Star Trek: Theurgy

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #25 – November 07, 2020, 05:51:57 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher & PO3 Lillee t'Jellaieu | Fore Compartment | Type-11 Shuttlecraft | Rosalind Franklin ] Attn: @Brutus @Griff @stardust

As Fisher briefed the two diplomats, Lillee wisely stayed out of it. With one notable exception she had no experience with clandestine missions of this nature and was content to focus on her own job while everyone else did theirs. Nevertheless, she could read body language well enough to be worried. Rutherford was confident, perhaps too much, while Eloi-Danvers was clearly nervous. Fisher (when he wasn’t distracted by Rutherford’s attire) seemed downright anxious. It was all enough to make Lillee wonder if perhaps transferring back to CONN wasn’t as safe or smart as she’d first thought.

At Rutherford’s command, Lillee turned back around to her console, working the controls. “Energizing,” she said as she beamed the women away in a whirl of blue sparks. She checked sensors once more, although the need to stay hidden severely reduced what the sensors could detect, and sighed, relaxing in her chair.

“How bad do you think this is going to go, Commander?” she asked Fisher wryly.

There was clearly a sense of reticence that welled up inside of Fisher’s stomach, mostly in the form of nervousness as sending a pair of Diplomats, no matter their level of cunningness, into an unknown and dangerous lair of sorts was well outside of the purview of what was normal. He had to remind himself constantly, that this wasn’t his mission; that he wasn’t in charge, and that he wasn’t sending anyone. Sam had operational command; it was up to her to make such decisions and it was up to him to abide by those decisions even if they went against his better judgements on the matter. He was entrusting her like he hadn’t anyone else in quite some time, and it bothered him immensely that his professional considerations were so compromised. It likewise confounded and confused him, because he was aware of the fact that he should have been able to rise above it. But simply put, he couldn’t, or at least he hadn’t.

When the blue energizing field faded from view he was left to stand before the transporter pad, feeling more than apprehensive at the prospect of their mission, but he could find some level of comfort in knowing that the pair were outfitted with a bevy of equipment, and options should anything arise. That was until he spotted the pair of Type-1s sitting on the console, and he did something of a double-take, replaying the interaction from an instant earlier, and realizing that she had deceived him.

“Damnit.” He said softly, moderately annoyed by Rutherford’s stubbornness with regard to going in armed.

Turning away from the transporter pad, he approached the tactical station so as to monitor the beam in location, hoping that maybe he could get a definitive signal on the two Diplomatic Officers as they appeared. Tapping at the controls, he could see a mild sensor ghost which was likely their life-signs, but it was very difficult to distinguish them from everything else at play. This was going to be a difficult mission to keep proper operational overwatch on. “Well...” he hesitated in response to Lillee’s question, weighing it all in an instant, and tempering his general negativity on the matter. “...I imagine Vegas betting odds aren’t in our favor.” Forgetting that she likely wouldn’t understand the reference, he continued on without stopping to explain, hoping that the tone carried with his words would at least get the point across. “But I’ve always liked a good underdog.” His hands began to delicately dance across the console, as he struggled to keep some kind of a fix on their compatriots aboard the unknown outpost.

“Let’s just hope nothing happens along to toy with those odds.” He doubted they would be so fortunate. “Care to place a wager on it?” he mused, trying to as always embrace and rely on his sense of humor to see him through the relative quiet of their mission.

Lillee smirked, shaking her head. “Ah, but if everything goes badly and we both die in a fiery explosion, how do I collect my winnings?” she said playfully. She looked out the viewport at the rocky vista beyond, the asteroid surface dimly reflecting the world light of the shattered planet that the field orbited. It was a cold and desolate landscape, reinforcing just how completely alone Lillee, Fisher and the others were. The nearest help was lightyears away, if it came at all.

Bemused at her own melancholy, Lillee checked sensors again, although while Fisher focused on the away team, she focused on the space around the shuttle. With nothing else to do but wait, Lillee pondered how to spend the time. She and Fisher hardly knew each other, really; she had simply been the first available shuttle pilot when he’d needed one. Nevertheless, Lillee felt a need to fill the silence. If she was fighting alongside someone, she was determined to know him at least a little.

“Commander,” Lillee asked cautiously, “do you know Lieutenant... umm... Dantius? She works for you, yes? Came to the Theurgy with you?”

Annoyed at how quickly the distinctive life sign patterns of Rutherford and Danvers coalesced into the background noise of the outpost, due in no small part to the sensor shadowing caused by the copious pockets of unrefined duranium deposits, Fisher considered for a moment to draw upon a far more colorful phrase out, but stifled it, at least temporarily. He could still detect the barely noticeable increase in total life sign patterns, which signified a subtle increase consistent with two additional beings among the general population. A small consolation sure, but it meant there was a semblance of operational oversight at play. If that number dropped suddenly or drastically, then he’d know that something had gone wrong, and he would need to assume command and make necessary moves to intercede on behalf of the two now undercover diplomatic assets.

Assets. He hated using that term with regard to Sam, and even to a lesser extent Faye. It was a harsh and unfeeling term, which had been devised to avert any implicit feelings of guilt when a person whom a spy was reliant upon, or exploiting for information, wound up dead. “True enough.” he replied to Lillee, only half-listening, not out of any deliberate ignorance of her, or her thoughts, but due to his inability to accede control of that which he could not readily influence, dictate. “I uhh… give us sixteen to one odds. Against.” he mused in kind, as he wondered if he could track the pair of diplomats via the faint power signal of the Tricorder he’d given them, his hands playing at the controls as he tried to distinguish a recognizable elevated pattern from all the others which obscured it.

“Hmm?” his voice piqued up a little when Lillee drew upon his rank more directly, affording her a greater modicum of attention. “Yeah, she’s one of my Analysts. Very talented. Very spirited. And while technically we came to Theurgy together, I didn’t get a chance to interact with her, or for that matter any of the other new members of the crew while aboard the Vor’Nak.” For a moment, Fisher remembered how utterly dull the near two-month voyage had been due to his having been filed as a VIP aboard the Klingon cruiser, which meant he was mostly confined to personal quarters out of safety precautions. He still wasn’t sure if it had been an intentional measure taken, or accidental, or worse if it was someone’s idea of a cruel joke.

“Spirited,” Lillee muttered under her breath, fighting very hard not to react. That was one of the most apt adjectives she could imagine, more than Fisher knew. “I met her a few days ago,” she said with a very innocent tone. “I was curious, I suppose. She is...impressive, yes?”

Tapping with a lot of pent up aggression against the console, Fisher grunted under his breath as the obfuscating nature of their surroundings was driving him mad. How he much rather would have preferred to be on mission in the field, rather than manning a console, attempting to monitor the situation as best he could. Sure, he often filled the role of Operational Lead, which sometimes entailed hanging back, rather than going forward, but when he was surrounded by glorified Politicians, and a Pilot, he had assumed that if there were going to be any away team missions launched, that he would have absolutely been the one to lead it. Instead, here he was, about ready to thrust his fist through the screen in front of him, not only due to how difficult it had been to get a decent reading, but also because he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t raised an ounce of ire over who had gone on said away mission in his stead.

“Hmm? Oh…” he blinked back from his momentary lapse, realizing that Lillee had asked him a follow-up, and that he’d been ignorant of it. Replaying the auditory input that his brain had subconsciously recorded, he found the query she had lobbied at him, and thought for an instant as to how to respond. “...yeah, she does a good job. Thorough. I uhh... actually had a mind to name her as Senior Analyst, since I don’t yet have one declared, and she routinely uncovers more actionable intel than her peers.” He wasn’t sure how well Lillee had known Dantius, other than the fact that she admitted to it. “Why, is there something I should know about her that you need to inform me of?” Exhaling deeply as the computer gave him a ‘wait’ warning as it went about trying to re-resolve the data as it was coming in, he realized how he would have killed to have had the particular Orion in question here to take care of this for him.

“Nothing at all,” Lillee said far too quickly, focusing on sensors with somewhat more attentiveness than was warranted. Belatedly realizing how guilty she sounded (and she had nothing to be guilty about, surely…), Lillee glanced at Fisher. She was, of course, conscious of the man’s tension and her own, taking the opportunity to distract them both from the interminable wait until the action began. It was a valuable skill for any soldier.

“Excuse me, I shouldn’t gossip about a friend,” she said. “It is just so rare for me to meet intelligence officers like yourself and Dantius. You seem different than the archetype. Most of the ones I knew before you were either Tal-Shiar or SI agents. The former are parasitic vermin whether they are Infested or not, while I always found the latter to be far too pleased with themselves for their own good, usually without reason.” She paused, filtering a passive sensor reading carefully before continuing. “It is a pleasant change to see one such as you. Commander Rutherford seems to appreciate you as well.”

A subtle little dig, one Lillee couldn’t resist, even as she fervently hoped that Fisher wouldn’t recognize how she’d deflected. The man didn’t seem to know that she and Anh-Le had started something, but if he learned it from her before Anh-Le was ready...

Fisher could sense that there was something more at play with regard to Lillee’s reaction to his returned inquiry; that there had been some form of a dynamic that had developed between one of his Data Analysts, and the blonde Romulan Pilot at the CONN but that wasn’t of immediate or any concern really. Clearly, Lillee had come to the same rationale, as she seemed to digress back from the point before any further inspection could take place on his behalf, though he likely wouldn’t have pressed on the issue in the first place. The interpersonal relations between members of the crew, while sometimes relevant with regards to how they could affect objectivity, didn’t merit his attention beyond that of mere friendly curiosity. “No worries.” he offered her as an amenable acknowledgement, so as to relieve any potential tension which may have manifested as a result of the subject.

Yet, when she soon returned to it after a momentary instance of silence, Fisher couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow and swivel in his chair to look more fully in her direction. Evidently the dynamic between Lillee and Anh-Le was greater than he had initially surmised, though not in any kind of negative way it seemed. He could appreciate the honest reproach with which his fellow Officer was assessing the performance of Intelligence services, and in fact could even empathize with her on the matter. Even if she was decidedly unaware of the slightly distasteful history that had existed as part of his past with Starfleet Intelligence; as Fisher was a principled man himself, he wasn’t always the one in charge and making the big calls which left him at times in the position of having to do unpleasant things.

As a chirp at his console soon regathered his attention, he swiveled back to face it only for a slight twinge at the back of his neck trigger at the subtle hint of Lillee’s similar awareness of something more existing between himself and the Chief Diplomat. If anything it was a rather skillful parry and riposte from her on the subject, which, given her heritage and the sword that she had brought with her, made all too perfect sense. However, rather than respond in similar fashion, as he was often prone to do, he opted instead to just grin in amusement and mind the data that was starting to fill the screen before him.

“...and there it is!” he blurted out abruptly as that data resolved into the form of a contact as it had just appeared within the periphery of the system. “We’ve got incoming! New warp signature, moving at high-impulse speeds on a direct intercept course with the outpost.” he announced to Lillee as his hands began to dance across the Tactical console, attempting to get a better fix on this new presence. “Best guess says they’ve not yet picked us up on their sensors, but we’re going to be visible soon unless we stick to the debris closely. Do what you have to.” Losing track of the approaching ship for a moment, he nearly punched the console before it once more picked up a loose tracking of it once more.

Fisher knew that Lillee was doing her best to stick to the mountainous boulders of planetary rock, so as to avoid detection by the new contact moving in at speed toward the outpost. But at the same time, it was making his job monitoring for any signal from Rutherford or Faye exceedingly difficult, as there were sensor ghosts all over the board. It was hard enough to keep a fix on the number of individual humanoid life signs aboard the outpost, which was the only way he currently had of ensuring that all hell hadn’t broken out. Simultaneously, he was watching for anything which might identify this new warp signature, and give him an idea as to whether or not their cover had been blown, or if the Klingons loyal to Gorka had been sent to outright destroy the outpost in order to eliminate M’Ven.

“Damnit. C’mon!” he exclaimed out of frustration as the sensors lost lock of the intruder once more, only for it to reappear once more an instant later. “Sorry, that’s not at you! Sensors are driving me crazy!” he called back over his shoulder to Lillee, who likewise had her hands full at the controls, ensuring that the various gravity wells wouldn’t cause them to drift into and collide with one of the planetary fragments.

“I hope Sam and Faye are having a good-ole time down on the--” before he could finish his comment, there was an alert klaxon on the console, indicating an incoming transmission, which Fisher jabbed at in a blink. It was Faye, though her message was garbled, and broken up by static. Something about a package, and lock. Thinking for a moment, Fisher read between the lines and connected what was lost due to signal degradation. Likewise though, he imagined that any he might send in return would be lost, or maybe even potentially intercepted. It didn’t matter, if Faye and Sam were ready, they needed to get them out of there, and bolt out of the system asap. Actuating a response channel, on the same frequency, Fisher leant forward at his station. “Understood, Eloi-Danvers. Return to origin point for beam out.” He knew that anything more complicated than that, might have resulted in the message being lost. That detailing why he needed them to go back to their original beam in location, was an unnecessary piece of information when he needed to be short, and concise. In accordance, he set his transmission to repeat three additional times.

