odds were that the intruder alert hadn't been caused by the other half of the away team, his frown cutting a deep furrow between his eyebrows.

He thus knew that time was running out, and they had to get to the Apache lest the entire away team would be compromised. They had secured the means of escape through the bay doors, but to get out of the Ta'rom, they had to be aboard the Reman shuttle. There was simply no other way, so they might just have to shoot their way there. He wasn't entirely sure how the crewman knew how many Klingons there were, but he suspected it had to do with her biological heritage. There wasn't much time to linger on that.

"What I want isn't the question," he murmured to the figure next to him behind the crates. He checked the energy level and setting on his phaser, lips thinned in a grimace. "We have no choice but to get back by any means necessary, and fast. Follow my lead..."

With a quick look out over the expanse of the bay area, to spot any Klingons looking in their direction, he waited for two of them to turn away a little... before heading straight for the door at a brisk pace - phaser in a two-handed grip and lowered in front of himself. After the bay doors opened, he saw the Klingons Samala had sensed. Two of them, sides turned towards them, and he raised his weapon to take aim. He only waited for the sliding doors to close behind him and Samala before opening fire.

"There, another grate to the maintenance shafts. Get it open!"

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Turbolift Shaft | IKS Ta'Rom ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @Griffinsummoner @stardust

One. Two. Three and four.

Fisher’s index finger worked the trigger in rapid succession, the break and reset of the fire actuator just barely tactile enough to register through his gauntleted digit, and though the pulse phaser pistol was limited to a semi-automatic rate, his skill and training with small arms meant that he’d been able to ramp up to near automatic speeds. It was that sustained volley of ruby-red pulses that he’d been able to unleash on a quartet of advancing Klingons, which allowed him to drop them one after the other, ember-like scorches dotting their torso where armor and flesh had been burned away. At near maximum setting, it was clear the spy was taking no chances, and leaving no prisoners as he and his team continued to make their way back to the hangar bay. He wasn’t naïve. He knew the kind of quarter that would have been afforded to him and the others if they were captured, and just how dangerous a Klingon could be in closer proximity, Bat’leths and barbarian like rage working hand-in-hand to skewer Federation intruders.

“Keep moving!” he barked as LeBlanc made mention of a plan to hijack a turbolift. Whatever availed them of movement, and kept them from being penned in, he was willing and ready to adopt it with immediacy.

Keyah had a similar mindset to her too.

Dropping another gas-grenade down into the gangway they’d just ascended to cut that route off from a pack of encroaching pursuers, a toxic-green hastily filling the confines of the stairwell with a cloud of irritating choke, Fisher followed after the Bolian and the Systems Engineer. When he’d reached the carriage car in question, assuming LeBlanc would get to immediate work enacting his plan, Fisher took up a defensive position opposite of the Chief, his weapon trained and firing out into the corridor to keep their enemy pinned back and at a distance. “Work your magic, Mister LeBlanc!” he commented, firing a volley at one Klingon that exposed too much of himself, dispatching him with a final shot that singed away skin, hair, skull, and brain matter, the armored warrior slumping to the ground as he was sent to Gre'thor. Through his gauntlet he could feel the heat of his pistol as internal sinks were struggling to keep up with dissipation, and in fact he could even see the rise of a mirage from the barrel shroud when he aimed. It didn’t matter how very advanced tech was in terms of modern weaponry, the old problems of heat accumulation were never completely solved.

An instant later, the doors to the lift closed and the car ascended the requisite two decks up to A-Deck, and both he and Keylah emerged with pistols at the ready. The Bolian security officer’s concern was a valid one, as the more their movements were homed in on, the more Klingons they would need to fend off. Stopping a few steps behind both Keyah and LeBlanc, Fisher quickly withdrew an explosive charge from the lightening bag of tricks slung around his shoulder, and after arming it, threw it into the carriage they had left. Turning back to advance on his fellows, the charge detonated with an ear-shattering boom that tore and distorted the shape of the shaft housing, making it impossible for anyone to make use of that particular turbolift. ‘When your enemies are hot on your heels, time to burn bridges.’ He remembered being taught. With that path behind them now thoroughly truncated, the spy picked up his foot pace in an effort to rejoin the team. They were getting so very close now, and as he spun back around to check the rear of their escape, he could almost smell and taste the bourbon seared steak he was planning on cooking for Sam upon his return to Theurgy.

