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.

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.

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.

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?)