“Alright, Lillee… get us in as close as you can without our new friends spotting us.”

“There are times when I really miss cloaking devices,” Lillee muttered under her breath. She worked her console, tweaking the holographic overlay over the viewport to not just include the gravitational wells, but sensor efficacy in various areas near the asteroids. It made the view a befuddling mess of color shading, and Lillee spent a few seconds reading the view carefully, conscious that Danvers and Rutherford were relying on her.

“..got it,” she finally said, squinting at the viewport before glancing back at Fisher, smiling apologetically. “I hope you don’t get motion sick, Commander.”

Before she let him answer, Lillee tapped the impulse controls and the shuttle rocketed forward. Unlike before, however, there was nothing gentle or smooth about Lillee’s flying. She drove the shuttle on a wild path, skimming first one asteroid then another, then another, often with meters to spare as she zipped the shuttle past far faster than was safe, constantly clinging to the sensor-dark regions. It only took a minute before the shuttle settled into a new spot, this time tucked tight in between two asteroids that were only a dozen meters away from each other, both rotating slowly on their axes. Just ahead, through the gap between the rocks, the facility was visible.

“This won’t be safe for long, Commander, maybe a few minutes depending on the Klingon sensors,” Lillee warned. “They need to hurry.”

Clinging to his console as inertial dampeners struggled to account for the sudden boost of acceleration, Fisher was well aware of how dicey things were going to get in the very near future. The only thing that he could really count on in his favor, was that the pilot currently situated at the CONN had clearly been the right pick with regard to this mission, as her skills and deftness had already exhibited. Now he just needed Rutherford and Eloi-Danvers to be as adept with regard to their exfiltration from the outpost in question, and maybe this whole mission would have proven a success.

“...out of the frying pan, Sam…” he whispered softly under his breath, hoping that rather than in the fire, she’d wind up safely back aboard with Faye and the retinue that they had come here in search for.

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #26 – November 08, 2020, 09:06:48 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford &  Ens. Eloi-Danvers & M’ven/Jo’reh | Former Duranium Mining Facility | Asteroid Fragment | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] attn:
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Bathed in golden light, as if bowing over an ancient treasure, the wonders and the wealth, reflecting in her eyes like glimmering blue diamonds, Samantha marveled at the site below for a moment, frozen to the secluded spot above. Almost out of reach of the warm-tinted bulbs and fixtures, that had been scattered around the bottom of the well, mere feet below, yet seemingly an entirely different world, from where she cowered close to the ceiling, like a bat. Her black leather dress, sparkling like millions of dewdrops, on raven fur. A Klingon woman, and child … she had to admit, at times it had seemed like a far-away dream, fueled by want, rather than impression. And even though the revelation was not entirely clear, yet, the blonde felt an almost overwhelming burst of achievement, sparking in her chest like a sunrise.

It took a few words of Faye’s, uttered covertly into the sneakily readied communicator, for the diplomat to touch back upon the rickety iron latticework. Letting a small wave of relief, wash over her slender features, at the knowledge of the shuttle being kept appraised. Yet, as another moment of silence ensued, the blonde was not keen on waiting anymore. They were too close to play it overly save. Detaching herself from the makeshift banister, that lent little to no support, she delicately snaked down the staircase, following the curvature of the cave, down into the golden light.

Sooner than later, sure, the squeaking of the metal joints alerted the mother and child to the presence within what they surely considered a home. Holding up a dainty hand cautiously, moving slower as dark eyes cast upon her, the blonde tried her best to seem as little of a threat as she could. Obviously, her outfit could not hide a weapon of any kind, as intended.

“We mean you no harm.” she spoke, softly, letting the UT morph it into perfect Klingon almost instantly. Deliberately opting for the plural moniker, even though Faye was out of sight still yet. There was no need for the woman and her kid to be startled twice. Reaching the bottom of the step, she stopped encroaching on their territory, waiting to gauge their reactions first.

Her head snapped around at the sound of the approaching figure, and even as her thick braids settled around her neck, Jo'reh's upper lip was curled and she put a hand on the handle of her disruptor. She took a step forward, to put herself between the intruder and her child.

"I might," she growled in warning, her brown eyes piercing the dim light.

"Who is it?" asked M'ven, looking between the profile of his mother and the approaching figure. He had his knife out, one mother had made for him, and he snarled with bared teeth in warning, for he was raised well - able to protect himself if so needed.

Positioning herself a little more readily in a nearby light source, the vibrant warm hue creeping up her slender physique like a new dawn, the unimposing blonde (or some might’ve assumed otherwise) held up soft palms in a universal notion of peace and good-will. Of course, it was perfectly understandable for the woman to react in a protective manner, befitting years and years of abscondence and distrust. Each little hint and giveaway, thickening the plot like pumpkin soup.

“A friend …” she said, calmly, leaving the sentence deliberately hanging there, choosing to add an object to its grammatical structure, after assessing the general mood better first. “I have no weapons, and I am sure you could vanquish me without yours - even just the little one.” she gave a slight nod and gentle smile to the teeth baring kid. “You raised him well …” blue eyes fell back on the woman, seemingly his mother, if intel was correct. “… surely you have taught him about honor too.” A little more strength and unwavering determination to her voice this time, as the smile faded into a sentiment of seriousness. Attacking an unarmed individual with a knife or a disruptor was well outside the Klingon understanding of fair, or honor, for that matter.

Least that was what she’d learned and now hoped was applying almost universally. Hence probing into the matter lightly, rather than slapping the woman across the face and gauging the reply.

Jo'reh was cautious as she watched the figure, which indeed seemed to be a human female, and while she didn't remove her hand from her disruptor, she gestured with her open hand towards M'Ven to settle down. The development might not promise another fight, yet clearly, the female wanted something from them.

"Speak then," she said remaining perfectly still where she stood in the light. "What do you want?"

M'Ven obeyed his mother, and sheathed his knife. He noticed she didn't remove her hand from her disruptor however, and so he mimicked her, and kept his hand on the handle while glaring at the female. On the outpost, coinage moved everything, so he expected that she either wanted to buy or sell something.

Even despite the situation being somewhat hostile – likely much more so than the diplomat would’ve admitted to herself – the blonde couldn’t help but let a smile lightly tuck at her plump lips. There was a mignon quality to the kid’s demeanor, how he mirrored the movements and posture of his mother, like a little chick. Her pate almost dipped into veneration of the cutely wrinkled nose and baring teeth – in dire need of proper hygiene. So it was almost a surprise, as the officer was drawn from her focus by the strong, adamant voice of the woman, addressing her probingly.

Defaulting to a more serious stance, in terms of mimic, Samantha nodded briefly, acknowledging the challenge. “I have an offer, for the two of you, that will grant you something I presume you haven’t had for a while: The opportunity to decide your own fate.” she told them, making sure to add a little bit of attitude to the words, indicating that it was a superior offer, to anything they could hope to find in these dark, dirty caves. “I am offering a way off this rock, protection, and a pathway towards reclaiming your honor.” Another small pause, trying to gauge any of the woman’s reactions, as the kid was pretty straightforward by comparison. “It must be disheartening to be on the run, always hiding.”

Jo'reh's eyes narrowed, not liking how this stranger gave off an air of knowing more than they did, suggesting she had any idea what had befallen her in the House of Torg.

"A 'friend' would give a name and quit speaking in riddles, instead stating where she suggest we go, and on who's ship. If you're of the Syndicate, bah! We're more free here, owned by none." She raised her chin towards the female. "So tell me, why should I trust a stranger, who knows more than she should? Makes me wonder which House sent you..."

Oh, M'Ven knew of strangers without honor, and wondered if this might be one of them. He bared his teeth at her for good measure.

Samantha nodded with due consideration, of the woman’s words, taking a moment to tailor her diplomatic schooling towards the situation at hand. “Well, just like a skilled warrior wields his bat’leth with consideration, reserving his stamina, allow me to wield my own sword, with equal deliberation,” the blonde replied, yet as soon as the words had left her lips, dictated by an infallible sense of protocol and procedure, she had realized that yet another “riddle” was likely going over the woman’s head, or right to the end of her patience. But even before she could construct a more readily deductible answer, her pate jerked slightly, at the sharp accusation.

“You think I work for the Syndicate?” Having a moderately hard time not to take this personally, the diplomat quenched al volatile ambers in her chest with a deep gust of considerably fresh air. “This …” she let her delicate hands gently gesture down a quarter of the leather clad curves, “… is just a disguise to reach you without raising suspicions. I come on behalf of Starfleet, to extend to you the offer of safety and new hope. Our intelligence has picked up on a plot to deal with the both of you permanently. The Federation values its relationship with the empire, we do not intend to let cowardly rogues undermine the political system. Nor do we stand by when a mother and her child are being hunted down like Targs. We understand honor too.”

Starfleet? M'Ven wondered, having heard a lot of mixed words about the Federation. Some of the elders thought the Kithomer accords were important, others, not so much. He looked towards his mother, who seemed contemplative. They had been on the run since.... that day when word came. That his father had left on his last voyage and passed through the gates of Sto-vo-kor. It had been difficult before that, indeed, but not like right then. Mother saw bared steel in the faintest of glimmers around her.

"You know a lot, even though you are far from Federation space," said Jo'reh, and the only indication that there was ought else than distrust in her heart was the lack of challenge in her words. "I wonder, how much do you know? Who has spoken, and who do you believe search for us?"

M'Ven wondered what mother was doing, asking those questions... Was she gauging the the merit in the woman's words? Making sure she knew what she spoke of? Perhaps it was a test, to see if she was truly whom she claimed to be. The woman's grandiose claims were just winds and words, lest you could hear there were no lies among them.

Back in the corridor that Sam had come out of, Faye stood, hunched against one of the walls, almost leaning over her communicator as she made her call. There was a crackle of static that put her on edge, and she was barely able to make out the response from Lt. Commander Fisher.  “Understood, Eloi-Danvers. Return to origin point for beam out.” Faye was not one of those Betazoids so gifted that she could sense emotion over great distances, but she was a diplomat trained to dissect every word and nuance out of what someone said. There was  terse quality to the mans tone, as if she had interrupted him in the middle of something critical. Not quite an urgency, but a  definitiveness. Blast she thought, straightening up and turning her attention back to the room below, and the conversation unfolding. She was hoping that Fisher and t'Jellaieu would simply be able to hone in on the signal boosters and extract them. No dice, as her mother was fond of saying. Now the question was how to let Sam know they needed to move, without causing more issues in a delicate situation. She carefully edged forward, toward the stairs down, peering out and trying to judge the situation at hand.

For the moment, staying put seemed to be the best option. Perhaps if I just wiggle my hand...

Noticing M’ven pondering on behalf of the mention of Starfleet, as a side note, Samantha focused on his mother more aptly, as she seemed the bigger threat … and the one harder to convince. “Not THAT far … in the grander scheme of the Empire’s expanse.” she assessed, pursing her lips for a moment, shrugging her shoulders gently. A test was forthcoming, that much was evident, and perfectly justified all the same. “Your brother, Ja’rod, coincidentally … we intercepted his communique revealing your son’s existence. Alongside the threat to his life, and yours, should Torg, son of Kormog, catch up with you. Likely to stake his eternal claim to the House of Duras, alongside a D'k tahg in your chest.” Those should’ve been enough names dropped, and gratuitous violence narrated, to give her statements some merit, in the eyes of a Klingon.

Noticing some covert motion out of the corner of her eye, such has heightened, one quarter Vulcan hearing, picking up on Faye’s presence, the diplomat understood it as a prompt to move along, one way or the other. “I know you have no reason to believe me. Though, if I came to harm you and your son, it would’ve been done. But we have to move, if you want the chance, I am giving you. Now.”

What? thought Jo'reh when she heard the woman, and it dawned on her that whomever this human was, she could be half-right, only not in the fashion she thought. "M'Ven, collect our things. Be quick."

"Aye, Mother."

Her teeth bared, she stepped towards the human as she corrected her. "Ja'rod is not my brother," she stated flatly, angry with how he'd made such a claim after all that had happened. "He courted me before I had M'Ven. While I never claimed it to be the case, he thought he was the father. He would not accept anything else. Ja'rod learned who the real father was when I finally told him, over a month ago, after he died in battle over the Coreless Moon of the Azure Nebula. The crew of a renegade Federation ship bears the blame."

Jo'reh came to a stop before the woman."We have been on the run since. Ja'rod has the ear of my House. Torg wants M'Ven because of his bloodline. Ja'rod merely wants me. If he can't have me, he wants me dead."

Jo’reh instructed her son to gather his things – a large boulder fell off Samantha’s shoulders as she caught herself exhaling an expired breath, burning in her lungs. She nodded, courtly, ultimately looking up at Faye, beckoning her down with a subtle wave.

“We can help you carry, but take only what you can’t replace.” she urged, offering a hand if they so chose to accept it. It was then that the woman went on to explain further the true twists and turns of her family legacy. Frowning slightly, at the gentle ping of pain from trying to wrap her mind around the new information, the blonde shook her head free of such currently pointless trivia.

