Chapter 2: Mission Objective - Get Revad. Fight. Don't die (optional).

January 28, 2025, 02:53:59 AM

[ Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | VIP Guest Quarters | Deck 12 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ]
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ATTN: @Brutus @Nolan @Havenborn @chXinya @RyeTanker @Nero @Number6 @Pierce @Ellen Fitz @Dumedion @tongieboi @rae @joshs1000 @SomeBunny @Krajin

TIME: Day 2, 0700hrs

The gentle, slow inhalation and exhalation of his breathing provided great solace to Hassar; perhaps there was nothing more relaxing to him than an hour of silent meditation. A bit of time to relax his body, organize his thoughts, and relieve a little stress; it allowed him to start his day with a clearer head and the Aspects of his mind, body, and soul balanced in accordance with his spiritual beliefs. He had been relying on his meditation for some time now, ever since his son was kidnapped from the Ibn Lau without a trace. While he knew until anything was found, he should not give up hope or give into stress, it was natural for any parent to be consumed in the despair of their child going missing and existing in the void of not knowing if they are alive or dead. But when it seemed all was lost, a small ray of hope emerged, the USS Theurgy and her crew, fighting to defeat a threat to not just the Federation but to all nations in the galaxy, the Infested. Perhaps they were the ones behind the kidnapping; it was difficult to say, but now Hassar had the resources of one of the most advanced Starfleet ships in service, a far cry from his three-hundred-year-old frigate and the limited upgrades provided by their Klingon allies.

Speaking of that contrast, Hassar, his meditation finished for the time being, opened his green eyes to gaze once more upon his current living situation. Lavishly appointed VIP quarters, well lavish by Vaharran standards. The bedroom of these quarters, which contained a large comfortable bed was only slightly smaller than the entirety of his own commanding officer’s quarters on the Xebrek, which itself was considered the largest quarters on that ship. Here the quarters were spacious with great windows that looked out into the great beyond of space, a private sitting room, a private workstation and study, and a large well appointed bathroom. The living arrangements were, however, quiet, too quiet, just a gentle hum of the warp core and perhaps a hushed beep from the computer compared to the sounds of the Vaharran ships he had grown up on and lived on. The whir of ventilation fans, the whooshing of water through pipes, the groans of the hull, the sound of boots on the metal decks, and the muffled tones of Vaharrans living their lives. Compared to that, the silence that Hassar was exposed to aboard the Starfleet ships he had voyaged on was profound, practically deafening, but in time, perhaps a week or two, he would grow accustomed to it, and sleep would be easier to achieve.

With his meditation complete, Hassar rose to his feet, relaxed and ready to start the day, though unsure exactly what his day would entail. Normally, he would get washed and dressed and be on his way to a morning briefing, but now he was a guest on Theurgy and had no responsibilities except for the contingent of Marines he brought with him. An odd place to find himself for sure, but either way, he still needed to get cleaned up, dressed, and start his day. He padded his way to the bathroom, stripping off his onaka, a simple linen undergarment for modesty. Normally, he would have meditated naked, but uncertain if he would be interrupted by a Starfleet crewmember, he figured it would be best to wear the traditional piece of clothing. He always found the sonic showers that Starfleet used to be uncomfortable, so used the regular shower feature. He wouldn’t shower for long, just enough to freshen up and wash off the markings he painted on his body as part of the meditation ritual. Once he was out of the shower and dry, he brushed his teeth, groomed his beard, and then retrieved his Arosan uniform, putting it on over his muscular form. Hassar always took great care to always ensure he was well groomed and his uniform sharp before going on duty, or whatever he would be doing aboard Theurgy. To him, it showed discipline and dedication. He expected similar care taken by those under his command.

After a stop by the replicator for a cup of strong morning tea and a meat-filled pastry called an aakun, luckily the ship’s computer had a couple Vaharran dishes in its memory banks, and he was out the door and off to see where the day would take him. As he walked down the corridor, he took a moment to appreciate the hot food and beverage in his hands, he was no stranger to replicators, but the idea of having whatever food he could have wanted with but a voice command during the years of constant food shortages in The Fleet was pure fantasy. As he enjoyed his breakfast, Hassar walked to the turbolift. He would check on his Marines later, but first he would head up to the bridge in search of Commander Cross, the acting commander of the vessel, to see if there was anything he or his fellow Vaharrans could assist with for the time being.

