Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

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Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

December 20, 2024, 02:11:04 AM

ATTN: All Active Writers

While not quite spectacular enough to have androids sing about it, the wee cael pulex was nonetheless poised in the perfect spot to witness the upcoming battle. It hadn’t intended on being in such a position; in faction, the cael pulex has such a small brain it is debated whether it has the capacity to intend anything beyond the necessary functions to exist (that of eating, defecating, and reproduction). However poised it was, and poised it would remain. Unless, of course, it managed to find its way into the path of weapons fire traded between the Romulans, Klingons, and Federation ships (not that it could recognize these races or even grasp the danger it was in by remaining in this area of space).

Thus, while Admiral Vrotait, aboard a D'deridex class Romulan vessel, communicated battle plans with General Nacur on one of the Valdore class ships, and Commander Toldar on a D-7 class ship, the cael pulex drifted into a bit of “space dust” and began munching away at some delectables found within the collection. Chewing on its dinner, the cael pulex couldn’t be bothered by the quick action of Major Lelan as she led the first squadron of Romulan Stalker fighters against their enemies. Neither could it be bothered when Sublieutenant Havat challenged Sublieutenant Dahee to see who could kill the most Klingons in the onslaught.

The minuscule cael pulax, so small that only specialists with special instruments could even detect it, continued to care not a whit for the comings and goings of the big creatures and their vessels when General Eklom, onboard a Vor’cha class Klingon vessel, issued commands to Brigadier Ujal on a Negh’Var class ship, who then relayed the commands to Captains Nevi and Gokless, commanding K’t’inga and D-5 class ships respectively. The only time the cael pulax “flinched” in all this was when Commander Bulak, on board a Raptor class, moved his ship close to the cluster of space dust the cael pulax presently called its dining room, positioning the Klingon ship in such a way that Lieutenants Eklish, Otaq, and Pungol, flying Phantom Raiders, could respond directly against the Romulan Stalker fighters.

Thankfully, it was not enough of a disturbance to the cael pulax that it felt the need to move on to another bit of space dust. It remained content, albeit on the front lines of mayhem, unaware of how this battle was the result of an Infested Romulan Praetor sending her forces after her political rival and her rival’s (potentially temporary) allies. Hadn’t been able to comprehend the initial communications of threats and bluffs between the Praetor’s forces and her rivals when they’d finally come together, and neither had it understood the ramifications of the Federation vessel inserting itself between these two groups or noted how the third group (Klingons) attempted to flank both groups of Romulans. When first strikes occurred, from cloaked ships among both sets of Romulans and Klingons, the cael pulax again hadn’t noticed or cared.

While the vacuum of space around it began to fill with the debris of broken vessels and maimed bodies of those unlucky enough to be aboard the broken vessels, the cael pulax enjoyed its dinner and relished its tiny existence.

GM Notes: This will be the main thread for the intro to the battle beginning, and everyone on the Erudite, Ranger, and Helmet should post at least one time to establish where they're going/doing in the subsequent battle. Understand, there are more ships (of various classes) than those named here, so in the main two objectives (take out Romulan fighters, take out Tal'aura's forces), have fun with what/who you want to name from among the enemy/ally forces.

We encourage you to do other smaller threads of your choice/interest and so encourage you to recruit writers to fit with the objective you wish to address (threads move more quickly with groups of 3-6). These objectives can/should take place in separate threads as Supplementals. More than one supplemental can address an objective if the writers are focusing on the objective from a different perspective.

UNDERSTAND YOU'LL NEED TO CHECK IN ON ALL THE SUPPLEMENTALS TO MAKE SURE YOU AREN'T DOUBLE DIPPING ON SOME ACTION OR SCREWING WITH DECISIONS MADE IN OTHER THREADS.

There should be the occasional post from a member of these supplementals back in this main battle thread to recap/update major decisions and such in-character ((as in they're reporting to Stark/Cross what they're doing and accomplishing)) as this will help us keep on the same page and track major battle moments without having to note all the details in one place. After the GM notes the return of the Apache and Allegiant in this main thread, the writers in these chapters should likewise make a post of where their characters are and what they're doing before going off to do supplemental threads.

Once the supplemental threads are brought to a close, the battle will be officially finished in this main thread, and all writers are then encouraged to write a final response to the battle ending before the GM FINs this thread.

Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Reply #1 – January 10, 2025, 10:53:55 AM

ALL ACTIVE WRITERS: @Brutus @Nolan @Havenborn @chXinya @ob2lander961 @Dumedion @rae @Eirual @Griff @tongieboi @Stegro88 @Tae @AbsintheDeux @Sqweloookle @Hans Applegate @RyeTanker @Dree @Galaxymind @Number6 @joshs1000 @Krajin @Pierce @Relatively Insane @Nesota Kynnovan @P.C. Haring @JacenSoloDjo @Eden @TWilkins @SomeBunny @Ellen Fitz

[Triangle Space]

Sometime after the commencement of the battle, at the turning of the tide...

In the ancient Terran Greek plays, they called the phenomenon “deus ex machina,” where a seemingly impossible situation was remedied by seemingly implausible variables. Legendary Starfleet captains of old, and even peers to Captain Ives in the present day, could all testify to having been on the receiving end of such an occurrence once or twice (how else has the Federation continued to endure if not for a friendly push from the occasional deus ex machina?).

Of course, these same captains and the Federation itself had far more often been the victims of “diabolus ex machina,” or the unexpected worsening of a situation (often already terrible enough). In this instance, as Theurgy’s crew faced off on one (or could it be two) fronts with weakened ships and discord among their allies, should an old foe like the Borg show up, that would assuredly be seen as diabolus ex machina. And, in the opposite corner, the sudden arrival of two ships (in this case, the Allegiant and the Apache) at just the right time to fend off what could have been a killing blow to the Ranger or to Chancellor Martok’s fleet ship, would be classified as deus ex machina.