“Well, if we’re lucky enough, we’ll make both Torg and Ja’rod pay, for their cowardly schemes.”

"Bah, that's rich, coming from the crew of the Theurgy," came a male voice from outside the shadows. "The very crew that had Drex killed."

And out of the darkness stepped Ja'rod and four other Klingons, disruptors drawn.

"Yes, I have given you a chance to avenge his honor, my dear Jo'reh..."

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #27 – November 29, 2020, 06:45:39 AM

[PO3 Lillee t’Jellaieu |  Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin (NX-79854/04) | Asteroid Field | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] Attn: @Brutus, @stardust, @Swift

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The wait was tense. Lillee felt horrendously exposed in their present position, painfully conscious of the fragility of the shuttle against Klingon cannons while she and Fisher had no idea what was happening on the facility. The diplomats could have successfully talked their way into success, and could call the shuttle at any moment to request a beam out. They could be stuck in the fight of their lives, desperately needing help but unable to call for it. They could even both be dead.

It took serious effort for Lillee to make herself relax, to breathe slowly and regularly, to not let the tension and worrying get to her. She had flown plenty of combat missions when such a skill had been required that she'd honed it well, from the recent campaign in the Azure Nebula all the way back to her days in a cloaked warp fighter, stalking Federation starships so close that she could almost reach out and touch them. Nevertheless, that skill didn't make the waiting any more unbearable. It was a minor comfort that Fisher was just as uncomfortable as she was, perhaps more so, given how fond he seemed to be of Commander Rutherford.

Then a sharp alert rang, and Lillee was on it in a flash. "Klingon sensor ping," she said briskly, her hands working her controls rapidly. "I am unable to determine the source. I think the asteroids distorted the ping enough that they didn't detect us this time, but I can't be sure." Educated guesswork, and Lillee knew it. She was no science or operations officer; she could read the data, but interpreting it accurately was simply beyond her skills. She sighed in frustration, biting her lip, before glancing at Fisher.

"Commander, if you want to beam down and help them, I can handle things up here," she said, flicking a strand of blonde hair back behind a pointed ear. "Either way, we're on borrowed time. The next sensor ping could get a read on us, and we have no way of knowing what ships are out there."

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #28 – December 03, 2020, 12:25:21 AM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Fore Compartment | Type-11 Shuttlecraft | Rosalind Franklin ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Brutus @Griff @stardust

Diligently manning the tactical readout, or as he often liked to tease: ‘jockeying a console’ was one of the last things that the Chief Intelligence Officer liked to be doing in the midst of an ongoing crisis. While more than adept at working the computer, and plenty capable of keeping an attentive eye over things as they developed before him, his talents and skills were generally better suited for the field. But considering Rutherford had wanted to keep things a little more low-key with regard to how this mission of theirs proceeded, he had reluctantly accepted her decision to go on in his stead. She was after all, the foremost Diplomat afforded to Theurgy, and her approach would surely keep whatever situation existed on the Outpost from boiling over. Whereas he would stick to the shadows and do his best to blend in, only to take his targets by surprise in succinct fashion, likely without their forewarning or approval in the form of what amounted to little more than an abduction; he imagined that Sam with her silver-tongue was working to elicit a more cooperative reaction from M’Ven and whatever retinue was accompanying him.

At least, that was the hope.

Meanwhile, he and Lillee had their own situation to deal with. At the behest of an alarm klaxon, his console and hers both erupted with a warning of a sensor ping that had emanated from the third-party vessel which had only just dropped from warp a few minutes prior. “Klingon. Awesome! Great!” He remarked in reciprocation of the dread that his Romulan companion likely felt. With hands that danced across the console, he felt the shifting of momentum in the shuttlecraft as Lillee attempted to stick to the obscuring sensor ghosts provided by the planetary debris surrounding them. He once more felt fortunate to have such skill at the Conn, so that he could more directly focus on getting a thorough reading of whatever was happening down on the outpost. And as if on cue, one of the things he was carefully monitoring blinked across the viewer in the form of detected energy spikes in accordance with the discharge of handheld weapons. Something was going on down there. “I’m picking up weapons fire!” he announced for Lillee’s benefit, exhaling deeply out of personal annoyance that he hadn’t objected to the selection of who was going down there.

He had half a mind to take the Romulan up on her offer and began attempting to home in on the general vicinity of the energy spikes for a potential beam in point, but before he could another alarm rang out from his console. “Hang on! That’s an ETB signal! Energizing!” the activation of one of the two Emergency Transporter Beacons that Fisher had given to the pair of Diplomats spoke to the direness of their situation, as he had made it clear that it would alert everyone within the system of the presence of Starfleet technology. As the transporter began to buzz with activity, his attention shifted to the pad at the aft of the fore compartment as a young Klingon boy materialized in an obvious sense of surprise and shock. M’Ven. It had to be, he aptly surmised. More than cognizant of the panicked thoughts that were likely running through the young boy’s mind, and even detecting a sense of aggressive agitation in his face, Fisher, without so much as a second of hesitation grabbed at the Type-2 'dolphin' phaser at his waist, and with the lowest stun setting fired at the poor confused boy, dropping him to the carpeted deck plating in an unconscious state.

“I am not playing babysitter!” He remarked as way of explanation as he hurried over to the unconscious boy and hefted him up.

“I’m going to set him up in one of the bunks, so that he’s not just splayed out on the floor for whoever is next to arrive. Also, that signal will have put everyone on high-alert!” he warned Lillee as he moved into the aft compartment with the boy in his arms, carefully depositing him into the upper cubby and onto the soft mattress. “Sorry kid. I’ll let you take a swing at me when you wake up later on.” It didn’t feel right at all but given the calamity that was sure to unfold as a result of the EBT going off, Fisher knew that neither he, nor Lillee had the benefit of time to attend to a panicked child. Especially a panicked Klingon child. Stepping away, he shook his head in self admonishment. “Exactly how I saw my day going when I woke up this morning!” Once more in the fore compartment, he felt it necessary to vent as he opened the weapons locker and first retrieved a sheathed steel carbide tanto knife, strapping it to his thigh. “Damned Klingons.” He then grabbed a bundled trio of pattern enhancers for their extraction. Slung over one shoulder by a strap, he lastly plucked a Type-3 compression rifle from the rack and tapped at the console just off to the side of the transporter pad, recalling the same coordinates that he had sent Sam and Faye down unto earlier.

“Damned Politicians.” He pocketed the two 'cricket' phasers that had been left behind, and went about programming the rifle’s setting, cycling the charging slide once before looking back to Lillee. “I never said that last one.” With a nod, he hoped she might understand the necessity for discretion with regard to the dynamic she had picked up on earlier. “Lots of luck. Energize!” not exactly specific on whether he was wishing it for or of her, he soon disappeared in a brilliant haze of blue energy.

[ Former Duranium Mining Facility | Asteroid Fragment | Epsilon Monocerotis System ]

“Damn.”

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #29 – December 04, 2020, 05:28:29 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford & Ens. Eloi-Danvers & M'ven & Ja'rod & Jo'reh | Former Duranium Mining Facility | Asteroid Fragment | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] attn: @Griff @Swift @Auctor Lucan
[Show/Hide]

A cold shiver ran down the diplomat’s spine, like the first waterfalls of spring, breaking through from beneath the ice, cascading over the gentle curvature of her skin, as Ja’rod emerged from the shadows. She should’ve known that the male Duras heir had inherited the devious genes of his lineage. A pedigree poisoned with blind ambition. That also, however, had a history of being cut back by Starfleet bravado … well, so be it then. Who was she to contest history repeating itself?

“How dare you cast such baseless lies, you dishonorable BiHnuch!” she barked back at him, blue eyes growing a menacing deep-sea navy, voice almost carrying beyond the immediate arena of the cave. “Hiding in the shadows like a cowardly t’gla, huddled against the bosom of your protective entourage, stalking single, unarmed, human females. Your infamy displayed here today is so grand, it devours both your houses. Why should Jo’reh dishonor herself and join with such a spineless p’tahk?! You disgust me, Ja’rod!”

Pooling together what moisture she could, in the back of her throat, Samantha spat a nasty lump of goo to the dusty floor just beyond Ja’rod’s boots. All the while tasting the acidity in her mouth that accompanied the internal tremble, that churned her innards in a flurry of adrenaline and absolute terror. What on earth had she just started. Clenching her fists, she glared at the five male Klingons, their weapons and physical might. She may have been without a phaser, but that didn’t mean she was unarmed, as her words had cut like a bat’leth. And neither were Jo’reh and M’ven, whom she hoped to be able to sway to her side, by asserting her own honor over that of this slimy wimp, scurrying around sniffing the Klingon female’s behind and marking his territory.

"Lies?" asked Ja'rod and chuckled, stepping around the spit on the ground. His companions remained in the background, disruptors still drawn. "Oh, so you deny belonging to the Theurgy crew? Odd, since they were the ones to get my message. How else could you be here, trying to sway Jo'reh to support Drex's father without telling her which ship you mean to bring her to? Now, you were saying something about 'dishonourable'?"

Jo'reh's priority, however, was her son, whom had yet to emerge with their belongings. She had her teeth bared, hissing under her breath at this situation which had her doubting the Starfleet woman, and yet knowing that Ja'rod would either have her as his own or he would have her dead. So, knowing that Ja'rod was unpredictable and capable of harm, the path of least resistance - and harm to M'Ven - was to indulge his word for the time being, just so that she might get a better opportunity to ensure safety for M'Ven. Let Ja'rod think this profane gesture to win her over was getting some credence...

"Is it true?" she snapped towards the Starfleet woman who had yet to present herself by name, "do you belong to the Theurgy? Speak straight and true, human! More slithering words means I slit your throat myself."

 Of course, the question had merit on it's own, for she had loved Drex for all his faults, and the Theurgy had taken him from her.
 
„LIES!“ Samantha repeated herself boldly – a brave act, merely, but a good one at that. “Like the very bile you exhale with every dank breath. The lies you sent to Chu’vok, to trick Martok like a petulant Ferengi, to gain this woman’s grace … oh what blithe theatrics! The moral high ground you see yourself on is a dusty and barren as the one you drag your dishonorable corpse across. Do not cast judgment from one person to another! If you so seek retribution, to primp your image in the eyes of Jor’eh, face the culprit yourself, without your cowardly entourage, instead of blaming a lone woman from the Federation for your blatant incompetence.”

Chip, chip, chip … piece by piece chipping away at the man’s credibility. All the while noticing subtle hints in the Klingon woman of some silent understanding. The diplomat may have been wrong, given her limited experience with the warrior culture, but she got the idea that Jor’eh was far more inclined towards her plans than those her unwarranted suitor had in mind, if only be process of elimination. That was the tangent she’d want to pursue.

“I am Lieutnenant Commander Samantha Rutherford, I am a diplomatic attaché to Starfleet on Starbase 133.” she clarified towards the Klingon woman, with all the confidence the quasi truth provided, before turning back to Ja’rod for a moment. “Feel free to run any checks against the Federation database you must, though I doubt you have the capability to. If you ever were to stumble across the truth, in your life, it would be by sheer accident.”

Jor’eh’s beef was not with Theurgy. It was yet another instance of reality being blown out of proportion. Theurgy had not sanctioned Drex’s death, quite the opposite, so there was no need for that can of worms to be opened this instance. Once they were back, and bath’lets were to be pulled, she’d point her in the honorable direction to avenge her fallen lover, if she so wished. That was the kind of respect the customs of other cultures deserved, under diplomatic considerations. Tea for another day, though.

“We have a shuttle nearby, and my offer for save passage is more than Pinocchio over there could ever give you. Shuffled along by the strings of his own blind ambition, despicable.” Another human snare at the head of the Klingon posse. “Not that he would let you go anyways … all this empty talk is just a smokescreen to disguise his lack of integrity. Isn’t it, Ja’rod.”
 
It took an effort of will for Faye to neither squeak aloud at the unexpected arrival of J'Rod, of the House of Duras, nor groan at the outburst from her boss, wondering who exactly had taught her how to swear in Klingonese. Honestly, that was probably the right track. If one had a weapon on hand. Such as the cricket phasers we left behind on the shuttle craft. Still, Faye knew as well as Samantha that sometimes a deftly wielded silver tongue was more deadly than a finely honed Bat'leth. In this particular instance, Faye (no great fighter) still would have preferred the Bat'leth. Preferably wielded by someone that knew what they were doing and happened to be watching their back. Not for the first time, Mickalya McGregegor's visage came to mind. Nothing she could do about that though.

Edging back in the shadows instead, admitting to herself that it was rather clever of Sam to note that as far as Starfleet was concerned, she was attached to Starbase 133. Point in favor of the diplomat. Had it been Faye on her own down there, she would have had some fast explaining to do. Again she lamented the lack of a proper hand phaser. From where she stood, able to look down and see them, she could have picked the warriors off in rapid fire. From this angle it would have been hard to miss. But she didn't have a phaser. However... she carefully slid closer in to the potential fracas below, putting to use what she did have on hand.

