Skip to main content
Recent Posts
11
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Day 02 [0030 hrs] The Ready Room Catch up
Last post by Dumedion -
[LT Vanya | Lower Science Labs | Deck 17 | Vector 3 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Brutus

After the relatively successful vole hunt (which had taken up much of the day, followed by a thorough inventory of all the lower science labs), Vanya had briefly met with Dr. Frost, which had consisted of the freshly thawed CSO informing her of the impending diplomatic mission to Romulus, as well as adding to the list of other objectives he wished her to accomplish. This news was taken neutrally, of course; while she certainly had no love of the idea of returning to Romulus, there were few remaining on board that spoke the languages needed to facilitate the mission – in that logic, she couldn’t help but agree with Frost’s judgement.

Still, risks remained; not only for herself, but for everyone else sent along.

Vanya kept that line of thought running along in a dedicated sub-routine as she continued to inventory the labs; post battle, with the ship repairs underway (as much as they could be, given the current quasi-political situation), and with her memory still shredded with annoying gaps – she hoped that by thoroughly refamiliarizing herself with her surroundings, a piece of what had been lost might be restored...

...Thus far, to no positive effect.

Ever the optimist, Vanya refused to abandon the experiment; there had been several radiation-variance scanners rediscovered, along with a deltoidal icositetrahedron phased lens misplaced in the wrong drawer – both of which earned a genuine smile of surprised delight.

Who knows what else could be waiting for me?

Vanya suddenly stopped mid-stride as if struck by an electrical overload; she blinked once, then twice, as her mind whirred through several emotional states in rapid succession. Not something...someone had been waiting since the Triangle, and likely didn’t even know that she still functioned; someone that meant more to her than words could accurately describe – someone that was now impossibly occupied with the burdens of command, and likely unreachable. Green eyes, the shade of impossibly dark forests, darted to the chrono as she spun to the door, lab coat snatched from the back of a chair with haste. Well, we'll just see about that wont we?

“Computer, be a dear and please locate Commander Stark,” Vanya inquired as she pulled the coat on over her duty uniform; a thing she had grown to tolerate, but never enjoy – not even the skirt variant – which she chose to wear more than the atrocious trousers. Bare feet padded over the scratched (but meticulously clean) lab tiles, pausing only briefly to scoop up a pair of knee-high boots, which her feet were subsequently shoved into without ceremony.

Captain Stark is in the Ready Room,” the computer announced.

"Thank you darling." Manners cost nothing but time, and were never wasted.

Vanya hesitated at the new rank; her brow creased with an unusual emotion – then vanished as the feeling was isolated and removed from her active cognitive processes, redirected to join the dozens of other running sub-routines in her synthetic cortex.

Regardless of what has occurred…the changes, the added roles…she’s still Nat, and I am still me, Vanya reminded herself as she left the lab, bound for the nearest turbolift.


[…Moments later | Bridge | Deck 01 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy]

The turbolift door opened to reveal a (thankfully) minimally crewed bridge. Vanya nodded to the security officer on duty - noted the way he side-eyed her - but made no comment; he wasn’t the first to react to her physical appearance and wouldn’t be the last. There was little to be done on the issue other than simply accept it for what it was; the scientist in her wished to understand the fundamental principle that encoded such reactions in variant species across the galaxy – the more sensitive aspect in her wished she could change it.

…And there went another unusual thought-line; sent down into non-priority limbo – just as Vanya rounded the corner of Mission Ops and the door to the CO’s ready room presented itself.

A brief pause followed; nothing so foolish as a ‘steadying breath’ of course…that would be silly.

It’s Nat – it’s just Nat. A deep breath followed, even if Vanya didn’t technically need to breathe at all.

Her finger pressed the call key.

A moment passed, then a murmured voice issued from the other side; one that made Vanya’s lips curl completely of their own accord – an uncontrollable reaction in the presence of one very specific individual. As the door opened, Vanya held her hands behind her and remained beyond the threshold; she let her eyes take in the scene, as they sought the person they wanted instinctually – and quickly found.

“Hello Natalie,” Vanya whispered, eyes wide and full of Natalie’s; a powerful motive force had suddenly manifested between them, as inescapable as a Magnetar – invisible yet undeniably real. A brief struggle ensued against it anyway, as she fought to keep herself from running into Nat's arms. “Got some time to kill for an old friend?” the question was asked playfully, almost teasing; Vanya's head tilted, smile beaming – just as she always had when she wanted to get under a certain someone's skin - in a good way, of course.
12
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [ 0700 hrs] The Salvage Job
Last post by RyeTanker -
[ Lieutenant Commander Frank Arnold | Co-Pilots Seat | Shuttlecraft Maslow | At warp] @Ellen Fitz @Krajin @Dumedion @Brutus @Nesota Kynnovan @Stegro88 @rae @Eirual & anyone else

Chief Arnold listed the back and forth of the salvage crew and the pilots.  He took it all in as a free flow exchange of ideas.  He called up a standard search and rescue analysis package from database and remotely tied in the telemetry from the probes and all the shuttles.  A few ideas were interesting and he punched in the parameters for the systems to account for.  At least they weren't really looking for anything inside a planetary system, the number of gravity and material variables from that one alone would cause migraines.  He also had his own ideas, and he plugged in more parameters attached to radioactivity decay from an Iroquois class starship's impulse manifolds, plus a ranged standard decay from a tritanium hull in the current astro environment. More ideas came up and he modified the tachyon flux and delta radiation oscillation range. Narrowing the focus for the computer to a Starfleet vessel would also help since the ship's had a unique hull material signature traces that should stand out unless a ship was completely atomized, and maybe not even then.  In essence, the computer would devote all its processing power to simply finding a Starfleet vessel within the proverbial galactic soup ahead of them.

As the chatter continued, Frank let the computer package run.  Blue eyes watched the output as the computer spit out various points of interest.  His fingers occasionally punched several keys as he refined the data.  New information was fed into the data feed, filtered at light speed, then considered by the human mind. As he waited, the Chief reached for his coffee cup and took a sip.  It wasn't his blend of choice, but someone had handed it to him and he'd thanked the provider and let his mind simply keep going on trying to find the pattern that would give them some clue as to where the Cayuga had disappeared off to.

After the next sip, his eyes narrowed as his mind grasped something his intuition had picked out and he set the mug down as he began refining the data, adjusting the wavelength bands and applying various radiation imaging filters.  There definitely was a pattern present.  It was hard to see, but there was a hard core of radiation along the path that was being interrupted by sudden blobs.  It looked inconsistent to the computer, but to the trained mind, it looked like sudden bursts of thrust as the engines were overrated past operational norms.   He needed more information though and he scanned the tachyon, then nadion ranges and particled lines appeared.  The dispered lines were slightly wavy from stellar winds, but signatures were unmistakable to the computer. High confidence starship grade phaser fire and in the correct frequency for a Starfleet vessel.

