<<Shuttlecraft Harvard, on final approach USS Malinche>>
<<2000 Hours>>
Byan Telayr-Harkin strummed his hands across the console absent mindedly, already impatient to get aboard. He'd been traveling for 3 days on his own in the crampt shuttlecraft. He had cramp in his leg, he was cranky and in desperate need of a shower.
That shower would hopefully be on the cards shortly, he thought almost longily, as one of the Malinche's nacelles came into view.
"USS Malinche calling Shuttlecraft Harvard, come in Harvard." Came a disembodied voice, accompanied by a series of beeps from his console, indicating he had arrived at his destination.
"This is Harvard. Receiving you loud and clear Malinche. This is Chief Petty Officer Telayr-Harkin requesting permission to dock."
"Permission granted Harvard, proceed at one quarter impulse to main shuttlebay." Came the reply.
Byan arched the shuttle gracefully around and headed straight toward the shuttlebay. A few metres from the shuttlebay proper the Malinche's internal tractor beam took over, allowing Byan time to gather his effects before the shuttle touched down.
A few minutes later Byan stepped out of the shuttle and onto the bay itself, giving he legs a releaving stretch before giving the shuttle a quick appreciative pat as a few engineers came to service it. He nodded to them as he moved out of the shuttlebay, checking the nearest computer console for the directions to the bridge as he went, intent on reporting to the Commanding Officer.
OFF:
You Can't Judge A Planet By Its Dilithium
Moderators: Tournneau, Korath, Kersare
-
Telayr-Harkin
- Senior Staff
- Posts: 3
- Joined: Sat Aug 26, 2006 6:41 pm
Final Approach
<img src="http://ussmalinche.kersare.net/images/r-VVV0.jpg">
Chief Petty Officer Byan Telayr-Harkin
Chief Of The Boat
USS Malinche
"Ex Insania, Sapientia"
Chief Petty Officer Byan Telayr-Harkin
Chief Of The Boat
USS Malinche
"Ex Insania, Sapientia"
-
Abubakar
- Senior Staff
- Posts: 60
- Joined: Mon Dec 19, 2005 11:29 pm
- Location: A hole, usually, sometimes referred to as Blackpool (UK)
ON: Planetside debris field. 1930. Day 3.
Standing at the Type 9 shuttle which had crashed on its side, Abubakar noted it was more damaged than he had originally thought from his aerial visual analysis. It had landed on its port side, the nacelle was smashed and a large piece of it lay a way behind.
From the ground, Abubakar could see a slide-trail from the shuttle - he mentally noted that it would suggest the shuttle had crash landed, rather than it was just a another piece of debris, albeit a conspicuous piece.
He tried the aft door, which had no chance of coming open, the hull had totally buckled on the port aft side which prevented any movement from the door. His eyes darted to the off-angle shuttle roof, where it had come to a halt there was a sand dune large enough to scramble up so he could stand on the shuttle to find an entry point, or make one.
If there was some way he could find out what happened, access the flight recorder, maybe someone aboard had recorded something, he didn't know - but if there was a chance...
Standing on top of the craft, Abubakar saw the starboard side window had been smashed, most likely by the impact, taking one last scan to make sure there wasn't anything inside it, he knelt down and placed his head carefuly inside, dropping an arm with a wrist-beacon attached to illuminate the interior. He gagged at the smell, the sick funk of wrotting flesh in the desert heat ran through his windpipe, wrenching at his stomach.
He shon the beacon over the port chair, it had been ripped from its moorings and now law on the port wall, beneath it Abubakar could see a pair of legs, one of which was severely broken, a grey hand and most saddeningly, a human-looking head of hair, at an odd angle.
The starboard chair was still in place, and strapped into it was a Starfleet human male, an ensign of the command line. His face was badly burned on his right side, dried crusty blood covered his uniform and hands. Jaran clenched his fists tightly in disgust as he saw the mans right eyeball had sunk into its socket, whatever this planets equivielant of a fly was, they were buzzing around the shuttle, creating a moving white blanket over the mans hands and face.
He had to do it, Abubakar had to go inside. As he leaned further in, a rotting, grey hand grabbed his face and yanked him down. He landed on the chair and bounced off, landing on something soft, that crunched benearh his weight, he opened his eyes and found himself nose to nose with a dead Bolian Lieutenant, he jumped up yelling in horror, his head snapped round to the right hand chair, the man inside it was writhing in agony, screaming in pain. The woman on the floor began to move, slowly coming to a kneel, she too was screaming in pain.
"No.." mumbled Jaran, his legs quivering. The Bolian who was on the port wall grabbed his leg, the woman staggered into a stand and the man in the starboard chair unfastened his straps and fell down with a sick crack.
Abubakar slapped the floor, felt its unbreaking flat surface, no way out.
"You" Said one
"Your fault!" Screamed the woman
"Why?" demaned the Bolian, gripping tighter as Abubakar tried to shake his decaying hand free.
Tears streamed down Abubakars face, "I..." he muttered as he backed away from the talkative corpses, "get back...g- get BACK!" he screamed, unclipping his phaser and pointing it at the two standing.
"Why?" asked the woman,
"Sooner! Why not sooner!" demanded the Bolian.
"You let us die!" yelled out the man, his burned face and sunken eye still moving with flies.
Abubakar screamed, fired his phaser and closed his eyes. "Get AWAY!" he screamed out, his legs collapsing and his whole body shaking. He looked up, blinking through the stinging hot tears, the front window was jaggedly broken, no corpses. He saw the Bolian on the floor, his head caved in, and the woman still buried under the chair, the limp form of the pilot hanging down from where he was strapped in the chair.
Abubakar ran fowards, gawking as he dived past the two at the front and through the front window, rolling onto the sand. He looked behind, through the broken glass he could see the mans hand swinging, he clambered away quickly, his whole body still shaking, on his hands and knees in the sand, he gagged, gagged, and then vomited all over the sand in front of him, over his hands and down his chin...
Tears dropped onto the hot sand and were instantly absorbed by the thirsty ground, he jumped up and ran back to Arrowhawk, shaking his hands off as he ran and wiping his chin with his uniform sleeve. Standing by the Arrowhawk, he dared to look back at the shuttle, his gagged again as he saw the trio standing outside it, greying, rotting, all staring at him. He beamed aboard, putting it down to the heat, he hadn't really seen them, they weren't really there.
Except this voice in the back of his mind, getting louder, told him they were, and that it was his fault. If he had bothered to scan earlier, he would have found them, it was his fault they were dead. He killed them, just like everyone on the mission planet, just like his team...
He blinked through wet eyelids, swallowing hard and exhaling slowly, shakily. He lifted off and flew slowly on thrusters over the desert, giving him time to compose himself.
OFF:
Standing at the Type 9 shuttle which had crashed on its side, Abubakar noted it was more damaged than he had originally thought from his aerial visual analysis. It had landed on its port side, the nacelle was smashed and a large piece of it lay a way behind.
From the ground, Abubakar could see a slide-trail from the shuttle - he mentally noted that it would suggest the shuttle had crash landed, rather than it was just a another piece of debris, albeit a conspicuous piece.
He tried the aft door, which had no chance of coming open, the hull had totally buckled on the port aft side which prevented any movement from the door. His eyes darted to the off-angle shuttle roof, where it had come to a halt there was a sand dune large enough to scramble up so he could stand on the shuttle to find an entry point, or make one.
If there was some way he could find out what happened, access the flight recorder, maybe someone aboard had recorded something, he didn't know - but if there was a chance...
Standing on top of the craft, Abubakar saw the starboard side window had been smashed, most likely by the impact, taking one last scan to make sure there wasn't anything inside it, he knelt down and placed his head carefuly inside, dropping an arm with a wrist-beacon attached to illuminate the interior. He gagged at the smell, the sick funk of wrotting flesh in the desert heat ran through his windpipe, wrenching at his stomach.
He shon the beacon over the port chair, it had been ripped from its moorings and now law on the port wall, beneath it Abubakar could see a pair of legs, one of which was severely broken, a grey hand and most saddeningly, a human-looking head of hair, at an odd angle.
The starboard chair was still in place, and strapped into it was a Starfleet human male, an ensign of the command line. His face was badly burned on his right side, dried crusty blood covered his uniform and hands. Jaran clenched his fists tightly in disgust as he saw the mans right eyeball had sunk into its socket, whatever this planets equivielant of a fly was, they were buzzing around the shuttle, creating a moving white blanket over the mans hands and face.
He had to do it, Abubakar had to go inside. As he leaned further in, a rotting, grey hand grabbed his face and yanked him down. He landed on the chair and bounced off, landing on something soft, that crunched benearh his weight, he opened his eyes and found himself nose to nose with a dead Bolian Lieutenant, he jumped up yelling in horror, his head snapped round to the right hand chair, the man inside it was writhing in agony, screaming in pain. The woman on the floor began to move, slowly coming to a kneel, she too was screaming in pain.
"No.." mumbled Jaran, his legs quivering. The Bolian who was on the port wall grabbed his leg, the woman staggered into a stand and the man in the starboard chair unfastened his straps and fell down with a sick crack.
Abubakar slapped the floor, felt its unbreaking flat surface, no way out.
"You" Said one
"Your fault!" Screamed the woman
"Why?" demaned the Bolian, gripping tighter as Abubakar tried to shake his decaying hand free.
Tears streamed down Abubakars face, "I..." he muttered as he backed away from the talkative corpses, "get back...g- get BACK!" he screamed, unclipping his phaser and pointing it at the two standing.
"Why?" asked the woman,
"Sooner! Why not sooner!" demanded the Bolian.
"You let us die!" yelled out the man, his burned face and sunken eye still moving with flies.
Abubakar screamed, fired his phaser and closed his eyes. "Get AWAY!" he screamed out, his legs collapsing and his whole body shaking. He looked up, blinking through the stinging hot tears, the front window was jaggedly broken, no corpses. He saw the Bolian on the floor, his head caved in, and the woman still buried under the chair, the limp form of the pilot hanging down from where he was strapped in the chair.
Abubakar ran fowards, gawking as he dived past the two at the front and through the front window, rolling onto the sand. He looked behind, through the broken glass he could see the mans hand swinging, he clambered away quickly, his whole body still shaking, on his hands and knees in the sand, he gagged, gagged, and then vomited all over the sand in front of him, over his hands and down his chin...
Tears dropped onto the hot sand and were instantly absorbed by the thirsty ground, he jumped up and ran back to Arrowhawk, shaking his hands off as he ran and wiping his chin with his uniform sleeve. Standing by the Arrowhawk, he dared to look back at the shuttle, his gagged again as he saw the trio standing outside it, greying, rotting, all staring at him. He beamed aboard, putting it down to the heat, he hadn't really seen them, they weren't really there.
Except this voice in the back of his mind, getting louder, told him they were, and that it was his fault. If he had bothered to scan earlier, he would have found them, it was his fault they were dead. He killed them, just like everyone on the mission planet, just like his team...
He blinked through wet eyelids, swallowing hard and exhaling slowly, shakily. He lifted off and flew slowly on thrusters over the desert, giving him time to compose himself.
OFF:
Lieutenant Abubakar Jaran
Deceased
The Anti-Lamb 666
Flying Monk-eh
U.S.S Malinche
"It is easier and more effective to destroy the enemy's aerial power by destroying his nests and eggs on the ground than to hunt his flying birds in the air." - General Giulio Douhet
<<USS Malinche, Day 3, 1931>>
ON:
Seryn was hurrying so fast he slammed face first into the doors that didn't open. He fell, bags and all, to the deck and lied on his back for a moment staring at the ceiling. He looked at the doors he had run into wondering why they hadn't opened, just to have the doors mock him by opening.