Ja'rod had bared his teeth at the sound of the female's scything words, and Jo'reh suspected her stubborn suitor might act out in violence. She spoke of General Chu'vok, whom she admitted had been contacted by Ja'rod and it implied that it was true the damn Targ had set this "rescue" in motion. Whether or not he was right in how this Rutherford would hail from the Theurgy seemed to be a case of word-against-word.

Yet for Jo'reh, who had been hiding from both her House and the equally adopted and asinine Duras warrior - in order to protect her son from their viles - she would simply make her judgement call based on what would keep M'Ven safe. Right then, it seemed playing along with Ja'rod's plot was the best option, since the number of disruptors were on Ja'rod's side.

Edging closer to her persistent shadow of the past months, she kept her eyes on the female in open hostility, yet in her peripheral vision, she was weighing her options based on what Ja'rod was doing. At current, he was biting back against the Starfleet woman's accusations.

"Indeed, I am facing you, am I not? Perhaps I should show you the integrity of my word by paying retribution on behalf of Captain Drex and the entire crew of the Hakkarl," he snarled, but then is eyes went to Jo'reh as she stepped closer, and he paced himself somewhat, "even if I would prefer Jo'reh to get the vengeance she's been longing for since he died. M'Ven's father died at the hands of your crew, for we both know you wouldn't have come here from that Starbase. It's too far away for you to get here in mere hours."

Jo'reh, gave Ja'rod a grin. "So you knew I was here?" she asked, realising that if he knew... "Does Torg know as well?"

Ja'rod look towards the Starfleet woman whilst he answered. "Aye. A ship of his will pick us up... but you have all the time in the world to tear this duplicitous Federation harlot apart," he said, and with a sharp-toothed grin, he ran his arm around her waist, pulling her close. "Are you grateful?"

"Release her!" echoed a loud call between the cavernous walls, a battle cry amplified by it's own echo. Jo'reh's eyes widened, for it sounded like Drex.

Suddenly, Ja'rod was screaming in pain, pushing Jo'reh away. Not until she could orient herself did she see M'Ven behind Ja'rod, and the handle of her old mek'leth sticking out of the screaming Duras warrior's lower back.

In retrospect, Jo'reh did not know who fired their disruptor first, but suddenly, as Ja'rod was aiming his against her son, she had her own out, and the cavern came ablaze.

M'Ven looked like a feral demon out of Sto-vo-kor, not fearing to be returned there by Ja'rod, but Jo'reh would not have it. Her first disruptor bolt caught Ja'rod's hand and disruptor, disintegrating former. It earned her taking a shot from one of the other Klingon warriors, pain skewering her shoulder. M'Ven leapt after Ja'rod's dropped disruptor and tried to save his mother, shooting from a prone position. Together, as mother and son, they defended themselves once again.

Only they were only two, and one Klingon was about to open fire against M'Ven... and Jo'reh knew she wasn't quick enough...

And with that final chip, the diplomat unearthed that thick vein of gold beneath the surface, that symbolized Ja’rod’s feeble pride, like a raw nerve. “With four warriors to make up for your lack of honor, sure, you’re facing me. Bravely though, I have to say, as I have dealt with more than five Klingons at once before.” The blonde sold confidently, relying on the mere veracity of her comment in terms of lacking context, for a confidence boost. The second part of his comment she simply ignored … and it was no big feat either, since Jo’reh basically jumped in by her own volition. Her cunning assessment of the odds dripping rom every pore. She was a woman, after all, and woman of most species, were the more opportunistic gender.

Yet just like that the situation escalated. Why she thought that there was any reasoning with a horny Klingon, she didn’t know. Samantha was both annoyed as well as obviously agitated over the developments unfolding like a lightning strike. Within a matter of seconds, two of the Klingons were down, including Ja’rod, revealing a snarling M’ven, who had somehow managed to slip between the leaders back and his entourage unnoticed. Another split second later, Ja’rod was clutching the stump where his hand used to be, in his true, whining form, before going down entirely.

This was not really how Samantha had intended for this to go down but in hindsight coming to a Klingon gunfight with nothing but snide prose was probably not the best approach, no matter Starfleet protocol and personal creed. “For fuck’s sake …” the blonde uttered, instantly regretting the slip of the tongue and hoping her subordinate did not listen as closely, and rather devised an exit strategy on the fly. Leaning as quickly as her leather tube dress allowed, the blonde reached for the handle of a cast iron pot and flung it with added momentum against the most opportune Klingon’s head. The one that was aiming at their chief goal.

Grabbing the child by its shoulder the commander slipped one of the emergency transporter beacons into his neckline, activating the same, to send an unmistakable signal to the shuttle, alongside whatever weapon’s fire they could've registered as well – and had hopefully closed in upon already. Within seconds, the kid was gone in a flurry of glowing white flakes, dropping his disruptor as part of the transporter’s safety protocol. Picking it up swiftly, shooting the stumbling warrior with the pot-imprint in the chest, the woman positioned herself alongside Jo’reh, pointing it at the remaining Klingons. And suddenly a stalemate had ensued.

“Now, maybe we can talk this over, again.” she cleared her throat, as well as the air in the now smoke and dust filled cavern. But really, she already knew that neither Ja’rod nor any of his posse were in any position to demand anything, at this point. The diplomat was just buying time. All the while casually throwing Jo’reh the second transport enhancer, with her free hand.

"Qapla’..." snarled Jo'reh in subdued triumph at the the Starfleet woman's side, trading glares with Ja'rod where he sat on his knees, clutching his stump. She had already dispatched the Klingon that had almost killed her son, and before Rutherford had given her the same transporter device that she'd given M'Ven, she hadn't been entirely convinced the woman hadn't whisked him away from her.

Now, as she faced Jo'reh and the last standing warrior of his, she was confident she could bring things to an end. She had no way of knowing what mettle Rutherford had, but at least she'd saved M'Ven's life. "Stand, Ja'rod."

Glaring daggers still, the warrior of Duras decent slowly got to his feet, while his last remaining companion looked uncertain as to whom he might shoot first between Rutherford and Jo'reh, knowing that Ja'rod fancied her but deemed the Starfleet woman a lesser threat. Jo'reh decided that she didn't want to wait for him to make the call.  So, she raised her disruptor against Ja'rod, saw the hesitation, and then switched to shooting the nameless Klingon instead - her bolt going right past Ja'rod's head and into the other Klingon's face.

"jagh yIbuStaH!" screamed Ja'rod, Concentrate on the enemy! being clearly directed at her. Jo'reh, however, knew from Rutherford's actions whom the real enemy was.

"Not only have you not taken my 'no' for an answer, nor set the entirety of House Torg after me because I vexed you, telling them the truth about M'Ven," she snarled at the Targ that had yet to rise from his knees, "you just tried to kill him as well. Do you really think you'd have me all to yourself if you did? You are the greatest fool I have ever known, and you were never a match to Drex."

Whatever plan Faye had been concocting in the back of her mind ground to an abrupt halt the moment the warrior child they had come to save proved himself to be more of a warrior than a child. Or well, a pig headed Klingon who rushed into things, than a strategist. Though, points to the vengeful tyke for getting a good, solid blow in when the enemy - as she assumed he saw the Duras Scion - was distracted. Faye didn't wnat to think about how much a blade like that would hurt in her back. She already was working hard to reinforce her perception of the mans painful, anaquished cries and broiling anger. Swallowing as the shots started to fire, she hunkered down and triggered her comm. "Lillee if your listening its all gone to shit here and the natives are trying to kill each other. Any help would be appreciated! I'm....oh hell. Going to try and tag our friends. Hurry."

But instead of killing the channel she left it open, and watched, eyes wide, as the boy vanished in a swirl of familiar blue white lights. Well, that was good news. The cavalry was nearby. Sure, fine, she could work with that. The trick would be to get the other woman out. Frowning, Faye couldn't' see a away to get to Jo'reh without getting gunned down...but she could cause a distraction. The stray disruptor bolts had done a number on the ledge she was on, and she saw a large chunk of debris just propped up at the edge. "Here goes nothing," she thought as she wedged herself in against the wall, planted her feet against what amounted to a boulder of rock and deruainum alloy, and pushed as had as she could manage...shifting the rock and sending it tumbling toward Ja'rod and what was left of his assault party.

Sadly, at this point, with a blade wound in his back and a hand missing, Ja’rod wasn’t really in the talking mood anymore. Which didn’t stop Jo’reh from laying into him with what seemed like years and years of growing resentment. She could understand that … something women of both races seemed to share: the capacity to hold a grudge. Settling into an almost sense of complacency, given the moderate amount of peace following that unexpected skirmish, the diplomats heart managed to slow down into a more agreeable pace. But that notion was rather short-lived.

With a rather sudden thud, both remaining Klingons were struck down by a large, beige boulder, accompanied by the gut-wrenching sound of bones cracking and skin splitting open. A few stray splatters of blood dipping the two women into a gentle shower of warm summer rain … although far more disgusting. Heart revving like a combustion engine, sending another injection of adrenaline into the blonde’s stiffening muscles, another moment of silence ensued, as the dust settled. Leaving nothing but a sentiment of absolution behind.

“Well … that would conclude this portion of the talks.” She mumbled sarcastically, using a moniker normally reserved for negotiations postponed. Though this time seemingly indefinitely. Since, however, she had not much heart to discuss the whole incident further, down here in the caves, while Jo’reh sure had many a question, she found it more conducive to make the Klingon woman the shuttle crew’s problem. Pinning the last of their two emergency transporter beacons on her, a flurry of white light white light, with a gentle blue tint, washed over the commander, and as soon as it had subsided, she hurried up the rickety stairs as quick as her tight dress allowed.

“Let’s hope we’ll be able to beam out without any enhancers.” she said to Faye, her voice carrying across the quickly closing distance between them. “Good job on the rock, I thought this ordeal would never end.” she added, while finally arriving at the Ensign’s side, voice slightly out of breath, though a covertly chipper ring to the slightly mocking statement. “I hope you remember the way back.”

Stepping out from the shadows, Faye was half bent over, rubbing her hip. She looked down over the ledge again, to see Samantha standing up, surrounded by the mess of what had just happened. The blonde was soon at her side and Faye had turned her back on the whole scene, her face taking on a slightly green cast. "Yes well....as long as I don't lose my lunch we'll be fine. That's certainly the first time I've solved a problem by throwing a rock at it. Or kicking it in this case." Her stomach churned a bit. Just because it was necessary didn't mean it wasn't...disgustingly messy. She'd never had to outright kill someone like that before. At least, not knowingly.

Taking a few deep breaths - far enough away not to smell the gore - the Betazoid reoriented herself. Pursing her lips, she gestured back down the corridor. "That way. Pretty sure," she started off, trying to sound confident, to reassert herself as the one that was supposed to look like she was in charge. A small smile passed her lips as she added, "How do you think Mommy and Junior are going to react to Lillee?"

Following the Ensign with a gentle smile, dipped pate soon turned somber, at the prospect of the two Klingons being aboard the shuttle without diplomatic supervision. Worst of all, with a Romulan and a spook, instead. “Well, I think the most tedious part is yet to come … and that will be our flight back.”

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #30 – December 08, 2020, 04:24:53 PM

[PO3 Lillee t’Jellaieu |  Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin (NX-79854/04) | Asteroid Field | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] Attn: @Brutus, @stardust, @Swift

[Show/Hide]

When the emergency beam-out signal came from the away team, Lillee felt her blood burn as she felt it all begin, that insane chaos of battle. Knowing that their position would be betrayed by the emergency signal and forthcoming beam-out, she spent a few seconds hurriedly powering up the shuttle's systems in preparation to run for their lives. She had only just finished when Fisher activated the transporter, and rather than one of the two women who had left the shuttle earlier, the figure that appeared was smaller...a boy.

A Klingon boy.

The boy's eyes snapped to Lillee first, her pointed ears and cranial ridges, and she tensed as he recognised her for what she was. She saw the fear and fury of betrayal in the boy's eyes, saw his knees bend as if to attack, only for Fisher's phaser to promptly send him to the transporter pad like a sack of potatoes.

"Good!" Lillee remarked wryly back at Fisher, grateful to not have to deal with such a mess. She hated seeing a child stunned like that, but...well, he was a Klingon boy. Truly, who cared?

At Fisher's reminder that their position was compromised, Lillee nodded, turning back to her controls, and at her command, the shuttle zoomed out of the gap between the asteroids like a rocket, emerging into the relatively open space around the mining facility. Lillee pulsed her own sensors, hoping to catch the foul Klingons who were surely hunting them, but now the asteroids worked against them, occluding the Klingons.

Lillee was considering trying to go dark again back in the asteroid field when an alarm flashed on her console, but sensors were unnecessary; Lillee could see the cursed Klingon ship up ahead, approaching from the other side of the station! An emerald bird-of-prey, B'Rel-class, its gun-wings angled down in combat mode, prevented from opening fire only by the large station that was inbetween them. Lillee cursed, spinning the shuttle around and flying back into the cover of the asteroids, but there was no hiding now with a bird-of-prey on their tail. With a precise vector for their sensors, the Klingons would be able to detect them easily, sensor distortion or no.