At least, until a blast door slammed shut with a harrowing authority between himself, and the others.

Unfortunate as he was that he was now cut off, he was fortunate to not have been even half-a-step faster, as the door would have likely crushed and mangled his body. “Shit!” he exclaimed, a gloved hand pressing against the cold duranium barrier. Without hesitation he ran over to the control panel at the left of the door and began punching at it’s input to try and trigger an override, but the readout on the screen displayed clearly that controls had been locked out by Security. The Klingons were starting to get better at this whole chase and capture thing, and at the most inopportune moment he realized. Without any other option, he activated open-comms, knowing that they could be further tracked and intercepted by his pursuers. “Fisher to Keyah, this door isn’t opening anytime soon.” Looking back down the corridor, he could hear bootsteps echoing after him. Hastily his hand plucked the tricorder from his waist and recognized an alternative route back to the hangar bay that was still open. “I’ve got another route. Get yourself and LeBlanc back, and prep for immediate exfil. Fisher out!” he closed comms, re-holstered the tricorder, and raised his weapon once more.

“pa'! bIjatlh 'e' yImev.” Bellowed one of a trio of Klingons, pointing at the momentarily delayed spy.

One. Two. And...

Grunting in pain when his index finger was contorted and nearly broken as his pistol was smacked aside by a swung Bat’leth, the phaser skittering against deck plating, Fisher had no moment of respite in which he could focus on recovering his primary weapon. Instead, he closed the gap with the last of the trio, shouldering him against the bulkhead with every ounce of his strength he could muster. His foe was big though; taller, and heavier by far. While that meant he was stronger, it meant Fisher was faster, and with his left hand finding the handle of the carbide-steel combat knife, he quickly slashed the right side of his assailant’s throat, drawing thick globules of crimson blood. Yet, the Klingon did not falter, rather he braced against the bulkhead and pushed until he fell atop of Fisher as the two of them went down to the decking in a heap. His armor helped to absorb at least some of the heft of the massive warrior landing on him, but the spy still felt the crunch of ribs within his chest as they were cracked. The shock of pain, combining with a sudden forced exhale might have staggered an untrained fighter, costing him his life, but Fisher’s instincts served him well in the moment as his left arm moved almost without direct input, plunging the knife into the side of the Klingon’s torso, over, and over again until the threat was alleviated.

Pushing the hulking warrior off of him, his face splotched with crimson that had sprayed against it when he’d slashed the throat, Fisher took only the faintest of moments to try and regain his breath. His vision was blurred slightly, and the right side of his torso ached immensely, yet he still forced himself back to his feet, fighting off a fit of coughing as he scrambled to recover his pistol from where it had landed. Knife re-sheathed, and his bag-of-tricks re-slung over his shoulder, he raised his weapon at the ready once more, and began taking long strides which led him back down the corridor, and further away from the hangar bay. Gradually, the blurred edges in his vision began to clear, and just in time as he rounded a corner in the direction of the port-side of the ship, spotting the periphery edge of a group of Klingons as they were storming down a connecting corridor. With alacrity, Fisher ducked into an exposed stanchion just before the Klingons made their turn in his direction, avoiding immediate detection. The only problem now, was that this massive group, no doubt sent to reinforce the trio he’d just dispatched, were now directly between him and his escape route.

Worse still, they seemed to be advancing at a far slower pace, taking some care and practice as they came upon the bodies that Fisher had just left for them. For a second, he hoped that maybe they might open the blast doors, and give him a straight on approach once more, instead however, they milled about. They were searching for him, and he was just barely hidden from sight, but not for long under these circumstances.

Time was running short.

