ON:
<Starbase 259, Day 3, 2120 Hours>
Sara smiled then replied. "That sounds good, beats what I originally had planned for dinner before you offered." She smiled again and watched the veiw of the ships that were docked. What she saw out there was more then simply the inside of the docking bay. Sure Sara could see the workbees moving around as thier operators manuvered them along, and the occasional ship that was arriving or departing. But there was something more she saw out there. Maybe it was destiny or something waiting out there for her to discover.
"He sounds like he must have been a nice person to have known. Looks like he did well by giving you the chance to experience so much." Said Sara finally looking back towards Mason. "I never knew my father was a intelligence officer until after I became one myself, but when I was young he always encouraged me to observe everything and learn all I could about what I saw." She said finally taking a sip of the wine.
Sara smiled a the taste of the wine, it definatly wasn't like anything the replicators could make and it certainly tasted better. "It is definatly better then the replicated stuff." Said Sara taking another sip. "Its also more to my liking then the romulan ale I had to be content with while I was gone." Sara said in a whisper just for Mason to hear. "Some people like the stuff. I used to when I first had it but after awhile I got tired of it." She said with a shrug.
OFF: Tag Hunt
Blood and Iron
Moderators: Tournneau, Korath, Kersare
<<Starbase 259, Courtroom, 0945, Day 4>>
Captain Saxon walked back into the courtroom, his head held high and his scrawny shoulders pushed back. He tried to walk with the commanding authority and confidence that he felt. In the view of a great many, this was supposed to be a relatively open and shut case ? only fortune and a little of his unsurpassable talent as a courtroom warrior had enabled Saxon and Jaran to get this far.
Obviously, the verdict would come back guilty, there was no doubting that whatsoever given the initial evidence put forward by Lassiter in the form of sensor logs, security records and other similar items ? the sentence however, Saxon felt confident would be minimal. The possibility even remained that Jaran could go back to the Malinche if he so wanted, though he doubted the Lieutenant would want to even if he could.
<<1000>>
Jaran raised his head slowly, his eyes falling on the two guards in front of him as he was marched into the courtroom almost for the final time and shackled again to the fixed restraint. He took a long moment to look to the gallery, the same faces were there ? the doc, Hawkins, Sovereign and some others, and Kersare of course. She was talking to Sovereign and didn?t notice him staring at her, simple words were useless in trying to express his regret to her, he even wished he could just say something to her, or get a message to her some way, but he wouldn?t ? he?d been himself for too long to allow himself to show his inner pain to anyone, to the rest of the Universe, he was a hard, cold bastard. Sick and a monster ? he was happy to keep it that way.
Jaran looked towards the judge?s stand as the clerk coughed and stood up. ?All rise? he called.
<<1020>>
Saxon nodded to Clarkson as he entered and sat down, he also glanced at Lassiter who was holding a PaDD. After Lassiter?s argument, Saxon was going to have a job in swaying the Judge and Jury back to his side. He cleared his throat and stood up, bringing up his notes on his own PaDD as he walked towards the ?battlefield?.
?Lieutenant Jaran? he began, looking to the man and then to the gallery. ?An experienced combat officer, exemplary pilot and dedicated member of Starfleet ? his service record alone shows an unwavering commitment and loyalty to the service that is hard to find in many of our Lieutenants today.? He paused for a moment. ?But this Lieutenant, has been through a great deal at Starfleets whim ? and was offered little to no support after many of the missions which he partook in. I give you a man, who has fulfilled his duty to the service, has been pushed and who has pushed himself to the limits of his own mental, emotional and physical endurance on many occasions, but who has been disgustingly uncared for at the other end.
?A now unstable Lieutenant Jaran Abubakar, left in such a precarious mental state by the utter neglect of Starfleet, was forced into a difficult decision by the somewhat questionable orders of one Captain Isabel Kersare.? Saxon eyeballed the Captain as he spoke, switching between the rest of the gallery and her specifically.
?It is unclear if Captain Kersare?s intentions were genuine in wishing the recovery of some key officers over the welfare of her entire crew, or if indeed she has a hidden, burning agenda and wished to fight the Borg out of revenge for ultimately causing the death of her late husband.? He noticed the judge, Clarkson, shifting slightly and was aware he was once again treading very close to the line.
?Either way, incompetent orders were to be followed and continuing the trend that Lieutenant Jaran has unwaveringly demonstrated in his career ? he chose to act and not risk the lives of the entire crew of the Malinche for the sake of a handful of officers. He was dismissed, and virtually imprisoned, becoming powerless to voice objection. Subsequently the Malinche was ?doomed? as it were, to remain at the mercy and whim of the Borg.
?Lieutenant Jaran chose once more to act, and to save as many as he could from a potential massacre ? it is unfortunate that the remaining crew decided to resist with arms, though this was clearly the only route open to them whilst not benefiting from orders given by a tactically experienced officer ? but instead being weakly dished out from an inexperienced and feeble Science Officer who was most abhorrently appointed as the OIC by Captain Kersare
?Sadly, people did die, no one can deny that ? but who is responsible? A Lieutenant who was and is, mentally fragile due to the neglect of Starfleet? A Science Officer out of her depth in a tactical scenario? Or the Commanding Officer, making poor decisions behind a veil of anger and a lust for revenge? The Commanding Officer, who is ultimately responsible for everything that happens on his or her command.
Saxon nodded and returned to his chair, he could practically feel the burning stares of the Malinche crew on the back of his neck. With any luck, it would be ruled that Jaran was responsible, undoubtedly, but that the mitigating circumstances warranted waiving a criminal conviction, and if lady luck really were on his side ? would provoke an inquiry into Captain Kersare.