Lucky for the continuation of the Federation and Theurgy’s fight against the Infested threat against it, the latter occurred and NOT the former. Granted, no one on any of the ships had the quiet of mind to think of such literary devices. They were too busy manning their stations in the desperate attempt to stay alive. Perhaps later, when the proverbial dust settled, one or two ivory tower minded would wax eloquent over a glass of Romulan ale.

GM Notes: This opens up the battle thread for the writers of the Apache and Allegiant. Understand that they arrive after the battle has begun so in the supplemental threads, and also this one, you should depict that accordingly (i.e., Hirek arriving on the Allegiant would note the destroyed ships already littering the area as well as responding to arriving in the middle of a battle vs. Enyd, already on the Helmet, would be from the perspective of seeing the battle start).

UNDERSTAND YOU'LL NEED TO CHECK IN ON ALL THE SUPPLEMENTALS TO MAKE SURE YOU AREN'T DOUBLE DIPPING ON SOME ACTION OR SCREWING WITH DECISIONS MADE IN OTHER THREADS.

There should be the occasional post from a member of these supplementals back in this main battle thread to recap/update major decisions and such in-character ((as in they're reporting to Stark/Cross what they're doing and accomplishing)) as this will help us keep on the same page and track major battle moments without having to note all the details in one place. Once the supplemental threads are brought to a close, the battle will be officially finished in this main thread, and all writers are then encouraged to write a final response to the battle ending before the GM FINs this thread.

Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Reply #2 – January 14, 2025, 02:26:51 PM

[ Sylvain Llewellyn-Kth | Bridge Access Corridor | Deck One | Vector One | USS Theurgy ]
[Show/Hide]

Lurching violently to the side, a shallow gasp pushing out through his lips, Sylvain braced himself against the edge of the turbolift, a wince harshly playing on his features. They’d known that the battle was coming; he’d known that the battle was coming. Yet no amount of preparation could have braced the Ensign for how sudden and violent that first impact would be, how quickly a red alert could turn into an overloading conduit, how difficult something as simple as walking out of a turbolift could become… This was no skirmish with Talarian fringe elements, scrapping over a few tonnes of stolen food, it was the full might of a Romulan assault force, fighting to ensure the end of the galaxy.

And he had just been commanded, for the first time, to take the CONN.

He’d received the summons only a few moments before the battle had erupted around them, the ship’s computer, Thea, informing him that he was needed on the Bridge immediately. It seemed that their relief pilot was currently manning the CONN, a Caitian who mostly operated the graveyard shift, and since both of the Assistant Chiefs responsible for the helm were otherwise indisposed, it was suddenly Sylvain’s responsibility to take control. It was his job, he supposed… But given that he’d never even been on the Theurgy’s bridge before, much less flown it, nor any ship of equivalent size, and that he hadn’t even seen a battle of this magnitude, not outside of an Academy simulation, he couldn’t help but feel that the terror he was feeling at the prospect was at least somewhat justified.

As inappropriate a thought as it was, Sylvain was sincerely hoping that this officer Sh'ow was actually just a terrible pilot, and that that was the source of the increasingly violent jolts that kept threatening to throw the Ensign off of his feet. If not, Sylvain was about to walk into a nightmare.

It had been barely five hours since he’d stepped off of the Erudite, leaving that particular miasma of anxiety behind him, with Cora’s PDA and the egregious amount of classified, and stolen, Savi data it held, secreted within his pack, and now he had stepped into yet another maelstrom of violence. He’d not had a chance to stop. He had returned to his quarters no longer than a moment before the communication came that all hands were needed to assist with repairs, giving him all of enough time to stow his belongings and the unfortunate Moopsy refugee he’d found himself in the care of, before he was back out the door once again. His engineering skills were somewhat lacking, and truth be told, he probably ended up as more of a hindrance than a help... He wasn’t an engineer, he didn’t know the crew, nor did the crew know him, and three hours of people referring to him ‘Red’, ‘Trill’ and ‘Spots’, left right and centre, had left him with a headache and a rather thin line of patience…

And now he was heading to the bridge, to pilot a vessel he’d never piloted before, in a battle with higher stakes than anything he'd faced before…

Despite his best efforts not to waste time staring out of the viewing ports as he’d commenced his mad scramble towards the turbolift, he’d seen enough of their surroundings to know that what he was about to engage in, was far bigger than anything that the Bowman had taught him… He was wracked with terror; fear, panic, doubt in his own abilities; he was about to have an entire vessel’s worth of lives on his shoulders, and he didn’t even know who he was serving on the bridge… It was a cacophony of emotions billowing through his mind, yet still, he persisted; doing things he’d never done before had been a theme of the past few days.

As he staggered off of the turbolift, head flailing in the unfamiliar corridors to gauge the correct direction, his consciousness did its best to fight off the invasive imaginings of fire and death that plagued his mind, thoughts that he tried desperately hard to interpret as a symptom of idle pessimism, rather than anything precognitive in nature. He could feel phantom heat upon his skin, the sensation of flames burning up his arms… Or perhaps it was just the side-effect of him having broken into a near sprint down the bridge access corridor as the sound of chaos rained in from every direction… It was hard to say either way, but it didn’t change much. He’d pilot their vessel regardless.

If he’d survived the events at the Hobus Star, he could certainly manage a few Romulans…

After all, he’d been roped into inter-species espionage, flown a shuttle across a battlefield in the wake of a high yield energy lance, flown said shuttle into a shield breach the size of a proverbial thimble, landed the shuttle on the side of a space station that was firing upon them, and, arguably, used transporter controls to deploy a bioweapon… Perhaps the last part wasn’t something to be especially proud of, but it had proved to him that he was capable of far more than he would have expected of himself. The away team had needed a distraction, and he’d provided one; it had helped to cause enough chaos on the station that the away team were able to do their jobs, it had saved lives… Plus, the Moopsies had gotten themselves a last supper out of it, and he couldn’t say he found all that much empathy for those working towards the mass-murder of several billion…

If he could do that, he could pilot an unfamiliar ship through a battle; flying was his speciality, after all.

