Episode 2 Chapter Two: Objectives Joint Post

This is a wiki page dedicated to the Joint-Post writing of Chapter Two in Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative.

Writers will find the objective(s) they've opted to describe/document achieving on this page and will have until a set date to write In-Character segments. This setup will increase the pace and alacrity at which this epic multi-vector episode is depicted.

Rules:

• The order of the slots has been inputted according to the Cosmic Imperative calendar of events.
• The chapter GM will "fluff" and weave the individual posts once all the objectives have been depicted.
• Write as much as you like and use as many NPC's as you like. Just remember that if you choose to kill off an NPC, the same rules apply here as in regular threads: get permission from GM first and, after the fact, update that NPC's wiki page to show the deceased.
• Once all the objectives have been written, the GM will alert chapter writers and they will then have the opportunity to look back through the objectives they did NOT write to and add in In-characters thoughts/responses to that objective if they feel so inspired
• Continual corrections and edits are encouraged to allow for a better flow.

Death list (mark characters off after you kill them):

• Lt. Jonathan Byrne - Killed in Action
• Lt. RraHnam - grievously injured, required stasis chamber
• Lt. JG Evelyn Rawley - Killed in Action
• Ens. Sarah Bjorge - grievously injured, required stasis chamber
• Ens. Liam Herrold - Killed in Action

Any continuity errors and discrepancies will be sorted out after the ending date and before the JP is posted in Chapter One, Episode 02. The GM will handle any latent formatting issues and conversion from wiki markup to forum BBC code before posting.

Arrive at the Romulan Carrier

Now that the ship is fixed, if only temporarily, this objective will detail arriving at the carrier and all the diplomatic and/or dicey intricacies of the approach and maintaining position in order to carry out the mission. Take creative license for detailing the good, the bad, and the ugly of this sort of cold war era level of hostilities meeting between Theurgy and the Romulans.

Joshs1000

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

The gentle slow inhale and exhale 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 more clear 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, and 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, 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 dried he brushed his teeth, groomed his beard 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]

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, space craft 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 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 to not 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.

Ryetanker

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

It had been gruelling 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, probably the biggest saving grace they'd gotten with the fix had been not needing to execute a cold shut down 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 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. Until she was done and they could start pumping matter and anti-matter into the chamber, they were operating on fusion power alone. 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 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 an EPS junction was patched 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 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. As soon as he had the target's location information in hand, he could close the trap on the prey. 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. 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 the sensor crewman looked at the data coming in. "Sir, small craft are moving in system at high speed. Initial readings were consistent with Stalker class fighters."

Dumedion

[LT Arven Leux | Turbolift, en route to Battle Bridge | Between Decks | The Ranger]

Alone for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Arven fought the urge to just 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 your 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 inches taller, noting the tea in his hand and the slight crumbs on his bearded chin.

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

[Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | FAB | Deck 16 | Vector 2 | The Ranger]

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. To drown it out and concentrate on the task at hand, one had to acclimate to it first, 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 got back 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.

SomeBunny

[Ens. Zin Shu | Bridge | USS Theurgy | What a Way to Introduce Oneself]

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 that 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 quieted for the time being but the ship still held 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, having 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 pony tail 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 she just couldn’t comprehend it.

A quick mewling protest was the only warning Zin had 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 room mate. 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 which 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, and 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 down in the seat and began to look at what was going on. They had entered their destination and now it was show time. Shu didn’t know much 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.

rae

[ Lt. Azrin Ryn’s terrible, no good, very bad, best day of her life | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | Vector 3 | The Ranger, USS Theurgy ]

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 that 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. Afterwards, 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 confirm 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!”

Getting Romulan operative off carrier

Referring to the senior staff meeting joint post for names and details, this objective should showcase the creative and (hopefully) effective way the crew is able to locate and save the Romulan operative before he is assassinated. Again, creative build-up of in-game canon is always encouraged and welcomed, and if you have questions or ideas you'd like to run by the GM, reach out via PM/DM.