Frank's eyes lit up at the information and he unhurriedly tapped the comm key.  "Attention Theurgy Beta.  We have a high confidence vector in the direction of high energy emissions consistent with the Cayuga.  I'm sending over the direction heading now.  Wolves, scout ahead, and if you find the ship, take a look, use the probes for deep scan.  Shuttles, form a ring around the Tesla. Maslow will lead.  The Chief Engineer looked at the pilot to confirm the course was plotted.  It didn't take long. "Course laid in sir."  Frank grabbed his coffee cup to wait out the next leg of the trip. "Take us out." he commanded.  The starfield began to move as the subtle thrum of the impulse engines going to cruising power increased, and Frank hoped that all the work would bear fruit for their lost comrades.



OOC: Ooof, that be some treknobabbling
13
Parallel Universes - "What if?" / Re: [2376] Entanglement of Chaos
Last post by RyeTanker -
[Ensign XamotZark zh’Ptrell (Ens. Zark) | Casino | Cardassia Prime] Attn: @Ellen Fitz

Zark tried not to move her head when she heard that Enyd wanted to dance.  Her nose scrunched in disbelief at the idea and her antennae pulled back against her head as she  mentally got ready to fight the idea as ludicrous and she opened her mouth to say just a much.  Surely there were better ways to cause than dancing with one's bodyguard, but the human diplomat was a law unto herself as she dragged the blue warrior woman off to who knows where. 

At least, that's what she thought she wanted until subtly swirling blue dress moved into the crowd.  The Andorian's eyebrow quirked as she saw the undulating hips, the gyrating shoulders, subtle tones of sensuality inviting others like the ancient tales of siren's calls.  Except it wasn't to anyone's doom, but to simply enjoy the revelry of the moment.  The blue eyes narrowed for a moment as her blood pressure settled into something resembling normalcy and Zark couldn't help but grin as the slow deliberate twist of the hips, and a roll of the shoulder brought back more recent memories from her not so far off Academy days.  They were distinct, yet ubiquitous as long as one knew the culture; and one had done all they could to become literally intimately familiar with the movements.  The Andorian snorted as she took a quick look around.  A Cardassian and a Bolian were delighted by the invitation to dance.  The Horgh'an was the most visible symbol for an intimate encounter with the hedonistic inhabitants of Risa, but that was more using a club for the clueless. 

Enyd's exercise of the more subtle arts evoked a more subconscious response and the very attractive blue woman had to ruthlessly step on her own libido as a rolling gyration of Enyd's shoulders and an arching of her back as she threw her head back in an act of silent ecstasy lent little requirement to the imagination on the more modest bust that the human had.  Then again, Kaleema would have enjoyed the show and probably done something that probably would have thoroughly tripped up the diplomat's dance.  Zark inhaled sharply as a tingle of warmth raced through her and she froze for a moment as she looked down.  The Zhen silently scowled as she pulled her hand away from her swollen hidden nipple that she'd started to subconsciously massage. Bad Zark. Focus!  Zark looked around again and the majority of the floor seemed to be enjoying the show.  Professional concerns stopped her urge to satisfy herself for a moment. If that man and woman decide to grope or shove their tongues down Enyd's throat, am I supposed to break up the show?

Mulling the ramifications didn't stop Zark from feeling someone joining her and she looked over to see the stunning and utterly dangerous green skinned humanoid stand next to her.  Slender green fingers  ran themselves along dark lips and Zark swore she could see the Orion's tongue trying to stick out it's owner's mouth.  The Andorian had to look over and she could see the muscle nearby and one of them looked at her before going back to looking over the crowd.  The Cardiassian man seemed to be very slow in getting the latte coloured kanar into his mouth as he watched the show. "You're charge seems quite carefree.  And generous with her affections."  Dangerous dark eyes glittered directly into hopefully impassive looking blue-green ones and the dark smile was positively predatory.  "A fascinating creature.  Perhaps she could be enticed to join me for a drink?" There wasn't even a twinkle in the eyes of a smile that refused to move above her nose.

Zark felt the a vice begin to close as she tried to figure out a way to buy time and she thought furiously for a moment.  An idea started forming and it was absolutely terrible, but unless Ryzit could get the whole situation resolved quickly.  She turned to face the Orion and crossed her arms under her ample chest and pushed them upwards.  The two male thugs moved closer to the alluring green woman and she ignored the move.  Zark subtly brushed aside stray white lock as she offered a mischevous smirk.  "Well.  I can't really let her out of my sight, so we'll all need to stay together, wherever she goes."

The Orion snorted as her smile flashed the barest hint of polished pearly canines.  "I wouldn't dream of it dear protector. And if we decide to have a private conversation later on?"

Zark smiled back, deciding to take a chance. "We take care of each other, and I'm quite flexible depending on the situation."  The Andorian's expression turned more neutral.  "But I can't let her out of my sight, orders from the the boss after all."

The Orion brought a finger up to her mouth and ran her tongue over her long index nail.  "A curious arrangement you two have."

The Andorian turned sultry to the max as she lowered her arms and not as subtly smoothed the side of her suit. "Girls have needs."  The Orion nodded her understanding. "Lead on then and let's see if this will be an affair to remember."  Zark nodded and turned towards Enyd.  She had about 10 seconds to sub-vocalize the situation to Enyd so she would have some idea of what she pot of oil Zark had dropped them into.

[Ashryzit "Ryzit" sh’Oshraalrat]

The Andorian pushed the cart along the edges of the gambling area.  She had to avoid the tables and some machines.  She had to avoid the walls since that was too obvious.  At least the cart she had did have identifiably obvious cleaning supplies.  No drinks and no food.  Plus the uniform she'd acquired was no where near as revealing as the women working the tables and other money handling activities.  She pointedly ignored a Bajoran woman with a plastered on smile and a deep cleavage working the dabo table.  I guess she could be desperate or her wanderlust got the better of her.  The train of thought was quickly dismissed.  Her eyes briefly dipped down her her PADD as a progress bar ran along the ID card she'd pilfered from the maid as it steadily made it's way to the magical 100% point.