“Ensign Llewellyn-Kth, CONN.” He briskly alerted the Ensign manning the security checkpoint, barely bothering to even slow his pace as he passed the desk and stepped through the doors onto the bridge, losing his footing so suddenly as another violent jolt wracked the ship, that he all but flew across the bulkhead, bracing himself against the mission ops table to prevent himself from hitting the floor… Not the most dignified entrance to the Bridge, but that was also on theme for his past few days.

“Apologies.” He apologised hurriedly as he glanced around, even the chaos of his stressed and addled mind pausing for a split second to admire the brilliance of his new surroundings… There was truly no mistaking the Theurgy as the most advanced ship in the fleet; it made the Bowman look like an antique… Yet the awe lingered only for a split second, before his eyes returned to his destination with a sudden focus, moving at a rapid but professional pace as he stole past the support staff and turned his concentration upon his destination, staring into the back of the Captain’s chair and beyond, to the CONN console.

“Ensign Llewellyn-Kth reporting for CONN.” He called as he darted past the Captain’s chair and down towards his station, a small ripple of perturbation flickering across his face as he noted that the CONN was to the right of the bridge, whilst Sylvain was used to it being centred; it would take some getting used to. Coming to a breathless halt beside the CONN, where the black-furred Caitian was hammering down on the control panel as if they were playing percussion in a Klingon orchestra, the Ensign took a moment to evaluate their circumstances, hazel eyes already alight with analytical scorn as he focussed down on the control panels that flickered underneath the Caitian’s hands, the dazzling array of sensor readings already detailing a rather harrowing set of circumstances before him.

In less stressful circumstances, the Ensign wouldn’t have dreamed of stepping foot onto the bridge of a new vessel without formally addressing the Captain and waiting for permission to take his station; it was an unthinkable act of belligerence to do anything but, after all... However, these were perhaps the most stressful circumstances of his life, and in such trying times, pleasantries sometimes had to wait. He would apologise if they survived the trials ahead, but right now, he had to focus. He had a vessel to pilot.

“Crewman, I'll take it from here; they need you in the shuttlebay.” Sylvain spoke as firmly as possible, his trembling hands thankfully not infecting his mouth with their fear, the few seconds he’d taken to get acclimated with the sensor data already serving as a tonic to cool his tense and flustered mind. Yes, their circumstances were dire, but sensors and data were a safe space for him; there was always an answer in the numbers, a solution, a safe passage, and Sylvain was good at numbers, finding the pattern, solving the problem, reaching the destination… He was no tactician, but he understood how to pilot a ship, and already he was playing through a litany of evasive patterns in his head, analysing them for their pros and cons, discarding those that didn’t fit their needs: Beta, no, Gamma, no, Delta, no, Lambda, no, Theta, no, Epsilon… Epsilon.

If he could thread a shuttle through a breach in the shields of a space station, that was shooting at them, he could manage this.

He’d settled himself into the Caitian’s seat the instant that the crewman was no longer occupying it, narrowly avoiding sitting himself on the officer’s tail, his mind completely occupied with the task at hand, no far corner of his psyche able to compute anything outside of the console his eyes had become affixed to. The console felt uncomfortably warm as his fingers descended onto the glass, clammy almost, but the Ensign pushed the displeasurable sensation out of his focus, fingers dancing a waltz across the panel as he felt the mighty vessel’s engines flex under his control for the first time.

It was like a sip of iced water on a hot afternoon on Vulcan…

This was what Admiral Anderson had sent him here to do. His departure from the Bowman, lying to Captain Yume’s face despite everything she’d done for him, despite the danger that the Bowman themselves were flying into. The weeks he’d spent being ferried across the quadrant, avoiding conversations and having to be elusive with everyone he’d met, seizing up every time a security officer so much as glanced in his direction. The time spent in a stupor aboard the Klingon transport vessel, and every inch of grotesquery he’d been witness to there, the sleepless nights and the constant images of himself being stabbed in his sleep by some parasite-infested Klingon. His harrowing misadventures with Cora in the bowels of the Erudite, witnessing their scientific advancements perverted into weapons of mass destruction, and their efforts to liberate the Moopsies from their fate. The battle he’d fought at the Hobus Star, everything he’d pushed through just to survive this far, the aid he’d provided in halting a genocidal attempt to destroy the Romulan Empire…

Now, finally, after all of that, he’d found himself sitting in front of the console that he’d been recruited for, his control over the USS Theurgy’s engine for the first time rippling up through his arms like a calming salve against his wracked nerves. The console was unfamiliar, so was the vessel, but the data was not. The Theurgy may have been far bigger than the Bowman, but somehow she responded even more lithely, dancing through the void as he shifted their evasive pattern and banked to starboard as the Romulan torpedoes thundered through their wake like a pair of drunken Cadets too late for a party. Sylvain almost notice a tiny smile slip onto his lips.

He might have been a terrible intelligence agent, a poor engineer, downright atrocious at socialising... But he was a brilliant pilot.

“CONN reporting, moving into evasive pattern Epsilon Eight.” He called calmly, fingers flying across the panel in a blur of pale flesh, as the behemoth of a ship that stretched out over one thousand metres from his seat, eagerly responded to his commands. “Engine power holding steady at eighty seven percent, Tactical let me know what you need and I’ll get us into position.” His voice rang out over the din of the bridge, unsure as to who his colleagues even were in this conflict, unknowing as to the names of the people around him that he was tasked with keeping safe from the volleys of weapons fire that was locked onto their vessel like the only port in an ion storm… Yet it didn’t matter; he’d give his everything no matter who they were.

That, after all, was what it meant to be Starfleet.

Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Reply #3 – January 15, 2025, 06:12:24 AM

Having taken the opportunity to freshen himself up a bit with a clandestine use of the pilots’ locker room and showers, though in fairness the deck crew’s locker room was half filled with soot and half wrecked, so Lok’s use of the officers’ facilities was more than fair in his mind. Still he hadn’t wished to get caught, not that he was totally successful, luckily he was only caught by Lieutenant Winters who was more than willing to look the other way and help his exhausted fellow Kzin’s mood. Mood now improved, though still exhausted from the day of combat and near constant damage control, Lok, now comfortable in a clean set of coveralls, looked over the flight deck from the back of the hangar bay.