Dumedion

[Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | Cockpit, AC-409 Valkyrie | Kappa Rho Expanse, H'dai System]

As the saying went, the Wolves were ‘all dressed up for the party’. Six fighters flew in tight Vicformation, holding to a circuitous patrol, keeping just within weapons range of the Ranger – sensors hot. Shadow surveyed the system on her navigation console while Janus outlined the situation; but the story seemed thin. Intel was sparse, to say the least. They knew there was an unknown Romulan ship in system, and they knew it had launched at least one wave of fighters already – which meant it was likely D’Deridex class, at least, or something comparable. The H’dai system itself was a graveyard; astrometric data suggested it’s star had swollen in its death-throes eons ago and swallowed most of the inner system’s rocky worlds – those that survived were reduced to clouds of interstellar dust and debris, left to halo the shrunken corpse of a white dwarf in a funeral shroud of glitter. Two gas giants remained out-system, each with their own stellar empires of orbiting satellites, all cold and barren of life. The Ranger, a speck of white in the darkness somewhere off Talia's port wing, powered stately through the immense region of relatively open void between the shrouded regions of blue-white dust that stretched out for several AU’s across the region. Astrometric surveys designated this area the Kappa Rho Expanse – a stellar oubliette of unfathomable proportions, still riddled with the radiation scarring from the cataclysm that shaped it so many millennia ago.

Shadow looked up and checked her position, between Ghost and Goldeneye. Six of us, against who-knows-what, Shadow shook her head; whatever the Captain’s reasons were for splitting the crew, the ship, and the Wolves, she hoped they were really good ones. Her head turned over a shoulder to check Salvo and Atlas, on the outer flanks of the formation. Once Janus was done with his spiel, it didn’t surprise her at all when Ghost chimed in; her thick Scottish accent crackled in Talia’s helm with a wet edge of anticipation.

[Dun let these wankers split ye up. Our strength is'n tha pack – we fight t’gether or w’die alone, so bloody keep up or I’ll kick yer arse! Noobies, use yer tet-cannons t’paint ‘em – tac data will upload ye target for the lot ‘o us. They’ll be quick and pack a punch bu’ w’e can take ‘em. Mind ye intervals and fooks sake, watch ye six – that’s where tha bastards will try ta hit yae.]

Shadow nodded, but refrained from comment; she’d done her homework on the Hawk-class and what little intelligence had on the newer Stalker-class fighters, but there was a world of difference between reading up on an enemies capabilities and actually fighting them. She kept her eyes moving while they waited, vigilant for visual or sensor identification. The six of them had scrambled in record time – as far as Shadow reckoned, anyway – but if her math was right, the Romulan fighters could be parked within a couple thousand kilometers of their position by now, and no one would have a clue until it was too late. Tactical unlink from mission ops aboard the Ranger fed each fighter constantly updated sensor sweeps, augmenting their own impressive data suites. Blips of intermittent contacts popped up almost at random intervals, only to disappear within seconds; just long enough to give a vague impression of speed and heading.

“Stupid cloaks,” Shadow grumbled to herself.

[Repeat tha?] Ghost called.

“Nothing. Disregard,” Talia spoke up and re-checked her ordinance load-out. In addition to the standard compliment of pulse phasers, arrays, dual-mass driver turrets and internal micro-torp launchers, Talia had opted to carry two external torp pods with a mix of EMP and Quantum warheads along with two Hellbore torps and two Hellhound cluster bombs; ideal against engagement against a larger, slow moving target. If we get a chance to use them, she exhaled, flexed her armored gloves, and settled back for the show to start.

[Sub-Commander Choreeno | Command Deck | IRS Okhala Thrai | Outer reach, H’dai System]

He sat ramrod strait, elbows rested on the armchair of the command seat, fingers steepled before the hawkish curve of his nose. In the dim blue light of subdued power while the ship ran cloaked, his black, intelligent eyes stayed fixed on the view screen before him, watching the tactical display with the slightest of smiles. Confidence bled from Choreeno in an aura, palpable and infectious to the dozens of officers at their stations. From his position, raised above them, he had clear view of everything and everyone under his command; no one sat behind him, no station demanded he turn his head more than ninety degrees. Choreeno observed and dictated with his back to a wall – anything less was tempting fate. He watched and listened as his subordinates carried out their duties, manifesting the elegant tactical trap he envisioned into reality.