Lillee glanced back as Fisher returned to the cockpit, positively festooned with weapons and other equipment and swearing the entire time. At his last curse about politicians and the quick backtrack that came after, Lillee turned back and smirked.

"It never happened." she agreed. "Be swift, Commander!" Without pause, she activated the transporter, sending Fisher away in a whirl of blue sparks. She had barely finished the beam-out sequence when the computer signalled a warning as it detected a weapons lock. Cursing, Lillee flew the shuttle into a wild evasive maneuver, coming about in a loop back towards the station, asteroids covering her from the relatively clumsy Klingon bird-of-prey. The warship came about, racing after the shuttle with intent, flying through the dense asteroids with the same recklessness as Lillee.

The comms came alive. "Federation shuttle! In the name of the Klingon Empire, you are commanded to stand down and surrender or be destroyed!"

Lillee scoffed, tapping the button to reply even as she accelerated madly, her heat pounding with the exhilaration of battle. "Do not threaten that which you cannot do, han'mhai!" she shouted back, only to wince at using a rihannsu curse. The diplomats would skin her alive for that. Cutting off the comms to avoid any further errors, Lillee focused on her flying. With the need to keep shields down so that the others could beam back aboard, and a need to stay near the station, fancy flying was the only thing keeping her out of the B'Rel's gunsights. A single well-aimed shot would smash the shuttle's engines into useless wreckage and doom the entire team. The bird-of-prey was holding its fire, waiting for that perfect angle, that perfect weapons lock, where they could be assured of disabling the shuttle, not destroying it.

The shuttle was like an annoying gnat, perennially avoiding its pursuer by desperate flying through the asteroids, but Lillee's room to maneuver was dwindling rapidly as the bird-of-prey inexorably came closer and closer, pinning her in towards the station. The two craft danced madly, the Klingon ship trying to gain the advantage as Lillee slipped out of trouble again and again. Occupied in her flying, Lillee barely noticed when the ETB signal came again, and she activated the transporter almost without thinking as she skimmed over the surface of an asteroid, glancing back to see who it was.

Not Fisher, not Rutherford, not Danvers, but a Klingon woman, her shoulder a scorched mess. Oh Elements curse me, what a mess, Lillee thought. She saw the Klingon's fury at seeing a Romulan at the controls and Lillee pre-empted the inevitable attack. "Peace, I am Starfleet!" she shouted, glancing back forward for a moment as she zipped the shuttle behind an asteroid, then looked back at the woman. "The boy is aft on a bunk! Secure him and yourself there now!"

---

rihannsu: Romulan
han'mhai: literally translates to "little penis-man"

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #31 – December 15, 2020, 03:28:32 PM

[ Jo'reh | Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin (NX-79854/04) | Asteroid Field | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] attn: @Griff @Swift @Auctor Lucan

Her braids whipping about her head as she looked around herself, Jo'reh had only eyes for her child, whom were nowhere to be found.

The pointy ears of a Romulan or a Vulcan was at the helm of the shuttle she found herself on, without any of her belongings and unsure whether her child had been taken from her after all. The blonde human with the skimpy outfit had left her bereft of all her supplies, which told her quite a lot about how uncaring she truly was towards her and her child. It suggested that they had a very personal stake in seeing M'Ven brought to the care of Starfleet, and she felt her knuckles crack in ire. She'd lost her dear and trusted disruptor, again at the courtesy of these 'saviours', but that made her no less lethal. She bared her teeth at the back of the pilot and hissed loudly, getting a reaction and some answers from her. It only marginally lessened her anger.

It was apparent, also, from the viewscreen in front of the pilot that House Torg had arrived, and they were trying to get away, even if they had at least two officers down at the outpost. She urged herself to be grateful that there was a marginal chance at getting away from House Torg, since she'd had little chance of that on the outpost, and decided to give the pilot the benefit of the doubt for the time being instead of twisting her head off. She said naught to her, however, heading to the aft compartments to find M'Ven.

And she found him unconscious.

Whatever embers remained of her anger reignited then, by the scent of M'Ven having been hit by a directed nadion particle beam - stunned by a Starfleet phaser - making her bare her teeth. She put her hand on her son's forehead, and then she returned to the cockpit of the shuttle in full stride. At least she had her dagger, and she pulled it with a loud metallic sound.

"Set a course out of the system now, or you die and I take the helm in your stead," she snarled and walked up behind the Romulan, about to put her sharpened steel against her throat in order to make her comply.

That's when she saw it. The designation of the shuttle, visible in the corner of one of the LCARS screens.

NX-79854
U.S.S. THEURGY

Ja'rod was a fool, but it seems he didn't lie, she thought, eyes widening as the realised that the woman in the seat in front of her belonged to the crew that killed Drex - taking away M'Ven's father. The blonde woman had lied in order to get her and M'Ven aboard the shuttle. She might as well kill the Romulan regardless if she complied, and hoped that House Torg would do what she couldn't to the blonde human when the shuttle left the system and Transporter range.

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #32 – December 21, 2020, 06:04:03 AM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Former Duranium Mining Facility | Asteroid Fragment | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Brutus @Griff @stardust

As he actuated the power toggle on the control cuff of the third of three transporter pattern enhancers, Fisher sighed with no minor sense of annoyance evident in the expression on his face. The trio of meter-length cylinders supported by extended legs were glowing with a bluish haze as they homed in on the requisite signal that the Rosalind Franklin was constantly emitting, at least as long as said shuttlecraft was still within range, and or still operational. He could only imagine the kind of situation that his Romulan companion was dealing with back aboard, trying to avoid a direct engagement with the Klingon ship that they had detected on an intercept course with the outpost, no doubt encroaching upon Lillee in haste. It was a situation that would have been far more tenuous, had he left the young panicked and agitated Klingon boy conscious and unattended to. He hadn’t exactly liked shooting a child, even if he had done so with the lowest possible setting on his phaser. But it had to be done. There was simply no way that he, or Lillee could afford to play babysitter in the midst of an ongoing crisis. Nor were there any guarantees that someone else might soon materialize, who could look after the stricken boy, keeping him from causing any issues or interference.

Reaching for his tricorder, he flipped it on and linked it into the pattern enhancers as he began scanning to acquire a better lock-on. “Ugh! Where’s a transporter jockey when you need one?!” He griped aloud as he began modulating the attuned frequency with no real notion of skill. Fisher’s abilities were generally reserved for those of clandestine, and or more violent inclinations. Engineering was and always had been his short-coming. He knew enough to get by but was often frustrated with impatience, while others found things to be simple and easy. For an instant, the pattern enhancers blinked to action as their signature beams connected in formation of a triangle as he managed to find a connection, but just as quickly the signal was lost, and the beams disappeared once more. “C’mon man! Please!?” he pleaded as he poked at the tricorder some more, aware of the fact that any minute the two-woman away team might manage to find their way back to this exact location, possibly even under attack. He needed to be ready to beam them out in a hurry and was counting on the pattern enhancers to make up for the duranium shadowing caused by the deposits hidden within asteroid fragment.

“No. That’s not the trick. Maybe...” he whispered to himself as he played with the handheld computer.

“There we go!” Exhaling deeply, Fisher felt an obvious sense of relief as the signal was re-established thanks to an auto-modulation sequencing he had programmed into the tricorder, allowing it to automatically maintain the connection without his clumsy input. The beams were also soon reconnected, once again forming a brilliant triangle pattern, and the spy set the tricorder down onto a nearby rock so as to let it do it’s thing. “Alright. Step one complete: Exfiltration secured. Step two pending: Recover assets.” Unslinging his compression rifle from behind his back, he grasped it with readied intent before tapping at the combadge on his chest; he needed to at least attempt an apprise Lillee of his situation. “Fisher to Rosalind Franklin. Transporter signal lock is set but won’t last forever. Any word on the away team from your end?” He wasn’t sure how much of his signal would get through to Lillee, but he knew he didn’t have the time to necessarily sit around and wait for it to come to him. Instead, he began taking steps up the length of the rough-hewn tunnel in the direction of the outposts epicenter. If he was going to find Sam or Faye, it would likely be somewhere in that general vicinity, at least that was the operation assumption he was making.

“Going to make a lot of friends looking like this.” He reasoned as he stopped, aware of the Starfleet uniform he was still wearing. At this point though, subterfuge was all but a moot point, as the EBT signal might as well have been Rutherford and Eloi-Danvers planting a literal Federation Flag in the middle of the market for everyone to see.

“I wonder how many more people I’m going to have to shoot in order to get out of here today.”

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #33 – December 30, 2020, 10:55:43 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Former Duranium Mining Facility | Asteroid Fragment | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] attn: @Griff @Swift @Brutus @Auctor Lucan
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The track back to the shuttle was a quiet one, for better or worse. Whatever was going on outside the rocky caverns had everyone in enough of a fray to crawl back into their individual holes like the roaches they were. And as much as her professional etiquette demanded, Samantha didn’t know what encouraging thing to say to Faye, in reference to their mission. Because her personal pride also would’ve demanded for it to be some sort of truth, and such an intricate combination just simply wasn’t available at the time. They had achieved their desired conclusion – at least to this chapter of the grander plan – of bringing M’ven and as a secondary goal Jo’reh back to the shuttle alive. But things had not gone down as smoothly as the blonde had hoped for, prayed for, at the altar of her presumption and vanity. There would be a time and place for her to spin this into an irrevocable, undebatable success under the guise of ends justifying means – or more diplomatically -ends covering up for the means. But that time wouldn’t be until they were both off this rock in one piece as well.

So she let Faye do her work, quietly, while at the same time trying to remember her way back too. Every now and then recognizing a corner or a special sculpture of jagged and hastily welded support beams. The main marketplace was certainly a beacon, though woefully deserted and ominous, as they quickly shuffled through, nothing but distant beats of weapons fire and the dry rustling of their soles against the dusty stone. Another few corridors and caves that were more distant in her memory, as they had become respective to their physical position in all this as well. Approaching a white glow around one of the last bends, it seemed, the Commander drew reassurance from the Ensign’s levity, that they were closing in on the beam-in point. A reassurance that was soon met with a familiar male voice, muffled around an outcrop of rock. Showing pale palms at level of her midriff as a token of submission and no ill-intent, the two officers stepped into the final secluded hallway. At least one of them giving the operative an expression of relief that – for a moment – went beyond that of professional etiquette. That was until the entire setup sank in. The uniform, the pattern enhancers, the freaking science lab he had brought over.

After a mere second of double-taking the display and not intent on wasting anymore time, while the mission could still end in failure, if the shuttle with the Klingon targets blew up, the diplomat made her way over to the rocky sidewall and its support structure, unearthing the hidden tricorder from the rocks. “Couldn’t find a neon Starfleet sign, I reckon.” the blonde muttered under her breath, haphazardly brushing ochre dust from the silver box. Remotely aware of how inappropriate her critique was. Ironically never as aware as how her feelings were scraping away at that air of duty, she held so dear. Maybe that was the distinction though, right there. She cared more about those notions that made her look less masterful of her vices and talents than what simply and utterly made her look like a bitch. She could deal with being considered a bitch. Certainly better than with being considered unprofessional. Because in summary, that distinction of values, had aided her exceptionally well in her career. And her career had basically been her life for the past eight years. And it was getting exceedingly harder and harder to argue with that logic. Especially for a one fourth Vulcan.

“You’ve established a lock?” Samantha asked rather rhetorically, looking at Fisher with expectantly raised brows. A distinct nod to her heritage. Deliberately omitting the ‘… a child could’ve with these.’ from her query. By the signals on the pattern enhancers one could easily deduct that a connection had been made and was – currently – holding. Though the gentle flutter in brightness was a sure-fire urge for haste. Blue eyes subsequently fell to his satchel, its contents then becoming as aware as her general understanding on how the man operated. Nonchalantly digging her hand into it she pulled forth one of the Type-1 phasers that had been intended to come to the asteroid base in the first place. So, it seemed only fitting now that one would stay behind. Pulling it closer, to enter a specific sequence of button presses, the device was set to overload in a flash. She wouldn’t leave any physical evidence behind, if she already couldn’t do anything about the empirical ones. Placing it down by one of the pattern enhancers, the diplomat ushered her subordinate into the circle that barely held enough space for the three of them. Giving Fisher the final honors to transport them back with a gentle look, that may have conveyed some of the gratitude that currently being held at bay by whatever sense of drama her human gender warranted. Then again, she wasn’t entirely human.

“Rather sooner than later, would be good.” the blonde couldn’t help but remark dryly, at the pitch increasing hiss of the phaser on the floor.

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #34 – January 07, 2021, 03:21:07 AM

[PO3 Lillee t’Jellaieu |  Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin (NX-79854/04) | Asteroid Field | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] Attn: @Brutus, @stardust, @Swift

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The pilot of the Klingon bird-of-prey wasn't Lillee's equal, but as the minutes passed, Lillee was gaining a new appreciation for the unknown Klingon's abilities. They were learning far too quickly for her comfort, adapting their maneuvers, and Lillee was very nearly out of options. She still waited for the emergency transporter beacons of the away team, who surely had to coming soon, but there was a limit to how long she could wait.