He put a hand to his nose checking for blood as he asked, "Computer, check the status of the pneudraulics on this deck."
"Unable to comply, please restate the inquiry," came the automated voice.
"What?" Seryn said, aloud, then realized his hand was over his mouth. "Computer, status of the pneudraulics on this deck, please?"
"Pneudraulics partially functional on all decks. The acting Chief of Engineering would like you to know that the problem has been diagnosed and repairs will be forthcoming, beginning with priority decks."
Seryn wrinkled his nose and closed his eyes in pain quickly afterward. He stood up tried to imagine the high complaint volume to Engineering about the crew having to manually open almost every door. Although, the turbolift and cargo bay doors had worked fine.
He sighed and picked up his bags and walked out onto the shuttlebay floor, still littered with wiring, gel packs and various pieces of mechanical and electrical testing equipment.
He made his way to the shuttle he had arrived in and inwardly wished there was a runabout or Peregrine in sight. Even a razor would do. A single-seater, so he could just do as he was told without having to deal with everyone else's egoes. He stored his bags and sat in the pilot's chair, his hands moving over the controls to warm up the shuttle.
"Shuttlebay to Bridge, permission to depart, please?" he asked, hoping the bridge was more intact than the shuttlebay.
=/\= Granted, just go away, we're busy. =/\= was the annoyed reply.
Seryn wrinkled his nose at the given response and winced, forgetting about his sore nose. He hoped it didn't swell. He didn't bother saying thank you, whomever was at the other end of the line would just be thankful Seryn wasn't bothering them anymore.
He tapped his badge, "Ensign Rhone to Lieutenants Barrett and Sovereign, its a cool seventy-four degrees in the shuttle, so when you want to get out of the heat I'll be here."
All that was left was the door, the CPT (cabin pressurization test) and departure. He went to one of the bags and opened it, withdrawing a 'tactical' earpiece, and a phaser utility belt that always looked way more than a Comm Officer needed. He donned all, thankful that he had access to the technology.
The earpiece was more and more popular with new Academy grads because it prevented from having to juggle objects if one had to repeatedly tap their comm badge. The rest of the gear he preferred to have with him, just in case. It was just more comforting. He wanted to keep the rifle close to him, but opted to keep it in the bag. Maybe it was just the 'placebo affect' that made him feel better, because it wasn't often comm officers needed tactical equipment like that. But who knows when you'll need the stuff?
He took his place at the front of the cockpit, again, and began the flight checks all over. He was getting impatient, but tried to keep it inside, knowing he wasn't always as prompt as he should be.
OFF:
Tag Barrett and Sovvie!
ON:
Seryn was hurrying so fast he slammed face first into the doors that didn't open. He fell, bags and all, to the deck and lied on his back for a moment staring at the ceiling. He looked at the doors he had run into wondering why they hadn't opened, just to have the doors mock him by opening.
He put a hand to his nose checking for blood as he asked, "Computer, check the status of the pneudraulics on this deck."
"Unable to comply, please restate the inquiry," came the automated voice.
"What?" Seryn said, aloud, then realized his hand was over his mouth. "Computer, status of the pneudraulics on this deck, please?"
"Pneudraulics partially functional on all decks. The acting Chief of Engineering would like you to know that the problem has been diagnosed and repairs will be forthcoming, beginning with priority decks."
Seryn wrinkled his nose and closed his eyes in pain quickly afterward. He stood up tried to imagine the high complaint volume to Engineering about the crew having to manually open almost every door. Although, the turbolift and cargo bay doors had worked fine.
He sighed and picked up his bags and walked out onto the shuttlebay floor, still littered with wiring, gel packs and various pieces of mechanical and electrical testing equipment.
He made his way to the shuttle he had arrived in and inwardly wished there was a runabout or Peregrine in sight. Even a razor would do. A single-seater, so he could just do as he was told without having to deal with everyone else's egoes. He stored his bags and sat in the pilot's chair, his hands moving over the controls to warm up the shuttle.
"Shuttlebay to Bridge, permission to depart, please?" he asked, hoping the bridge was more intact than the shuttlebay.
=/\= Granted, just go away, we're busy. =/\= was the annoyed reply.
Seryn wrinkled his nose at the given response and winced, forgetting about his sore nose. He hoped it didn't swell. He didn't bother saying thank you, whomever was at the other end of the line would just be thankful Seryn wasn't bothering them anymore.
He tapped his badge, "Ensign Rhone to Lieutenants Barrett and Sovereign, its a cool seventy-four degrees in the shuttle, so when you want to get out of the heat I'll be here."
All that was left was the door, the CPT (cabin pressurization test) and departure. He went to one of the bags and opened it, withdrawing a 'tactical' earpiece, and a phaser utility belt that always looked way more than a Comm Officer needed. He donned all, thankful that he had access to the technology.
The earpiece was more and more popular with new Academy grads because it prevented from having to juggle objects if one had to repeatedly tap their comm badge. The rest of the gear he preferred to have with him, just in case. It was just more comforting. He wanted to keep the rifle close to him, but opted to keep it in the bag. Maybe it was just the 'placebo affect' that made him feel better, because it wasn't often comm officers needed tactical equipment like that. But who knows when you'll need the stuff?
He took his place at the front of the cockpit, again, and began the flight checks all over. He was getting impatient, but tried to keep it inside, knowing he wasn't always as prompt as he should be.
OFF:
Tag Barrett and Sovvie!
<img src="http://ussmalinche.kersare.net/images/rens.jpg">
Ensign Seryn Rhone
Assistant Chief Communications Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
Ensign Seryn Rhone
Assistant Chief Communications Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
-
Abubakar
- Senior Staff
- Posts: 60
- Joined: Mon Dec 19, 2005 11:29 pm
- Location: A hole, usually, sometimes referred to as Blackpool (UK)
ON: U.S.S Malinche. 1945. Day 3.
On the bridge, Lieutenent JG Sovak was having an interesting time in command, although technicaly she wasn't in command any long as there were now senior officers on board, no one had come to relieve her of the bridge.
And all the while nobody did that, she wasn't complaining. As a Vulcan, she categoirically did not inwardly gloat - but in the Vulcan equivilant she gave herself a respectful nod and enjoyed the knowledge again that puting down a temporary command of a Prometheus Class Starship, with no Senior support and in a combat and emergency situation, would go a long way to her command aspirations.
A sharp beep jumped from the Tactical console and the relief officer stood up tall; "We have the craft on sensors again ma'am, it's moving away from the debris on the surface"
Sovak turned the chair to the front from where she had been slightly off centre; "Prepare to fire torpedoes, ready phasers, standy to fi-"
"Lieutenant" said Tamlin fron the comms console, "we're recieving a transmission from the surface, scrambled frequency ma'am, there's no way to pinpoint the origin"
"Try" returned Sovak, "On screen"
++
Abubakar banked upwards on thrusters and engaged the impulse drive as he stared at the busy bridge on the holographic comm system. "Lieutenant, deactivate your sensors, clear the shuttlebay and take off its internal sensors. "
Soval quirked an eyebrow, "Excuse me..." she noticed his rank pips, along with several white stains on his uniform, "Lieutenat..."
"Jaran. Now do it, check with Kersare if you want but just do it."
Sovak was by no means about to budge, "Lieutenant, we are tracking a hostile ship, your outlandish demands will wait."
Jaran coughed a laugh, "I am the 'hostile' craft, now do what I said. That is a direct order" He was in no mood for this. Sovak was about to object again, "Just DO IT. I have no desire to be pissed around by jumped up Vulcans on a power trip."
Sovaks eyebrows shot up, the last thing the ship needed was more conflict, be it tactical or otherwise. She looked to the ops console and relief officer and nodded. She then tapped the command console and closed the channel.
As she sunk back into the chair, she was aware of eyes trained on her. She opened a comms line to the shuttlebay; "This is the bridge, clear the shuttlebay, I repeat all hands clear the shuttlebay immediately."
Given the repairs going on, and the fact the engineers were trying delicately to re-connect the shuttlebay back onto the shipwide ODN, she was sure she had not made many friends with her last order.
+++
The last groping hands of the atmosphere fell away from Arrowhawk and he took the engines offline, engaging the thrusters, he gently came around in a large elipse to the Malinche's aft, lining up with the shuttlebay he moved softly forward, squinting into the bay to make sure there was nobody inside.
Tempting as it would be, he didn't activate the impulse engines, that combined with the stealth technology would inflict severe electrical damage to Malinche at this close range.
Keeping a very close eye on the port and starboard clearance, he edged the bird in slowly. He saw small eqipment shaking across the deck as the powerful thrusters thundered against the bay.
it was in, that was enough. He beamed out and immediately crouched behind a console to avoid the strong thrust from the Arrowhawk He activated the transporter and the wind stopped, it was always an impressive sight to see; this giant gleaming fighter fizzling out of existence, along with a piece of burned up debris materialising on the shuttlebay floor.
Walking through the shuttlebay doors, he was greeted by a lot of thoroughly annoyed engineers and flight crew in the corridor. One of them he recognised from the meeting on the surface, he nodded and carried on walking into the corridor and towards the turbolift.
OFF
On the bridge, Lieutenent JG Sovak was having an interesting time in command, although technicaly she wasn't in command any long as there were now senior officers on board, no one had come to relieve her of the bridge.
And all the while nobody did that, she wasn't complaining. As a Vulcan, she categoirically did not inwardly gloat - but in the Vulcan equivilant she gave herself a respectful nod and enjoyed the knowledge again that puting down a temporary command of a Prometheus Class Starship, with no Senior support and in a combat and emergency situation, would go a long way to her command aspirations.
A sharp beep jumped from the Tactical console and the relief officer stood up tall; "We have the craft on sensors again ma'am, it's moving away from the debris on the surface"
Sovak turned the chair to the front from where she had been slightly off centre; "Prepare to fire torpedoes, ready phasers, standy to fi-"
"Lieutenant" said Tamlin fron the comms console, "we're recieving a transmission from the surface, scrambled frequency ma'am, there's no way to pinpoint the origin"
"Try" returned Sovak, "On screen"
++
Abubakar banked upwards on thrusters and engaged the impulse drive as he stared at the busy bridge on the holographic comm system. "Lieutenant, deactivate your sensors, clear the shuttlebay and take off its internal sensors. "
Soval quirked an eyebrow, "Excuse me..." she noticed his rank pips, along with several white stains on his uniform, "Lieutenat..."
"Jaran. Now do it, check with Kersare if you want but just do it."
Sovak was by no means about to budge, "Lieutenant, we are tracking a hostile ship, your outlandish demands will wait."
Jaran coughed a laugh, "I am the 'hostile' craft, now do what I said. That is a direct order" He was in no mood for this. Sovak was about to object again, "Just DO IT. I have no desire to be pissed around by jumped up Vulcans on a power trip."
Sovaks eyebrows shot up, the last thing the ship needed was more conflict, be it tactical or otherwise. She looked to the ops console and relief officer and nodded. She then tapped the command console and closed the channel.
As she sunk back into the chair, she was aware of eyes trained on her. She opened a comms line to the shuttlebay; "This is the bridge, clear the shuttlebay, I repeat all hands clear the shuttlebay immediately."