[ CPO Avandar Lok | Fighter Bay Operations Office | Deck 16 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ]
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Lok downed his third cup of coffee of the morning, his head still pounding and his stomach still queasy from the night before. He had taken to knocking back several bottles of Romulan Ale to drown his sorrows and perhaps force himself to sleep, though he doesn’t remember how many bottles it was in the end or how he got back to his quarters or who threw up in the bathroom sink. But he wasn’t going to let a hangover get in the way of doing his job; he also didn’t want to bother that handsome Doctor Leux anymore than he already had, so it was coffee, water, and physical exertion to work it out of his system in a few hours. Having a Kzinti circulatory system had its advantages.

He looked down at the orderly row of PADDs in front of him, duty rosters, spacecraft statuses, orders of the day. Normally he would prepare these and hand them off to Mister Herrold, but the Chief of the Deck had stayed up late to repair some damaged fighters from a run-in with some space probe the day before. So while the Ensign rested up, Lok was in charge for a couple hours, or if anything happened. The ship was on alert now that they had officially entered Romulan Space, and as such, the fighter squadrons might be needed at a moment's notice. To accomplish this, Lok, before diving into the morning’s paperwork, had tasked the deck gangs to run the pre-flight checks on all the fighters while they were still parked, prep all ordnance packages, and spot a pair of alert fighters on the deck. If things went down, all they would need to do was spot the remainder, get them armed, and off to kick some ass in less than a few minutes.

Satisfied that the morning reporting was done, Lok set the PADDs aside. They would be given to Flight Ops at the next watch change, and they headed out onto the flight deck, fresh cup of coffee in hand. The place was a delightful hum of activity; it reminded him of the war, always ready for action, though back then, a lot of this stuff was still pretty new.

“Hey Chief”, called out a Andorian crewman as he ran over, “we got Janus’s fighter patched up, but would you be able to double check the starboard warp coils, they were a little finicky replacing.”

“Yeah, sure thing, I got to go over these pre-flights for Wolf’s 4 and 10 then I’ll be right there”, he responded with his usual smile, trying his best not to hint at his self-inflicted headache and nausea.

After departing the crewman, he continued over to the awaiting fighters, keeping his head on a swivel in the event any of the pilots made an appearance with some request or another, with time to prepare for a possible battle, there was sure to be one or two.

[ Lt. Commander Frank Arnold | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | Vector 3 | USS Theurgy ]
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It had been grueling, to say the least, as Lieutenant Commander Arnold stood at the master situation table. He was still covered in grease, metal dust, and sweat from all the work that was necessary to patch the damaged components. And we just got the girl out of dock from all the repairs as well. The Chief mentally sighed as he checked over the status reports that were flowing in. It still didn't look too good, but at least the core had been purged of the extraneous subspace particles that had been causing the power oscillations.

From his standpoint, the biggest saving grace they'd gotten with the fix had been not needing to execute a cold shutdown of the core. This deep in hostile territory, having to restart the core could have taken days when they only really had hours at best. Frank took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes as he took a moment to stretch and rub tired muscles. The systems weren't ideal, but a lot of them had been patched. The coffee also helped to keep out the rancid smell of vomit that seemed to be stuck in the air.

His tired mind told him that maybe there wasn't anything it was a psychological trick, and there really wasn't anything. Blue eyes looked around and stopped for a moment on the red-headed Trill, who should have been in sickbay, but was too stubborn to call it quits. She was more pale than her usual self, but Azrin had insisted she was fine as she worked to re-align the fuel flow injector sensors. They were operating on fusion power alone until she was done and they could start pumping matter and anti-matter into the chamber. It worked well when you had the power of a star at your beck and call, but to make the really important systems work, you needed the bang of the universe. It was a good thing the ship was hidden amongst the debris of this red dwarf system.

It had been on the cusp of being an actual solar system but just missed out by maybe a few percent of necessary mass, so the place was littered with gas and dust clouds as well as asteroid clusters. Finding the ship in all this garbage was going to be hard. He looked around again as another report of a patched EPS junction came in. At least, he hoped it would be.