The place was a mess but was a far sight better than what it had been hours before. The jumbled mass of fighters had been reorganized, now with the addition of others that had been attached to the Vector 1 module, into two neat rows in preparation for the coming battle. The only one out of place was Ghost’s fighter, shoved off to the side for Lok to inspect later. At a glance it appeared to be ok, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he got a good look at the frame and warp core. The hard landing and subsequent uncommanded launch and detonation of a quantum torpedo inside the hangar could have been enough to shear the pylon roots or buckle the core assembly frame. Either way the damaged Valkyrie, still on its belly and partially rolled onto one side, was safely stored in the port bow corner of the hangar under a tarp. As for the hangar itself, much of the debris from the explosion was cleaned up, but the scorch marks remained. The starboard side, comprising most of the enlisted personnel’s facilities, was in real rough shape. The operations office and assembly room were burnt out holes, the quantum torpedo having detonated when it struck the bulkhead frame between the two compartments, which had gone a long way to make their job in getting the air wing back up and running that much harder. The armory, the source of much consternation during the fire, had since been cleared of all ordnance, what wasn’t used to rearm the spacecraft was transported to the ship’s better protected torpedo magazines until a full appraisal of the integrity of the armory could be done.

Lok sighed and shook his head at the destruction then made his way down the rows of fighters to give them a once over. Along the way he chatted with mechanics in the process of making some last minute repairs; he answered quests, joked, and did his best to raise spirits. The winds of fate had placed him in charge of this now depleted group, at least for the moment, who knew what the higher ups would have in mind to replace Ensign Herrold.

As he reached Janus’s fighter he noted that nobody appeared to be working on it with a panel ajar and an uncomfortable amount of opti-cable spilling out of it. The black furred Kzin sighed once more as he looked over the mess but felt a twinge of energy course through him as he had finally found something to occupy his hands. Without missing a beat, Lok used one of his clawed feet to slide over a rolling stool while also rolling up his sleeves. He took a seat, letting his tail curl up under him out of habit so no passers by would accidentally step on it, then got to work. It was quickly apparent what this spillage of opti-cable was for, the starboard panel screens for the cockpit. Whatever was wrong with them seemed to be fixed, whoever was working on them must have either forgotten to reconnect all the leads or had been called away. Honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if they were in a corner passed out, Lok mused to himself, having taken note of the exhaustion all his guys and gals were going through. He started to re-insert the opti-cable back into its designated ports, a simple clip system that once the cable was inserted automatically closed with a satisfying click. Lok’s sensitive ears loved the sounds of his job, and as all those satisfying clicks reached his ears they would twitch and perk up. It honestly was quite the little reprieve, sure he had had a moment with Atlas earlier but just getting to do something with his hands again after a day of giving orders was more than enough to lift Lok’s spirits.

That was until the red alert sounded…

OOC: This sets the state for where Lok is and the current general status of the hangar bay. Further details will be in the thread I make for it which once I do I will also link in this post.

-This thread continues the plot of the battle down on the flight deck.

Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Reply #4 – January 15, 2025, 06:18:13 AM

Before arrival at the battle site......

[Lt. Commander Frank Arnold | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | Vector 3 | USS Theurgy]

It was fair to say that if the Chief Engineer was livid. Not that one could tell just by looking at the big burly engineer, but if you knew him well enough, you could see it in his body language. It came down to the way his eyebrows creased together, the tug of his lips that changed the shape of his beard. But most important of them all was the way his blue eyes seemed alight with their own pyschic blue fire as they glared at the sensor plot being fed to the master situation table in engineering. The 'Ranger' portion of Theurgy was charging into battle at the very appreciable velocity many many times faster than the speed of light, and it looked like they were going to make it in time. The only readings that could be seen were mainly Klingon and Romulan. If Theurgy didn't have the transponder code for the Helmet, it probably would have been hidden in the clutter. Nobody was shooting at anyone, so that was a good sign. Chief Arnold quietly sighed at the state of the ship. They probably would have arrived sooned, even with the transfer of equipment and personnel from the Erudite, but the quantum slipstream drive had given everything it had, and the had fizzled out along the way. Azrin had caught the failure in time to make the call for a transition to standard warp drive, but until they could procure a new source of crystals or whatever new parts were needed. That was it, Theurgy was not relegated to the same FTL scale as everyone else.

Frank took a moment to look over at the red headed assistant engineer working on the machinery for the QSD. At least she was work focused, otherwise he felt she'd be crying over the reaction chamber and field generator like her last living child had died. Mentally shaking his head, he looked back at the master plot. The Ranger had sustained minimal damage and all the crews had the repairs well in hand, except for the FAB. The FAB had taken a beating when the torpedo had gone off, and it looked like anyway you cut it, those crews had their work cut out for them. Many others were focusing on the phaser and shield systems. Those two had gotten a warmup against the Romulan carrier, but had the upgraded point defence system had proven its worth in the number of shattered Romulan fighters they'd left behind. They only item of disappointment was the number of quantum torpedoes left on the ship. That number was so pitifully low that he wasn't sure if Commander Cross would just fire them off as an initial strike, or try to save them for something more substantial.

Chief Arnold let out a sigh and tried to not let his mind reminisce on things that couldn't be fixed, but he still wished that the raid on the Black Opal had been a far less dramatic affair. Maybe they wouldn't have wasted so many torpedoes on what amounted to a diversion to get the ship out.

At least lost of the crew was back together. They were even heavy by a good chunk more. The Erudite had timed its intercept very well. It saddened the Chief at the losses that group had taken, even some of the Cayuga crew members who had been rescued. The injured wasn't much better and it had been noticeable for the pair of Andorians on the list. There was no indication of how badly Lieutenants Ida zh'Wann and 'Zark' zh’Ptrell were hurt, but impressions were one would be walking soon, the other needed to be in bed. How well either one would be confined to a hospital bed with battle impending was hard to say, but probably not likely.