Given the repairs going on, and the fact the engineers were trying delicately to re-connect the shuttlebay back onto the shipwide ODN, she was sure she had not made many friends with her last order.
+++
The last groping hands of the atmosphere fell away from Arrowhawk and he took the engines offline, engaging the thrusters, he gently came around in a large elipse to the Malinche's aft, lining up with the shuttlebay he moved softly forward, squinting into the bay to make sure there was nobody inside.
Tempting as it would be, he didn't activate the impulse engines, that combined with the stealth technology would inflict severe electrical damage to Malinche at this close range.
Keeping a very close eye on the port and starboard clearance, he edged the bird in slowly. He saw small eqipment shaking across the deck as the powerful thrusters thundered against the bay.
it was in, that was enough. He beamed out and immediately crouched behind a console to avoid the strong thrust from the Arrowhawk He activated the transporter and the wind stopped, it was always an impressive sight to see; this giant gleaming fighter fizzling out of existence, along with a piece of burned up debris materialising on the shuttlebay floor.
Walking through the shuttlebay doors, he was greeted by a lot of thoroughly annoyed engineers and flight crew in the corridor. One of them he recognised from the meeting on the surface, he nodded and carried on walking into the corridor and towards the turbolift.
OFF
Lieutenant Abubakar Jaran
Deceased
The Anti-Lamb 666
Flying Monk-eh
U.S.S Malinche
"It is easier and more effective to destroy the enemy's aerial power by destroying his nests and eggs on the ground than to hunt his flying birds in the air." - General Giulio Douhet
<<Hotel Direidi>>
<Basement, 1908, Day 3>
Cheetara disregarded his comment and turned back to the doctor. "So were you able to track down the location of these visions?"
"I can track the frequency, or at least know what it is but as for actually tracking it down I'm not sure that I can go that far...I'm not as well versed in subspace mechanics like Barrett or Rhone; they would be the ones to ask."
"And they don't seem to be answering us at the moment," Soren tossed in. His tricorder was still out and scanning the surrounding area
"Did you manage to get anything else?" Amanda asked.
Though Cheetara's vision was helpful in pointing out the inside of the building, she hadn't said anything about the outside which left the away team still slightly stuck. There were litteraly thousands of places on the planet that could have had ain interior like Cheetara had described.
"There were boxes, lots and lots of boxes," Cheetara said, as she got to her feet.
"A warehouse?" Soren offered.
"Its possible, although I think I may have an idea that might narrow it down a little bit. If I adjusted her implant, I might be able to get it to send out a signal on the same frequency, we could use it like sonar, maybe narrow down the area at least."
OFF: Tag Team!
<Basement, 1908, Day 3>
Cheetara disregarded his comment and turned back to the doctor. "So were you able to track down the location of these visions?"
"I can track the frequency, or at least know what it is but as for actually tracking it down I'm not sure that I can go that far...I'm not as well versed in subspace mechanics like Barrett or Rhone; they would be the ones to ask."
"And they don't seem to be answering us at the moment," Soren tossed in. His tricorder was still out and scanning the surrounding area
"Did you manage to get anything else?" Amanda asked.
Though Cheetara's vision was helpful in pointing out the inside of the building, she hadn't said anything about the outside which left the away team still slightly stuck. There were litteraly thousands of places on the planet that could have had ain interior like Cheetara had described.
"There were boxes, lots and lots of boxes," Cheetara said, as she got to her feet.
"A warehouse?" Soren offered.
"Its possible, although I think I may have an idea that might narrow it down a little bit. If I adjusted her implant, I might be able to get it to send out a signal on the same frequency, we could use it like sonar, maybe narrow down the area at least."
OFF: Tag Team!
<img src="http://ussmalinche.kersare.net/images/bltcdr.jpg">
Lieutenant Commander Amanda Darkhelm
Chief Medical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
Lieutenant Commander Amanda Darkhelm
Chief Medical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
<<Shuttlecraft>>
<Cabin, 1932, Day 3>
"Comment: Are we ready to depart meatbags?"
Rhone looked annoyinly at Zero (NPC), no doubt he had read the report that Jason filed and knew that robot would be on the Malinche, though Jason doubted that he was expecting that sort of welcome. Zero had a way of un-nerving anyone like that.
"Did he just call me a meatbag?"
"He calls everyone a meatbag," Jason assured his pilot and fellow officer. "We've tried correcting him though doesn't seem to get us anywhere. Are we ready to go?"
Rhone nodded and soon the shuttle was through the doors and out into open space. They made a smooth banking turn that would take them back towards the planet below. Jason kept his eyes on the sensor screens, hoping to catch some kind of clue as to where the ship disappeared too, though so far he wasn't coming up with anything.
They were just hitting the atmosphere when Barrett's comlink came to life.
"Darkhelm to Barrett."
"Go ahead."
"Are you almost done collecting your supplies, Cheetara had another vision...we think we might be able to pinpoint the source, with your help of course."
"We're on our way down, what did you find?"
"Subspace frequency, I don't really know much about it but I gather between you and our new chief communications offcier you should be able to make heads or tails of it."
"Should be down in a few minutes."
With that said, Jason closed the channel, watching as they continued to descend toward the surface.
OFF: Tag Rhone and away team!
<Cabin, 1932, Day 3>
"Comment: Are we ready to depart meatbags?"
Rhone looked annoyinly at Zero (NPC), no doubt he had read the report that Jason filed and knew that robot would be on the Malinche, though Jason doubted that he was expecting that sort of welcome. Zero had a way of un-nerving anyone like that.
"Did he just call me a meatbag?"
"He calls everyone a meatbag," Jason assured his pilot and fellow officer. "We've tried correcting him though doesn't seem to get us anywhere. Are we ready to go?"
Rhone nodded and soon the shuttle was through the doors and out into open space. They made a smooth banking turn that would take them back towards the planet below. Jason kept his eyes on the sensor screens, hoping to catch some kind of clue as to where the ship disappeared too, though so far he wasn't coming up with anything.
They were just hitting the atmosphere when Barrett's comlink came to life.
"Darkhelm to Barrett."
"Go ahead."
"Are you almost done collecting your supplies, Cheetara had another vision...we think we might be able to pinpoint the source, with your help of course."
"We're on our way down, what did you find?"
"Subspace frequency, I don't really know much about it but I gather between you and our new chief communications offcier you should be able to make heads or tails of it."
"Should be down in a few minutes."
With that said, Jason closed the channel, watching as they continued to descend toward the surface.
OFF: Tag Rhone and away team!
Lieutenant Commander Jason Barrett
Executive Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
ON: <Direidi Court Room, 1930 hours>
Peters looked around as the "bailiffs" escorted Grayson and himself into the court room. It looked normal enough, from the carved wooden rails between the audience and the attorney's tables, and the raised "Bench" for the judge. The prosecutor was on the right, the table that he and Grayson would be seated at on the left. Captain Kersare was already there seated at the far left of that table.
"Seems normal enough. Wonder when they throw in the loops," Peters muttered towards Grayson. The Bailiff gave him a stern look and Peters rolled his eyes.
"We're being judged for robbing a bank; we were thrown in jail twice, ran though sewers, a warehouse with moving walls. Nothing is what it seems, Peters. Don't expect this 'trial' to be any close to normal", replied Grayson, looking around the court. It looked normal indeed and that worried Mark a lot.
"Check," Peters replied. At this point they were being ushered through the little door at the end of the aisle that let them enter the actual proceedings area of the court room. Peters look the rightmost seat at the defense table and gave Kersare a small wave as Grayson pulled out the middle chair.
"Evening, Captain, Fancy meeting you here."
"Peters, do me a favor. Do NOT wave your hand while we're here!", snapped Mark. He looked at Kersare and offered a shrug. "I'm sorry, Captain. You have no idea how bad my day is going so far."
Isabel quirked an eyebrow, "Beyond the being arrested several times, attempting escape twice, and being brought up on charges you didn't commit?"
Peters looked sideways at Grayson. "I'd say she knows exactly how your day has gone so far. SO, any information for us, Captain?"
Mark shrugged at Peters' remark. So she DID knew how bad his day had been. Big deal.
"I did some research on the Direidi court system, and put what information I could find in this PADD," Isabel said, holding up the PADD she'd used in the library. "I don't know if it'll be any help, but it couldn't hurt."
Mark looked at the PADD. He was no attorney, but, all that information looked like gibberish. Of course, wouldn't be funny if their Code of Laws made any sense at all.
"Have either of you seen Ensign Rayne? She was supposed to meet us here...," Isabel began before stopping abruptly as a man in a leather suit flopped a briefcase down on the table.
"Hi people, I'm Roy, your attorney. Hows yous doing today?" The man asked with a half smile.
Peters did a double take at the man's outfit, then blinked at his accent. Was this guy for real or was he yet another Direidi actor? But still, he thought, if the man knew local law, he might be useful at least for a little while.
"I'm Lieutenant Todd Peters. How'd you pull our case?" Peters extended his hand to the attorney courteously.
Mark eyed the attorney suspiciously. "You better clear our names or I'll kill you.", whispered Mark to Roy, smiling politely as they shook hands.
Roy smiled back at Mark and winked, "Yous don' need t' worry 'bout that, I can assure you. So, which one of yous is Grayson, and which one is Peters?"
Mark shook his head and sighed. Even threats didn't work with that guys. Damn it.
As the two men introduced themselves to the attorney, Isabel scanned through her PADD....'defense attorney will be tall, odd man wearing leather suit with a New York accent'. They really did think of everything... "So how long have you been practicing law, Mr...."
Roy looked over at her, "You can just call me Roy, babe. I've been a lawyer for almost three months now."
Grayson controlled himself not to laugh with Kersare's expression. Obviously, being called 'babe' isn't something a Starship Captain is used to.
"Refrain from calling me 'babe', Roy, or anything remotely similar. Only three months? Have you tried any cases like this one? And what are my officers facing?" Isabel wasn't a big fan of Roy, but if he had a better idea of local laws, he might be useful.
"Well, missy...er, ma'am, I had t' take the exam a few times, ya see. This is the first time I've been t' court, but I can assure you I know t' law," Roy said. "Punishment's same as usual, death by chocolate - cells on semi-sweet row while they wait."
Grayson looked at Peters. "This is getting ridiculous. I don't even like chocolate!", he whispered to the engineer.
"I pity you," Peters whispered back, "Though how they intend to kill us with it is another matter, because that doesn't sound so pleasant."
Suddenly thinking of something, Peters turned back to Roy and Kersare. "Umm, not to sound worried or anything, but is there any special procedure for when the judge comes in or when he calls the court in session or anything?"
Isabel quirked an eyebrow and looked at Roy. Her research hadn't quite got to that part...or else it wasn't included in the book.
"I thought yous'd know that," Roy said. Seeing the looks on their faces, he continued quickly, "Don' worry, it's nothing bad. When da Judge walks in, you stand up, turn in a circle 3 times, tap your head, then say 'I wanna pizza, I wanna pizza, Yummy yummy pizza'."
Peters gaped at Roy. "You have GOT to be kidding me."
Mark put his hands on his face. "Someone has a razor blade? I want to cut my wrists right now. Its less painful...", he muttered.
Roy's head perked up, "Speak of th' devil, here's da judge now!"
Behind the bench, a green curtain was pulled back, revealing a set of revolving doors. Moments later, a tall, broad-shouldered man came through them in a long black judge's robe and a white powder wig.
"All rise, court is now in session! The Honorable Judge Rocco 'The Hammer' Wexler presiding!"