[ Outer system | IRS Okhala Thrai ]

The Romulan Carrier dropped out of warp and proceeded cautiously in the system at three-quarters impulse power. The carrier was the latest and most advanced ship in the Romulan fleet and had benefited from its position as the latest word in sensor technology quested for a quarry. Sub-Commander Choreeno felt a slight tug of respect for whoever had chosen this system as their place to hide. There was a lot of debris here. Many places to hide. It would add to the challenge, but maybe not by much, as his superior crew would find their prey. He could close the trap on the prey as soon as he had the target's location information in hand. Maybe even gain a trophy for his effort.

He pressed a button on his command chair. "Launch a patrol. Let's see who's hiding." He took a moment to turn and address his tactical officer. "Disengage the cloak and raise it again when the patrol is launched."

[ PO3 Cirus Bodega | Vector 2 Battle Bridge | Deck 8 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ]

The Petty Officer was on sensor watch when the unknown contact appeared on sensors. It blinked yellow of an unconfirmed contact, and the standard analysis package started. It didn't get time to finish as the ship disappeared. He quickly turned to the command chair.

"Commander Cross. An unidentified ship has entered the system. It's Romulan in origin, but it doesn't match anything in our database." Another set of beeps, and the sensor crewman looked at the data coming in. "Sir, small craft are moving in the system at high speed. Initial readings were consistent with Stalker class fighters."

[ LT Arven Leux | Turbolift, en route to Battle Bridge | Between Decks | The Ranger | USS Theurgy ]
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Alone for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Arven fought the urge just to sit down and let himself sleep. Exhaustion was nothing new – he’d been through worse – but even he had to admit that it had been one hell of a long day. And it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. He leaned his head back against the hum of the lift and let his eyes fall shut. He’d managed to shower but hadn’t given himself time to shave; hence, the shadow of stubble across his chin and cheeks. He’d recycled two uniforms in one day...well...one was basically melted into fire-retardant goo, but who was counting?

He honestly never saw the point of in-person reporting. The fact that he was mentally rehearsing said report despite the fact that he viewed it as utterly redundant caused his brows to crease in annoyance. Cross could read, couldn’t he? Still, if nothing else, it offered Leux a brief respite from the controlled chaos of sickbay. With the influx of casualties handled – the wounded from various burns, cuts, abrasions, broken bones, and the miserly affected by acute onset of space-sickness thanks to whatever debacle had happened in engineering – medical was as ready as it could be for whatever lay ahead, and it seemed appropriate to verify all departments current state of readiness to the ‘head honcho’ as it were, although, in Cross’ case, Arven felt it more apt to simply call the man ‘the Head’.

That brought a brief, weak curl to the doctor’s lips, but he lacked the energy to maintain it. Lost in his own miserly musings and mental preparations, Arven failed to notice the lift cease, nor the person who stood awaiting entry. An eye cracked open, followed by a blink of confusion and a slight frown as the doctor cocked his head at the unfamiliar being as he pulled out a tricorder and scanned him without warning.

“Vaharran, interesting,” Leux commented to himself, then closed up the ‘corder and stowed it with a sigh. “Have you been here this whole time, or are you new? Either way, I don’t suppose you’ve bothered to stop by medical for an examination? It used to be protocol, you know,” he shrugged, too tired to really show concern. “Well, come on, if you're getting on,” he gestured for the man to enter, “we all have places to be.” Once he’d entered and the lift started again, Arven arched a tired eyebrow at the bulky Vaharran, who stood a couple of inches taller, noting the tea in his hand and the slight crumbs on his bearded chin.

“You got leftovers, by the way,” Leux deadpanned, finger pointed to his chin.

[ Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Battle Bridge | Deck 8 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ]
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With a smile and a nod in greeting, Hassar stepped into the offered turbolift. The mention of sickbay though did remind him that no, he had not in fact visited for a checkup and that he had neglected to deliver the medical records of the other Vaharrans that had come with him onto this ship. Procrastination or merely forgetfulness, the excitement of the day before and the sheer amount of things that needed to be done to move himself and his Marine detachment to Theurgy could certainly have allowed something like a few boxes of medical files to slip his mind.

Then again, he was no fan of visiting with the non-Vaharran doctors of Starfleet. The realization of their unique reproductive anatomy has led some physicians to ask innocent questions to sate their curiosity but were not ones that the Vaharrans were particularly keen to answer when said physician was an alien outsider. To a Vaharran it would be the same if they walked up to a human female and asked unprompted questions about their breasts. Either way, though, he silently scolded himself for failing to get those documents into the hands of the ship’s doctor the day before.