It seemed agonizingly slow, and she took a moment to take a few turns here and there.  Ryzit eeped as she felt someone grab her ass and she swallowed the urge to shove the broom handle through someone's eye when a sloppy meaty hand smacked a butt cheek.  A drunken voice slurred "Now that's what I call a real piece, how about we take this one upstairs?  Lemme show you what a good time really is..."  Ryzit hunched her head down further and mumbled something before scurrying off.  "Hey! Come back ere!" the drunk yelled.  There was a bodily crash as he stumbled over his own feet and collapsed on the floor.  

The timing was too good as several beefy thug types made their way over to the source of the commotion.  Her window was going to be brief as she moved as quickly and calmly as her legs would carry her to a service door. There was more yelling behind her as the drunk patron wanted to know where the fine blue skinned hottie had run off to.  Security wasn't having any of the disturbance though.  Anything that stopped people from spending money was to be dealt with promptly, and Ryzit gave herself a moment's reprieve as the voice got further away.

One last barrier and I really hope this works.  The cop thought to herself as she made it to the door and pulled out the ID card.  She took a brief look at the holographic display and the picture had changed to her own face.  Here goes nothing. she thought as she pressed the card to the reader and held her breath for the infinitesimal second.  The door beeped green and opened automatically.  Without waiting, she pushed the cart through and entered the belly of the beast. 
14
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 02 [ 1015 hrs ] Calcium Deficiency
Last post by TWilkins -
[ Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | Lab Four | Deck 11 | Vector Two | USS Theurgy ] @Ellen Fitz

As Ehfva led him through the seemingly labyrinthine corridors of Deck Eleven, Sylvain found himself comforted in the realisation that the hustle and bustle of the ship was less pronounced than it had been yesterday; at least, it seemed to be as the pair walked across Deck 11, corridors absent of the constant banging, clanging and whirring noises that had accompanied his travels yesterday. The corridors were pleasingly quiet, especially so compared to the din of sickbay, and the absence of noise helped ease some of the stress that the Ensign could feel crawling underneath his skin. It helped him further still that Ehfva  at least punctuated their journey with silence, instead of trying to fill the walk with small-talk like most Starfleet personnel usually preferred to… Sylvain appreciated that, even if Ehfva was a little more intense than Sylvain was especially comfortable with.

As if to prove the issue of his intensity, as they approached the lab in question, the man affixed his gaze to the wicker orb in Sylvain’s hand, leaving it affixed as he entered the room, maintaining a level of eye contact that was frankly upsetting, as he strode into the room and requested Sylvain to set the subject of their investigation on one of the central examination tables. It took the Ensign a moment to register the request, on account of the disturbing levels of eye-contact, but complied as promptly as he registered the command, stepping himself through the doorway to the room with a quiet ‘thanks’, that fled his lips on instinct, before moving to the workstation in question, holding the wicker orb over it as though he were preparing to crack an egg.

“Okay little guy, please don’t get overexcited… Just relax… Easy does it…” Sylvain muttered comforting little words, more to himself than to Potato, as he eased open the two halves of the wicker clamshell he’d created, slowly waiting for Potato to emerge, one paw at a time. Of course, Potato did not elect to emerge paw-first, but instead waited until his full head could fit through the gap, splodging down onto the workstation with a soft ‘plap’ sound, as its wide eyed expression locked with Sylvain’s own brown gaze.

“Moopsy!”

“That was not my fault, and you know it…” Sylvain complained, gently moving the wicker plant pots in such a way as to help ease the moopsy down onto the workstation without causing any further distress to the creature. Unfortunately, Potato had apparently decided that it now wanted to be contained within the wicker orbs, a surprising development, given how it had spent all morning relentlessly fighting to get out of them, and despite Sylvain’s best coaxing, the creature withdrew back into the orbs with a defiance that Sylvain did not have the energy for. “Oh, now you want to be inside them…” The Ensign added with no small measure of exasperation in his voice, deciding to leave the creature within the plant pots and simply withdraw his hands instead, breathing a sigh of relief as he passed the force field emitters, and could finally be confident that Potato was contained behind something more sturdy than wicker.

Unfortunately for Sylvain, any ease to his stress was quickly ignited ten-fold, as Ehfva  suddenly appeared in the Ensign’s personal space, far too close, far too intense… The man commanded him to present his hands, and then almost immediately proceeded to start manhandling them when Sylvain didn’t comply within a nanosecond, taking a physical grip on Sylvain’s wrist and forcefully manoeuvring them into some desired position. The Ensign was the taller of the two men, but the few inches that he could see above Ehfva’s luscious hair didn’t provide the pilot with much comfort, as two firm grips encircled his wrists, thumbs digging into his skin with a pressure that made his entire body shrivel in discomfort.

It took most of what Sylvain had to resist the urge to scream at the arrival of such intimate physical contact with a stranger, his synapses firing wildly, activating an intense fight-or-flight response that sang as though he were being attacked by a Borg drone… His back clenched as though he intended to throw the other man across the room, Sylvain’s muscles hardening like iron as Ehfva spoke away, either oblivious or uncaring as to the Ensign’s state of distress. Something about drooling? Flesh?

The pilot barely had the wavelength to acknowledge Ehfva words, hearing them enter his ears as though they were muffled, as though the pair were trying to have a conversation underwater, his brain thrumming as though it had been stuffed full of cotton wool. Whilst Ehfva’s words were muffled, the soft bleeping of a dermal scanner running along his palms was not, its subtle noise sounding akin to the screams of the Andorian Paresis Squares team he’d found particular issue with back at the Academy; loud and threatening, their volume scratching behind his eyes like dust and broken glass. Something brushed across his hands like a scalpel, cold and sharp, and then the pressure upon his wrists was gone, abandoned as though it was nothing.

To his credit, Ehfva at least afforded Sylvain a glance that suggested some sort of apology, perhaps a response to the fact that the Ensign was practically trembling from undesired adrenaline, and that he’d let out a gasp for air as though he’d just been submerged in iced-water as soon as the hands that had gripped his wrists had abandoned him… He felt hot… He was sweating, in fact; his back hot and sticky against the material of his uniform, as he found himself panting as though he’d just ran two miles through a Vulcan desert. His fingers clenched around themselves as though he’d lost all circulation, and his wrists felt dirty, as though he needed to run himself through a decontamination shower immediately, or he’d catch some sort of epidermal infection…

It took Sylvain a moment to get back to reality, taking a pointed step backwards, away from Ehfva, stumbling slightly as he pressed his arse into another workstation, before he moved his hands pointedly behind his back.