He shook his head to stop wool gathering and instead pulled up the ship wide systems status report and ran his eyes over them for the umpteenth time. The eyes flicked to the arrival counter and watched it tick down the ship's next encounter with fate.

[Lieutenant JG XamotZark zh’Ptrell (Lt. Zark) | Primary Care Unit | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy]

"I'm telling you I'm fine! We're going into battle and I need to suit up." came a very annoyed voice sitting in a bio bed in a medical gown.

Arven stopped in his tracks with a brow raised without so much as a glance in the Andorian’s direction; there was simply too much to do and not enough of him (or the other medical personnel) to do it. "Yes, hollering certainly helps," he grumbled. "You know the drill Zark. You've read your own chart by now. We'll get you out as soon as we can."

Zark took the admonition in stride, meaning she swung her legs over the bed and began pushing aside the nurse that was trying to keep her in the bed. "Exactly, you heard the doctor. I'm mobile, so you don't need me taking up a bed. Now if you'll excuse me, point me to where you put my uniform so I can get out of this ridiculous gown."

Arven shook his head, still absorbed in the PADD he was reading. "Sit down Zark," he warned, then turned to wave three more casualties supported by two nurses into the ICU. "That wasn't a request," he added over his shoulder.

Zark politely but firmly pushed her way passed the nurse who began to blubber and headed further in to find a replicator or something else she thought would be useful. "Sorry Doc. We're at battle stations and I need to get to mine." the medic semi apologized as she strode passed him.

Arven rolled his eyes and fell into step beside her, after a gesture for the nurse to move on and aid the others crammed into the ward. "Diprofoxitine. 70 milligrams," he voiced in a condescending, exhausted tone. "Ring any bells, Lieutenant? Care to tell me how you intend to manage your duties under the influence? Better yet," he moved to cut her off, "let's try a practical exercise." Arven stood before her, head and shoulders above the Andorian. "Look, I really don't have time for your stubborn bullshit right now. You know your body, you know your not duty ready. You go out there now, you know damn well you'll be putting yourself and others at risk," he stated flatly; the Doctor simply didn't have the energy to argue - he didn't even try. His staff was calling, people needed him. "Look, I can't stop you and I can't stand here and debate this," he stated.

The Andorian's hands balled up into a fist and she planted them on her hips, then grimaced as her body reminded her that it didn't enjoy being abused. The grimace froze in a curl on her lips that made her look like she was getting ready to spit on his argument. She wanted to tell him that if he'd had any sense to know her service record, doing her job while medicated wasn't unusual. A dull spasm of pain lanced its way through her body as a hand touched her shoulder and she whirled on the worried face of Nurse Jones. "Zark please, the doctor's right, you're barely standing and the microsutures are still fresh. If you don't stay still, he has to open you back up to fix everything. We don't need that now."

Zark felt the weight of persuasion, but she really wasn't ready to give in and her mind spun gears to try to find a solution before turning slowly to face the exhausted doctor once more. "Fine. But give me a tac vest, an assault pistol belt, and a combat stim. I'll stay with the vest open while I'm on the bed and if I have to use any of it, we're screwed anyway and I might as well fight."

Arven met Zark’s defiance with a tired mask of acceptance, then simply nodded before his violet eyes fixed on Jones. "Give her what she wants. Reevaluate in thirty. Discharge once her system is clean if those sutures hold; I'll be in surgery so you'll have to handle it." Arven glanced back at Zark as he moved past: "Get her a uniform, while your at it."

[Lieutenant Ida zh'Wann | Transporter Room 1 | Deck 5 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy]

It was some of the worst possible news which had necessitated the haste for the Deputy to get herself out of sickbay and back to the helmet. Lieutenant Commander Kai Akoni was dead and hostiles were running loose on the ship. This had to be dealt with quickly or the entire mission could come apart. The transporter operator completed the transport cycle and the lone figure in a security exosuit stood on pad. The figure took a moment to punch a few buttons on the LCARS arm interface connecting them to the comm system. "Commander Stark, this is Lieutenant zh'Wann. I'm on board the Helmet and coordinating with Thea to apprehend the intruders. Will advise." she concluded in a flat voice of cold rage as she grabbed the rifle off her back and exited the room. She tapped a few more buttons. "Thea, keep an open link to the Security Centre." There was a moment as the AI processed the request. "Done Lieutenant." The Deputy pulled up the information they had so far and she began building a profile on the move and refining the data that Thea had as she began the hunt for the intruders.

[As the battle rages in the present.....]

[CPO Dominic Lau | Cockpit | Romulan Runabout ]

Chief Petty Officer Dominc Lau took a moment to shift in his seat. His mind couldn't wrap itself around how the motley clandestine group had made it off the Tal Shiar experimental weapons station. Practically nothing had gone right. Well, that wasn't quite true. The mission to retrieve the Thalaron triggers had gone well and they'd also managed to pull a lot of additional intel from various projects the Tal Shir had been running. The station itself was a wreck with unknown biological experiments running rampant along with the experiments in mechanized combat walkers. If events were still panning out, then Petty Officer Cheung's computer virus was still making rounds of the station's computer systems and recovery of control would be extraordinarily difficult.

Cold brown eyes looked over their course to the Triangle as the three stolen Romulan runabouts the group had formed up in a loose gaggle near a ship known as the Apache. Definitley an odd name for a ship, maybe it was a translation of some sort. That didn't matter though. The main point was they had the communication protocol to Theurgy, so the little gaggle of small craft would be able to join whatever was going on.