“Yes, I and my Marines arrived yesterday and have been settling in so no we have not been able to see the doctors yet for an examination, but I will give the order to have it done before the day is out,” Hassar responded professionally, his accent was notably similar to an Earth middle eastern one but perhaps a bit deeper. He noted the blue collar of the spotted man, a Trill if he remembered correctly, and figured he must be among the medical staff, or why would he bother to ask such a question.

He entered the lift and requested his destination. The turbolift doors swished closed, and the entire module started on its way up to the bridge with its usual whirring noise. He couldn’t imagine having to traverse a ship as large as this using only access ladders and companionways. Sure Vaharrans ships had elevators, but those were reserved for medical purposes and the transfer of cargo across other decks; unlike the Starfleet turbolifts they were slow and would impede the efficiency of crew movement. The ladders were a great way to stay in shape, though.

The voice of his traveling companion brought Hassar back to reality, and he glanced down to see the blue-shirted officer gesturing at his chin. With a quirked brow of confusion, he turned to look at himself in the reflection of a wall screen. Crumbs! Then, what he believed was a, Trill was right; the light brown flakes of his meat-filled pastry had found a home in his groomed beard and on the front of his uniform. He felt a twinge of embarrassment at his unkept appearance, punishment he supposed for his indulgence of a food that was a rarity back home.

He swatted the pastry flakes from his beard, brushed it back to how he had groomed it earlier, and knocked the pesky flakes from his uniform as well. Hassar may not have been on duty in an official capacity, but he was in uniform all the same and, as such, held himself accountable to its appearance. A matter of discipline, if he couldn’t keep his uniform in order, a simple task, how could he lead Vaharrans, and now perhaps even aliens, into battle?

His mess cleaned, he turned back to his companion, ready to introduce himself properly, when the blaring alarms and flashing red lights took both occupants off guard. Hassar remembered this as the so-called “Red Alert”, Starfleet’s version of what he would call Combat Condition in the Arosan Navy. No sooner had the Red Alert gone off did the turbolift doors swish open onto an active bridge. Commander Cross, in the middle giving orders, the large viewscreen, however showed nothing but empty space.

Taking a few steps onto the bridge and another step off to the side to let his Trill companion pass, Hassar looked onto the scene and felt oddly out of place. Of course, there was the fact that he was an alien to these people, from a different military, and had a different set of operational procedures, but more than that, he felt as if he lacked purpose, the feeling that had nagged at him since he woke up. He had no official duties here, he couldn’t really even be considered an observer as he had been during the War. Instead, he was but a passive bystander. As things settled down from the initial Red Alert and the bridge crew took their stations, Hassar walked around the bridge rail to the main command area dominated by the commanding officer’s and executive officer’s chair on a long bench-like structure. Once Cross had a moment, Hassar approached him.

“Commander”, he greeted the Vulcan, “what’s the situation? Anything I can do to assist?”

TIME: Day 2, 0800hrs

She was fine.

Totally and completely fine.

So totally fine that she hadn’t almost just fallen face first into the injector sensors she was realigning. However, it wasn’t particularly hard for Azrin to convince herself that this wasn’t a problem. At this angle, and this distance, there was no way she could get enough velocity to damage the sensors. Her soft face wouldn’t be so lucky– but Azrin wasn’t worried about that.

“Doc probably has something to say about it, though,” she muttered to herself.

Though at the rate Arven had been messaging her health reminders over the past 24 hours, he probably already had said something. Azrin still hadn’t read them all, so she wasn’t entirely sure. There were so many better things to focus on instead of the fact that her shoulder was starting to hurt again, her muscles felt like lead, and her brain was buzzing even faster than a strong shot of caffeine could provide. Oh, and her fingers were still shaking, but she was trying to ignore that, even as it slowed down her work.

Whatever brain fog had caused her earlier… mistake… had proved to be only momentary. Afterward, Azrin had successfully pleaded with Frank to be allowed to remain in engineering, determined to get everything up and running again as an apology for almost destroying it all in the first place. By now, everyone had been working flat out for hours, so Azrin’s dirty clothes, knotted hair, and bloodshot eyes didn’t look out of place among the engineering staff.
It probably didn’t help that she’d started talking to herself – and by extension, the ship – more than usual, as a way to keep herself awake. She’d tried singing at first, but the universal translator insisted on changing the Trill words to Federation standard, which didn’t rhyme, sounded like gibberish, and drove the small part of her that had been a musician two hundred years ago totally insane. Humming just wasn’t cutting it right now. So she was talking to everyone and everything.