"Oh, that doesn't sound good," Peters muttered under his breath.
"Could you be more obvious, Peters?", snapped Mark. "The guy has a nickname 'The Hammer'. I doubt he has this nickname for being a carpenter!"
Isabel shook her head slightly, no telling how much more odd this would get.
Everyone in the court stood up, nearly in unison, spun around three times, tapped their heads, and called out, "I wanna pizza, I wanna pizza, Yummy yummy pizza."
Mark rolled his eyes and did all that nonsense. Right at that point he wanted to disappear.
After seeing the judge sit down in his chair, the court stood patiently waiting for him to begin. Rocco looked over his courtroom, taking a few moments to glare at the defendants. Picking up what appeared to be his gavel, he said, "Order in the court!"
The judge, with a stern look on his face, then proceeded to smack the gavel three times, but instead of a nice resounding 'whack', it sounded like a squeaky rubber hammer.
"Riight... I should have seen THAT coming", muttered Mark.
OFF: JP amusement brought to you by:
Lieutenant Todd Peters
Chief Engineering Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
and
Lieutenant JG Mark Grayson
Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
and
Peters looked around as the "bailiffs" escorted Grayson and himself into the court room. It looked normal enough, from the carved wooden rails between the audience and the attorney's tables, and the raised "Bench" for the judge. The prosecutor was on the right, the table that he and Grayson would be seated at on the left. Captain Kersare was already there seated at the far left of that table.
"Seems normal enough. Wonder when they throw in the loops," Peters muttered towards Grayson. The Bailiff gave him a stern look and Peters rolled his eyes.
"We're being judged for robbing a bank; we were thrown in jail twice, ran though sewers, a warehouse with moving walls. Nothing is what it seems, Peters. Don't expect this 'trial' to be any close to normal", replied Grayson, looking around the court. It looked normal indeed and that worried Mark a lot.
"Check," Peters replied. At this point they were being ushered through the little door at the end of the aisle that let them enter the actual proceedings area of the court room. Peters look the rightmost seat at the defense table and gave Kersare a small wave as Grayson pulled out the middle chair.
"Evening, Captain, Fancy meeting you here."
"Peters, do me a favor. Do NOT wave your hand while we're here!", snapped Mark. He looked at Kersare and offered a shrug. "I'm sorry, Captain. You have no idea how bad my day is going so far."
Isabel quirked an eyebrow, "Beyond the being arrested several times, attempting escape twice, and being brought up on charges you didn't commit?"
Peters looked sideways at Grayson. "I'd say she knows exactly how your day has gone so far. SO, any information for us, Captain?"
Mark shrugged at Peters' remark. So she DID knew how bad his day had been. Big deal.
"I did some research on the Direidi court system, and put what information I could find in this PADD," Isabel said, holding up the PADD she'd used in the library. "I don't know if it'll be any help, but it couldn't hurt."
Mark looked at the PADD. He was no attorney, but, all that information looked like gibberish. Of course, wouldn't be funny if their Code of Laws made any sense at all.
"Have either of you seen Ensign Rayne? She was supposed to meet us here...," Isabel began before stopping abruptly as a man in a leather suit flopped a briefcase down on the table.
"Hi people, I'm Roy, your attorney. Hows yous doing today?" The man asked with a half smile.
Peters did a double take at the man's outfit, then blinked at his accent. Was this guy for real or was he yet another Direidi actor? But still, he thought, if the man knew local law, he might be useful at least for a little while.
"I'm Lieutenant Todd Peters. How'd you pull our case?" Peters extended his hand to the attorney courteously.
Mark eyed the attorney suspiciously. "You better clear our names or I'll kill you.", whispered Mark to Roy, smiling politely as they shook hands.
Roy smiled back at Mark and winked, "Yous don' need t' worry 'bout that, I can assure you. So, which one of yous is Grayson, and which one is Peters?"
Mark shook his head and sighed. Even threats didn't work with that guys. Damn it.
As the two men introduced themselves to the attorney, Isabel scanned through her PADD....'defense attorney will be tall, odd man wearing leather suit with a New York accent'. They really did think of everything... "So how long have you been practicing law, Mr...."
Roy looked over at her, "You can just call me Roy, babe. I've been a lawyer for almost three months now."
Grayson controlled himself not to laugh with Kersare's expression. Obviously, being called 'babe' isn't something a Starship Captain is used to.
"Refrain from calling me 'babe', Roy, or anything remotely similar. Only three months? Have you tried any cases like this one? And what are my officers facing?" Isabel wasn't a big fan of Roy, but if he had a better idea of local laws, he might be useful.
"Well, missy...er, ma'am, I had t' take the exam a few times, ya see. This is the first time I've been t' court, but I can assure you I know t' law," Roy said. "Punishment's same as usual, death by chocolate - cells on semi-sweet row while they wait."
Grayson looked at Peters. "This is getting ridiculous. I don't even like chocolate!", he whispered to the engineer.
"I pity you," Peters whispered back, "Though how they intend to kill us with it is another matter, because that doesn't sound so pleasant."
Suddenly thinking of something, Peters turned back to Roy and Kersare. "Umm, not to sound worried or anything, but is there any special procedure for when the judge comes in or when he calls the court in session or anything?"
Isabel quirked an eyebrow and looked at Roy. Her research hadn't quite got to that part...or else it wasn't included in the book.
"I thought yous'd know that," Roy said. Seeing the looks on their faces, he continued quickly, "Don' worry, it's nothing bad. When da Judge walks in, you stand up, turn in a circle 3 times, tap your head, then say 'I wanna pizza, I wanna pizza, Yummy yummy pizza'."
Peters gaped at Roy. "You have GOT to be kidding me."
Mark put his hands on his face. "Someone has a razor blade? I want to cut my wrists right now. Its less painful...", he muttered.
Roy's head perked up, "Speak of th' devil, here's da judge now!"
Behind the bench, a green curtain was pulled back, revealing a set of revolving doors. Moments later, a tall, broad-shouldered man came through them in a long black judge's robe and a white powder wig.
"All rise, court is now in session! The Honorable Judge Rocco 'The Hammer' Wexler presiding!"
"Oh, that doesn't sound good," Peters muttered under his breath.
"Could you be more obvious, Peters?", snapped Mark. "The guy has a nickname 'The Hammer'. I doubt he has this nickname for being a carpenter!"
Isabel shook her head slightly, no telling how much more odd this would get.
Everyone in the court stood up, nearly in unison, spun around three times, tapped their heads, and called out, "I wanna pizza, I wanna pizza, Yummy yummy pizza."
Mark rolled his eyes and did all that nonsense. Right at that point he wanted to disappear.
After seeing the judge sit down in his chair, the court stood patiently waiting for him to begin. Rocco looked over his courtroom, taking a few moments to glare at the defendants. Picking up what appeared to be his gavel, he said, "Order in the court!"
The judge, with a stern look on his face, then proceeded to smack the gavel three times, but instead of a nice resounding 'whack', it sounded like a squeaky rubber hammer.
"Riight... I should have seen THAT coming", muttered Mark.
OFF: JP amusement brought to you by:
Lieutenant Todd Peters
Chief Engineering Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
and
Lieutenant JG Mark Grayson
Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
and
Captain Isabel Kersare
Commanding Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
<<Direidi>>
<Market Street, 1938, Day 3>
Before leaving the hotel Amanda and her team looked up the location of several warehouses. After reviewing the plans they choose the northeastern district; a place that several people had said that they had seen the Federation officers poking around. As they boarded a local hover taxi Amanda went to work on tweaking Cheetara's implants.
It didn't take Amanda very long to access the proper pathways; although she would have liked to have had the Malinche medical database to work with. She had done this procedure before while working on her various Borg related projects and she was pretty sure that she wouldn't do any permanent harm to Cheetara. She checked in with Jason and his team who had just put down and where now on there way to the same area.
They got off at 2nd street, which appeared to be a major avenue. People bustled all around them; going about thier business in the evening hours. They made thier way through the street, having to fend off more then one friendly Direidi merchant. Not that Amanda minded but they had to figure what happened to the crew not spend time shopping. Making a left at the next street they came to Market Street; which stretched out and down toward warehouses that overlooked the sea.
"Anything?" Amanda asked, as Soren took out his tricorder.
"Nothing so far, did you make the adjustments to Cheetara's implants?"
Amanda nodded, though she had yet to activate the seqeuence that would create there sonar like system in Cheetara's implants. She wanted to wait until they were slightly closer.
Finally, within 500 meters of the first warehouse, Amanda activated the sequence.
"Cheetara, let me know if you feel anything out of ordinary; headache, dizziness, anything ok?"
Cheetara nodded.
"Alright, signal is pinging.....I've got something pretty faint, 700 meters that direction," Amanda pointed.
"Then lets go," Cheetara said.
OFF: Tag Team!
<Market Street, 1938, Day 3>
Before leaving the hotel Amanda and her team looked up the location of several warehouses. After reviewing the plans they choose the northeastern district; a place that several people had said that they had seen the Federation officers poking around. As they boarded a local hover taxi Amanda went to work on tweaking Cheetara's implants.
It didn't take Amanda very long to access the proper pathways; although she would have liked to have had the Malinche medical database to work with. She had done this procedure before while working on her various Borg related projects and she was pretty sure that she wouldn't do any permanent harm to Cheetara. She checked in with Jason and his team who had just put down and where now on there way to the same area.
They got off at 2nd street, which appeared to be a major avenue. People bustled all around them; going about thier business in the evening hours. They made thier way through the street, having to fend off more then one friendly Direidi merchant. Not that Amanda minded but they had to figure what happened to the crew not spend time shopping. Making a left at the next street they came to Market Street; which stretched out and down toward warehouses that overlooked the sea.
"Anything?" Amanda asked, as Soren took out his tricorder.
"Nothing so far, did you make the adjustments to Cheetara's implants?"
Amanda nodded, though she had yet to activate the seqeuence that would create there sonar like system in Cheetara's implants. She wanted to wait until they were slightly closer.
Finally, within 500 meters of the first warehouse, Amanda activated the sequence.
"Cheetara, let me know if you feel anything out of ordinary; headache, dizziness, anything ok?"
Cheetara nodded.
"Alright, signal is pinging.....I've got something pretty faint, 700 meters that direction," Amanda pointed.
"Then lets go," Cheetara said.
OFF: Tag Team!
<img src="http://ussmalinche.kersare.net/images/bltcdr.jpg">
Lieutenant Commander Amanda Darkhelm
Chief Medical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
Lieutenant Commander Amanda Darkhelm
Chief Medical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
-
Abubakar
- Senior Staff
- Posts: 60
- Joined: Mon Dec 19, 2005 11:29 pm
- Location: A hole, usually, sometimes referred to as Blackpool (UK)
ON: U.S.S Malinche. Day 3. 1955.
Abubakar, his uniform still mottled beige with sand and dust from the desert, and motled crusty white from the remnants of his stomach, exited the turbolft onto the bridge.
Walking straight to the command chair, he looked to see Josh at the helm. The young ensigns eyes shot open as Abubakar walked the deck, obviously he had been somewhere else when Abubakar had hailed previously.
Abubakar nodded to Sovak, "I have the bridge. Report."
Sovak, reluctantly, rose from the chair and eyed the dirtied Lieutenant disapprovingly. "Lieutenant Sovak sir" she said flatly re-introducing herself, " you have the bridge."
Sovak proceeded to quickly brief Abubakar on everything, Abubakar listened intently.