Knowing he couldn’t delay the escape of the others any longer, Fisher quietly retrieved a pair of grey cannisters from his bag, emblazoned on each of them the seal of the Cardassian Union. With steady breaths meant to quell the rapidly beating heartbeat in his bruised and aching chest, he depressed the actuator on both cannisters and tossed one in either direction of the corridor. It didn’t take long for the Klingons to grunt in reaction to the sound of the two metallic objects rolling about in their midst, but those grunts soon gave way to waling and screams of terror and agony as the cannisters erupted. Plumes of scorching white-hot burning phosphorus that seared through armor, flesh, and bone alike consumed a bulk of the group, and Fisher soon stepped out amidst them his phaser pistol leveled and firing into any of them which stood between him and his path to the opposite side of the hangar bay.

“Fisher to away team. If I’m not there in three-minutes, complete exfil without me. That’s an order.”

---

OOC: Some more music for the background.
[Show/Hide]

[ Crewman 3rd Class Samala | Hanger Bay | IKS Ta’rom | En Route to Qo’noS ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Griffinsummoner @Swift
[Show/Hide]
“At least he isn’t one to shy away from doing what must be done when it needs to be,” Samala noted to herself as Petty Officer Rivard strode headlong into the room, his phaser at the ready. Samala ducked down as she followed and stepped through the door a moment after Rivard. Even as the door shut, she caught movement beyond it and knew that they had been seen. “Of course we were spotted.”

She didn’t have long to muse though as Rivard shot both of the Klingons before they had a chance to react to their entry. As their bodies slumped to the deck lifelessly, Rivard pointed out the grate they needed to use to get to the maintenance shaft and told her to get it open.

“One moment,” Samala said, stepping to the side of the door and drawing her knife from its sheath. She could sense the approaching mind, a Klingon’s, and had already calculated that it would be best to dispose of him before trying the grate. Holding her blade loosely, just as she had been trained, Samala readied herself.

The door slid open, and the Klingon entered, saying something in his guttural native tongue. Samala couldn’t see his face, didn’t really want to either. Instead, she focused on her target, the soft portion of the underside of the head, inside the jaw. With a single swift motion, her hand arched up and drove her knife up and into the Klingon’s brain. His speech stopped and his body went limp. The hybrid allowed it to fall forward as the door shut, pulling her knife free as the corpse descended.

“Grate, on it,” Samala acknowledged, stooping to wipe her knife clean before heading for the grate. It was an access grate, more used for the airflow rather than the allowance or personnel movement, but with a few swift tugs it yielded to her enhanced strength. As she set it to the side, a voice crackled and Samala struggled to hear what it was saying.

“Was that Fisher?” she queried, turning to look at Rivard. “What did he say?”

[PO1 Scruffy LeBlanc | Main Corridor | A-Deck | IKS Ta'Rom | En Route to Qo'noS] Attn: @Auctor Lucan  @Swift 

Scruffy dashed out the turbolift, head tucked low between his raised arms, between Keyah and Fisher.  In one hand he had his phaser at the ready and in the other he held his PADD, following their progress through his deckplan.  The closer they got to the hangar, the more detailed his diagrams became, as he had already collected scans on their way into the ship.  He took shots as the opportunity presented itself, but most of them ended up burning into bulkheads or glancing off armor in his haste.  He flinched when he heard the turboshaft detonation, turning around long enough to reassure himself that Fisher was still on their tail.

Which gave him a front-row seat as the blast door slammed down, splitting their party again.  Immediately Scruffy crouched near the intersection of the blast door and the bulkhead, his phaser quickly holstered for his engineering tricorder.  He was already tracing power conduits, hoping he could find a way to reverse the mechanism, when he heard Fisher’s open broadcast.  Scruffy acknowledged the alternate route, and realized that it would be faster than trying to force open the blast-door, especially if any more blast-doors dropped in the meantime.  Shutting his tricorder, he tried to find assurance in Fisher’s confidence of meeting them in the hangar.  After quickly locking eyes with Keyah, he pulled his phaser again and resumed their rush.  “You know the shuttle is probably still on the ceiling, right?  We’re going to have to get out of the main corridor to get back to the access level.”