Yeda Squadron had acquired strike position upon positive contact identification moments ago, and was holding for orders, silent and unseen. He knew the sensory capabilities of their adversary would prove problematic soon enough, but if fate favored them, it wouldn’t amount to much in the end. After all, what were a few lost fighters against the sacking of such a formidable foe? Nothing, less than nothing, Choreeno smirked. “Launch status,” he queried aloud.

“Xarl squadron reports launch readiness, sir – Zora leader reports alert status.”

Choreeno nodded and shifted his attention to the flight coordinator stationed on the other side of the deck. Move Yeda into attack formation, full plasma spread on the primary only, at my command,” he ordered, then returned his attention to the tactical display. “Prepare to drop cloak. I want Xarl deployed and the ship re-cloaked in sixty cycles or less.”

His officers scrambled to comply.

“Sir,” the communications officer, Lieutenant Sienae, alerted. “Incoming hail from the Federation ship – indirect, open broadband transmission.”

Choreeno sucked his teeth in an unimpressed grimace. “A tedious, fumbled attempt at diplomacy no doubt,” he mused, then simply nodded. “Very well. Let’s hear what they have to say.”

An image came to life on the viewscreen: A Vulcan male, bald, with stout shoulders and an inner strength in his eyes. The sub-commander’s brow rose fractionally at the sight of him.

“Greetings, Romulan vessel. We know you’re lurking over our shoulders, wondering what the hell we’re doing here, all alone, and it’s only because of that curiosity that you’ve not tried to blow us to bits.” The Vulcan paced a trail toward the viewing screen, scanning the proverbial heavens for even a glimpse of the Romulans. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing. “If you don’t already recognize this ship in its present form or have the mental fortitude to piece together what we’re capable of, I’ll make it easy for you. We are of the USS Theurgy, renegade and rogue to some, ass-kicker and problem solver to others. I am Commander Cross, speaking on behalf of Captain Ives.” He then glanced at the monitoring crew behind him and, noticing their subtle head shakes, merely rolled his eyes and continued.

Choreeno grinned at the display; this Cross was a surprisingly terrible Vulcan.

“Contrary to propaganda from either ‘your’ side or ‘ours,’ we aren’t interested in toppling governments and couldn’t give two fucks who’s at the helm of your planet.” Cross visibly winced; in regret for his poor choice of words, no doubt. “What we DO care about is averting the type of destruction that would end entire civilizations, be it yours, ours, or even the Tholians. Doesn’t really matter when your destruction spells our own. Not to sound terribly Vulcan, knowing your history, but the needs of the many and all that.” The Starfleet officer continued while he paced to the opposite end of the viewing screen.

Choreeno frowned, intrigued by the veracity in the Vulcan’s tone. What game is he playing at?

“Pedantic speeches aside, the point of fact is that you have an agent onboard your vessel that will bring about your destruction, and our own, in a fucking cascade-like fashion. No, we didn’t put him there, but we have been informed of his presence and of what his presence means to our collective survival. We’ve come here to take him off your hands as we know who to give him to, to ensure that his mistakes or successes can't fuck us all over.” Cross pulled his hands together behind his back and rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, then back onto his heels as he went on. “Now, you can balk at our audacious claims, or you can do us all a favor and corner a certain man named Revad and allow us to beam him over. There be no need for violence.”

A curt hand gesture silenced the transmission. Choreeno stroked the immaculately groomed goatee upon his chin in consideration briefly, before he shook his head and stood. As entertaining as Starfleet’s vague claims were, he had no interest in heeding them and even less in cooperation; they had invaded his people’s sovereign space, violated the dictated Neutral Zone Treaty, and had clearly come to apprehend a member of his crew for their own agenda. Given these facts, Choreeno foresaw only one course of action.

“Signal Yeda squadron – full attack. Prepare to drop cloak! I want Xarl launched and Zora moved up launch readiness before we cloak again. Order Xarl to full attack on the primary immediately,” the sub-commander paused, meeting the eyes of his crew. “We will deal with these interlopers and press on to the border to crush Donatra’s petty rebellion once and for all.” A chorus of acknowledgement answered him, while he gestured to a nearby centurion. “Find Revad. Silence and secure him, quietly. Go,” he ordered in a heated whisper.

The centurion nodded and hurried off.

Choreeno clasped his hands behind him and returned his attention to the tactical display with a nod. “Execute,” he commanded.