"Ok, there's a piece of debris on the shuttlebay floor, I'm sure my crew would like it shifted - see it gets to a science lab, I need to know who fired on that ship Lieutenant."
Sovak nodded and left, glancing back to the chair as Abubakar sat down in it. He logged into the command console, "Just keep us as we go Josh..." Abubakar said quietly, noticing his helmsmans unease.
Abuibakar looked over to Tamlin, anorher face he recognised. "Ensign, erase all passive external and internal sensor logs from my last communication to now. Then input these..." he stood up and passed a padd to Tamlin that had the unfinished from the Arrowhawk computer, "...into the computer, and give me a search feld as top priority"
Tamlin nodded, immersing himself in the padds data. "Re-activate all sensors" Jaran ordered uninterestedly.
Tamlin turned round a few minutes later, his console beeping almost excitedly. "Captain" Abubakar jerked his round at the title, customary or not to call the OIC 'Captain', he didn't like it. "We have the search field sir, we also have the exact co-ordinates of the ship when the debris became seperated." he tured back round to the console, bringing up reams of data.
"Location?" Abubakar said, standing with interest, his eyes locked onto the large viewscreen.
Tamlin answered quickly; "On the far side of the planet sir, a few weeks back on the orbit.From this location, I would say the ship was extrmely close to the surface."
'Making a fleeing low pass' Abubakar silently considered. His brow furrowing as he absent mindedly walked towards the helm console to stand at the side of his pilot.
"Josh" Abubakar said, and the planet on the screen moved swiftly to the right before coming off the screen altogether.
He looked over to science, there was an ensign there that he didn't know. "Ensign, run an intensive and directed scan at the co-ordinates, and overlay the resultes with our passive sensor logs of the area - we need to see anything, anything at all, that is different from the background."
The engisn nodded and pulled up the data to begin work. Abubakar read from the helm display that they were approximately 500 metres away from the search location. "Label Nav alpha" he said to Josh, whose hand immediately moved to key it in.
The science console beeped quickly; "Sir, we've got something. Extremely minute pieces of what appears to be hull... No..." she frowned and tapped away, "composition isn't consistent with hull, but more like an internal bulkhead."
Jaran pursed his lips in thought and nodded, "Ok... give me the spread of the debris..."
The ensign pressed another control and replied; "Odd sir, it is a long trail, broader at the beginning..." She tapped away again, and a representation appeared on the main viewer. Abubakar stared at it, considering.
The peices were represented with tiny green dots in front of a spherical grid representing where the planet was, they were indeed spread very widely at the beginning, and the trail got very thin very quickly as the trail spread across what was just above the atmosphere. "An evasive pass?" He asked, turned around to Tactical.
"I would agree sir, but the patteren here..." Ensign Stone said, walking to the screen and pointing out a heavy concentration of debris, "...is very strange. It looks like the ship was hit with weapons fire here" he pointed the broad beginning, which now looking closer at it appeared to be off to one side "...continued on what we can assume was an evasive pass - perhaps trying to use the atmosphere to disrupt their attackers sensors" he traced his finger along the increasingly thinning debris. "But then here sir," he said, his face in contemplation and pointing to where he was at the beginning of his assesment, "here, it seems the ship stopped dead"
Abubakar looked at him, scepticaly and cur him off - "Starships, especialy ones on high speed evasive runs, do not stop suddenly Ensgin - explain..."
Stone nodded, "Yes sir, I would agree - but look here... the debris gets suddenly broader, and the angle of dispersal gets much wider, and outgoung in one large direction - consistent with the ship suddenly ceasing to travel in the direction, and small hull fragment ripping clear from the force of the sudden stop and continuing on their momentum"
He looked closer, it was true, the debris at that point was spread much thinner and wider, in one direction - relative forward.
The science officer was next to speak, breaking the uneasy silence. "That's not all sir, as you can see the debris trail goes off in another directoion again - a bit wider so we can assume the ship was moving slower - it would be safe to assume that the ship was travelling at a high-speed evasive run, was struck with heavy weapons fire, and thrown off course on the direction that the trail indicates."
Abubakar nodded, accepting that theory for now.
"Hang on - " Stone spoke up. "I don't think so..., if that happened then the slower direction would be more or less directly opposite to the debris that travelled 'forward' on momentum."
"So... top and bottom Ensign Stone?" Asked Abubakar, becoming aggitated.
Stone took a few moments to collect his thoughts, his eyes darting over the screen, his mouth moving as he verbally mulled over things to himself. "I think sir, that the ship was suddenly stopped with some kind of tractor beam, and then taken away on the course that the trail indicates."
Abubakar raised his brows and looked around the bridge, giving anyone a chance to offer a different theory. No one offered anything else. "Alright, let's go with that for now."
"Sir," the ensign at science said, "That debris is heavily radiated with the same signature that is on the hull fragment you brought back from the surface. I'm also picking up another small cluster of debris."
"Federation?" Abubakar queried.
"Negative, it's heavily radiated with Federation phaser fire though."
The Lieutenant nodded and returned to the chair. "create a computer simulation of what happened here, display when ready. Try and contact the Captain or Commander Hunt."
"Display ready sir" Stone said.
"On screen"
The green dots disappeared, and a small 3d image of the Sirion appeared on the right of the screen, it dove for the planet - a small explosion appeared on the starboard side, closest to the planet. The display froze for 2 seconds before contining again. A few large green shapes fell away from the explosion to the planet, a heavy concentration of the dots remained, they also began peeling away from the Sirion representation in the pattern they had been studying, the Sirion suddenly stopped dead, green fragments continuing forward on the trajectory the Sriion had previously been on, it then moved off slowly upwards until it went off screen.
"Track the new trajectory and display - lay in a pursuit course but do not engage." Abubakar ordered.
The viewscreen changed views to show a hazy green line disappearing off towards the edge of the system. "Sir, the trail ends after around 15 million kilometres, but we still have the trajectory."
Abubakar nodded, ran a hand through his hair end exhaled deeply in exasperation. "Return to orbit. Ensign Stone..." Abubakar turned the chair to look at him, "prepare an away team. Go down to the debris on the planet, secure the area, and begin analysing the debris."
Stone nodded and left the bridge, nodding at the Science ensign as he went, she joined him in the turbolift. "Josh, I'd also like you lead a search and rescue team, take the Type 11's and search the probable area of any shuttles or escape pods. Also organise the deployment of the Type 9's, send them on patrol, we have to widen our devensive and visible circle." Josh nodded and left the bridge as well, leaving Abubakar to get back into the much more peronally-comfortable helm chair. "Going to yellow alert" he said, as he activated the command himself.
His display told him that the away team shuttle was away.
He only hoped they got the results of the weapons signature back from the lab soon.
OFF
Abubakar, his uniform still mottled beige with sand and dust from the desert, and motled crusty white from the remnants of his stomach, exited the turbolft onto the bridge.
Walking straight to the command chair, he looked to see Josh at the helm. The young ensigns eyes shot open as Abubakar walked the deck, obviously he had been somewhere else when Abubakar had hailed previously.
Abubakar nodded to Sovak, "I have the bridge. Report."
Sovak, reluctantly, rose from the chair and eyed the dirtied Lieutenant disapprovingly. "Lieutenant Sovak sir" she said flatly re-introducing herself, " you have the bridge."
Sovak proceeded to quickly brief Abubakar on everything, Abubakar listened intently.
"Ok, there's a piece of debris on the shuttlebay floor, I'm sure my crew would like it shifted - see it gets to a science lab, I need to know who fired on that ship Lieutenant."
Sovak nodded and left, glancing back to the chair as Abubakar sat down in it. He logged into the command console, "Just keep us as we go Josh..." Abubakar said quietly, noticing his helmsmans unease.
Abuibakar looked over to Tamlin, anorher face he recognised. "Ensign, erase all passive external and internal sensor logs from my last communication to now. Then input these..." he stood up and passed a padd to Tamlin that had the unfinished from the Arrowhawk computer, "...into the computer, and give me a search feld as top priority"
Tamlin nodded, immersing himself in the padds data. "Re-activate all sensors" Jaran ordered uninterestedly.
Tamlin turned round a few minutes later, his console beeping almost excitedly. "Captain" Abubakar jerked his round at the title, customary or not to call the OIC 'Captain', he didn't like it. "We have the search field sir, we also have the exact co-ordinates of the ship when the debris became seperated." he tured back round to the console, bringing up reams of data.
"Location?" Abubakar said, standing with interest, his eyes locked onto the large viewscreen.
Tamlin answered quickly; "On the far side of the planet sir, a few weeks back on the orbit.From this location, I would say the ship was extrmely close to the surface."
'Making a fleeing low pass' Abubakar silently considered. His brow furrowing as he absent mindedly walked towards the helm console to stand at the side of his pilot.
"Josh" Abubakar said, and the planet on the screen moved swiftly to the right before coming off the screen altogether.
He looked over to science, there was an ensign there that he didn't know. "Ensign, run an intensive and directed scan at the co-ordinates, and overlay the resultes with our passive sensor logs of the area - we need to see anything, anything at all, that is different from the background."
The engisn nodded and pulled up the data to begin work. Abubakar read from the helm display that they were approximately 500 metres away from the search location. "Label Nav alpha" he said to Josh, whose hand immediately moved to key it in.
The science console beeped quickly; "Sir, we've got something. Extremely minute pieces of what appears to be hull... No..." she frowned and tapped away, "composition isn't consistent with hull, but more like an internal bulkhead."
Jaran pursed his lips in thought and nodded, "Ok... give me the spread of the debris..."
The ensign pressed another control and replied; "Odd sir, it is a long trail, broader at the beginning..." She tapped away again, and a representation appeared on the main viewer. Abubakar stared at it, considering.
The peices were represented with tiny green dots in front of a spherical grid representing where the planet was, they were indeed spread very widely at the beginning, and the trail got very thin very quickly as the trail spread across what was just above the atmosphere. "An evasive pass?" He asked, turned around to Tactical.
"I would agree sir, but the patteren here..." Ensign Stone said, walking to the screen and pointing out a heavy concentration of debris, "...is very strange. It looks like the ship was hit with weapons fire here" he pointed the broad beginning, which now looking closer at it appeared to be off to one side "...continued on what we can assume was an evasive pass - perhaps trying to use the atmosphere to disrupt their attackers sensors" he traced his finger along the increasingly thinning debris. "But then here sir," he said, his face in contemplation and pointing to where he was at the beginning of his assesment, "here, it seems the ship stopped dead"
Abubakar looked at him, scepticaly and cur him off - "Starships, especialy ones on high speed evasive runs, do not stop suddenly Ensgin - explain..."
Stone nodded, "Yes sir, I would agree - but look here... the debris gets suddenly broader, and the angle of dispersal gets much wider, and outgoung in one large direction - consistent with the ship suddenly ceasing to travel in the direction, and small hull fragment ripping clear from the force of the sudden stop and continuing on their momentum"
He looked closer, it was true, the debris at that point was spread much thinner and wider, in one direction - relative forward.
The science officer was next to speak, breaking the uneasy silence. "That's not all sir, as you can see the debris trail goes off in another directoion again - a bit wider so we can assume the ship was moving slower - it would be safe to assume that the ship was travelling at a high-speed evasive run, was struck with heavy weapons fire, and thrown off course on the direction that the trail indicates."
Abubakar nodded, accepting that theory for now.
"Hang on - " Stone spoke up. "I don't think so..., if that happened then the slower direction would be more or less directly opposite to the debris that travelled 'forward' on momentum."