When was that time? She had the Klingon boy, after all. The mission was complete, with the bonus of the boy's mother as well. Lillee could zoom out of the asteroid field, jump to warp, hail the Theurgy and get home safe. The sacrifice of three officers for such a mission was likely an acceptable loss. The three of them would probably be fine, at any rate. Fisher was trained for such things, while he and Rutherford were Starfleet, with all the protections that entailed. Danvers...could manage.

The justfications rolled through Lillee's mind, warring with a deep reluctance to abandon comrades. If this were a Romulan mission, she'd have already left. Instead, Lillee was left to judge for that crucial balancing point between leaving too soon and waiting too long, all with the threat of a Klingon brig over her head. She knew full well what happened to Romulans in Klingon prisons.

Distracted with her thoughts, and flying the shuttle on the razor's edge, Lillee didn't notice the Klingon woman until the blade was at her throat. She tensed, hissing in reaction, her body freezing. The temporary distraction was all that was needed for the bird-of-prey to take advantage, disruptor fire lancing out at the shuttle. The aim was just slightly off, the emerald fire only glancing the craft, but the shots were enough to chip away at the shields before Lillee regained control and continued evasive maneuvers.

"Stupid beast! Kill me and you won't make it out of this asteroid field, kling'haan!" Lillee replied furiously, keeping her eyes forward. "I am trying to save you and your child, and I know you don't want to be taken by them any more than I do. Sit down, shut up and let my fly or none of us will make it out!"

The shuttle rocked again under fire, this time more serious. Ducking behind a large asteroid, granting a few moments respite, Lillee turned in her seat and glared at the stranger with clear loathing in her blue eyes. "This is my shuttle, kling'haan, and I have decided that we wait for as long as is reasonable for my crewmates. You have no choice in this if you wish to protect yourself and your boy, so stop fighting me while we protect you."

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #35 – January 11, 2021, 09:45:59 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Former Duranium Mining Facility | Asteroid Fragment | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Brutus @Griff @stardust

There had been more than a handful of occasions in his decidedly classified past, when the spy had found it necessary to storm an active enemy stronghold, or task location with weapons drawn and at the ready. Occasions when he had known that a full-on firefight would ensue, and any ideas or illusions to the concept of a covert infiltration were all but null and void. Occasions like this one, when the alarms had already gone off, and everyone knew something was about to go down. Hence why he had come prepared to fight it out with the entirety of the outpost if necessary; armed with a compression rifle, grenades, and other weapons which would have made such a ludicrous task slightly more tolerable, if not outright achievable. After all, it was a foolish man who stood naked at the edge of a vicious blizzard as wind gales blew on and who declined to accept the benefit of a coat and boots, resigning themselves to a fate of frostbite and hypothermia. No, he wasn’t so prideful as to think that his considerable skills as an infiltration specialist would serve him in the here and now, the way some other Officers might have bet on their skills as Diplomats to serve them in a den of deceit and danger. You simply had to assess the facts of the situation which loomed before you, accept them, and rather than pretend that you could change or alter them to fit your needs and or abilities, outfit yourself with whatever you could which would make the situation tenable. You simply needed to accept the damned coat and boots.

You simply needed to accept the damned phaser.

Yet here he was now, about to be off on some asinine endeavor to recover two stubborn Starfleet Officers who had stirred up a whole hornets nest of a situation in their attempt to recover the prize. “Whatever. Not like my career has any legs left to it anyway. Came half-way across Federation territory to join with a rogue Starship in its suicide mission to uncover and dissuade the annihilation of Galactic Civilization.” The sentence felt as ridiculous to say as it did to think, yet he cared not for whatever consequences would be rendered unto him as he looked to round the first corner of the corridor.

“Well... that’s convenient.” He remarked as approaching him were said two stubborn Starfleet Officers, one of whom curried a particular visage of favor for him; one in which he mirrored for the faintest of moments before protocol dictated its dismissal. Clearing his throat after being teased for his set-up, he perched an eyebrow slightly higher than it’s companion out of a minor annoyance that his work was being double-checked and second-guessed. “Yes, Ma’am. Lock is established, and your chariot awaits.” He peered at Faye with a bit of a wry smirk, before backing down the corridor to where the trio of transporter beam enhancers were active and synced up with their signature connect blue beams. He imagined he might pay for the teasing remark later on but considering the manner in which their little mission had unfolded, he felt it warranted. Besides, Rutherford would likely need to fall in line behind a number of others who had a bit of a bone to pick with him, given the fact that he’d rather unceremoniously shot the subject of their mission. Blinking at the realization that he’d need to explain that to the pair of them, assuming that the second ETB had been used for M’Ven’s mother, Fisher cleared his throat as he fell in position to the right of Eloi-Danvers, and to the aft of his Diplomatic counterpart.

Tapping the combadge on his chest, Fisher raised the shuttlecraft’s automatic transport system. There was a momentary delay, as he imagined there would be while the computer system finalized lock-on. So, as the phaser that Sam had set to overload continued to whine with increasing pitch, he felt it an opportune moment to appraise them of the situation awaiting them back on the shuttle. “Incidentally... about M’ven....”

Yet before he could elaborate further, the three Officers began to dematerialize in a haze of swirling blue light.

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #36 – January 14, 2021, 09:32:46 PM

[ Jo'reh | Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin (NX-79854/04) | Asteroid Field | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] attn: @Griff @Swift

With her fury equal to the Romulan's, Jo'reh bared her teeth at her with just a glance towards the Torg ships out there.

"Did you not hear me? Leave the outpost behind or you die!" she growled, and she had her bared steel against the woman's neck. With jus a flick of her wrist, the Starfleet woman would be bleeing out on the deck. Her eyes narrowing, she stalled the cold stroke of her weapon merely to lay her accusation unto the officer at the helm. "You shot my child, and your crew murdered his father!"

With another glance towards the Torg ships, she saw how they circled off for another pass against their current trajectory. Time was short, and she would have to master the helm of the Starfleet vessel in short order if she were to kill the Romulan right away...

She did have time for questions, and she asked them after wrapping her fingers around the collar of the woman's uniform - keeping her in place and pulling her firmly against the edge of her weapon. Leaning in, she snarled her queries into her face. "The blonde woman, she tried to fool me, saying you come from some starbase, and I ask to what purpose? For oh, I know of this renegade crew, that defected to your people. In fact, with you being here - a Romulan - I see it now. The Praetor means to use my child for ransom in the war to come! Is that it? Speak!"

The sound of the shuttle's transporter came then, and Jo'reh snarled, wrenching the Romulan woman around so that she had her as a pointy-eared shield between herself and the ones who came aboard. The Torg ships were yet to circle around for the next volley, so Jo'reh had a couple of moments still. She glared at the three figures across the Romulan's shoulder, with her steel firmly pressed against her jugular, and she said her piece. "You lied, Theurgy vermin, you murdered Drex at the Coreless Moon! And you shot my son! I know you mean to deliver us to the Praetor, you traitors! Deny it!"

To the Romulan, she hissed her demand. "Tell your computer to set a course and go to warp. Now!"

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #37 – January 14, 2021, 10:55:20 PM

[PO3 Lillee t’Jellaieu |  Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin (NX-79854/04) | Asteroid Field | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] Attn: @Brutus, @stardust, @Swift

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Lillee's blood boiled at hearing that the Klingon had been lied to. No wonder the filthy bitch had reacted so violently, especially upon seeing a Romulan at the helm. By the Elements, what insanity had happened down on that station!? The cold steel began to cut with a sharp pain into Lillee's throat, a trickle of green blood slipping down her neck and into her uniform. The Klingon's firm grip left Lillee no options, no way to struggle without the blade cutting deep into her throat; she had no weapons, no real training for such a thing, but as frightened as she was, the fear just made fed Lillee's rising fury, a building insatiable desire to disarm the stupid beast and keep punching until there was nothing left to punch.

A new alarm sounded from the console heralding the incoming transport of three signatures. Lillee didn't have time to react before she was spun around in her chair as a living shield, glaring at the away team as they materialised on the transporter pad. They looked like a mess, but Lillee was all out of sympathy, profoundly regretting not leaving sooner when she'd had the chance. Her hands clenched into fists, desperate to start hitting something.

"If we go to warp from here, they will catch us in twenty minutes," Lillee said furiously, her eyes fixed on the away team, praying that they could save her. "We need to break sensor contact, distort our ion trail behind one of these rocks then jump, and the computer can't do that without me." Reacting impulsively, she added "Computer, evasive pattern gamma around the largest asteroids within five thousand kilometers." A relatively simple evasive pattern, one far less effective than how Lillee had been flying so far, but she hoped it was sufficiently different to give the Klingons pause, if only for a few seconds.

"Think, you filthy kling'haan," Lillee began angrily, glaring at Commander Rutherford and hoping that the diplomat could fix the mess they were in. "If we were truly working with the Star Empire, I wouldn't be in a Starfleet uniform, and we wouldn't be in this shuttle. We'd be in a Romulan ship with a cloaking device, already on our way out of here! I know what it is to fear for your babe, but your stupidity is just putting him in more danger!"

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #38 – January 18, 2021, 09:26:42 PM

[ Ens. Faye Lintah Eloi-Danvers | Twisting paths|  Former Durainium Mining Facility] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Griff @stardust @Swift 
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Samantha wasn't the only one making fervent prayers, though Faye's were more of a practical nature and not offered up to any one particular place or deity. At the moment she wanted to get the hell off this rock, in one piece, and preferably without voiding the contents of her stomach. Smashing Ja'rod has been an unfortunate, but necessary action; certainly not a diplomatic solution, but one that had done the need at the time. Faye was fairly certain however that this was the first time she had knowingly killed someone, in the line of duty or otherwise, and really, that wasn't sitting well with her. She was just grateful that, at the time, her mental walls had come slamming down before the rock had done exactly that to the belligerent Klingons, and she had not suffered the mental backwash of feeling their deaths.

Rutherfords worry was bad enough.

Rather than get lost down that rabbit hole, Faye focused on trying to remember the way back out of the cavern in which they had found the potential house scion and his mother. She had a general notion of where they needed to go but the could only hope her memory held out on the specifics. It wasn't as if they had caused a massive riot in the middle of a shopping district and been spun about a few times in the resulting tumult, right?

Oops, she thought, with the ghost of a self-deprecating smile flickering over her features. The fact that the market had all but cleared out, and the distant sounds of fighting still filtered down tugged at her guilt somewhat, but like the blonde, Faye was willing to scamper through swiftly. All the same, as they left it past them, Faye muttered, "Well I think we're out of the frying pan."

Soon ahead of them, Faye felt the tugging of a familiar presence and saw glow bouncing off of the rocks. Like her superior, she held her hands out, and muttered something light hearted about following the light as they rounded the corner. Faye was happy to see the ships Intel Chief, and more so, the pattern enhancers that were sure to secure their release. She felt a bubbly sensation in her boss that soured fast enough for Faye to get a bout of mental whiplash, shutting her mouth with an audible click and taking a step back as Rutherford stepped toward Fisher with an acerbic greeting. Biting her lower lip, Faye answered Fishers smile with a small one of her own, and a considerably less tart greeting of, "Fancy meeting you here."

Deciding that there was far too much to unpack between the two Lieutenant Commanders for one lowly Ensign with a nasty habit of sticking her nose where it didn't belong, Faye instead stuck her head back down the way they came, keeping an eye out for pursuit and wondering if 'mom and dad' were going to need a room to themselves to work things out. Shouting match or something else, she wasn't sure what, but she wasn't sure if she wanted a ring side seat.  A trickle of dread ran down Faye's neck as her boss pulled out a familiar type one cricket phaser and she muttered a soft, "Oh bollocks," under her breath as she scampered into the vibrant triangle of light between the enhancer pylons.

Thankfully, the shuttle craft swept them away just before the ever-increasing whine of a phaser overload gave way to the massive detonation when the devices pre firing chamber passed the last of its tolerances, bathing the entire alcove in an orange white light of pure destruction, leaving no trace of their presence behind, and rather enlarging the small nook into a proper cavern.

[Transporter Pad | Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin]

Blinking her coal black eyes rapidly as the blue white motes of the transporter faded, the junior diplomat found herself looking into what appeared to be negotiations conducted on a razors edge. Or a d'k tahg, as it were. A tad less diplomatic than she should be, considering it was her bosses job to berate the CIO and not hers, Faye nonetheless muttered, "Whatever this is about I'm guessing its your fault," back to the male Lt. Commander. Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to gain a fix on the situation at hand. There was a distressing lack of giant rocks for her to deploy so she wasn't sure how much use she was going to be.