[Meanwhile…| Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | Cockpit, AC-409 Valkyrie]

Her sensors lit up with a gaggle of hard contacts; a flight of twelve blips well out of engagement range, along with a massive signature near the limits of low-res long range. Shadow turned in formation with the pack on an intercept course, as a solid beam of phaser fire streamed out from the Ranger; a miniscule flash of impact lit up several hundred kilometers out, just as the contacts dropped from sensors. What the hell, she fumed, even if she was glad the Ranger managed a hit. Talia’s eyes widened in surprise at what bloomed into being in their place a few seconds later; it was a literal wall of sickly green pulses, sixty strong, at least, and they were all headed directly for the Ranger. “Fuck me,” Shadow whispered, as a voice from mission ops filled her helmet.

[Heads up Wolves; we’re tracking another wave of fighters launched and a massive plasma strike inbound. Be advised, we now have at least 24 enemy fighters in the battlesphere – intercept at your discretion. Orders are unchanged, maintain defensive position within effective transport and weapons range. Wolf Leader, stand by for potential additional tasking.]

Janus oriented them into a flanking attack angle, lining them up to take a passing strike at the incoming wave of missiles; Talia’s thumb flicked the safety cover off her guns with a nod. They didn’t need to hit every one, but they sure as hell were going to try. All six fighters opened up at maximum range in almost the exact same moment; a blistering hail of pulse phasers, beams, and micro-torps. Talia winced at the bright display of firepower; a sight she’d never seen in all the simulations she’d ever run – this was a unified barrage that could have wrecked anything in its path.

Then she realized in almost the same instant that the light was far too bright, and far too close...

Ghost’s ship had been the source; there and gone in a blink. Shadow’s sensors screamed out alerts as her shields were suddenly hammered from behind. A glance over her shoulder confirmed it: “Break – break – br—” Talia shouted, as all hell broke lose. Chaos reigned; voices overlapped, as her fellow Wolves scrambled – calling out targets, maneuvers, warnings. Through it all, one thing had made itself abundantly clear: the Romulans had waited patiently, like predators, for the Wolves to engage the missiles, then pounced to sink their teeth in. Shadow evaded, as the pack unity fell apart around her, straining to hear the new tasking mission ops had chosen to send at the exact wrong moment.

[…be advised, shuttle launch imminent to extract HVT from…will need escort….Romulan carrier, capabilities unknown…recommend heavy ordinance. Acknowlege.]

“We’re a little busy right now,” Shadow yelled over the coms traffic, not really concerned if anyone heard her or not. The old man’s ears didn’t miss it, nor did Talia miss the forceful tone he used to clear the coms channel; despite the insane ferocity of combat, Janus’ voice was controlled and collected – he issued his orders immediately without any hesitation.

Shadow sent her acknowledgement as she opened fire on a flanking Stalker moving onto Salvo's six; the bastard’s cloak was already shimmering into life as her trailing fire raked across its wings and ventral hull in a blistering hail of fire. She watched it tumble off course as she passed, then detonate in a green-hued fireball of expanding incandescent gas and debris.

It was her first kill, but they were still outnumbered 2 to 1. Her sensors tracked the shuttle launch; a type-11. She watched it bank under the glowing ribbons of streaming fire filling the void around the Ranger as it’s PDC systems roared to life. Talia banked hard to intercept and spotted Goldeneye following suit. The Stalkers had disappeared, leaving the Wolves to reform and regroup, for the moment.

“Wolf Leader, Wolf 4,” Shadow swallowed between breaths, “pushing to shuttle rendezvous. We’ll get them in and back,” she told him, if only speaking it aloud would somehow make it happen. Thrusting up to full power, the two fighters streamed towards the Ranger and their charge as the far side of the void, beyond the white hull of the dreadnought, lit up with another 64-warhead wall of plasma.

Talia hailed the shuttle. “This is Wolf-4, escort inbound. We have your six – hope you have a plan for whatever the hell you’re trying to do out here,” she half asked, half snapped.

Whatever it is, I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.