"So... top and bottom Ensign Stone?" Asked Abubakar, becoming aggitated.
Stone took a few moments to collect his thoughts, his eyes darting over the screen, his mouth moving as he verbally mulled over things to himself. "I think sir, that the ship was suddenly stopped with some kind of tractor beam, and then taken away on the course that the trail indicates."
Abubakar raised his brows and looked around the bridge, giving anyone a chance to offer a different theory. No one offered anything else. "Alright, let's go with that for now."
"Sir," the ensign at science said, "That debris is heavily radiated with the same signature that is on the hull fragment you brought back from the surface. I'm also picking up another small cluster of debris."
"Federation?" Abubakar queried.
"Negative, it's heavily radiated with Federation phaser fire though."
The Lieutenant nodded and returned to the chair. "create a computer simulation of what happened here, display when ready. Try and contact the Captain or Commander Hunt."
"Display ready sir" Stone said.
"On screen"
The green dots disappeared, and a small 3d image of the Sirion appeared on the right of the screen, it dove for the planet - a small explosion appeared on the starboard side, closest to the planet. The display froze for 2 seconds before contining again. A few large green shapes fell away from the explosion to the planet, a heavy concentration of the dots remained, they also began peeling away from the Sirion representation in the pattern they had been studying, the Sirion suddenly stopped dead, green fragments continuing forward on the trajectory the Sriion had previously been on, it then moved off slowly upwards until it went off screen.
"Track the new trajectory and display - lay in a pursuit course but do not engage." Abubakar ordered.
The viewscreen changed views to show a hazy green line disappearing off towards the edge of the system. "Sir, the trail ends after around 15 million kilometres, but we still have the trajectory."
Abubakar nodded, ran a hand through his hair end exhaled deeply in exasperation. "Return to orbit. Ensign Stone..." Abubakar turned the chair to look at him, "prepare an away team. Go down to the debris on the planet, secure the area, and begin analysing the debris."
Stone nodded and left the bridge, nodding at the Science ensign as he went, she joined him in the turbolift. "Josh, I'd also like you lead a search and rescue team, take the Type 11's and search the probable area of any shuttles or escape pods. Also organise the deployment of the Type 9's, send them on patrol, we have to widen our devensive and visible circle." Josh nodded and left the bridge as well, leaving Abubakar to get back into the much more peronally-comfortable helm chair. "Going to yellow alert" he said, as he activated the command himself.
His display told him that the away team shuttle was away.
He only hoped they got the results of the weapons signature back from the lab soon.
OFF
Lieutenant Abubakar Jaran
Deceased
The Anti-Lamb 666
Flying Monk-eh
U.S.S Malinche
"It is easier and more effective to destroy the enemy's aerial power by destroying his nests and eggs on the ground than to hunt his flying birds in the air." - General Giulio Douhet
ON:[ Science Lab, 2000 hours, Day 3, USS Malinche]
It wasn't all that surprising to find the science lab, her place of function, was perhaps in the worst shape out of the entire ship. With good reason, of course, since a science lab was of low priority compared to tactical and engineering in a crisis situaiton. She kind of expected to see the place in shambles when she was on her way there from engineering, but never did mental preparation actually make one ready for the real deal.
By the time the piece of ship debris was beamed into the science lab from the shuttlebay, Yrel had only just finished getting the mess moved around some. The largest pieces the had littered the floor were moved off to the one corner, and she had managed to collect some of the small tools and aparatuses and put them back where she guessed they belonged. It was a shame, that she had actually come to believe that she was capable of some level of cleaning up a place when more a mess came shinning into existance right the very spot she had just cleaned.
"Well, this is debris alright," she said to no one, everyone else in the science department having helped in the repair of the ship. Yrel moved over to the a console for the internal science sensors, and started to tap away at the controls. As slight extra for precautions, she activated a forcefield around the debris piece for fear of sudden reations from the ship's equipment. Probably not necessary, but in her line of work, preparing for unknown variables is always a good idea. If the debris was from combat, there was always the minute possibility that hull debris could have been rigged with explosive materials and the such for when the rescue forces arrived.
Yrel shook her head. She was far to easily distracted sometimes. Looking back at the console, she adjusted the settings some and began running a analysis program to find the origin of the debris radiated energy signature, while she supported the computer's operation with some nearby scans.
Typically, Yrel found that scientists hate the idea of relaying on computer's to do their own work when they themselves were capable fo doing the task at hand just fine. Yrel, though, knew that computer programs were always good tools to have around, especially in this day and age with so much refinements to the ability of a computer, especially in a situation wher trusting the quality of her equipment was a bit hard to do when she herself hadn't been the one who had sustained the operation of the science lab during the commission of the <i>Malinche</i>.
<i>'Oh, just admit it, you can't find a damn thing around here, you're tired, and you just want the computer to do all the work for you.'</i> Yrel sighed, picking up a tricorder and a sensor node. She stepped over near the debris and deactivated the forcefield. She scanned for harmful radiation and a couple slow passes of ehr tricorder and caem up with only a cautious warning by the display. She stepped in closer and attached the node to the surface of the debris, stepped back, and reactivated the forcefield. With a few more taps on the tricorder, she began receiving data from the node as well as the relayed information from the computer analysis program.
Since the display was too small, Yrel opted for sitting at the only chair-equipt station in the lab. With the tircorder set down, Yrel piped the infor through to the console and began going over the pile of information as the spilled through.
"We can rule out Federation fire," she mumbled, reading and consolidating the information more and more. "Looks more like...uh..."
The answer hit Yrel hard and fast, causing her bolt from her seat and head for the door tapping her badge while she did so.
"Yrel to ahhh...ouf!" she yelped, hitting the deck face first. Her head, and chest throbed with pain for the initial seconds after hitting the deck, but faded away soon after. She rolled to her right side and looked back and her feet. Her left foot caught the chair as she tried to leave.
<i>'Clumsiness is also your forte, Yrel,'</i> her mind snickered. She unhooked her foot from the chair and slowly returned to her feet, tapping her badge again.
"Yrel to bridge," she paused not sure if Sovak was still on duty or not. "I think you should come down here, I've got the results of the debris analysis."
OFF: TAG Jaran
It wasn't all that surprising to find the science lab, her place of function, was perhaps in the worst shape out of the entire ship. With good reason, of course, since a science lab was of low priority compared to tactical and engineering in a crisis situaiton. She kind of expected to see the place in shambles when she was on her way there from engineering, but never did mental preparation actually make one ready for the real deal.
By the time the piece of ship debris was beamed into the science lab from the shuttlebay, Yrel had only just finished getting the mess moved around some. The largest pieces the had littered the floor were moved off to the one corner, and she had managed to collect some of the small tools and aparatuses and put them back where she guessed they belonged. It was a shame, that she had actually come to believe that she was capable of some level of cleaning up a place when more a mess came shinning into existance right the very spot she had just cleaned.
"Well, this is debris alright," she said to no one, everyone else in the science department having helped in the repair of the ship. Yrel moved over to the a console for the internal science sensors, and started to tap away at the controls. As slight extra for precautions, she activated a forcefield around the debris piece for fear of sudden reations from the ship's equipment. Probably not necessary, but in her line of work, preparing for unknown variables is always a good idea. If the debris was from combat, there was always the minute possibility that hull debris could have been rigged with explosive materials and the such for when the rescue forces arrived.
Yrel shook her head. She was far to easily distracted sometimes. Looking back at the console, she adjusted the settings some and began running a analysis program to find the origin of the debris radiated energy signature, while she supported the computer's operation with some nearby scans.
Typically, Yrel found that scientists hate the idea of relaying on computer's to do their own work when they themselves were capable fo doing the task at hand just fine. Yrel, though, knew that computer programs were always good tools to have around, especially in this day and age with so much refinements to the ability of a computer, especially in a situation wher trusting the quality of her equipment was a bit hard to do when she herself hadn't been the one who had sustained the operation of the science lab during the commission of the <i>Malinche</i>.
<i>'Oh, just admit it, you can't find a damn thing around here, you're tired, and you just want the computer to do all the work for you.'</i> Yrel sighed, picking up a tricorder and a sensor node. She stepped over near the debris and deactivated the forcefield. She scanned for harmful radiation and a couple slow passes of ehr tricorder and caem up with only a cautious warning by the display. She stepped in closer and attached the node to the surface of the debris, stepped back, and reactivated the forcefield. With a few more taps on the tricorder, she began receiving data from the node as well as the relayed information from the computer analysis program.
Since the display was too small, Yrel opted for sitting at the only chair-equipt station in the lab. With the tircorder set down, Yrel piped the infor through to the console and began going over the pile of information as the spilled through.
"We can rule out Federation fire," she mumbled, reading and consolidating the information more and more. "Looks more like...uh..."
The answer hit Yrel hard and fast, causing her bolt from her seat and head for the door tapping her badge while she did so.
"Yrel to ahhh...ouf!" she yelped, hitting the deck face first. Her head, and chest throbed with pain for the initial seconds after hitting the deck, but faded away soon after. She rolled to her right side and looked back and her feet. Her left foot caught the chair as she tried to leave.
<i>'Clumsiness is also your forte, Yrel,'</i> her mind snickered. She unhooked her foot from the chair and slowly returned to her feet, tapping her badge again.
"Yrel to bridge," she paused not sure if Sovak was still on duty or not. "I think you should come down here, I've got the results of the debris analysis."
OFF: TAG Jaran
Lieutenant Yrel Sovereign
Chief Science Officer & Second Executive Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
<<Hotel Direidi, 1908, Day 3>>
Britny walked out of the kitchen door, carrying a tray. Pausing, she blew a stray strand of her shoulder-length blonde hair out of her face. It'd been a long day already for her, what with the Federation and Klingon crews coming, and it didn't seem likely things would let up til they were gone. The hotel's restaurant/bar had run out of a few things, so they'd asked her to retrieve them.
Frankly, Britny was tired of it. It was always something - 'Britny get this', 'Britny get that', 'Britny go take over for Darcy'. Why couldn't they just let her do her own job for once? She sighed, and started across to Violetta's restaurant. As she did, she saw a man in a red StarFleet uniform looking around, seemingly a little lost.
Ignoring her present duty, Britny walked over to him, "Looking for something?"
This woman that appeared to come out of nowhere at least to Hunt anyway scared him as he placed one hand on his chest. She at first looked familar but Mason shrugged it off as the two walked into the resturant. The aromas were so strong that they literally lifted the XO off his feet. He hadn't smelled anything like that since he left home.
"Actually yes and no, I'm supposed to be looking for the team I was with. I have seem to have lost them." Said Mason.
"Team, hmm? I'm guessing some other StarFleet Officers, then," Britny responded. "Let me drop this off, then I'll see what I can do."
Mason Hunt walked with her back into the restaurant where he waited for her to come out of the back room.
<<Violetta's kitchen>>
Britny walked into the kitchen with the tray she'd brought. Seeing one of the cooks, Tim, she plopped it down in front of him, "Here."
"Gee, thanks, Brit. Whatever happened to service with a smile?" He took a glance at the tray, then back at her.
"You know this isn't my job. Emily and Kyler sai-"
Tim gave her a disapproving look, "I know what they said, but we have to keep things going. I can't help that Darcy can't sit still long enough to help me here. I'm sure things will return to normal soon."
Britny sighed, "I hope so. This is more work than I thought. Anyway, need to go - one of the StarFleet officers needs some help."
Grinning, Tim replied, "Break a leg."