[ Chief Petty Officer Amlas Keyah (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Chief_Petty_Officer_Amlas_Keyah) | Turbolift Shaft | IKS Ta'Rom | En Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]When the blast door rammed down behind her and LeBlanc, Keyah hadn't been sure if Commander Fisher survived, so when she heard his voice over comms - having set herself to defend the engineer while he worked on the door - she was both relived and galvanised to complete the mission.

"This is Chief Keyah, understood," she fired off while beginning to move again. The Petty Officer's remark about the Apache's placement was already on her mind, but she nodded in confirmation. "Yes, and that should also be the way Fisher gets there. Perhaps we'll rendezvous with him on the way to the shuttle."

At least she hoped so, knowing that the odds wouldn't be good for someone on their own, but she had faith in the spy's experience. If anyone were to make it back to the shuttle on their own, whilst being chased by Klingons every step of the way, he would be a definite candidate for the challenge. As for her and the engineer, she would do her best, hoping that they'd reach an excess point close enough to allow them to reach the shuttle the same way they'd come.

They ran for less than a minute before another search party appeared in an intersection that they were passing by, yet the grate to the maintenance access was just ten meters away. "There," she called to LeBlanc and pressed her back against the corner of the intersection. "Get it open!"

Then, she leaned out from the corner and took aim, firing away at the search party. She got two of them in her first volley, before she had to duck back behind cover again. She crouched down, mouthed a Bolian saying about making the most of life since you could do naught when dead, and leaned out again - firing from a lower position. She took out two more before the last two managed to adjust their aim, at which point she ducked back once more. The shoulder of her infiltration suit got singed by a disruptor, but she was still breathing - her cobalt blood pumping hard through her veins. The third time she stepped out, she didn't remain by the wall, keeping herself mobile, and the Klingons were right on top of her at that point.

Her first beam cut into a Klingon neck, and she had to raise her rifle to catch the swing of the last Klingon's bat'leth. By sheer instinct, she dropped the rifle, letting it clatter against the wall and the deck as it was ripped out of her hands. She heard herself make some kind of noise, her throat feeling raw, but she pulled her pulse phase pistol at her hip and fired straight into the attacker's torso. Multiple times... until the beast went down. She was shaking afterwards, the adrenaline coursing through her, and she took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

I'm still alive. Keyah swallowed down some rising bile and went to the Petty Officer without a word, and once the grate was open, she climbed inside, heading for the Apache.

[ Petty Officer First Class Jean Paul Rivard (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Security_NPCs#Petty_Officer_First_Class_Jean_Paul_Rivard) | Hangar Bay of the IKS Ta'rom | En Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]"He said to get out of here in three minutes even if he doesn't make it to the Apache," Rivard answered, having his weapon raised and looking down both ends of the corridor they were in to make sure there were no more attackers while Samala got their access point open. "My guess is that he got cut off from the rest of his team, or they are already dead..."

There was no time to linger, so when the grate was open, Rivard took point and made as quick progress as he could through the ventilation shaft - or whatever it was they found themselves in. Knowing the general direction towards where the Apache was at, Rivard headed there, and ignored the way the klaxons on the Ta'rom sounded so foreboding. They had a means for escape, as long as they could get back to the shuttle, and with the charges set, they could still make it off the Klingon ship alive.

Thankfully enough, while only having to backtrack their climb once since he made a wrong turn, Rivard emerged into the same accessway that he and Samala had been in before, and they could make it back to Petra Vansen on the Apache. His fellow Security officer was on her feet, clearly alert to the pressing situation, and she almost made a move to hug him when he entered the shuttle. She didn't, clearing her throat and looking away, and Rivard had to check if there were others alive before Samala would detonate the charges and get the Apache out of the bay. "Rivard to..."

He got no farther, before Amlas Keyah appeared as well, swinging down through the airlock and stepping inside the craft's aft compartments. "One more minute, then we take off," she said, since with Fisher gone, she was the highest ranking officer present. "Crewman Samala, power this thing up and get ready to blast our way out. Hopefully we'll make a clean escape. Let's just hope the Commander makes it back in time..."