“Note to self: reprogram universal translator. I think I have one in my quarters, under a pile of socks… another note: disinfect the translator before putting it in my ear.”

“Aha! There you go!” She exclaimed after a final minute turn of the hypospanner, and green lights began flickering to life on the indicator panel. “Now you can see what’s going on down there, can’t you Thea? I think the warp cores got a bit jealous personally, with everyone cooing over the slipstream drive. We have to learn how to be friendly with a system that sucks up that much power. I’ll work on that later. Have to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“Injector sensors are back up! Someone confirms on the main board for me?” Her last question was drowned out as the red alert blared to life around them. “Ah, come on. Please don’t break the ship. I just fixed it!”

[ Ens. Zin Shu | Battle Bridge | Deck 8 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy | What a Way to Introduce Oneself ]
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Fresh to the ship, fresh off the shuttle, fresh off of little sleep. It was customary when you were in a completely new set of quarters and new sounds, and sleep just wasn’t like it used to be. Zin had been on ships before, but this time, was different. The rumors that surrounded the Theurgy had been quiet for the time being, but the ship still had quite a reputation. When the Commander told her that he wanted her on the ship because her skill set would only be advantageous to it she had decided to take the risk. Having no family to leave behind and no ties anywhere, she was the perfect pick for a deep space assignment that was wrought with danger and risk.

Zin looked at herself in the mirror, her stomach a host to a community of rabid butterflies at this point. Pulling her hair back into a quick ponytail, she secured it with a small tie and tightened it by pulling at the sides to secure it properly. Dark eyes stared back at her from the mirror as though they had something to say, but she just couldn’t comprehend it.

A quick mewling protest was Zin's only warning before the white kitten she had adopted before coming to the Theurgy, Daisy jumped up and perched perfectly on the side of the sink. Looking up at Zin, she let out another sharper mew.

“I know, I know, it’s time for me to go…” she sighed, looking at her roommate. The white feline didn’t say anything else but merely hopped off the sink, stuck her tail in the air, and sauntered off into the bedroom. Zin grinned. It was her first time having a pet in her entire life and honestly, she found herself feeling a lot less lonely with Daisy around. She also found herself talking to Daisy like she was a full-on person, but at least no one was around to witness that.

Pushing away from the sink, Zin picked up her tricorder, PADD, and other items, placing them in her pockets before adjusting her collar one more time. “Don’t nap too hard while I’m gone, My Lady…” she said. Daisy didn’t even bother to raise her head from Zin’s pillow on the newly made bed, her thick, and bushy tail thumping against the pillow as if to say, ‘you could be here, but you’re not’.

Outside her Quarters, Zin headed quickly to the Turbolift. She hadn’t even met anyone on the ship yet except the Quartermaster, who told her which Quarters she was assigned to. After that, she had merely worked on unpacking her things, which were mostly Daisy’s things, and getting herself mentally prepared for the job that lay ahead. No one stopped her on the way to the lift, and no one spoke to her on the way up to the Bridge, which was fine with Daisy because she was terrible at small talk and wasn’t entirely sure she could speak without puking on people just yet.

The Bridge was a bustling area that was massive, definitely much larger than anything Zin had been on before. Her eyes looked around in a bit of innocent curiosity before she found the station she was supposed to man. Before she could do that, though, she at least needed to introduce herself. Which required speaking, being heard, and being seen, all things that were uncomfortable for the young Ensign.

“H-Hi.. I mean,” Zin squinted her eyes for a moment to refocus. “Ensign Shu repor-“

Before she could really speak, the red alert sounded, and battle stations were called out. Zin forgot all about reporting in and quickly headed to the unmanned station. Signing in with her credentials, she sat in the seat and looked at what was happening. They had entered their destination and now it was show time. Shu knew little about what was going on, as she had only just gotten here, and no debrief had really taken place. She was pretty sure she had missed whatever brief there was. However, right now, she needed to figure out what she could do to help.