<<Violetta's>>
Walking out the door, Britny smiled at the Officer, "Sorry about that, the help's been a little scarce, so I've had to fill in. I'm Britny," she extended her hand, blue eyes sparkling.
"Its ok."
"As far as your team...I've seen several different groups of Officers around here, not counting the Klingons. What colors were their uniforms? That might help me figure out which group it was," Britny said.
"Most of them were dressed in yellow outfits. I have searched high and low so far nothing."
Britny thought for a moment, "Well, I did see a group....two yellow, one blue. I think they headed down to the basement, this way. Smiling, she turned and led the way.
<<Hotel Direidi, Basement>>
"Here we are," Britny said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not exactly sure where they are, I'm sorry to say. But...hmm...I think I hear voices down there," she continued, pointing off to the left. "Do you want me to go with you, or do you want to go on your own from here?"
Mason looked around as and Darkhelm with team there. This was the first time he had even been separated from any team he was assigned to. In a way he felt embarrassed by not only the offer but losing his team.
?No thank you, I can manage. Thank you very much.?
Hunt walked off into the dark back to the basement were he found the team. At first no one noticed him walk in so he moved along Darkhelm.
?Sorry about that folks, what have I missed??
<Tag Anyone>
A JP By:
Captain Isabel Kesare (NPC Britny)
&
Britny walked out of the kitchen door, carrying a tray. Pausing, she blew a stray strand of her shoulder-length blonde hair out of her face. It'd been a long day already for her, what with the Federation and Klingon crews coming, and it didn't seem likely things would let up til they were gone. The hotel's restaurant/bar had run out of a few things, so they'd asked her to retrieve them.
Frankly, Britny was tired of it. It was always something - 'Britny get this', 'Britny get that', 'Britny go take over for Darcy'. Why couldn't they just let her do her own job for once? She sighed, and started across to Violetta's restaurant. As she did, she saw a man in a red StarFleet uniform looking around, seemingly a little lost.
Ignoring her present duty, Britny walked over to him, "Looking for something?"
This woman that appeared to come out of nowhere at least to Hunt anyway scared him as he placed one hand on his chest. She at first looked familar but Mason shrugged it off as the two walked into the resturant. The aromas were so strong that they literally lifted the XO off his feet. He hadn't smelled anything like that since he left home.
"Actually yes and no, I'm supposed to be looking for the team I was with. I have seem to have lost them." Said Mason.
"Team, hmm? I'm guessing some other StarFleet Officers, then," Britny responded. "Let me drop this off, then I'll see what I can do."
Mason Hunt walked with her back into the restaurant where he waited for her to come out of the back room.
<<Violetta's kitchen>>
Britny walked into the kitchen with the tray she'd brought. Seeing one of the cooks, Tim, she plopped it down in front of him, "Here."
"Gee, thanks, Brit. Whatever happened to service with a smile?" He took a glance at the tray, then back at her.
"You know this isn't my job. Emily and Kyler sai-"
Tim gave her a disapproving look, "I know what they said, but we have to keep things going. I can't help that Darcy can't sit still long enough to help me here. I'm sure things will return to normal soon."
Britny sighed, "I hope so. This is more work than I thought. Anyway, need to go - one of the StarFleet officers needs some help."
Grinning, Tim replied, "Break a leg."
<<Violetta's>>
Walking out the door, Britny smiled at the Officer, "Sorry about that, the help's been a little scarce, so I've had to fill in. I'm Britny," she extended her hand, blue eyes sparkling.
"Its ok."
"As far as your team...I've seen several different groups of Officers around here, not counting the Klingons. What colors were their uniforms? That might help me figure out which group it was," Britny said.
"Most of them were dressed in yellow outfits. I have searched high and low so far nothing."
Britny thought for a moment, "Well, I did see a group....two yellow, one blue. I think they headed down to the basement, this way. Smiling, she turned and led the way.
<<Hotel Direidi, Basement>>
"Here we are," Britny said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not exactly sure where they are, I'm sorry to say. But...hmm...I think I hear voices down there," she continued, pointing off to the left. "Do you want me to go with you, or do you want to go on your own from here?"
Mason looked around as and Darkhelm with team there. This was the first time he had even been separated from any team he was assigned to. In a way he felt embarrassed by not only the offer but losing his team.
?No thank you, I can manage. Thank you very much.?
Hunt walked off into the dark back to the basement were he found the team. At first no one noticed him walk in so he moved along Darkhelm.
?Sorry about that folks, what have I missed??
<Tag Anyone>
A JP By:
Captain Isabel Kesare (NPC Britny)
&
Commander Mason Hunt
First Officer
USS Malinche NCC 38897-B
((OOC: This will be my last post as Lieutenant Commander Darkhelm, I enjoyed simming with you all but real life has forced me to move on. Safe voyaging everyone.))
<<Direidi>>
<Market Street, 1938, Day 3>
Mason, Cheetara, Soren, and herself continued on toward the direction that Amanda had indicated. They weren't very far when Hunt's communictar beeped.
"Hunt here, go ahead."
"Sir a Maran battleship has just arrived in orbit, they are requesting to speak with Lieutenant Commander Darkhelm right away, they claim it's urgent and say something about codename Zero Tolerance."
That froze Amanda in her tracks, as the whole away team turned to look at her. She knew what those words meant, it meant that she was being called into active service...that the Marans had come to collect the debt that she owed them for Jason's arm. And she also knew refusing them would be dangerous...to Jason as well.
"Commander?" Hunt asked.
"It's ok," Amanda sighed. "Seems I have been drafted into the Maran Navy..."
"They can't do that!" Hunt snapped.
"Actually they can, I signed such a document when I got Jason his new arm. I knew the risks when I did it; if I refuse they take away Jason's arm. And its not like they are the enemy or anything. I'll have to transport aboard right away though, let Captain Kersare know that I'll be sending my letter of resignation as soon as I get onboard the Malinche."
And with that said, Amanda took off her communicator and handed it to Hunt, who was still looking at her with a sense of shock.
"It's been a pleasure serving with you all, maybe I'll have that pleasure again someday. Darkhelm to Raven, one to transport up."
And then the Maran transporter whine wisked her away.
OFF: Been a pleasure all!
<<Direidi>>
<Market Street, 1938, Day 3>
Mason, Cheetara, Soren, and herself continued on toward the direction that Amanda had indicated. They weren't very far when Hunt's communictar beeped.
"Hunt here, go ahead."
"Sir a Maran battleship has just arrived in orbit, they are requesting to speak with Lieutenant Commander Darkhelm right away, they claim it's urgent and say something about codename Zero Tolerance."
That froze Amanda in her tracks, as the whole away team turned to look at her. She knew what those words meant, it meant that she was being called into active service...that the Marans had come to collect the debt that she owed them for Jason's arm. And she also knew refusing them would be dangerous...to Jason as well.
"Commander?" Hunt asked.
"It's ok," Amanda sighed. "Seems I have been drafted into the Maran Navy..."
"They can't do that!" Hunt snapped.
"Actually they can, I signed such a document when I got Jason his new arm. I knew the risks when I did it; if I refuse they take away Jason's arm. And its not like they are the enemy or anything. I'll have to transport aboard right away though, let Captain Kersare know that I'll be sending my letter of resignation as soon as I get onboard the Malinche."
And with that said, Amanda took off her communicator and handed it to Hunt, who was still looking at her with a sense of shock.
"It's been a pleasure serving with you all, maybe I'll have that pleasure again someday. Darkhelm to Raven, one to transport up."
And then the Maran transporter whine wisked her away.
OFF: Been a pleasure all!
<img src="http://ussmalinche.kersare.net/images/bltcdr.jpg">
Lieutenant Commander Amanda Darkhelm
Chief Medical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
Lieutenant Commander Amanda Darkhelm
Chief Medical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
<<Direidi>>
<Market Street, 1938, Day 3>
Mason stood there in total shock of Darkhelm's sudden resignation. He looked down at her comm badge and then back up seeing how she would be missed by all especially him. It had happened so fast which left everyone in a dazed but confused state. With the trial going on and now this Mason was not sure how Isabel would handle it.
"Alright people we have a mission to carry out. Let's continue on. Thundera do you feel or sense anything?"
<Tag Thundera>
The group began to continue on past the first warehouse as the signal became stronger. For awhile all seemed to quiet and damp as the night sky became darker and more dense. Hunt thought it was going to rain. Just about a ways down he could hear the beeping on the tri-corder get louder and more heavier as they approched the second warehouse. Only this time it was a bit smaller but wider than the first. Covered in grey metalic alloys.
"I'll say one thing they sure don't make these like they used to. Ok the readings are becoming a bit fuzzy. The indicator of the signal is going crazy. Thundera do you think you could some balance it out and give us a more general direction." he said looking back to find her on the ground.
"What is Lieutenant?" asked Mason.
<Tag Thundera>
OFF
<Market Street, 1938, Day 3>
Mason stood there in total shock of Darkhelm's sudden resignation. He looked down at her comm badge and then back up seeing how she would be missed by all especially him. It had happened so fast which left everyone in a dazed but confused state. With the trial going on and now this Mason was not sure how Isabel would handle it.
"Alright people we have a mission to carry out. Let's continue on. Thundera do you feel or sense anything?"
<Tag Thundera>
The group began to continue on past the first warehouse as the signal became stronger. For awhile all seemed to quiet and damp as the night sky became darker and more dense. Hunt thought it was going to rain. Just about a ways down he could hear the beeping on the tri-corder get louder and more heavier as they approched the second warehouse. Only this time it was a bit smaller but wider than the first. Covered in grey metalic alloys.
"I'll say one thing they sure don't make these like they used to. Ok the readings are becoming a bit fuzzy. The indicator of the signal is going crazy. Thundera do you think you could some balance it out and give us a more general direction." he said looking back to find her on the ground.
"What is Lieutenant?" asked Mason.
<Tag Thundera>
OFF
Commander Mason Hunt
First Officer
USS Malinche NCC 38897-B
-
Thundera
- Senior Staff
- Posts: 185
- Joined: Mon Dec 19, 2005 11:35 pm
- Location: Nasty Borg Bitch!
- Contact:
<<Direidi>>
<Market Street, 1938, Day 3>
{old}
"Alright people we have a mission to carry out. Let's continue on. Thundera do you feel or sense anything?"
{new}
"Not yet Commander, but the sensations are growing stronger as we move. Let's head on over that way" she replied while pointing.
Darkhelm's adjustments were obviously working. The further they walked, the more she could make out in her head. Moments later, as Mason was asking for a course direction, she screamed and feel to the ground while pointing to a warehouse covered by a patch of thick fog in the distance with one hand, and holding her head with the other. "Over there" she said in a low, painful voice.
{old}}
"What is Lieutenant?" asked Mason.
{new}
It took her a minute to regain her composure and take control of herself. Finally she got back on her feet. "It's hard to tell. I was feeling all kinds of emotions as we walked. It's like the adjustments opened my mind a little too much. I could feel you and Soren, Darkhelm until she left, and a bunch of others. It was all too much at one time."
"Sir, maybe we should head back for a while and let the Captain know of everything that is going on." Soren suggested. "The Lieutenant is obviously in no shape to finish this right now."
Cheetara snapped her head towards Soren quickly cutting off what Mason was about to say. "You must be out of your mind Chief. We must investigate further as ordered."
"But how when you can't keep control of yourself?" he threw back
"I will be just fine. I have been in alot worse than this. This is childs play. It was just the initial shock of it all." she retorted.