[Ens. Ali Louis | Type-11 Shuttle Hypatia]

He fought the urge to look back at the others as the unfamiliar voice erupted across the comms. He hadn’t trained for this, not really – he was just a shuttle pilot, for crying out loud! Still, Ali managed to ignore the cold sweat that trickled down his back and cleared his throat, willing someone else to answer. When he’d been pulled into this operation, given a five minute brief, and asked to do the impossible, he’d nearly passed the hell out. Unable to control himself any longer, he turned to glance at the towering figures cramped into the passenger compartment, noisily making themselves ready for combat, along with the human-looking figure of a man in their midst with weird eyes and jet black hair. He looked like he was in considerable pain, or really hungover.

“Uhh, can one of you talk to them? I’m trying my best not to get us all killed right now,” Louis implored them.

RyeTanker

[Master Chief Petty Officer Klex Sonden | Vector 2 Battle Bridge | Deck 8| Vector 2]

Master Chief Petty Officer Klex Sonden was at the tactical station when he saw Romulan fighters decloak on widely converging vectors, all aimed at Theurgy. The next warning showed plasma torpedoes being charged from the fighters.

“Fighters incoming from starboard and ventral. Wolves engaging starboard!” Master Chief Sonden exclaimed rapidly as chaos ensued. “4 enemies destroyed. We’re being painted!” The next computer warning appeared that Point Defence had gone into automatic mode and updated protocols that had been originally crafted at the end of the 23rd century, and updated to take advantage of modern technological updates pushed the ship forward as thrusters rotated the ship to provide the optimum angles for defensive fire coverage. Four of the Romulan fighters had become debris in the merge with the Wolves, but the remaining twenty bore into the accelerating Starfleet vessel. The range was a bit long and one group was rattled by their sudden losses, but they still closed. Faces were grim and tight as Vulcanoid eyes glared at the targeting caret in their HUDs when the warning to Fire appeared and each pilot pulled the trigger just as their view exploded in a curtain hail of orange as the PDPCs and phaser arrays opened fire on the incoming balls of superheated gas. The space between the fighters and Theurgy became alive with boils of light as the thin gas shells of the torpedoes were smashed and violently liberated their energy into space. Four more fighters died as they had launched too late, their torpedoes detonating practically right next to their hulls before the phaser beam continued on to smash the relatively fragile hulls of the fighter.

The remainder scattered in the face of such intense fire, jinking wildly to throw off the aim of the demonic blaze of energy being sent in their direction causing more misses. Sub-Commander Choreeno blanched as nearly a third of the fighters launched disappeared suddenly with many more streaming back towards the carrier with varying levels of battle damage. It looked questionable if even a third of the fighters would make it back under their own power. However, it was not all once sided as 48 of the 64 torpedoes launched at Theurgy flew through the point defence bubble, though a mere seven survived the gauntlet to smash into the Starfleet ship's shields. Explosions rocked the ship as the micro suns blasted themselves against the shields and the backup systems struggled to keep the energy barrier up. If the warp core had been up, this would have been no contest, but it was altogether a different story when on the fusion generators. The results were telling as relays sparked and conduits ruptured, spewing white gas from the weakened section.

[Ensign Sarah Bjørge | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy]

Ensign Sarah Bjørge had been gathering some last second medical supplies for her med kit and was arranging them in her bag. She did this by feel as she moved down the corridor towards the lobby as part of the triage team. The shook violently under her feet and she lost her footing, stumbling forward while awkwardly trying to regain her balance before being sent flying as a conduit near the decontamination chambers exploded. She had the momentary feeling of hot, searing pain as shrapnel lanced all over her back, then the world went spinning as the force of the explosion sent her hurtling into the wall and smashed her body into the opposite wall. She lay there, badly concussed and unresponsive, knowing she was in shock and in bad shape, but there was nothing she could do about it as her consciousness began to slip. An echoey sound followed. Someone was calling that sickbay was on fire and there were casualties.

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

Damage reports rolled in and Chief Arnold knew they were out of time. The backup systems were only designed to endure so much punishment and they served an adjunct function in full up combat. They were going to have to risk it as he turned to Azrin working at the warp core. “Azrin! Close up the core. We’ll have to manage the fuel flow by software.” The burly Chief turned to the fuel monitors. “When the core is sealed, start the flow at 5%, then bring it up as fast as you can. Watch the annihilation variances, we can’t have the power bleed become too wide.”