A mug of tea materialized on the console and the Chief noticed the very feminine hand that deposited it. He looked up and nodded at his comm tech before he looked back out the glass into the star streak. "So Chief, what do you think we'll find when we get to the Triangle?" Chief Lau shrugged. "No idea. I was hoping for a ship what we could land on, but..." He tapped a few buttons in the console and a screen changed showing their path and the destination. The energy readings were varying wildly. Since there wasn't an unstable star or other stellar phenomenon in the area, the computer obediently spat out its view on the situation. Weapons fire. "Nothing good. Hopefully we can slip in unobserved and then we'll figure out where we can do the most good." Klaudia nodded and patted the Chief on the shoulder before heading back to the passenger compartment to relay the news.

OOC: Thanks to Dumedion for interaction between Zark and Doctor Leux

Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Reply #5 – January 18, 2025, 07:11:46 AM

[Lt Reika Sh’laan | Enroute to Main Bridge | Deck 1 | Vector 1]
They had just boarded the Theurgy in the middle of the battle. The fact that they had been able to dock at all had been no small miracle. She could count at least four times when the fight around them got so heated that it really didn’t look like they were going to make it.

During their trip from the research station back to the triangle, the OPS officer had been given basic medical care on her arm. It was bandaged up well, and she had been admonished not to use it. But as one of the walking wounded, she was on the better side of the equation than many were, so as they were given clearance, she raced as quickly as she could through the deck to the turbolift - hoping that they were still working because she didn’t think her arm could survive another climb of a Jeffries tube.

At her near-sprint pace, she almost knocked over a petty officer in red. “Sorry!” she called over her shoulder as her almost waist-length white hair flew out behind in her rush. With almost everyone at battle stations, she didn’t have to contend with too many others in the corridors. Rounding the corner, she reached the lift. It didn’t open. “Why is it whenever you are in a rush, they take their bloody time! But when you have all the time in the world, they seem to be waiting for you.” Thirty seconds later, the lift arrived, and the stately Andorian scurried onto it catching nearly annoyed glances from at least one of the two other occupants who seemed frustrated that the lift had stopped to admit ‘yet another’ person. “Bridge,” she announced.

Reika took a moment to check her injured arm during the bumpy ride. The hastily dressed wound was covered with a bandage, and while a hint of blood could be seen several layers down, it hadn’t made its way to the outermost layer just yet. If the Theurgy survived the battle, she would survive the wound.

Once, the turbolift stopped briefly on a deck to let the annoyed crewman off on Vector 3 - deck 24. Reika could only guess that they were heading toward Main Engineering, but after only a brief pause, it was on its way again. She had no idea who all would be on the bridge. Had any of her colleagues made it? Were Leavitt and/or Ravenholm even alive any longer? She mentally begged the fates to spare them, but the prayer was short-lived as the turbolift finally began to slow as it approached its destination.

As the doors opened onto the dimly lit bridge set to red alert, this time the whole of the ship was thrown sideways by a volley. Reika was thrown against the opposite bulkhead. She groaned as she had hit her injured arm. A deep cyan began seeping into the uppermost layer of the bandage now. The shuddered as if it might plummet. The Lieutenant in OPS beat a hasty retreat off of the turbolift. “Lieutenant Sh’laan, OPS,” she announced at the checkpoint, but she never broke her stride. As the bridge doors opened, she noted that neither Leavitt nor Ravenholm were at OPS - it was some determined ensign who she had never met before at OPS 1. Upon seeing the Lieutenant, he noiselessly gave up the station and moved to OPS 2.

“Lieutenant Sh’laan reporting at OPS,” she said as she began her assessment of their current situation, power usage, and their anticipated needs. She had some work to do.

[Ensign Sash Kreshkova | Primary Care unit | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 2]

An incessant and deep chant - almost a sort of rhythmic growling. Grum - thrum - growl - purr - whirr - strum - grunt - rumble. All in rhythmic time with the previous and next tones. Over and over a group - was it a pack? - kept in time. Grum - thrum - growl - purr - whirr - strum - grunt - rumble. And again.

The soon-to-be pilot with green hair was still unconscious listening to the somehow familiar chant that played over in her mind, but as the Theurgy was rocked violently during the current altercation, her eyes flew open. As they did, the intonations in her ears died away, and the pain that had so mercifully been numbed when she was unconscious wracked her body so suddenly that she screamed.

She had very little memory - if any - of how she got from the scion lab to here - and she had no idea where here was, but she at least recognized the uniforms of the people bustling around her. Realizing the change in her circumstances, somehow was able to mute her shriek to her loud cry. The pain was almost worse than when the scion had inflicted it - how - she had no idea. Maybe that was part of the torture.

She caught some movement in her periphery, someone in blue was walking toward her with a hypo, and as she opened her mouth to say something, she felt the cold finger of metal pressed against her neck. The last thing she remembered before mercifully drifting back off to obliviousness was the hiss of the medicine penetrating her body.

Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Reply #6 – February 03, 2025, 07:58:45 AM

As the battle begins... ATTN: All Active Writers

[ Lt. Enyd Isolde Madsen Observation Lounge | V. 1 | Deck 10 | The Helmet ]

There were precious few times when Enyd disliked being a diplomat. Typically, she felt she had more options for action than, say, an engineer or a pilot, when facing difficult circumstances. When squaring up against ships piloted by those who had no interest in standing down, despite best diplomatic efforts, Enyd felt more than a little useless. If they were boarded, or even if they were planetside, she might be able to be useful in a firefight or hand-to-hand (she was passing fair after all in both regards), but when staring into the inevitable mayhem barrel of a space battle, Enyd was superfluous. The best she could do was act as cheerleader for those more capable in the vital systems of the ship that were likely to be the most taxed. She hated feeling so useless and not for the first time wondered if it would wise to invest time in learning more about what Alistair or Frank did, just so she could supplement her time during situations like this.

Glancing over her shoulder at the members of the diplomacy department that had remained on the Helmet, Enyd steeled herself. She was the department head now, for the good or bad of it, and needed to model a proactive stance.

"None of us are being particularly helpful standing here staring at what's about to happen. Go find a place to be useful. I'm heading to sickbay, as there will likely be wounded before this is over."