Letting out a low whistle at the outburst from Lillee, Faye raised her hands just a bit. "You might want to listen to her," she suggested, pointing back at the Romulan. "She is way to pissed off at us to come up with a lie right now, and I don't think anyone here want's to be turned to atoms. Which...that ship is probably going to do when they realized I turned Ja'rod into a Klingon pancake. You're welcome for that, by the way," she added, flashing a grin at Jo'reh and trying to keep the contents of lunch in her stomach as she recalled, vividly, the wet splurt and sickening crack of flesh and bone collapsing under a bolder.

"How about you stab everyone else," she flicked a finger back at Rutherford and Fisher, not that she imagined anyone was going to let that happen, "After we get away? Take someone hostage who doesn't have to fly the damn ship? Deal with bruised egos and all later? Hmm?" Swallowing, she dredged up an old Klingon proverb she'd heard used before.

"meQtaHbogh qachDaq Suv qoH neH*. You don't strike me as a fool, Jo'reh, daughter of Torg."

---

OOC: Translation: Only a fool fights in a house that continues to burn.

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #39 – January 19, 2021, 11:24:49 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Former Duranium Mining Facility | Asteroid Fragment | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] attn: @Griff @Swift @Brutus @Auctor Lucan
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The growing crescendo of energy buildup served almost like a musical score to the heightening tension ahead of an uncertain beam out. Even taking the possibility out of the equation that Andrew might’ve made a wrong calculation, or that an asteroid was passing through the transporter beam right that moment, chances of rematerializing at the desired designation and without an arm growing out of one’s head, were entirely unpredictable. So adding to the general discomfort of having one’s atoms pried apart, condensed in a data stream and reassembled upon arrival, came a distinct sense of void in Samantha’s chest, that could only be labeled as moderate anxiety. For all she knew, the Franklin wasn’t event there anymore - nothing but a trail of glimmer in space. Yet the most peculiar sentiment had always been, how a simple thought seemed to transcend through the entire process uninterrupted, as if the conscience traveled on a different trajectory. The blond found herself turning her head, as matter turned into energy, watching Andrew’s face dissolve into a flurry of glowing snow, like an energy blizzard, only to moment’s later find it still attached to the same fit body as they came back into existence on the shuttle’s transporter pad. The only thing left behind in the void of space being the anxiety, as if filtered from the pattern buffer upon arrival.

Blue ponds drifting to the scene unfolding, just as they came back to sentience, thought and emotions reuniting with their physical presence, the diplomat was honestly unmotivated to even say anything, at first. Parting her plush lips, however, as Faye started to speak, the blonde gave her subordinate a small side-glance, letting the situation unfold. She had no game in the continued survival of either of the two, currently enamored in a tight embrace, as neither was essentially relevant to the success of their mission. Though escaping would’ve been a good bit harder without the plucky pilot. Noting the ensign’s well-placed Klingon cliché with a covertly impressed nod, she however had no intention to wait out a potential merit dawning on the scraggly woman’s feeble mind.

“No one’s going to get stabbed … we’ll need to work together if we want to get out of here. Listen to the Romulan, for once.” The commander stated plainly, stepping off the transporter PADD and calmly making her way in a safe circle around the hostage situation, towards the operations console at the front. Taking quick stock of the situation, she devised a potential solution on the fly, that not only benefitted the lot of them, but also warranted everyone’s cooperation. And who better suited to elicit such communal spirit? Probably just about anyone …

“Keep that thought, will you?” she motioned toward Jo’reh, making a gentle downward motion with her flat hand, while using her other to pull up communications and setting a narrowed field for the video receptors. “Tell them you got the shuttle under control, Ja'rods murderers in check, but that you need reinforcements. Tell them to beam a squad over.” Feeling the general rise in tension, making the silky hairs in the back of her neck stand up, the diplomat quickly moved to the totality of her grand ploy. “Commander, take tactical, as soon as they drop their shields I expect you to take out their engines.” she suggested to Fisher in a fashion that was only short of an order by the vestiges of care for him, recently ever present on her dainty features. “Ensign, I hope your skills with the bat-leth were not overstated, and that we can take care of any potential commandos that make it over?” she raised towards the Betazoid, potentially alluding to a skill she didn’t have, yet with added reassurance. "It's time for some tough diplomacy." Letting her eyes trail back to Jo’reh with an expectant raise of thin brows, delicate digits hovered mere millimeters over the button that would lower shields and initiate a communication link with the Klingon ship, Jo'reh in the sole focus. And it was that determination, that wiped away all doubt and worry. That outward calm and steadiness, that sold a scheme.

“I suppose you stand with us?! A death best shared, and all that stuff.”

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #40 – January 25, 2021, 05:46:59 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Fore Compartment | Type-11 Shuttlecraft | Rosalind Franklin ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Brutus @Griff @stardust

Fisher had been very much aware of the fact that there would be consequences rendered for having rather unceremoniously shot the grandchild of the Klingon High Chancellor, and that he’d likely start facing them the moment he returned aboard the shuttlecraft. It was easy to imagine that Jo’reh would want satisfaction for the state in which she would find her son, just as any loving mother would, and upon having found Rutherford and Eloi-Danvers without said mother in their midst, he had accordingly surmised that she had already been transported ahead of them. It meant they were probably about to materialize in the middle of a rather chaotic situation, as he doubted the Klingon woman would react with any notion of temperance. For most people, the sum of the whole of it would have elicited a modicum of worry and concern, but the veteran spy found himself surprisingly calm and collected. Even as the world before his green-eyes began to transition at the behest of an all-enveloping blue shimmering light, only to be greeted by the sight of a knife held to the throat of their pilot companion, Fisher could only register a slightly sarcastic nod of acknowledgement.

“Yeah. This seems about right.”

Of course he had half a mind to bring his compression rifle to bear and allow the mother a chance to share in her son’s unconsciousness, and he was in fact more than willing to bet that he’d turn her off like a light switch well before she could’ve actually caused any serious harm to poor Lillee. Appropriately, Faye offered an ‘analysis’ which rightfully painted him as the reason for this mess and were it not for the moderately dire circumstances he might have in turn fired back a snarky retort about how she and her superior had in fact instigated things before he made them worse. Instead, he let the Ensign make an attempt at trying to resolve this without the need for added violence, at least temporarily so. It was a somewhat impressive plea, punctuated by the equally impressive use of naturally spoken Klingonese, which he imagined she had come across and memorized during her diplomatic studies back at the Academy; maybe even she’d read it out of the little book of Klingon proverbs. That, or she’d simply strung together a mess of semi-coherent words into a platitude about battles fought and won. Either way, he saw how she was hoping to appeal to the enraged woman’s warrior sense.

Glaring at Jo’reh, Fisher was willing to afford her a few seconds to mull Faye’s words over before he would act drastically to end the stand-off.

However, Rutherford seemed far less inclined to let the situation linger on any longer, which was probably rather prudent given the encroaching Klingon warship which threatened them and their relatively little shuttlecraft. Her movements were bold, and in fact caught him by surprise, but he immediately caught onto the confident and entirely pragmatic display she was making. It was clear that if they were going to survive this, then Jo’reh would indeed need to delay her need for satisfaction. After all, her life and more importantly the life of her son depended on it. At the same time, the diplomatically minded Commander had also seen how the enraged mother could in fact be of use toward the resolution their impeding doom. ‘Clever’ he thought to himself as he listened to the instructions being imparted, and when he heard his call come in, without hesitation he slung the rifle over his shoulder and stepped over to the tactical console. “Let’s see. It’s an older D11 class bird of prey. I should be able to temporarily render them as little more than adrift flotsam with one-or-two well-placed torpedoes.” Fisher’s days spent aboard the Diamondback, patrolling the Klingon border were suddenly coming in handy as he punched targeting commands into the computer.

“Weapons ready, Commander.” Peering out of his peripheral vision at Jo’reh, he could feel a twinge of adrenaline ready to spike if she so much as twitched in a matter he deemed unacceptable, the motor neurons in him poised to bring the phaser up and fire into her face if necessary. His mind instinctively began plotting out the steps he would need to immediately take after such an occurrence.

Regardless, he was sincerely hoping Jo’reh wouldn’t force his hand.

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #41 – January 31, 2021, 04:54:15 PM

[ Jo'reh | Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin (NX-79854/04) | Asteroid Field | Epsilon Monocerotis System ]
The three arriving Starfleet officers spoke in turn, and neither of them denied Jo'reh's accusations. None even offered any explanations as to why they had a vested interest in her son's survival. What did they care of Drex's son?

The one who called herself Samantha had claimed they'd learned about their flight and her hiding from her House, citing some vapid Federation solidarity towards their plight. Ja'rod however, despite his sordid intentions, seemed instead to have spoken the truth, and in the end, she couldn't quite fit the pieces together. She narrowed her eyes at them, not about to surrender her leverage without trying to gauge her odds. More importantly, the odds of her child's survival.

There was... something that irked her, while the shuttle preformed its automated manoeuvre, and it was related to how Ja'rod hadn't lied about these officers being from the Theurgy - a ship's name she knew well from the death of Drex. A murder at the Coreless Moon, which had sent the High Chancellor into the Azure Nebula to seek vengeance. After that, songs had been spreading about a glorious battle against the Borg Queen and an invasion halted, yet there seemed to be doubts about that even happening when speaking to non-Klingons. Not a word about the Theurgy's fate, however, as far as she recalled.

That was, if she were to discount what she had heard the night before. A drunkard on the outpost, talking about House Mo'Kai. How someone named Gorka, son of Margon, claimed Martok had been hiding the Theurgy from the Federation. She had dismissed it immediately, for why would he have aided the crew that had his last living son slain?

Yet.. what was it that Samantha had said, before Ja'rod died?

"The lies you sent to Chu'vok, to trick Martok like a petulant Ferengi, to gain this woman's grace ... oh what blithe theatrics!"

A halfway admission? While confirming that Ja'rod had arranged for Starfleet to come to the outpost, why would she have mentioned the Chancellor by name? If Ja'rod had told the truth about where these Starfleeters hailed from, did that mean Martok actually stood with the Theurgy? Why so, if they had killed Drex? It made little sense, but coming from the blonde female, it was the sole thing that rhymed with Ja'rod's claim. That could, potentially, mean that it was Martok whom had sent Starfleet officers to extract them, and Ja'rod had just meant to win her trust by serving Theurgy officers on a platter.

Grinding her teeth, cursing how she couldn't even trust their word if she asked them if Martok had sent them - since they ought to have said so to begin with - all Jo'reh knew was that the blonde had lied to get what she wanted and omitted the real reason they had come, and that her child had been shot when coming aboard the shuttle. The ploy they now suggested, wherein the Torg ship would lower its shields, was of great merit, and would benefit her regardless where she stood with these lying vermin that had come for her.

"If Martok actually sent you here, as little as it makes sense..." she said, her cutting glare flashing towards the moronic woman whom had not told the truth, "then they will learn how you chose to approach me and my son." She then looked towards the others, including them all, the male in particular. "Moreover, they will learn what Theurgy officers do towards the grandchildren of their allies. You will pay for your conduct today, you petaQ."

Prompted to speak with the Torg shuttle she did so, after violently pushing the Romulan into her seat and removing the blade from her throat. "This is Jo'reh, I am aboard the shuttle designated 'Franklin'," she stated over the comm channel, "Ja'rod spoke the truth. They are from the Theurgy, and I have them holed up in the aft compartments. They are keeping the heir of House Martok hostage back there. I need help. Beam aboard and aid me in killing those who murdered Drex and Ja'rod both."

The die was cast, and Jo'reh headed straight to her child's side in order to protect him, leaving the bridge, and indeed...

...while there was no reply from the Torg ship, its shields lowered, and the next couple of seconds the outcome of the battle rested on the abilities of the lying Starfleet vermin. Jo'reh would deal with any survivors that might make it back to where M'ven rested.

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #42 – February 03, 2021, 05:18:44 PM

[PO3 Lillee t’Jellaieu |  Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin (NX-79854/04) | Asteroid Field | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] Attn: @Brutus, @stardust, @Swift

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More furious than anything, Lillee tolerated it all as the nick in her neck bled, a streak of green blood trailing down into her uniform. It was a sharp and irritating pain, but Lillee was forced to just stand there, helpless and hating every second of it.

Finally the officers worked out a solution, the Klingon shoving Lillee unceremoniously back into her chair. Swallowing the profound desire to grab the Klingon's head and smash it repeatedly into the console, Lillee sat herself down properly and worked her console, conscious that Fisher was ready on weapons. They were absolutely screwed if the Klingons got aboard, but there was nothing Lillee could do about that. Instead, she worked the thrusters, rotating the shuttle gradually towards the Klingon bird-of-prey in what she hoped would look like an innocent maneuver, giving Fisher his firing arc. It was rare for Federation shuttles to be armed with micro-torpedoes, so maybe they wouldn't suspect...maybe they hadn't noticed...

Lillee glanced back as Jo'reh left the bridge, swearing inwardly as she watched the Klingon go. Nevertheless, Lillee focused on her controls, calculating the course they'd need to get out of the asteroid field and jump to warp, then glanced at Fisher.