The engineers followed his commands and he watched as the power readings began to quickly rise while hovering near the annihilation coefficient of an unstable reaction, working desperately to keep the core from becoming a self-immolating photon torpedo writ large.

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

The tactical sensor crewman flinched as sparks shot out from a nearby console while a medical crewman dragged off someone as they screamed from the shrapnel wounds in their face. The air stank of ozone and smoke hung to the upper bulkheads. He was starting to sweat despite the constant flow of cool air that circulated through the bridge. They'd beaten this wave, but who knew what else was coming and he really didn't want to die. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to his bank of consoles and focused on the stream of information coming in as the sensor information became more refined. The ship's comm system chirped. "Bridge, this is Lieutenant Herbert in Intel." Hopefully, he had some good news. "Some of the badly damaged fighters can't cloak and are heading to a point in space that doesn't have anything we can see. Sensors show slightly elevated levels of tachyons and anti-protons in the general direction they're headed." Knowing without having to wait for reports that this first wave had taken its toll on both ship and its crew, Commander Cross didn’t hesitate before issuing the command. “Lay in pursuit course. And have some some fighters to scout on ahead.”

[Space]

USS Theurgy's impulse engines roared to life as the ship gracefully surged forward and began to run down the fleeing Romulan Stalkers. A couple of really slow ones wouldn't be able to outrun the dreadnought chasing and turned to sell their lives to delay the enemy. It was a sacrifice in vain as the Wolves pounced and swatted the cripples aside. This garnered the other fighters as they turned around and headed back towards the Starfleet vessel in an attempt to buy their more badly damaged comrades more time. Sub-Commander Choreeno was livid at the damage that his fighters had taken, and the audacity of the enemy to head in his direction as if the cloak didn't matter. The strike had cost the fighters dearly, but it was clear that they had caused damage. Perhaps with something larger and more robust, the fighters would be able to strike a critical blow and leave the enemy vessel open to capture or destruction. A plan formed in the carrier commander's mind and he grinned in confidence. "Maneuver us towards the damaged fighters. Inform the final squadron that they will be launching in close quarters and they are not to engage right away. Wait till we have the Starfleet vessel's attention, then hit them in the underside, closest to where their warp core is. Our weapons should be able to deal with them afterward and we will see if they will surrender or if we will compel them to. Maybe destroy their bridge as an example to the rest." A chorus of acknowledgment followed as the cloaked carrier shifted course to close with the enemy. It didn't take too long, with both ships closing at what amounted to full impulse. At just outside what the Romulan Commander thought was Starfleet weapons range, he ordered the cloak dropped and the fighters launched.

Commander Cross grasped the essence of what was going to happen when Master Chief Klex announced the appearance of the Romulan ship. “I want an impulse burst. NOW! And fire all weapons!”

Theurgy surged forward as her engines burned a bright, malevolent red, and the front of the ship seemed to explode as phasers and photon torpedoes lanced out at the Romulan ship. The target profile was narrow, so many of the shots missed, but enough connected against the imperfectly formed shield bubble and explosions dotted the carrier's form. Sub-Commander Choreeno was thrown from his chair as consoles and conduits exploded across the bridge. A scream of terror was cut short as a support beam collapsed and smashed the communication's officer head open like an overripe melon.

The tactical officer's report was frantic as the ship took more hits. "We're taking hits on multiple sections! The port nacelle is not responding! Heavy casualties on the ventral and port quarters! Xarl squadron is launching!” Any further reports were cut off as a fresh round of explosions reverberated through the ship and the science console exploded in a shower of alloy and glass. The three crewman at that station screamed as one as they were turned into leaky meat bags. Sub-Commander Choreeno knew his ship was in trouble and had to get the situation under control. “Helm! Turn us hard to port! Bring the starboard weapons to bear! Divert emergency power to shields. Standby to cloak!” Whatever the helm officer had been ordered to do, he wouldn’t get the chance as a photon torpedo clipped one of the Xarl squadron fighters and sent it careening back towards the hanger deck. The disabled fighter collided with the launch port’s upper frame and exploded, sending flaming debris into the hanger deck. Flame vomited forth from the hanger as munitions and other combustibles detonated sympathetically. Power on the carrier soon began to flicker as the cumulative damage wreaked more havoc on the stricken ship's systems.