He didn’t smile when Potato launched itself at Ehfva just a handful of seconds later, he was too busy mentally dwelling on the mental pain that was currently echoing throughout his psyche, but he wouldn’t deny the small bead of amusement that swelled up in his chest at the sight of it. Sylvain was a little less amused by how effortlessly Ehfva seemed to handle Potato’s attack, humming a deep rhythm from somewhere deep within his chest, picking the creature up one-handedly and returning him to the confines of the plinth. Worst still, Ehfva seemed almost amused by the attempt, turning to Sylvain as he delivered a series of questions, which the Ensign did his best to answer.

“We encountered him aboard the Erudite." Sylvain began to explain, any dregs of casualty abandoning him as he spoke with the formality of a court martial. “It escaped containment after a power conduit was disrupted, killed one of the Savi researchers, and then attacked myself and another officer in a maintenance access corridor; thankfully it didn’t do me any harm, but it continued trying for a good while.” Sylvain paused, watching as Potato rolled onto his back and waggled his tiny paws into the air, before they fell flat to its sides. “It’s largely stopped trying to eat me now; I think it's become accustomed to the idea that I'm not food... But you, on the other hand, are the first other living thing it’s interacted with since I got it off of the Erudite, so it seems that it at least has enough knowledge to differentiate individuals.”

If Ehfva had noted Sylvain’s explanation, he didn’t show it, instead burying himself in the scan data, and whatever other information that the lab was presenting to him. Sylvain’s scientific expertise stopped at astrophysics and stellar phenomena, so he didn’t even attempt to engage with what the consoles were telling them, instead positioning himself on the opposite side of the plinth to Ehfva, so that the man would face more of an obstacle if he attempted to get ‘handsy’ again.

Sylvain did listen to Ehfva’s explanation, but didn’t have much of a hope of understanding; most of the man’s words were too medical for the pilot to keep much of an understanding of, and whilst Sylvain understood some of the terms, Ehfva was talking a mile a minute, and he couldn’t keep track of everything. He expected that Ehfva might’ve had the same issues keeping up if Sylvain had descended into a tirade about advanced warp field theory… From what he could make out of the man’s delivery, however, was that apparently the Federation’s contact with the creature consisted of one single incident, aboard a menagerie, the outcome of which consisted of a rather gristly slew of deaths, and the apparent revelation that these creatures were allegedly capable of working control panels… Sylvain glanced down at Potato with a world of horror and confusion in his eyes. Potato looked back.

“Moopsy!” It replied, with indiscernible intention.

Ehfva collapsed back into the sole chair that occupied the room, whilst Sylvain stood straight, hands firmly behind his back, as though he were standing to attention to meet an admiral. It was a juxtaposition of two personalities, a moment of silence only broken as Ehfva angled his head towards the Ensign, and began speaking. He spoke of his own species, and what the Savi had done to them; merged multiple forms into one shell. Sylvain didn’t truthfully understand, and any interest he had in doing so was transported into the void as Ehfva’s next revelation came from his lips.

Whatever the Savi had done to Potato, was killing him.

It had weeks left before it starved to death.

“Wait, what?” Sylvain’s word left his mouth as though he had been punched in the stomach, breathless and tight across his chest, his eyes turning towards the small white creature with a brow that was furrowed in disbelief, watching as Potato bobbed its head once or twice, looking back between the two officers with an undefinable expression; did it understand them, or was it just responding to the aural stimuli of a conversation?. “No, I… There must be something that we can do?” Sylvain moved forwards towards the dias, hands abandoning their protected space in the small of his back as he placed them on the console, looking first at Potato, and then to Ehfva, his eyes wide and full of alarm. “I’ve been feeding it bone-broth, which it has been…” Eating? Sylvain thought back to the shallow bowls of broth that Sylvain had been providing the creature for the past couple of days, which it usually submerged its head in, as opposed to lapping like a typical mammalian quadruped. Was it actually drinking it, or was it just spilling the stuff all over his quarters…?

“No… No, the Savi were conducting experiments on them, they had thousands of them in tanks, they were experimenting with their genome… This isn't a natrual change, it was created, so we have to be able to solve it; we’ve got the…” Sylvain’s hand moved to the Savi-datapadd that had spent almost three days secreted upon his waist, which had of course been passed off to Doctor Leux two days prior… Shit...He didn’t know if the contents of that datapad were common knowledge yet, or whether Doctor Leux was still analysing it… “We…” Sylvain pivoted his augment, not wanting to risk any sort of animosity with the Doctor unless it was absolutely necessary. “We have the most advanced ship in Starfleet…”

The distress hit Sylvain harder than he would have ever anticipated, his fingers suddenly bringing up displays of information that he couldn’t quite comprehend, as Potato shuffled around on the plinth before him, laying down flat on its belly, and then rolling onto its back, and then back again, round-and-round in concentric circles. Sylvain couldn’t quite map where this sense of affection for the creature had come from, but he only knew that he had to save it… Perhaps it was the only way he could excuse his efforts in putting the Savi-Theurgy alliance in jeopardy? Perhaps it was because Sylvain was his own flavour of genetic misfit, and he wouldn’t see Potato die for the same crime?

Or perhaps it was because Sylvain was suffering from such a harrowingly deep sense of loneliness, that losing this small little creature that had forced its way into his care, would break his heart in a way that Sylvain didn’t think he could bear…

“So, it can’t metabolise calcium anymore…” He heard Ehfva’s words in his ears as the Pilot’s eyes followed through the complicated medical jargon that the computer was presenting him, picking out key-words here-and-there that he understood enough to follow. “...but we can’t safely reverse the genetic tampering without giving it the ability to kill everyone aboard the ship…” Sylvain didn’t even question if it was possible; feasibility wasn’t his priority right now… He paused his thinking aloud for a moment, brows furrowing deeper at the information presented to him, the mind that had previously been addled and dull from Ehfva’s touch suddenly sharper than a razor as it ploughed through every possibility that his expertise in astrophysics and advanced astral navigation could find.

“Perhaps there’s some sort of way that we could introduce some sort of new enzyme to its system…” Sylvain might as well have been talking in Orion slang for how much he understood his own words, but they were flowing from his mouth regardless of how much his brain could keep up. “...to allow it to metabolise an element with some sort of similar alkaline structure?” He brought up the periodic table in his mind’s eye, thinking back the chemistry lessons he’d had back aboard the USS Boleyn as a teenager, and revisited the list of alkaline earth metals. “Maybe magnesium or bohrium? I’m no chemist but I know they share similar chemical properties to calcium…”

His words were desperate, and they lacked the knowledge to see any such plans through, but he felt a determination in his gut that he would save this poor creature… He didn’t steal it from a Savi research lab, liberate it from the Erudite, and secret it aboard his possessions aboard the Theurgy, just so it could slowly starve to death in his quarters… No, he would find something that would keep Potato alive… He’d be damned if he let the poor creature die because of the Savi.