[ Lt Cmdr. Jaru “Janus” Rel | FAB | Deck 16 | Vector 2 | The Ranger | USS Theurgy ]
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Outside, he was sure the FAB was a hive of activity. But in his office, it was as quiet as a graveyard. Janus thought that was fitting. At the moment, it felt like a graveyard, too, death’s pale fingers trailing whispers across his skin, headless of the exosuit meant to be armor.
He was staring at the flight roster, names color-coded and moved from their normal positions to indicate the three separate locations the squadron had split to cover, broken up the moment they had gotten back to full strength. His eyes kept drifting to the bottom, where he had just moved Javert’s name and grayed it out. Inactive. What a clinical term for a violent death. Janus knew he couldn’t dwell on it. Letting the past infringe on the present was a surefire way to get more people killed. But it still stung, losing a pilot on his first mission back.

And now there were five. Five, where he should have had twelve, were attached to a damaged ship in enemy territory, hiding out because they couldn’t go to warp, sitting ducks for any Romulans who happened by.

With a quick tap of his fingers, he pulled up footage from Atlas’ first training sim yesterday and reviewed it again. On principle, Janus was against letting a pilot with so little experience on the Mark III join a combat mission. But in reality, six was better than five, and reality trumped principle every time. What he saw here was good enough to give it a shot. Janus moved the new pilot to the active flight roster and shut down the console. This was how it was going to be. Now to go make it work.

He re-entered the main bay with the intention of finding the Kzinti for a talk – right as the red alert started. Guess the Romulans finally realized they were here. The room had been busy before, but it was nothing compared to now. Janus turned and quickly made his way to his Valkyrie. He spared a glance for the areas where he’d marked damage earlier, noting a crewman hurriedly replacing a bit of panel near the warp coils.

“All good?” The Andorian gave a quick thumbs up, then got out of the way. That was good enough for Janus. He’d run the rest of the system’s checks from the cockpit.

“Let’s go! Someone tell Atlas he’s coming too, trial by fire.”

[ Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | FAB | Deck 16 | Vector 2 | The Ranger | USS Theurgy ]
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Nothing assaulted the ears like the Assault Bay in peak activity before a launch. The noise was intense, a cacophony of ordered functionality blended with the randomized shouts of flight crews and pilots as they underwent last-minute repairs or standardized preventative maintenance. One had to acclimate to it first to drown it out and concentrate on the task at hand, and Talia realized she wasn’t exactly there yet. Warning alarms from loaders blared, delivering weapons and ammunition. In the next bay over from where her ship sat, deckies swarmed over the charred, powerless corpse of Wolf-08. Shadow tried not to look at it. She was due up on Alert 5 in sixteen minutes and had to get through her pre-flight before the Chief showed up to verify. She didn't mind the secondary check, and really didn't mind Liam either, but...there was always an air of awkwardness between them; which was mostly Talia's fault. And Ghosts.

Still, some things were probably better off left unsaid.

She stood near the port impulse assembly in full armor, sans helmet when her ears picked up the number designation for her bird. That’s not Liam’s voice; Shadow frowned and looked around. Oh, another Kzinti, her brows shot up as the Chief approached, along with her best approximation of a friendly smile.

“You can hit Atlas’ ship first if you like; that way, we aren’t tripping over each other. I’m Shadow, by the way. Nice to meet you, Chief,” Talia lifted her chin up to him, extending a hand for a brief shake. “Hopefully, things calm down enough soon for us to properly get to know you. For now, though, we both got business to handle,” she added with a grin over her shoulder, then returned to her checklist as the noise of the deck continued.

She’d barely read off the next line when everything started flashing red.

“Red alert – incoming attack craft – all hands, battle stations!”

Shadow spun to grab her helmet and caught the new Chief’s eye again. “Hold down the fort for us,” she nodded to him, then pulled her helm on and threw Goldeneye a thumbs up before marching back to her cockpit. Guess I’ll finish pre-flight in the box; Talia smirked to herself as she climbed up and opened a channel to Flight Ops.

“Wolf-04, priming,” Shadow reported in.

Whatever was coming, she sure hoped she was ready to face it.

[ CPO Avandar Lok | Fighter Bay Operations Office | Deck 16 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ]
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Lok bowed his head slightly and returned the handshake, happy to see that Shadow was one of those pilots that knew how to do a proper pre-flight check themselves or was willing to do them at the very least. Some pilots took on a bit of a superior attitude when it came to the dynamic of them and the deck crews, seeing themselves as above all that labor required to maintain their craft, expecting to climb in and fly simply; anything else was for the grunts who never went to the Academy. Lok had not yet encountered anything like that here, but there was always the possibility.