Travel back to Helmet dealing with unfriendlies

There is no feasible way that our characters were able to meet and "greet" with a Romulan carrier and travel back to the Triangle without some unfriendlies on their tails. These unfriendlies can come from nearby patrols or even from Romulus. They can be whatever class fighters/ships you'd like, and as with all the objectives, wreck and maim and kill as you see fit. Just give a heads-up to the GM and update the wiki pages accordingly.

Writer Name (replace with writer's name)

[Regular Character Tag | Location Detail | Location Detail] ATTN: tag all chapter writers

WRITE POST HERE FROM YOUR CHARACTER'S POV ONLY AND UTILIZING NPCS

Fix the Ship 2.0

As if having unfriendlies hounding you wasn't enough, the slipstream drive tanks and must be fixed again. Damage, maim, kill as you see fit just the same rules apply as in-game, give the GM a heads up and update wiki pages accordingly.

Writer Name (replace with writer's name)

[Regular Character Tag | Location Detail | Location Detail] ATTN: tag all chapter writers

WRITE POST HERE FROM YOUR CHARACTER'S POV ONLY AND UTILIZING NPCS

Arrive at Triangle in time for epic battle

After a harrowing journey with unfriendlies on tail, this objective can be perfect for recapping all the losses, personal or professional, as well as all the gains made in the duration of the chapter. Details on damages, injuries, fallen comrades, as well as new hopes/fears, are also good for this objective. Approach it as you like, just end the objective with the chapter characters arriving at the Triangle and alerting those on the Helmet of their arrival.

Ellen Fitz

[Cmdr. Cross | Battle Bridge | V. 2 | Deck 8 | The Ranger ] ATTN: @Brutus @Pierce @number6 @Nolan @rae @Dumedion @Havenborn @Krajin @Rye Tanker @tongieboi @joshs100 @Relatively Insane @chinxya

Acceptable losses.

• Lieutenant Jonathan Bryne - Killed in Action
• Lieutenant RraHnam - grievously injured, required stasis chamber
• Lieutenant Junior Grade Evelyn Rawley - Killed in Action
• Ensign Sarah Bjorge - grievously injured, required stasis chamber
• Ensign Liam Herrold - Killed in Action

Acceptable losses.

This was a phrase Star Fleet officers commonly used when assessing a mission before conducting it, and then IF the mission was a success, they used the term again for any loss in the process. It was a fucking miserable phrase that carried heavy connotations with it regardless of if used before or after a mission.

“Sir,” Cross looked up from the PADD he’d been studying with the list of those so-called ‘acceptable losses’ they’d incurred thus far, “sensors showed a temporal anomaly just a moment ago. Originating from within the ship.”

[ Cross to Hebert. ] His head hurt as he activated the comm badge. If he never had to deal with the USS Relativity and anything remotely related to time travel ever again, Cross would be a happy man. [ Status on our guest? ]

A moment passed before Lieutenant Junior Grade Hebert of Intelligence responded. [ Gone, sir. Is that a problem? ]

Cross shook his head. [ No, carry on. ]

No longer having the temporal agent onboard brought with it only a moment’s relief before another alert broadsided the Vulcan.

“Sir, we’re approaching the Triangle.” From the woman’s tone of voice, announcing their soon arrival at their much sought-after destination wasn’t the only thing she had to share. “Scanners are picking up weapon’s fire.”

Acceptable losses.

Cross inwardly cursed, realizing they were likely about to add to the list he’d just been reading over. Considering the harrowing journey they’d just completed, running from the Romulan carrier after extracting Revad, dealing with the hit-and-run tactics of the warbirds as they fled, especially vulnerable with the drive cut out, again, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Ranger would even be able to reconnect with the Helmet if they were to survive this next battle. They’d taken damage on multiple decks, suffered multiple losses, and were already operating at less than peak efficiency. Whatever it was they were about to face, Cross hoped to hell the others had already returned; otherwise, this could be their last battle.

[ All hands, battle stations. ] Cross grimly nodded to himself as they careened into the Triangle, courageously facing down whatever it was lying in wait for them.

FIN (potentially for the thread since we'll be picking up in the battle sequence altogether?)