Sylvain hadn’t experienced much hate before in his life, but he was suddenly becoming acutely aware of why the crew of the Theurgy held the Savi in such contempt…
15
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [1100 hrs] New Stars
Last post by TWilkins -
[ Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | Stellar Cartography | Deck 15 | Vector Three | USS Theurgy ] @chXinya

Sylvain rounded yet another corner of Deck 15, this time with a hand up in front of his face, sluggishly using the edge of his thumb to scrub at the throbbing pain that was sinking into the underside of his right eye, a pain that had been making his day worse pretty much since it had started. The Ensign’s feet patted somewhat softly against the bulkhead, at least, softly compared to the flurry of engineering activity that seemed to be doing some sort of repair work on every molecule of the ship, buzzing and clanging and whirring on every subsection of every deck that he’d been on since he’d left his quarters that morning… It was not making his headache any easier to bear… In fact, the noise made him grimace as he walked, stumbling haphazardly as he dodged around the flailing legs of an engineer who was buried chest-deep in an access panel, a few flakes of pastry being jostled from the incredibly dry pain au chocolat Sylvain was holding in his free hand, and landing on the crewman’s outstretched legs.

Usually he’d be mortified by such a thing. Usually he wouldn’t have dreamed about walking around the ship with a four-hour old pain au chocolat dangling sadly from his hand, one that had dried out enough that he could probably bludgeon a Klingon to death with it… But in this case, he scarcely even cared about the flakes that had fallen on the person’s flailing legs, and nor did he care about carrying food around with him. Firstly, how inconsiderate did one have to be to take up half of the corridor with their legs without even putting a sign up to warn passing crewmen? Sylvain could have tripped and broken his neck. Secondly, he really wanted to eat that pain au chocolat; he’d been looking forward to it since he’d replicated it that morning, and yet four hours later, he still hadn’t taken the opportunity to scarf it down.

It had been a hellishly busy morning.

And Sylvain was tired.

Not just a baseline level of tiredness, where he hadn’t slept in twenty four hours, and might be prone to yawning on shift a couple of times… No, this was something else. Sylvain was unfathomably tired, the pain-behind-your-eyes kind of exhaustion that came from not sleeping for going on seventy two hours, and then having a terrible night sleep because he was anxious about not getting enough sleep… Even thinking was somewhat painful for him now, and whilst almost every other officer aboard the Theurgy was probably fueled with caffeine and adrenaline, Sylvain hated the jittery feeling that both of those things gave him; he didn’t know if it was his unique biology, or just a personal preference, but the last thing he needed was feeling wired when he wanted to feel calm.

So he’d opted for sugar and calories, and they were as untouched as they were four hours ago when he’d grabbed his pain au chocolat from the replicator. Of course, not the replicator in his own quarters, because it currently wasn’t functioning. So he’d had to trek down half a dozen decks to the mess hall on deck thirteen, just to grab his breakfast, then backtrack to the turbolift to go back to his quarters to eat. Unfortunately, the queue was so long that he’d not had time to go back to his quarters before he was due on a bridge, so he’d had to wrap it in a napkin and pocket it for the time being; he didn’t know what the Theurgy policy was for food at your station, but he assumed it was a hard no…

And now here he was, four hours later, still carrying around an unbitten pain au chocolat like he was on some sort of pilgrimage to a French bakery…

Still, he was at least moderately hopeful that he might finally be able to eat something once his next task got underway, though there was every chance it would be lunchtime before then…

Sylvain was on his way to the stellar cartography lab, with the goal of making a start on updating the Theurgy’s astronomical database with the new Federation star charts that the President’s entourage had gifted them. It wasn’t a difficult task by any stretch, but one Sylvain had delegated to himself in order to ensure that news about the territory changes throughout Federation space didn’t disseminate through the crew unduly; there was every possibility that it could cause a panic. After all, territory had been lost, planetary systems had been lost, and there would be a lot of questions that he, nor anyone else on the Senior Staff, were currently equipped to handle. They’d announce it through the proper chain of command once things had slowed down a little, and they certainly didn’t need rumours to start circulating before then…

In truth, Sylvain had also been somewhat hopeful that the time he’d need to spend waiting for the information transfer from his PADD to the Theurgy database, might give him a moment to eat his now desiccated pastry… Unfortunately for his stomach, he’d since found out that he was due to be working with an Ensign from the science department on the task, the officer who was usually assigned to Stellar Cartography, who was working on some standard repairs, a fact the department head had discovered only after Sylvain had assigned the task to himself… So now, not only would he probably need to pause the consumption of his breakfast once again, but he now faced the very real possibility that the unpleasantness of ‘small talk’ was going to be an imminent threat in the near future.

Such was the cause of the deep sigh he allowed himself as he arrived at the doors to the stellar cartography lab, taking a brief moment to steel himself, before heading inside.

Sylvain hadn’t seen all that much of the Theurgy during his time aboard, and whilst he’d noted that the aboreum had been an especially impressive sight aboard a starship, the sight of the stellar cartography lab was something that resonated far closer to his heart… It was an impressive room, large and cylindrical, easily spanning two decks in its height, with a three-dimensional display of the Theurgy’s current map of the quadrant spanning the perimeter of the room on each side. Constellations sparkled in the quiet darkness of the room, Sylvain stepping downwards through the doorway with a sense of blessed relief washing over him, as the doors to the deck closed behind him, sealing off the unnecessary levels of noise and light that had been assailing his senses since he’d left his quarters that morning. The silent darkness, lit by a soft underfloor lighting and the holographic depictions of various stellar bodies, proved to be an immediate salve on the headache that had been building behind his eyes all morning.

It was a beautiful display of science, and immediately he found the tension of the morning washing off of his shoulders.

Greeting him from within the room, past the stars, nebulas and planetary systems, was an Andorian, a handsome man with a strong-shouldered build and long white hair that fell down the back of his neck. He had one antennae standing proudly atop his head,  whilst the second only reached half of the previous height, presumably either some sort of birth defect, or an injury of some sort; Sylvain didn’t want to assume, but given the regularity in which the Theurgy engaged in battle, the CONN Officer would have anticipated the latter… The Andorian had evidently already begun working on some sort of diagnostic to the EPS relays, given the whirring information that the computer was processing in the background, and he seemed to be biding his time by sitting at his workstation in a somewhat relaxed stance. It was a little casual by Sylvain’s standards, but right now he was too tired to care.