"I still think we should head back to make sure you will be ok", Soren insisted as he turned to Mason.
Cheetara snarled at the Denobulan as she argued back. "You need not concern for my safety little man(even though he was just a little bigger than her) until you see someone attack me. I am going to carry out this assignment one way or another unless it kills me. Is that understood?!"
Cheetara's head snapped toward Mason as his voice spoke out from nowhere.
OFF: Tag Hunt
<Market Street, 1938, Day 3>
{old}
"Alright people we have a mission to carry out. Let's continue on. Thundera do you feel or sense anything?"
{new}
"Not yet Commander, but the sensations are growing stronger as we move. Let's head on over that way" she replied while pointing.
Darkhelm's adjustments were obviously working. The further they walked, the more she could make out in her head. Moments later, as Mason was asking for a course direction, she screamed and feel to the ground while pointing to a warehouse covered by a patch of thick fog in the distance with one hand, and holding her head with the other. "Over there" she said in a low, painful voice.
{old}}
"What is Lieutenant?" asked Mason.
{new}
It took her a minute to regain her composure and take control of herself. Finally she got back on her feet. "It's hard to tell. I was feeling all kinds of emotions as we walked. It's like the adjustments opened my mind a little too much. I could feel you and Soren, Darkhelm until she left, and a bunch of others. It was all too much at one time."
"Sir, maybe we should head back for a while and let the Captain know of everything that is going on." Soren suggested. "The Lieutenant is obviously in no shape to finish this right now."
Cheetara snapped her head towards Soren quickly cutting off what Mason was about to say. "You must be out of your mind Chief. We must investigate further as ordered."
"But how when you can't keep control of yourself?" he threw back
"I will be just fine. I have been in alot worse than this. This is childs play. It was just the initial shock of it all." she retorted.
"I still think we should head back to make sure you will be ok", Soren insisted as he turned to Mason.
Cheetara snarled at the Denobulan as she argued back. "You need not concern for my safety little man(even though he was just a little bigger than her) until you see someone attack me. I am going to carry out this assignment one way or another unless it kills me. Is that understood?!"
Cheetara's head snapped toward Mason as his voice spoke out from nowhere.
OFF: Tag Hunt
Lieutenant Cheetara Thundera
Chief Science Officer
USS Malinche NCC 38997-A
<<Market Street, Dereidi, 1939>>
Rhone blew by the Commander and other two Starfleet Officers holding an odd-looking tricorder and a bag slung diagonally over his shoulder, Lieutenant Barrett following close behind.
"Hurry! They may be alive!" Seryn exclaimed, his quick stride remaining steady.
Rhone didn't know if the group was quick enough to catch up before he got to the warehouse, but he knew they didn't have time to hang out and explain everything. He'd had a hard enough time trying to explain everything to Barrett before the shuttle touched down that he knew it was futile to waste time trying to explain it to the rest of the crew.
He was new, but they would have to trust him.
The party advanced on the warehouse, with traces of hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen, it seemed safe enough. Seryn dropped his bag and put his tricorder back in its hip storage pouch and began pulling on one of the doors.
"I can't open it myself, someone help me pull!" Seryn grunted.
Barrett was closest and dropped his bag and holstered his phaser, and took position behind Rhone and started pulling. The others soon showed and took up position on the other door, with Hunt being the exception.
He took out his tricorder and began scanning, finding nothing but the elements found in the same air they were currently breathing. "I'm not getting anything, Mr. Rhone, is it?"
The doors finally budged and Seryn whipped around to push on the door, with Barrett still pulling. Their efforts came to fruition when the doors came open simultaneously.
"That's because your tricorder isn't equipped to detect subspace signals, Sir," came Rhone's reply.
"Maybe its a lack of technical knowledge but I assure you, all tricorders are," replied the commander.
Out of the corner of Rhone's eye, he noticed an extremely pale look on the Borg-looking lieutenant's face. "Negative, Sir," he stated, "the standard tricorder is only equipped to detect subspace anomalies." He had to concentrate to return his breathing to normal so he could explain. "A communications tricorder is equipped to detect, filter out and identify subspace anomalies, signals and even messages themselves. The anomaly you detected didn't come from the warehouse, just its exit. The signal originated below. If you'll accompany me, please?" He grabbed his bag, Barrett following suit and giving the commander an uncertain look.
The group followed Rhone inside the darkened warehouse, everyone searching for lights. Seryn flipped the light on his headset, a tool even present day spielunkers used in this 24th century age of technological abundance.
Seryn came to where he could no longer deviate without the signal trailing off, in the very center of the warehouse.
The team appeared annoyed at the lack of complete explanation, but Seryn knew there wouldn't be much time. "Okay, now we just need to find a way d-"
He cut his comment short when the floor seemed to shift slightly, then fell away completely.
Everyone yelped in surprise and found that the floor hadn't given way altogether, it had lowered into a downward spiral. With nothing on the floor to grab onto the team slid and slid until coming to a stop on top of each other.
"What's that?" Soren asked.
Rhone realized it was his comm tricorder going nuts somewhere in the dark. He had let it go while trying to gain a hand hold in the inclined floor above. He moved his light toward it, bag still over his shoulder and saw the blinking lights in the distance. After close forty yards Seryn guessed, he was able to pick up his tricorder and analyze its findings.
Back at the main group where they had fallen, Commander Hunt moved swept his tricorder from side to side searching for a light source, and found one. His tricorder had found a 'switch' in a steady current of electricity, extremely primitive by modern standards. He moved to it and flipped it upward.
A single light came on above them, illuminating an area of about two hundred meters. Within that space, several crates three cubic meters in rectangular size littered the basement of the warehouse.
It took a few seconds for Rhone to notice the music, which her certainly couldn't place. He did notice some kind of piano or lyric board in the background, but he remained distracted by the crates.
Barrett moved to the one closest and tapped on the top sealed area. There was no real way to gain leverage, no tools in sight, until Rhone approached. He rammed the emitter end of his phaser into the top of the crate, which punctured the wood. Once the split was made, Barrett and Rhone began hammering on the split with their phasers to rip the lid into two semi-even pieces.
The others approached, the Borg Starfleet officer looking more pale than before. Hunt found an area in the split wide-enough to pull the two pieces apart with his big hands, and tried to peek inside. He stepped back in surprise when Rhone and Barrett, having worked from each end of the crate, pulled the two pieces wide open, revealing the crate's contents.
A body.
"I tried to hurry, Commander," Rhone said solemnly. "We found lifesigns just before we touched down in the shuttle. It was sort of a last effort the Captain asked us to do while she was at the trial. Something about a 'fishy' warehouse mentioned by the crewmembers at court." He shook his head, for an instant, forgetting about the countless other crates littered about the warehouse basement.
OFF: Let me know if you feel I misused your characters, but I attempted to move the plot along faster. Tag Teamage!!
Rhone blew by the Commander and other two Starfleet Officers holding an odd-looking tricorder and a bag slung diagonally over his shoulder, Lieutenant Barrett following close behind.
"Hurry! They may be alive!" Seryn exclaimed, his quick stride remaining steady.
Rhone didn't know if the group was quick enough to catch up before he got to the warehouse, but he knew they didn't have time to hang out and explain everything. He'd had a hard enough time trying to explain everything to Barrett before the shuttle touched down that he knew it was futile to waste time trying to explain it to the rest of the crew.
He was new, but they would have to trust him.
The party advanced on the warehouse, with traces of hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen, it seemed safe enough. Seryn dropped his bag and put his tricorder back in its hip storage pouch and began pulling on one of the doors.
"I can't open it myself, someone help me pull!" Seryn grunted.
Barrett was closest and dropped his bag and holstered his phaser, and took position behind Rhone and started pulling. The others soon showed and took up position on the other door, with Hunt being the exception.
He took out his tricorder and began scanning, finding nothing but the elements found in the same air they were currently breathing. "I'm not getting anything, Mr. Rhone, is it?"
The doors finally budged and Seryn whipped around to push on the door, with Barrett still pulling. Their efforts came to fruition when the doors came open simultaneously.
"That's because your tricorder isn't equipped to detect subspace signals, Sir," came Rhone's reply.
"Maybe its a lack of technical knowledge but I assure you, all tricorders are," replied the commander.
Out of the corner of Rhone's eye, he noticed an extremely pale look on the Borg-looking lieutenant's face. "Negative, Sir," he stated, "the standard tricorder is only equipped to detect subspace anomalies." He had to concentrate to return his breathing to normal so he could explain. "A communications tricorder is equipped to detect, filter out and identify subspace anomalies, signals and even messages themselves. The anomaly you detected didn't come from the warehouse, just its exit. The signal originated below. If you'll accompany me, please?" He grabbed his bag, Barrett following suit and giving the commander an uncertain look.
The group followed Rhone inside the darkened warehouse, everyone searching for lights. Seryn flipped the light on his headset, a tool even present day spielunkers used in this 24th century age of technological abundance.
Seryn came to where he could no longer deviate without the signal trailing off, in the very center of the warehouse.
The team appeared annoyed at the lack of complete explanation, but Seryn knew there wouldn't be much time. "Okay, now we just need to find a way d-"
He cut his comment short when the floor seemed to shift slightly, then fell away completely.
Everyone yelped in surprise and found that the floor hadn't given way altogether, it had lowered into a downward spiral. With nothing on the floor to grab onto the team slid and slid until coming to a stop on top of each other.
"What's that?" Soren asked.
Rhone realized it was his comm tricorder going nuts somewhere in the dark. He had let it go while trying to gain a hand hold in the inclined floor above. He moved his light toward it, bag still over his shoulder and saw the blinking lights in the distance. After close forty yards Seryn guessed, he was able to pick up his tricorder and analyze its findings.
Back at the main group where they had fallen, Commander Hunt moved swept his tricorder from side to side searching for a light source, and found one. His tricorder had found a 'switch' in a steady current of electricity, extremely primitive by modern standards. He moved to it and flipped it upward.
A single light came on above them, illuminating an area of about two hundred meters. Within that space, several crates three cubic meters in rectangular size littered the basement of the warehouse.
It took a few seconds for Rhone to notice the music, which her certainly couldn't place. He did notice some kind of piano or lyric board in the background, but he remained distracted by the crates.
Barrett moved to the one closest and tapped on the top sealed area. There was no real way to gain leverage, no tools in sight, until Rhone approached. He rammed the emitter end of his phaser into the top of the crate, which punctured the wood. Once the split was made, Barrett and Rhone began hammering on the split with their phasers to rip the lid into two semi-even pieces.
The others approached, the Borg Starfleet officer looking more pale than before. Hunt found an area in the split wide-enough to pull the two pieces apart with his big hands, and tried to peek inside. He stepped back in surprise when Rhone and Barrett, having worked from each end of the crate, pulled the two pieces wide open, revealing the crate's contents.
A body.
"I tried to hurry, Commander," Rhone said solemnly. "We found lifesigns just before we touched down in the shuttle. It was sort of a last effort the Captain asked us to do while she was at the trial. Something about a 'fishy' warehouse mentioned by the crewmembers at court." He shook his head, for an instant, forgetting about the countless other crates littered about the warehouse basement.
OFF: Let me know if you feel I misused your characters, but I attempted to move the plot along faster. Tag Teamage!!
<img src="http://ussmalinche.kersare.net/images/rens.jpg">
Ensign Seryn Rhone
Assistant Chief Communications Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
Ensign Seryn Rhone
Assistant Chief Communications Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B