The crew nodded, sounding off the various departments they would support (engineering, flight deck, sickbay, and security), before breaking up to do that very thing. Enyd paused before leaving the lounge, sending out a silent plea to whomever might be listening in the cosmic wonders, to keep Alistair and Zark safe. They had unfinished business...

As the battle rages...
[ Hirek tr’Aimne | Medical Bay | Upper Deck | USS Allegiant ] @Dumedion

Hirek would be lying if he didn't find sick pleasure in being the one to awaken the Trill. It was a mystery to him and would remain so, at what point in time during their flight from Romulan space back to the Triangle the medical personnel on the Allegiant had managed to patch both of them up enough to a stable and fairly operational level. It would be wise for them both to continue resting, considering the wounds they'd sustained both before they'd made the extra effort to destroy the Citadel during their escape (or at least a good portion of it), and after. However, arriving at the Triangle just in time to witness the commencement of what appeared to be an epic battle, almost to the degree of some of those fought during the Dominion War, left little time for the luxury of rest and recuperation. Besides, from what he now knew about the Trill, she'd be pissed if she slept through this chaos.

Waiting until he caught her bleary-eyed gaze, Hirek snorted when the ship gave a lurch just before he could speak. "Good morning princess. Your chaos skills are needed. We find ourselves in the midst of a battle." He ruthlessly slapped her shoulder with a grin. "You can rest when you're dead. Let's go make ourselves useful. I, for one, didn't survive the Citadel for a second time only to die mere hours later."

[ Ehfva Feynri | Primary Care unit | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 2]

Digging her partially clawed hands into the biobed, Ehfva studied the room where they'd placed her. Sash was on the biobed nearby, unconscious as far as Ehfva could tell. The manner in which they'd been brought here was hazy, and in many ways Ehfva still doubted that this was her present reality, and that they were truly saved from the Scions. However, wherever here was, it seemed they'd managed to be rescued from one path towards death only to be deposited onto another.

As alarms blared and on the otherside of the door, she could see crew running to man stations to counteract whatever was happening unseen to the Vulpinian, Ehfva readied herself to stand. Perhaps there was a way she could help, even in her partially transformed state.

"Oh no you don't," a voice sounded from over her shoulder and before Ehfva could protest, she felt the slight sting of a hypospray pressing against her neck. "You won't do anyone any good in your state." Strong hands caught her dead weight, lowering her body to the biobed as the medicine paralyzed her body into a numbed state. "See you on the otherside," was the last thing she heard before she drifted off into darkness...

Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Reply #7 – February 04, 2025, 09:41:26 PM

In the few short weeks out of cryo, she’d never really spent much time in the pilot’s rec room; the Den had always felt like Ghost’s stomping grounds – thick with cloying cigar smoke and synth-booze. Rawley had always been there, loitering or hunched over the pool table to greet Talia with a grin, no matter who was around.

The place seemed diminished, now.

The lights were dimmed so those who could rest at least could make an honest effort. Talia wanted so desperately to sleep, but her mind simply couldn’t be bothered to switch off – despite how tired she felt, mentally and physically. She’d never flown more than three sorties in a shift. The demands of combat were still fresh, and everything she’d seen and done had yet to be fully processed and decompressed. It was exhausting just sitting there, nursing a cup of coffee, while she tried to quiet her mind and just deal with it all. Others might have sought out the company of peers or friends, but Talia preferred the silence – it was a comfort, away from the noise of the FAB just beyond the bulkhead, a brief respite from endless readiness checklists, inspections, rearming, and most of all, the people.

She’d already noted the change in their eyes. The loss, the anger, the grief.

Some pushed it aside and carried on as if nothing had happened. Most of them. She had to remind herself that for most of the crew, this was only another combat action in a series of running combat actions ever since the Theurgy fought its way out of Sol. Six months of running combat. That was a sobering thought, one that finally punched reality home; the fact of the matter was, the odds of any of them surviving seemed laughable. A distant hope, even. Would Starfleet even accept them if they pulled it off and somehow managed to neutralize the Infested? With everything they’d done, and the unthinkable, unknowable acts to come, the idea seemed hilariously bleak.

Ghost lived that mentality; she took everything in stride, and kept on laughing. Shadow couldn’t quite understand that…nonchalant attitude. Suddenly, finally, it made sense...and then, Talia laughed; a low chuckle, despite everything, as understanding dawned in her heart and mind. Death could claim any of them at any moment, whether they did everything right or not; what mattered was living while it lasted – not chasing perfection, or worrying about what other people thought, or holding grudges against people she’d likely never see or hear from again.

Living. Just that. No more bullshit.

Shadow sat back with a sigh after setting the cold cup of coffee aside, to stretch out on the couch with a snarl of servos from her exosuit. Dark, bloodshot eyes closed, as her mind slowly blanked and slipped away into nothingness. An instant or eternity later, Talia bolted awake to another scramble order. The ship was already under fire as she strode out onto the flight deck, helm tucked under her arm…

We’re in the thick of it now, Arven grimaced as the ship shook around him; the ICU was packed to capacity, as well as the Ward down the hall. They were treating patients out in the reception area, saving space for those more grievously wounded, as well as sending everyone they couldn’t get to the smaller med-station on Vector 3.

“Hold him,” Leux nodded down at his work, as a slim pair of hands held the burnt and smoking remains of an engineer enlisted rating to the operating bed. The seemingly endless barrage of incoming fire wasn’t helping Arven's mood or operating efficiency, which had never been the Doctor’s strong suit. Fortunately, the poor bastard was unconscious, otherwise Leux was quite sure he’d be screaming in agony. There was enough of that going on around him already.

Violet eyes looked up and glanced at the chaos, before turning to the nurse across the table with weary resignation. For his life, Arven couldn’t remember her name; that didn’t stop him from cracking a tired smile, for her sake. “Just want you to know, you’re doing great,” he offered, quite sincerely, but in the usual dead-pan, cynical tone he always used.

She blinked in confusion, then nodded, as if he’d said something utterly unthinkable.