“Good Morning…” Sylvain announced his presence with about as much authority as he had left in his soul, taking a further few steps forwards into the room, and discreetly returning the cement-like pastry back into the pocket of his uniform; he resigned himself to the knowledge that he’d never get the crumbs out… “I’m Ensign Llewellyn-Kth, the new Chief CONN Officer aboard.” He politely introduced himself, not usually one to announce his rank so pointedly, but also concious that the Theurgy was a big ship, and that to a stranger, like the Andorian, he could have been any old oddbody. As he spoke, he plucked the PADD containing the new star charts from the non-pastry-bearing pocket of his uniform, brandishing it in the firmest grip he could muster as to not punctuate another first impression by throwing a PADD across a room. “I understand that you’re prepared to assist me in getting the new star charts from the Federation council uploaded?”
16
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [ 0800 hrs ] Maybe By Next Tuesday
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Lt. Cmdr. Osric Vance | Turbolift, Deck Eleven | Starbase 234 ] Attn: Open | @TWilkins  @Hans Applegate  @RyeTanker @Nesota Kynnovan  @Brutus  @Stegro88 @chXinya @Dumedion

"Sixty light years in one jump." Brask had a PADD in each hand and was using neither. "On a core rated for a sustained nine-nine-eight. And the core is still aboard, Osric. It hasn't gone to slag. They've been running the thing for months."

"Item four on my list. Schematics."

"Item two on mine, and not schematics." The Tellarite turned a PADD around without offering it over. "Physical inspection. Disassembly authorized. Came down at—"

"Oh three forty-seven."

Brask's hands went still.

Vance had submitted nine items. Modest ones, built out of public technical summaries and some badly written repair requests the Theurgy had filed through Materiel. Sensor logs. A materials sample off nacelle plating that was not tritanium. Time with whoever had rebuilt their EPS grid, and a promise to touch nothing.

Twenty-two came back.

Item fourteen was the one he kept returning to. *Anyonic phase-variance emitter array, airlock installation — one (1) unit, complete, with control substrate.* No such device existed in the literature. What existed on anyonic phase variance was theoretical, some of it his own department's, and none of it described an emitter anybody had built. Nobody writes a line item that precise about hardware they have not stood in front of.

Trufant had the pallets braced against the rail and nowhere to stand. Twelve containment cases, factory seals still blue. The ensign's ears had gone the flat grey Tiburonians go without sleep, and he was working hard at not being noticed doing it.

Hessu-Nal came aboard at Fourteen with four crates of plasma floating behind him and his medical satchel held flat to his chest. He waited for the doors to shut.

"Two-thirds strength. Their entire senior medical cadre is dead, all of it, and replicator damage took their whole-blood and plasma stores. They've been bleeding their own crew into bags for six days to cover the gap."

Brask sighed. "That's in the Materiel filing."

"It's been in the filing since they docked and nothing has moved, so I've drawn forty units off station reserve." The Grazerite's voice stayed low and unhurried. "It isn't on anyone's manifest. I'd take it kindly if it stayed off."

Trufant's ears came back a shade.

"And I'll tell you the part I've been looking forward to since four this morning. Their EMH." Hessu-Nal's eyes half-closed. "A Mark Two, filed at commissioning, running as attending physician for months with no supervising officer and no library update since they left Earth. I can have the Mark Four diagnostic suite into that program inside a week. Cardiac protocols. The Ash'reem and Vulcan pharmacopoeia. Betazoid neurology. They'd have a competent doctor standing on every deck and it wouldn't cost them a gram of anything."

Tolan Vekk joined them at Docking Ring Two, three decks below where Operations keeps its offices. He carried nothing. The respirator sat close over the lower half of the Zaranite's face, and his eyes went across the pallets, across the plasma crates, and stopped on the deck indicator.

"Commander. Long night planned for the sciences."

"Long night for many departments."

Somebody's boot squeaked against the plating.

"They'll cooperate," Vekk said. "The pardon's under challenge in three delegations and Council staff are reading everything with the Theurgy's name on it. They know what a refusal looks like written into a record." The mask hissed on the intake. "It's a good position to be dealing from."

Four sets of orders, four departments, released inside a window narrow enough that they had to have been queued together. Every one of them carrying a Command authentication string out of the Science Division's Office of Applied Research. That office does not countersign for Medical. It has no business anywhere near Operations. Commander Reyva's name was on none of it, and the station commander was still deciding whether cooperation with these people sat comfortably beside a man's oath of service, and while he decided, his senior officers were riding down to the airlock with disassembly authority and empty cases.

Vance kept his voice under the hum. "Doctor. Item twenty-two. Same wording on yours?"

Hessu-Nal recited it without effort. "Sample, parasitic organism, host-extracted. Non-viable acceptable."

"And you're comfortable with it."

"I'd have written it myself if anybody had asked me." He shifted the satchel. "There is no treatment protocol. None, anywhere in the Federation. That casualty list runs to a hundred and eighteen names, and no physician outside this hull has ever had tissue under a stasis field."

"They'll refuse."

"Then I'll ask again."

Level Seven came up loud. Loading arms working, a deck chief calling the same berth number twice, and under it the lubricant and cold metal every docking ring in the fleet smells of. Dock crew stopped to look at the containment cases before they went back to it. The Theurgy's airlock stood open. Seal ring polished, deck plating scrubbed to bare metal at the threshold. Set flush into the frame, unlabelled, was a ring of emitter housings matching no Starfleet specification Vance had ever inventoried.

The crewman at the panel asked them to keep their hands clear of their sides and come through singly. Brask went first and complained about it. The field came up pale and passed him crown to boot. The panel gave one flat tone, and the Tellarite was aboard the ship he had come to open. Vance went fourth. The field was cold, or read cold. It found nothing in him worth reporting. He stepped over the threshold and made a point of not looking back at the housings.

Trufant brought the pallets through. Vance lifted the top case off the stack himself.

"Doctor. Main Sickbay, and you'll find their duty CMO before you find their EMH. Apparently, it's been deactivated." The man grunted in displeasure. "Brask. Main Engineering. You don't open a housing without their chief engineer standing beside you. If that officer says stop, you stop, and you bring it to me before you argue with anyone."

"You'll be busy."

"Lieutenant Vekk—"

"Operations center, deck one." The mask hissed. "Their inventory. And their star charts."

"Charts aren't on any of the four lists."

"No," Vekk agreed, and went.

Brask was already moving the other way with both PADDs up, half-listening to directions from somebody's junior engineer. Hessu-Nal went off unhurried, the plasma crates trailing after him.