At any rate, it saved him some time to go over Atlas’s spacecraft as Shadow had suggested. His had required more work to be brought up to speed and so a quick check to ensure his guys hadn't missed anything was prudent. After exchanging pleasantries with Shadow, just simply “nice to meet yous” and “hope we can work together more”, he turned and started for Atlas’s fighter. He barely got a few steps when the Red Alert sounded.

He whipped his head back around, ears fully perked and alert, his eyes meeting Shadow’s for a brief moment. The look on her face indicated that she didn't need any prompting on to do. With a nod Lok turned back to the flight deck as a whole, his hearts racing, it had been a long time since he took part in a launch and as his keen eyes scanned the bay he realized that Liam had not returned yet, meaning he would be in charge for a brief time. You can do this. He reached into his pocket, fishing out an earpiece, he hooked it onto his left ear. Rather than using combadges it was best for the flight deck crews to have their own independent coms loop to coordinate with each other and hear each other over the noise; this also freed up bandwidth from the main coms channels for the rest of the ship.

[Lok to Phuc, take over the starboard spotting and launch until Mister Herrold is on the deck, I’ll handle the port], Lok ordered, as he expected they wouldn’t have time to wait for Liam to return to duty, nor could Lok efficiently handle the launch of all fighters by himself.

[Acknowledged Chief], Phuc responded.

Next came the intricate and well-choreographed dance of fighter spotting. Each respective team of specialists conducted their inspections and final configurations of the spacecraft to ready them for battle. The last of the ordnance is prepped and loaded. The pilots were helped into their cockpits and completed their final checklists before launch. Lok took his launch station at the end of the flight deck by the repulsor-launchers surrounded by a group of other technicians who would make the final checks before sending the spacecraft off into battle. It should be noted that he had the final say, if he saw anything on his PADD or on the physical spacecraft itself that looked suspicious and might jeopardize the life of the pilot or deck crews, then he would not hesitate to pull the spacecraft from the flight line to give it a once over and hopefully solve the problem quickly to get it in the fight.

First up, naturally, was the squadron leader, Wolf-01, Janus. Lok hadn’t had much chance to talk with him yet, surprising considering the Lieutenant Commander’s position, but the past day had already been a whirlwind of activity and for the foreseeable future, that was unlikely to change. While the final inspection team quickly did a visual once over of the primed and ready Valkyrie, Lok went over the last items of the pre-flight checklist with Janus, his dry, professional tone a sharp contrast to his normally jovial one. One might have mistaken Lok’s demeanor as one fit for a training session, not a high-stakes battle.

[Thrust levers to idle…confirm ordnance arming switch is set to safe…confirm core SCRAM switch is set to armed…] Lok announced as he waited for the confirmations from Janus on the last items of the checklist. All checked and green. The visual confirmation of a thumbs up by an Ordnanceman (ORD) and a Space Craft Inspector (SCI) let Lok know that everything was ready.
[Commander, arming tags removed, spacecraft configured properly, prepare for launch…], he reported then held up his hand to visually begin the countdown, [...in five…four…three…two…one, LAUNCH, good hunting Commander.]

The accelerator hummed to life, and in the blink of an eye Janus was out of the bay, followed seconds later by Ghost, who had been given final checks by the recently arrived Ensign Herrold. Fellow Kzinti, Atlas would come next, Lok giving him the final checks, taking an extra second to confirm the recently reassembled warp core was showing no warnings before the big furry cat was also out of the bay and off to whoop some Romulan ass. Salvo followed shortly behind Atlas then Goldeneye, and finally, bringing up the rear was Shadow. The deck was now clear, and Lok and Liam quickly got their teams in order to prepare the deck for recovery, all the while listening to the sounds of the pilots engaged in a dramatic fight to protect their ship.

NARRATOR: While Commander Cross ordered fighters to launch in response to the new threat, he also ordered an extraction team to take advantage of the coming altercation to infiltrate the carrier, find Revad, and return him to the Ranger, alive if at all possible. Considering who was on the ship available for the coming missions, the extraction team was made up of an odd assortment; some members faced a front-line assault for the first time in their careers, while for others, it was just another day on the job.

OOC: Y'all wrote like 60 pages, you wonderful lunatics, so I'm posting in sections lmao