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Andrew_Fisher) | Turbolift Shaft | IKS Ta'Rom ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @Griffinsummoner

The window for exfil was hastily closing on Fisher, who sprinted along a lengthy corridor that ran perpendicular to the hangar bay from one side of the ship to the other. Heavy boot falls echoed back after him in a staccato which barely matched the alacritous beat of the heart bounding away within his chest, all while every muscle inside each of his strong legs burned as though they were saturated with battery acid instead of blood. Just making it to the opposite side of the Ta’Rom had cost him nearly a third of his self-imposed deadline, and he still needed to ascend the stairwell which would take him to the upper level of the hangar. It would be close, but theoretically he had just enough time to make back in time for escape, that is, barring any major interference from the unending tide of Klingons which were pursuing him. As he reached the base of the passageway though, he found himself growing increasingly confident that he could and would make it after all, as it seemed to be entirely devoid of obstacle.

Some luck maybe?

Taking deep breaths which did little to assuage the effects of exhaustion that were beginning to besiege him, Fisher climbed several steps with each long stride until he emerged unto a platform which served as a control room and looked out on the hangar beyond. He could even see a member of the away team, Rivard probably, dropping down into the still-cloaked vessel which hung upside down. “I’m just about there!” Fisher announced through the active comms, moving over to where a hatch would give him access to a gangway that ran just close enough to the Apache that he could conceivably make a short leap to the open and waiting ramp. In the back of his mind, Fisher could almost taste the spoils of his planned dinner with Rutherford, as confidence began to settle in. This had worked. This crazy insane plan had worked, maybe not without the loss of a comrade, but in the end Cabrera’s sacrifice would have been worth it, as they were about to turn the tide of this whole internal strife among the Klingons around in their favor.

So close now.

“Is everyone else aboard the--” about to check on the status of the rest of the team, Fisher stepped ever closer to the hatch when he heard footsteps from behind, only just managing to dip his head out of the way of a swung bat’leth which had clearly been meant to decapitate.

Pressing his pistol to the stomach of his attacker, Fisher squeezed the trigger in rapid succession, instantly burning a series of holes through him as thick globules of crimson blood splattered against the bulkhead behind. The first Klingon dropped to the decking in a heap, only for a second to surge forward in his stead, a mek’leth swinging in a wide arc which caused Fisher to dive and roll away from the hatchway. Sprawling along the platform, he spun round on his back and raised his weapon to fire only to have it swatted away by the bladed weapon. His hand stung, but he had no time to focus on that added pain as his assailant lunged atop of him, attempting to plunge the mek’leth into his chest. Grunting as his aching ribs crunched beneath the added weight of the Klingon, Fisher clutched tightly at his opponent’s wrists, desperate to stave off an imminent death. A thought to reach for his own knife came to mind, but there was simply no way he could realistically get to it and keep his enemy at bay.

“--nnngh! Apache! G--” he grunted, very much aware that the seconds were hastily counting down on him.

The Klingon groaned and hissed as he pushed with all his might, the blade drawing nearer to piercing through the left side of Fisher’s chest. Shuffling his weight just enough beneath the heavy warrior, the spy managed to evade the initial stab attempt as his strength failed him. Angrily, the Klingon snarled as his mek’leth stuck itself two or three inches deep into the metal deck plating and wedged there. There was no respite though, as the Klingon immediately moved to grab a D’k tahg knife from where it had been sheathed at his side, giving Fisher just enough of a chance to reach for his own knife, and parry a dis-coordinated lunge at him. On the return, the spy slashed across the throat of the Klingon, causing blood to heavily spray down onto his face as the warrior gradually went limp. With ragged breath, Fisher shoved the dead lump off of him and scrambled back to his feet. Was there still time? He had to move if there was, but before he could even take a step something had clutched at his ankle.

Tripped up, Fisher dropped to his hands and knees and saw that the first Klingon hadn’t yet succumbed to the wounds blasted through his midsection, instead he had latched onto Fisher with one bloodied hand, while the other was clutching at a Klingon pulse grenade.

“Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!” The control room exploded in a green fireball.