Vance turned toward the science labs with an ensign, a stack of empty cases, and twenty-two items he had not written.

"Sir." Trufant's voice had gone thin. "What do we do if they say no?"

"Then we simply insist."

So basically we have official Starfleet headquarters issuing dismantle, disassembly, and pilfer orders for anything that isn't standard issue and to either take it off the ship or assess and fix on the ship, etc. It is up to y'all to figure out whether or not you want to comply or creatively dissuade. Tagged heads not so much because they have to be here but so they are aware and can ask anyone in their departments to handle it if they're in another mission that takes place at this time.
17
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [ 0700 hrs] The Salvage Job
Last post by Eirual -
[Kelistina Kavot Droga | Crew Compartment | Shuttlecraft Maslow | Near debris stream  of USS Cayuga]
Attn: @RyeTanker  @Ellen Fitz  @Dumedion , @Krajin , @Nesota Kynnovan    @Stegro88   @Brutus   & anyone else

Kel had taken a squatting stance behind the pilot’s seat. She had been standing, or rather leaning over the seat, to look through the viewport and had gotten a bit of an uncomfortable glance from said pilot. Being taller than almost everyone around her still felt odd and she often forgot about how her actions seemed more like looming over others. In this position she could see past the pilot’s shoulder out the viewport. At first, it was just small particles catching the nearby star’s light as they floated in space. Soon larger pieces of debris became evident.  Kelistina saw what appeared to be a body and closed her eyes to say a prayer for the dead of the Cayuga.

Kelistina was certain that they would find the remains of the vessel soon. She had been hoping, like many others, that they would be able to rescue stranded crew, however, her heart felt a sorrow at the conclusion her mind came to, that none were left alive to save. She slowly stood, hunched over in the smaller vessel and made her way back to where she had let the tool kit she’d been given. She did not care to see any other lost souls. It reminded too much of what she had suffered. The pain of her planet’s destruction and death of everyone she loved never went away, right now it pulsed within her heart painfully.

The Zaroodian had kept her own space suit and had packed it for this mission. Better to be prepared and not have need, than to not have suit to fit to keep alive. The crew area was not spacious, but then she really only needed enough space to set her EVA on the ground and step into it. Her new shipmates had helped her modify the systems that would keep her alive. That at least was something she was thankful for. While she did not know how much more time it would take to get to the missing ship, she would be ready to perform her assigned tasks.

Now, all she had to do was wait for that time.

18
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [ 0700 hrs] The Salvage Job
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Corpsman Ehfva Feynri | Crew Compartment | Shuttlecraft Maslow | Near Last Known Coordinates of the USS Cayuga ] Attn: @RyeTanker  @Dumedion  @Krajin  @Nesota Kynnovan  @Eirual  @Stegro88  @Brutus  & anyone else

Up front, the compartment had been going through its theories out loud for the better part of an hour. Micro-asteroid depressurization, offered and closed. Solar wind, offered and closed. Then a passing mass with a well deep enough to walk a powerless hull off its coordinates, and that one stayed open long enough for somebody to put it on the comm. The Wolves came back over the top of it. Tachyon residue. Antiproton scatter. Something about the way the Savi's beams left graviton traces behind them.

Ehfva listened the way she listened to a ward at night.

The order came forward from the co-pilot's seat too low to make out clean: the probes, coming off their assigned pattern. Both ideas at once rather than one and then the other. Then the console tone shifted, and the deck tilted two degrees and stayed there, swinging onto a bearing that had nothing to do with where the Cayuga was supposed to be. They'd stopped hunting the ship. They were hunting whatever had killed her.

With the shuttle's fixed stores, plus whatever the Cattell and the Yellowstone were carrying, plus the Tesla's surgical kit if anyone could get to it, it was enough for a rescue. Nowhere near enough for a ship's complement. Nobody had said out loud what the ratio implied, because saying it would mean saying that the away team's manifest was built around a number somebody had already privately settled on. Which Ehfva knew from having been on the Cayuga was indeed a fixed number. The likelihood of anyone surviving the wreckage? Infinitesimal.

The knife reached the end of the mark and stopped short of finishing the stroke. She heard it before she understood it. The console pitch went up half a step and stayed. A string of coordinates, repeated with a different number attached. Somebody said particulate stream. The hull came around under her with enough weight in the turn that the light through the port swung across the bulkhead and across her hands and across the unfinished cut.

Ehfva stood, and went to the viewport. At first there was nothing. Then the star's light started catching on things too small to resolve, a thin, wide haze of it, all of it traveling in one direction. Nothing in open space travels in one direction unless something put it there. Frozen atmosphere. Insulation batting. Further out where the light was better, the larger pieces came up: a section of hull plating still carrying two thirds of a painted number. A door with the frame torn away around it, still sealed. Something long and pale turning end over end, flashing on every third rotation.

And other shapes. She'd worked shirtsleeve decompressions. She knew the silhouette a body made in the vacuum, the way the limbs set, how the smaller things run out ahead of the larger ones and spread. The Cayuga had been at general quarters when the Scions came through her. Some of her people had a hull between themselves and it. The ones who hadn't were out here now, running with the current.

She had known where everything was on that ship. Which lift was slow. Which biobed drifted two-tenths warm. Which corridor on Deck 9 you took at shift change if you actually wanted to arrive somewhere. Behind her the compartment had gone quiet. Ehfva put the bone in her thigh pocket with the design half-cut and wiped the dust off her palm onto her trouser leg.



[ Captain Hesskar | Command Deck | Salvage Tender Long Patience | Inbound, Cayuga Debris Field ]

The Long Patience was an MA12 hull, four nacelles, forty-one years off the yards at Ssellek and a decade out of Hegemony service, and Hesskar had bought her understanding that she would outlive him.

He'd found the Federation ship because nobody else had bothered to run the drift. But now...seven contacts. Four small Federation transports, one heavy tender, two atmospheric-capable fighters running quiet enough that he only held them because they were pushing active envelopes out ahead of themselves. Now two of their probes had come off a search spiral onto a bearing that would carry them across the leading edge of the field before he could reach it himself.

Hesskar's membrane came down and back. He put the tender on station-keeping and let the numbers build. His bays were two-thirds empty. The broker at Cestus III had contracted for tonnage and made it clear he would not pay for damaged goods. Nineteen crew, fuel for the return leg, eleven days of margin on the ledger and no work booked past it.