"Escape course plotted," she reported, "target in sight. If we don't knock out their warp drive before they raise their shields, though, they'll catch us long before we can rendezvous with the Theurgy."

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #43 – February 07, 2021, 10:43:10 AM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Fore Compartment | Type-11 Shuttlecraft | Rosalind Franklin ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Brutus @Griff @stardust

A sense of genuine surprise overtook Fisher as the agitated Klingon had come to an apparent understanding of her scenario, seemingly having worked the math of it all in her head over the course of a just a few concise seconds. Points in her favor Fisher thought as he felt a modicum of relief over the fact that he likely would not need stun yet another member of the Klingon High Chancellor’s family. He in fact imagined he had quite a bit of explaining to do already with that regard, so it was better to keep the requisite comeuppance as minimal as possible. Still, that wasn’t to say that he had so completely dropped his guard, as out of the corner of his green-eyes he kept a vigilant watch over Jo’reh, indeed ready to snatch up his rifle from where he had settled it nearby, if necessary. Yet with the knife lowered from Lillee’s neck, and Jo’reh’s testament made in accordance with the ploy that his fellow Commander had hoped to enact, albeit an exceedingly begrudging one, Fisher knew he could at least count on the fact that the Klingon was acting with the best interests of her son in mind. Even as she strode past him, after having aggressively threatened to pursue punitive action against himself and Rutherford, Fisher found himself moderately comfortable with the outcome that was unfolding before them.

Was this really a win?

“Never you worry, Miss t’Jellaieu, I’m just as good a shot with torpedoes as I am with that rifle.” His hands danced across the console in a well-choreographed manner as he punched up a targeted flight path for each of his shots, accounting for the way the Rosalind Franklin, D-11 Bird of Prey, and surrounding asteroids were moving with regard to one another. “Locked. We just need their shields to drop... and...” the very instant the sensors detected a decrease in power being fed to their enemy’s shield systems, a signal that they were about to drop, Fisher’s finger depressed against the LCARS input which triggered the starboard-side torpedo launcher. Immediately, three micro-photon torpedoes were fired in successive shots, as while he had ensured two would have sufficed, he knew that one extra for good measure wouldn’t hurt. At least, it wouldn’t hurt them. “Torpedoes away! Surging our shields back up!” letting his programming guide the torpedoes unto their target, the spy worked with haste to ensure that any window within which the Klingons could have beamed someone aboard the shuttle was a rapidly closing one. In fact, he had timed it out so well, that the shields had re-flared to life the very moment that the last of the three ruby-red glowing orbs had cleared the launcher, streaking off toward their target as it was closing in on them. Blinking on the screen in front of him, the computer sensors had indeed picked up a failed attempt to beam a party of Klingons over to the shuttle, having just missed their chance by a matter of seconds.

“That’ll do it, Commander!” he exclaimed, confident that his shots would strike true, and as he turned back to her, he caught out of the corner of his eyes a trio of flashes at the stern of the Bird of Prey as it had been barreling toward them from their own starboard side. The computer chirped loudly to confirm the impact of all three torpedoes, and that the enemy ship had been stricken as little more than adrift. The targeted weakness he had exploited was an old design defect of the D-11, wherein the hull-plating just beneath the engineering bay was found to be surprisingly thin, and prone to wear and tear. Alarak, Fisher’s contact within the Tal-Shiar had keyed him in on the details of said design flaw as something of a gesture of good will, back when the two had first met during the short-lived Klingon Federation war. Fisher of course relayed this information onto Starfleet Intelligence, and in turn had caused more than a few of those particular Klingon Birds of Prey to suffer damage to their engine cores. The first torpedo would break away the hull-plating, the second would penetrate and damage the engine core beyond, and the third would only make matters worse by potentially causing casualties to any personnel within the general vicinity of the Engineering section. Almost immediately the enemy ship began careening off course, damage wrought more than had been expected and accounted for by whoever had been at the conn, and it didn’t take long for it to slam dorsal-side into one of the stray planetary fragments.

Without operative shields, and at the speed it had been moving in order to intercept the Rosalind Franklin, the Bird of Prey’s back was soon crunched through and broken. Not necessarily destroyed outright, it had sustained a heavy amount of damage, and if they in the shuttle were so inclined, could have been dispatched with little additional effort, but then again that wasn’t their mission, so Fisher did not attempt to pile on.

“They’re down for the count. I suggest we go before they call for help.” He added as new sensor readings flashed across his screen, confirming what his eyes already had.

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #44 – February 07, 2021, 09:37:43 PM

[ Ens. Faye Lintah Eloi-Danvers | On the run |  Shuttlecraft Rosiland Franklin ] Attn: @stardust @Auctor Lucan @Griff @Swift  
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The group sprung into action as if collectively voting to ignore Jo'reh and do what needed to be done. If it wasn't for being able to sense the emotional turmoil of her colleagues Faye might have thought rather poorly of them, but eventually the Klingon matron released Lillee, dumping her back into her chair. One less thing to worry about at least. She didn't much trust the Klingon woman, but then, the Klingon had precious little reason to trust them in turn. Sighing heavily under her breath, Faye scooted out of the way, to let the mother go to her son. She wasn't going to stand between the woman and her child. That was a recipe for disaster.

Also a disaster in the making,  the thought of Faye with a Bat'leth. She managed not to flash a look of pure  incredulity at her boss, even if she was thinking, very hard, who are you fucking kidding? She doubted anyone in the room though she could properly wield one of the curved blades. Then again - she had squashed the opposition earlier in the old mining outpost. Again, the resounding smack of flesh and rock filled Faye's ears, the memory of it never far from her at this point, and a bit of color drained out of her face. The further removed from the immediacy of the act she became, the more disturbed by her own choices she felt. 

Staring down the barrel of ship mounted Klingon Disruptors was neither the time nor the place for some reminessance however and so she pushed past to the same weapons locker that Fisher had acquired his own phaser rifel from. As the intel chief worked the tactical station and the D-11 gained some ground, Faye responded to her superior. "I can hold my own," she lied, "but given my choice I'd much rather shoot any intruders than let them get close enough for me to have to do things the hard way. Smarter, not harder, Commander." That was truth, well enough, and she racked one of the rifles before tossing a second to Samantha, and hoping the blonde caught it. Dropping the thing would totally ruin the effect, and as much as she'd rather settle this without blood shed she wanted to be prepared if she had to do things in a less diplomatic and more primitive fashion.

Besides, the more fo them that were armed the less the chance that Jo'reh decide she could start stabbing the team again at a moments notice. 

All that aside, Faye was still a Starfleet officer, and thus while it was set to a heavy stun, she still ensured that the phaser rifle from the shuttles stores was on stun, and not kill. She had more than enough blood on her hands today, and didn't intend to add more if she could help it. Setting up with her back braced against one of the bulkheads, she waited for the tell tale sound of a transporter beam effect to materialize. Their shields were down, and she felt the tension of the rest of the shuttles occupants. Mistrust rolling off Jo'reh. Anger bubbling under the surface of Lillee's psyche. Calm calculations mixed with genuine worry from Fisher.  And her boss? Well..she could spend an hour trying to describe that quagmire. 

In the end, it all happened faster than Faye thought it would. The ship came about. There was an announcement that its shields were down. Lt. Commander Fisher was firing. She saw, out of the corner of her eyes, the trio of micro torpedos hit. Explosions slammed into the bird of prey, and soon it was a wreck in space. Or near enough for all that mattered to Faye. She was keyed up to the point that the phaser rifle shook slightly in her hands. Where was the boarding party?

But no one materialized. It was all rather anticlimactic. Turning away, she reached over to one of the aux stations and punched up a series of readings. Frowning, she then blanched a bit and swallowed back the taste of bile. "For the record, they did try to beam over. But the shields snapped into place before the rematerialization process could truly begin.".

On a Starfleet vessel, such an occasion would not necessarily be instantly fatal. A Starfleet transporter would pull the pattern back and rematerialize the travelers on the pad they started out from. Assuming of course, the system was still working when the signal got bounced back. If say, the ship got struck with a trio of micro-torpedoes during that beam over....well then it was anyone's guess as to the status of the transporters. This of course did not account for whatever precautions a Klingon vessel came equipped with. Especially one as old as the D-11 type bird of prey.

Turning back to Lillee, the Betazoid let out a sharp huff and gestured at the controls, keeping her barrel pointed down at the deck. "I second that suggestion. Let's go go go."

Re: CH02: S [D02|1500] An Unknown Grandson?

Reply #45 – February 16, 2021, 10:08:21 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Former Duranium Mining Facility | Asteroid Fragment | Epsilon Monocerotis System ] attn: @Griff @Swift @Brutus @Auctor Lucan
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A moment of contemplation and quiet descended upon the small group of astronauts in their little spaceship, like the calm before a storm. The gentle hum of the engines, the periodic jingles of the instruments - hard at work following their assailant around, acting as sort of a baseline to the evanescent silence. Standing firm through every second of it, dragging on like the expanding universe, Samantha focused on her confident attachment to a favorable outcome. A sentiment born from desperation, sure, but manifesting itself as the most adamant persuasion possible. One so powerful it deluded the most firm of minds. This WAS going to work, she was entirely sure of it. A conviction that was easy to convey, even to those around her, when the only other possible outcome was an end to their very existence. So, what else really was there?

As the silence finally did break, the diplomat resisted the very politically incorrect notion of rolling her eyes at the Klingon woman, though with only moderate effect. Returning to the console, drawing in a large gulp of conditioned air, she shook her head once … a mere twitch. “Did not say Martok sent us, neither did I lie about being from Theurgy.” she muttered under her breath, but making sure whatever level of acoustic perceptiveness the warrior race employed, that Jo’reh could hear her. She had said that Martok was the original recipient of Ja’rod’s trap transmission, which they intercepted, and that she was stationed on Starbase 133, which officially she still was. Yet no one seemed to appreciate the fine nuances of the truth anymore, even when it got wielded with the same finesse as a well sharpened Bat’leth.

Intentionally, the com-channel opened so quickly that no one could question her views on the matter, which was just another diplomatic ploy to sway the high ground in her favor - and almost compulsory so. Jo’reh delivered a magnificent performance, her anger so believable, as if it came from an actual, genuine offense. Sure, she could’ve done without the added slander, in the end, but not much was to be said about Theurgy’s reputation anyways. So surely that one reiteration of tired tropes did not hurt as much. Watching the woman retreat into the back compartment, however, Sam could not deny the understanding she felt for a mother’s protectiveness. Although not one herself, maybe it was a sensibility ingrained in any woman’s genes, by evolutionary design.

Lillee reported her evasive readiness just as Andrew established target lock and lowered the shields into a standby position to feign compliance with Jo’reh’s show. Turning back towards the front of the cockpit, watching the large reticule zero in on the holographic representation of the Bird of Prey, amidst the glowing blue asteroid wireframes, the blondes brows furrowed for a moment of anticipation, hoping they could really forego the whole mortal combat thing. And when the confirmation came, that torpedos were away, she piled upon the Klingon ship's hull the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by her whole experiences since coming to Theurgy; since joining Starfleet, even; and as if her chest had been a mortar, she burst her own heart's shell upon it, alongside the red hot blazes of glory.

The shields came up with an enigmatic pitch, just as the shuttle swerved around to give a passing view of the fireworks. And even though the ensuing damage, caused by the asteroid collision, was unforeseen, it luckily did not cause the ship to explode. There was something to be said about living freely when one didn’t have any reputation to lose, yet there was also unnecessary hindrance in rectifying such false perception. With that in mind, Sam briefly let her fingers fly over the Ops station’s sensor window, making sure the Klingons had enough life support to start repairs, or at the very least limp to the outpost for help. Whether they would’ve rather died, than accepting that dishonor, was entirely up to them at this point.

“Take us back to Theurgy.” she nodded at Lillee, erecting herself from the right side position, patting the backrest of the Petty Officer’s chair, while making her own way back to the science station, beckoning Faye to take her designated seat once more. Everyone had acted perfectly during this whole mission, minor missteps aside, that she would simply put down as everyone’s individual interpretations of ‘the rules’, in her report. When, in the end, exactly these proclivities had resulted in them working so well together, complementing each other. Lillee’s firecracker attitude that had kept the shuttle up and running, Faye’s impromptu judgment by gravity, that terminated a situation which would’ve otherwise taken longer to defuse than Lillee’s talent would’ve held out. And, of course, the Spymaster General’s penchant for treating every encounter like a Tom Clancy novel, who had provided the single way out of a precarious situation. No matter how the blonde disagreed with almost each and everyone’s approach, not even her Vulcan side could deny the mutual benefit of them working together. And that was high praise for everyone involved.

Pulling up the internal sensors for the back compartment, the commander already started a preliminary in-depth bio scan for the child. As much as the shuttle’s systems and her own basic academy knowledge of medicine permitted. Luckily a DNA match was not exactly rocket science, with the help of the computer.  And the results were both relieving and foreboding … difficulty decisions would still need to be made. Hopefully though, they wouldn’t be hers.

FIN

*credit to Herman Melville for his inspiration on one paragraph :3