A second later, down on the main flight deck, Fisher landed hard on his back, ears ringing and his world spinning about him as he had somehow just barely cleared the radius of the explosion when it had gone off. Though he hadn’t been spared entirely, as he had been thrashed by the shockwave and tossed violently as he tumbled down the stairwell. All around, he heard dozens of encroaching steps as they drew nearer.

“...Go!” coughing as he was surrounded, everything soon went black as boot met his forehead.

[ Crewman 3rd Class Samala | Hanger Bay | IKS Ta’rom | En Route to Qo’noS ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Griffinsummoner @Swift
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Turning the last corner in the tunnel, Samala saw the opening ahead that would lead down to the Apache. Rivard’s confirmation and explanation of what Commander Fisher had said rang in her ears as she shimmied across to the shaft and began climbing down. At the bottom, she lowered herself out of the roof, hanging for a moment from the bottom rung of the ladder before swinging herself forward and over, inverting herself just as she entered her ship’s gravity field. Within it, her feet were pulled to the deck of the ramp and she regathered herself, looking at the Ta’rom’s hanger deck, from her perspective, over her head.

"Crewman Samala, power this thing up and get ready to blast our way out. Hopefully we'll make a clean escape. Let's just hope the Commander makes it back in time..." came Chief Keyeh’s

“Understood,” Samala acknowledged, darting into the Apache. She ran the length of the ship, not stopping to discard any of her equipment until she fell into the pilot’s chair and spun around to face the console. Bringing the ship’s systems to standby, she heard Fisher announce that he was almost there and movement through the forward canopy drew her attention. Below her, she caught sight of Fisher in what she believed was the control room for the hanger. And he was fighting. He spoke again but his words were cut off as Samala saw that he was tackled to the deck. 

She sat there, hands hovering over her controls as she watched the Terran struggle with the Klingon. Then it was over, as Fisher rose to his feet, his face covered in the fallen Klingon’s blood. But something was wrong, he stopped and looked down. And then the room exploded outwards with Samala barely catching sight of the Terran’s body being flung through the air to the hard, unforgiving deck of the hanger below it. She wanted to shout to the others behind her to go and get him but a ragged, coughing voice echoed across the silent com channel.

“...Go!”

Klingons were beginning to pour into the hanger, beginning to put out the fires from the explosion as well as moving equipment out of the way while another contingent surrounded the body of Commander Fisher. Her sensors told her he was alive, if only just, but as more and more warriors flooded in, Samala knew she had to obey his final order, as much as it railed against her very nature. Steeling herself, she remotely activated the ramp controls, sealing the ship as she brought the Apache to full readiness. A memory flash of Bacury III danced before her eyes and she snarled, blinking it away as she powered up her disruptor arrays. They had to leave but she was going to make sure that they remembered that they had been there.

With her tactical systems ready, Samala dropped the cloak and disengaged the maglocks, smiling wickedly at what she thought the Klingons would be thinking at her appearance within the hanger. But she gave them no time to react as she triggered her disruptors, scything into clusters of warriors, fighters, shuttles and even the walls as she spun and rolled the Apache around to face the doors. An explosion on the port side of the hanger, bigger than the rest, let her know that she had hit something important with confirmation coming in a moment later as she registered that the Ta’rom was dropping out of warp. Now was their chance.

“BLOW THE CHARGES!” she shouted, hoping someone had heard her. Nothing happened for an instant and she was about to yell again when the hanger bay in and around her erupted into fire as explosive devices detonated. The main doors rippled, one of them being completely blown off of its hinges thanks to her charge placements. It was now or never. Shutting down her disruptors, she shunted the power to her shields to reinforce them from the beating that the explosions, and largely ineffective Klingon small arms fire, had strained them. That done, she fired up her thrusters to guide them through the damaged opening. 

Once clear of the doors, Samala engaged her cloak and the Apache disappeared into the void like an assassin into shadow. Their mission, she didn’t know if it had been a success or not, but she was alive and the bulk of the team was with her. Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment in silent thanks to Commander Fisher before plotting a course back to the Theurgy and jumping into warp herself.

~FIN~

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OOC: Escape Inspiration. [Show/Hide]