Against that, Starfleet didn't send seven craft and a fleet tender this far to bury anybody. Seven craft meant something aboard priced higher than the metal, and if something aboard priced higher than the metal, then his empty bays were no longer the largest question in this system. He could file a claim and be refused with great courtesy. Or he could sit at the outer edge of their envelope, let them spend the fuel and the hours getting the ship open, and take a position afterward with better information than he had now.

"One-quarter. Passive only. Nothing radiates." He tapped the display twice, dropping a marker on the outermost of the two probes.



[ Captain Sennika Vhaal | Deck 9, Frame 41 | USS Cayuga ]

The plasma torch went out and the corridor dark went with it. Sennika held up a closed fist in the dark until her helmet optics caught up and drew the frame edges back in for her, green on black. Her four cutters held station along the bulkhead, boots locked, tethers slack. Nine meters behind them, the hatch they'd spent the better part of a day getting through. Forty ahead, unopened, the core.

The alert came in on a beam narrow enough that she'd have missed it if she hadn't been sitting on the schedule since they boarded. Cutwidow and Redprice were parked cold in the belt, drives banked, nobody aboard either hull, scanning on a passive loop and reporting every ninety minutes. Rigging them to run crewless had cost her most of a season's take. She had watched enough colleagues get caught sitting in their own ships to consider it money well spent.

Two reports in the one pulse. A Gorn hull inbound, tender configuration, dark and slow. Seven Federation contacts, small craft, active, with two probes on a bearing that had stopped looking like a search.

"That's their own ship." Doreth's voice came flat over the suit link. "They came back for it."

"In shuttles." Sennika turned in place, slowly, and took in forty meters of dead corridor and the sealed doors down both sides of it. "Four shuttles carry what four shuttles carry."

Behind the bulkhead she had her glove on was a Federation fleet core with a buyer in Rigel who'd already paid her half and would want the half back with interest attached. Calling the ships in meant lighting two drives in a system with two fighters loose in it. Two small hulls against seven and a tender was not a trade she was going to make on a Tuesday.

"Torches off. Lights off. Everybody into the frame gaps and nobody moves for anything, including me." She clipped her tether short and put her back against the plating. "The Gorn will price her before he touches her. Starfleet will bring their own light and their own noise. Neither of them is looking for us yet, so let's not hand anybody a reason."

Doreth said something about the air budget.

"Then breathe less," Sennika said, and settled in to wait.

Of course I had to make it harder! You're welcome!
19
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations
Last post by Eirual -
[Ens Mia Dunne | Docking Ring Two, Halkar Anchorage ]
Attn: @Ellen Fitz  @Krajin , @Hans Applegate, @Nesota Kynnovan

Mia had almost shrunk back in her seat when the Freighter captain addressed them. She didn’t like him much, and trusted him even less, but this wasn’t her rodeo. One the gruff captain left, she turned to Cross. She, and everyone else had automatically drawn closer to hear him, as he kept his voice low so only those nearby would be able to hear.

She was assigned to ring three, which from what she’d heard was not going to be comfortable. Medical and science would work together, so at least she would not be on her own. She blinked as light reflected into her eyes for less than half a second. It was just something she found annoying, but that really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

 She nodded as she looked at the old style PADD she’d been given. They had nothing that would give away where they were from. It was a good thing she was good with older languages, this one looked like it was pulled from a Cardassian dump. But it worked and the list of goods was definitely on it.

She felt rather than actually heard the subdermal initiate, She put a finger to her ear in reaction rather than action, then listened to Cross further advise them on it use. She was a little more nervous about the implanted distress beacon. The way Cross was talking made it sound like he was expecting trouble. The only question was who would be the target, or would they all? If things looked like they were not going as planned, she would need to activate this before it got bad, or worse before she got dead, and she would really like to avoid that.

Next, they were testing their weapons. She constantly had to pull the selector back slightly to pull it from red to amber.  She’s had to check over her partner’s weapon as well. That went a little better, and the selector wasn’t quite as worn as hers was. Finally, she disarmed it and stored it in a side pocket. No one really needed to know she was armed, although she figured that almost everyone on the station probably was.

Cross wanted them back by 2005. She set an alarm on her old PADD for 1950, figuring that would get her back in plenty of time. If she was in the middle of a purchase, she would have a few minutes to complete before she absolutely had to head back.
She shook her head when Cross asked if there were questions. Hell yes she had questions, but there was no way she was going to waste precious time asking, ‘what if’s’. They would just have to deal with it as they went. That’s was why they had the subdermal and the distress beacons implanted.

Once Cross ended the meeting, Mia turned to her partner and took a deep breath, “Well, lets see what miracles we can make.” Moving off the freighter, tapping the subdermal once she stepped to the side and waited till everyone was linked. She vaguely wondered if this was what it felt like being in a collective. She couldn’t hear their thoughts so probably not. She moved off towards the third ring, looking forelorn and abandoned, even though it wasn’t.  I didn’t take long to reach the ring.

[Docking Ring Three |  Halkar Anchorage]

 She took a tentative step in and found her feet pulled by the gravity to what felt like the side of the corridor. It meant she would be forced to take wide steps across doorways. She almost wished some of the others, with longer legs, had gotten this assignment. She progressed a short distance before coming to the first shop.


OOC: don’t know if there is another science or medical officer for me to team with.  NPC perhaps?
20
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 | 2200 hrs | The hunt is on
Last post by Eirual -
[Ens Mia Dunne | Access Tunnel to Forward landing Strut | Vector 3 | Deck 31| USS Theurgy ]
ATTN: @Pierce , @Nesota Kynnovan

Mia had not quite made it to the one place she could stand when two things happened. First she was blinded by lights that suddenly came on, causing her to fling her arm up in reflex, and once more snagging her jacket on something, this time causing a small rip in the sleeve. Second, just as the lights dimmed she heard a voice calling out. Without thinking she picked her head up to see and immediately hit her head on the top of the tight tunnel with a loud clang, followed immediately by a loud, “Son of a Targ! That freakin’ hurts.”  Mia was now pissed and hurting. She could literally feel the bump forming on her head. She huffed out a breath then kept crawling, “Yeah, in case you missed it, I am here. The deck is clear. Nothing a vole would want down here as far as I could tell.”

She crawled the final 2 meters and came face to face with a lieutenant JG. Mia shook her head as she inspected the torn sleeve, “No there really isn’t room to have a chat, except for here,  and I’d rather just head up to Deck 30. And get that one done.” She frowned as she saw that no only had she torn the sleeve, but she'd put a nasty scratch on her forearm. "I am so going to strangle that man," She hissed as she pointed towards the ladder, "Let's get out of here before I start thinking of ways to really make Frost suffer."

Simple Audio Video Embedder