Re: Chapter 03: Supplemental [ Day 06 | 0920 hrs. ] Angels and Bloodwings
Reply #1 –
[ Lt. JG Alessia "Angel" Garcia | Fighter Assault Bay | Briefing Room | USS Theurgy]
@Griff
The briefing was as formal as she could have expected, but it was reconnecting with her former squadmates that really mattered to Angel, despite the logic of their mission, versus the needs of the few pilots against the one Wolf-10. Still. Scylla and Iceman were as happy to see her as she them, with Wraith, Blizzard, Meerkat and Scylla there. She stifled the inner party-girl in her who would have giddily taken a selfie holophoto as a trophy for her future, or a photo for her own equivalent of a tombstone, per fighter pilot taboo-tradition.
She didn't even get the opportunity. Vinny fainted on the way to the meeting chasing after her, and was sent back to sickbay on a stretcher to preserve transporter energy. It was like being on an NX during the Romulan War, and she had a family history there with logs to compare to. Like her great-great-great grandmother before her, Alessia Garcia had a job to do in the name of Starfleet and her homeworld. If it meant piloting Sekhmet into the enemy's heart to destroy them both, to Angel, it was only a question of when could she launch.
With her brief but heartfelt log sent to Razor, and having no time or patience to visit Vinny in sickbay -again-, Alessia turned her attention to her other machine-for-a-purpose (or so she joked to her RIO), the Sekhmet. Previously dubbed Stormraven, She had a change in heart to forget about Dev Okhala, who'd helped her christen Orcus's now-no-longer only surviving Valravn. What those Klingon bastards destroyed, their new allies would avenge. Angel took that very much to heart.
So much so, she spent the next several minutes taking repairs into her own hands when she noticed no one was working on her fighter. Turning as aflush with passion as the moment afforded, she blurt out a string of cursewords that translated an amalgam of English, Spanish, Klingon, Romulan and even some zingers even Denobulans might have taken objection to as she realized that if she'd launched, the EPS couplings could have backfired. <IS there NO one With the GALL to DOUBLE-check the safeties? I mean, REALLY?> Came the rough translation.
Even in her form-fitting exosuit, Angel did'nt care if she was on her back cutting into her own fighter until she'd had enough reassurance the blazed thing wouldn't overheat its occupants. Having a shuttle mechanic for a father gave her the right know-how to let her pass Starfleet's engineering courses, but she lived for driving machines to their limits, not having to clean up after them herself. Then again, it was the same with children, she figured jokingly: Give em love & Treat em well, just make someone else deal with the crap."
Around the time she slid her maintenance dolley toward repairing an EPS junction, her tricorder blipped oddly, indicating a power spike. Oh shit. Indiscrimenantly, Angel whistled. "I've got a power spike! If I don't defuse it here and now, the EPS manifold could spill here." Now was not exactly the time to ask who was the last person to have double-checked the precise area where Klingon disruptor fire hit her interceptor and not noticed the auxiliary EPS junction had also suffered a buildup of redundant but siphoning energy. Ever calm under fire, Angel tiptoed away from the danger zone until the tricorder's readings responded in kind. It was here now where she realized no blame game would save her from overtaxing her fighter to this extent, but she'd argue, if this was her last moment, that this could've happened to anyone. Fortunately, she wasn't alone. She thanked whoever she'd otherwise argue with for granting her such a piercing whistle.