Arven just shrugged and went back to cutting the charred uniform from burnt flesh. He’d done a lot of that already, and the casualties just kept coming. “How many more are out there,” he jerked his head back and to the side without taking his eyes off his work.

“I…a lot,” the nurse hesitated. “We’re running out of room.”

Arven snorted dryly. “First time, eh? Just means we need to work faster,” he paused to rip a swath of fabric free with a grunt, then folded the rest of the man’s shirt down past his waist while the nurse pulled his trousers free. Once he was finally stripped, Leux closed the regenerative processor panels closed over his torso and left leg and activated the console.

“Short run only, we don’t have time for a full cycle. Soon as he’s done, gurney him to the ward or wherever else we have space and send in the next,” Leux nodded to her as another nurse stuck his head into the room.

“Code blue, ICU,” he shouted and disappeared.

Arven ran after him without saying another word.

[...later, shortly after the arrival of the Apache and Allegiant]
[PO2 Kino Jeen | Medbay | Upper Deck | USS Allegiant] Attn: @RyeTanker @Ellen Fitz
[Show/Hide]

She woke with a start, half-blinded by the light and pain that throbbed in time with her heart. It took a few seconds for Kino to realize where she was and remember what had happened, but she sat up anyway while the fog lifted. The Romulan was the last person she expected to see and wasn’t even on the list of people she hoped to see – but there he was, staring at her with that idiotic grin, like they were old buddies – which the Trill met by narrowing her one remaining eye in annoyance as she slid off the bed to stand.

A hand brushed over the scarred tissue where her ocular implant used to be, then continued up to ruffle through the tangled mess of silver hair with a sigh before she looked around for her weapons. They were gone.

“Where the hell’s my –“ she demanded, but was interrupted as the door opened. Kino’s head snapped around to shoot a glare at the door and the figure that leaned into the room, while the solitary medical officer left.

“Jeen,” Chief Nilsson barked as the ship shuddered around them again. “Get your ass to the armory and get geared up, we’re coming in hot. SecOps will brief you when your ready for transport.”

“What about him,” Kino nodded to the Romulan.

“He’s with you. Agans and Falvar too,” Nilsson nodded to them both, then left.

Kino popped the tension from her neck as she grabbed the bloody remains of her duty jacket and headed to the door. “Outstanding,” she grunted to herself sarcastically. “Look, you better keep up or stay out of my way. I’m not rated for babysitting senior citizens. You fall behind, it’s on you. Oh,” she turned to glance at him with a smirk, “and don’t start with the pet names, or I’ll cut your goddamn balls off.”

That said, Kino strode from the medbay out into the hall, bound for the armory.

[Moments later…]

Kino watched with a bemused expression as Falvar and Agans helped Hirek into a loaned exosuit, the chest-piece still blackened with the disruptor fire from the wound that had killed it’s previous owner during the escape from Romulus. That wasn’t what amused her though; it was the look on the Romulan’s face as he tried to keep up with the rapid-fire instructions from her team-mates as they tried to explain it’s basic combat functions and abilities.

This is probably a bad idea, she brooded, but there wasn't much for it. He lived through the Citadel, and even if he claimed to be some kind of lab-rat, Jeen knew better. He wasn't useless, and like all of his kind, he knew more than he let on. Still, she'd watch him all the same, just in case.

Kino checked the power cells on her sidearm, then slid it into the holster at her thigh and drew her blade to check its edge with a twisted flourish. The edge and balance were good, but she ran a few passes over the blade with a whetstone anyway, until the ship lurched and shook again. “Wrap it up guys,” Jeen interrupted them, stowing the blade and hefting her rifle, then opened a channel up to SecOps on the Ranger. “SecOps, Jeen. Reporting in with Team 3, plus one. Requesting sitrep and orders.”

A familiar gentle lilt came back over the comm, but it seemed drained of its emotion, as if a computer had taken over. ["SecOps acknowledges. Be advised: Commander Akoni is KIA by parties unknown, possibly Romulan or Klingon. Lieutenant zh'Wann is in pursuit of target tango 1 heading towards engineering. Profile on target tango 2 is being built with Thea at this time."] There was a pause to catch her breath. ["Head for the AI core while we generate an intercept for you."] Another pause. ["Tangos 1 & 2 are using some sort of stealth tech to conceal their movements. We can only get a partial read within five meters of active tricorders. Thea is working on cracking the stealth, but she's a bit busy at the moment too. Be careful."]

Kino arched a dark brow over the scarred patch of flesh where her eye used to be. “Jeen, solid copy,” she acknowledged, then turned to her team with a nod. “Saddle up boys, we’re moving.” The non-com paused to mag-lock her rifle to her chest-plate then donned her helm before she tapped out a series of commands on the wrist-mounted PADDs, linking her suit to theirs for tactical C&C while she led them to the transporter room.

In her helm, a miniature 3D render of the Helmet sprang into view as the suits auto-senses compensated to her limited field of vision and depth perception. Kino spoke as they walked briskly, briefing them on what she knew. “Got bogies on the Helmet wearing some fancy stealth gear; numbers unknown, objectives unknown. Deputy Ida is in pursuit, covering engineering. We’re headed to the AI core to lock it down while SecOps chews on intel; once we have their position, we close and take them out. All clear?”

“Romulans,” Falvar grunted. “Those pricks ever fight fair?”

Kino snorted and shrugged, then led them into the transporter, with a nod to the control officer. A tap of her finger opened the channel back up to SecOps. "This is Jeen. Team 3 is ready up. Awaiting beam-out to objective," she reported, once they'd all taken a spot on the pad. "Hirek's with me. You two mind the flanks," she jerked a thumb at the Romulan, then pointed to her squadmates in turn. "Eyes up, heads on a swivel. Don't let these fuckers catch us napping."

The transport officer spoke up as the ship took more hits, holding onto his console. "Coordinates received, standby for transport!"

"Let's rock," Kino grinned behind her helm, rifle held low at the ready, as the world grew bright and indistinct and her team disappeared in four columns of light.