OFF:
Captain Saxon
and
Lieutenant Abubakar Jaran
played by:
Lieutenant Abubakar Jaran
Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
Captain Saxon walked back into the courtroom, his head held high and his scrawny shoulders pushed back. He tried to walk with the commanding authority and confidence that he felt. In the view of a great many, this was supposed to be a relatively open and shut case ? only fortune and a little of his unsurpassable talent as a courtroom warrior had enabled Saxon and Jaran to get this far.
Obviously, the verdict would come back guilty, there was no doubting that whatsoever given the initial evidence put forward by Lassiter in the form of sensor logs, security records and other similar items ? the sentence however, Saxon felt confident would be minimal. The possibility even remained that Jaran could go back to the Malinche if he so wanted, though he doubted the Lieutenant would want to even if he could.
<<1000>>
Jaran raised his head slowly, his eyes falling on the two guards in front of him as he was marched into the courtroom almost for the final time and shackled again to the fixed restraint. He took a long moment to look to the gallery, the same faces were there ? the doc, Hawkins, Sovereign and some others, and Kersare of course. She was talking to Sovereign and didn?t notice him staring at her, simple words were useless in trying to express his regret to her, he even wished he could just say something to her, or get a message to her some way, but he wouldn?t ? he?d been himself for too long to allow himself to show his inner pain to anyone, to the rest of the Universe, he was a hard, cold bastard. Sick and a monster ? he was happy to keep it that way.
Jaran looked towards the judge?s stand as the clerk coughed and stood up. ?All rise? he called.
<<1020>>
Saxon nodded to Clarkson as he entered and sat down, he also glanced at Lassiter who was holding a PaDD. After Lassiter?s argument, Saxon was going to have a job in swaying the Judge and Jury back to his side. He cleared his throat and stood up, bringing up his notes on his own PaDD as he walked towards the ?battlefield?.
?Lieutenant Jaran? he began, looking to the man and then to the gallery. ?An experienced combat officer, exemplary pilot and dedicated member of Starfleet ? his service record alone shows an unwavering commitment and loyalty to the service that is hard to find in many of our Lieutenants today.? He paused for a moment. ?But this Lieutenant, has been through a great deal at Starfleets whim ? and was offered little to no support after many of the missions which he partook in. I give you a man, who has fulfilled his duty to the service, has been pushed and who has pushed himself to the limits of his own mental, emotional and physical endurance on many occasions, but who has been disgustingly uncared for at the other end.
?A now unstable Lieutenant Jaran Abubakar, left in such a precarious mental state by the utter neglect of Starfleet, was forced into a difficult decision by the somewhat questionable orders of one Captain Isabel Kersare.? Saxon eyeballed the Captain as he spoke, switching between the rest of the gallery and her specifically.
?It is unclear if Captain Kersare?s intentions were genuine in wishing the recovery of some key officers over the welfare of her entire crew, or if indeed she has a hidden, burning agenda and wished to fight the Borg out of revenge for ultimately causing the death of her late husband.? He noticed the judge, Clarkson, shifting slightly and was aware he was once again treading very close to the line.
?Either way, incompetent orders were to be followed and continuing the trend that Lieutenant Jaran has unwaveringly demonstrated in his career ? he chose to act and not risk the lives of the entire crew of the Malinche for the sake of a handful of officers. He was dismissed, and virtually imprisoned, becoming powerless to voice objection. Subsequently the Malinche was ?doomed? as it were, to remain at the mercy and whim of the Borg.
?Lieutenant Jaran chose once more to act, and to save as many as he could from a potential massacre ? it is unfortunate that the remaining crew decided to resist with arms, though this was clearly the only route open to them whilst not benefiting from orders given by a tactically experienced officer ? but instead being weakly dished out from an inexperienced and feeble Science Officer who was most abhorrently appointed as the OIC by Captain Kersare
?Sadly, people did die, no one can deny that ? but who is responsible? A Lieutenant who was and is, mentally fragile due to the neglect of Starfleet? A Science Officer out of her depth in a tactical scenario? Or the Commanding Officer, making poor decisions behind a veil of anger and a lust for revenge? The Commanding Officer, who is ultimately responsible for everything that happens on his or her command.
Saxon nodded and returned to his chair, he could practically feel the burning stares of the Malinche crew on the back of his neck. With any luck, it would be ruled that Jaran was responsible, undoubtedly, but that the mitigating circumstances warranted waiving a criminal conviction, and if lady luck really were on his side ? would provoke an inquiry into Captain Kersare.
OFF:
Captain Saxon
and
Lieutenant Abubakar Jaran
played by:
Lieutenant Abubakar Jaran
Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
<<Starbase 259, Courtroom, 1000, Day 4>>
Isabel and Jack had arrived at the courtroom a few minutes before the trial was scheduled to continue. Leading the way, Isabel managed to find seats near the middle of the room, though the courtroom was packed for the last day of trial. She sat down with Jack beside her, looking around to see which other Malinche crewmembers were present. A good portion of the Senior and Junior staff was there, though it was difficult to tell how many due to the large crowd.
The whole thing had her nerves frayed; the not knowing and waiting were difficult. She was also torn as far as what to hope for or to expect. Part of her didn't expect any mercy to be shown, but the other part hoped that Jaran wouldn't be given death.
The room quieted down as the judge entered the room. A tenseness filled the air...almost like a fog that could be cut with a knife. Isabel glanced over at Jack then turned her attention to the front.
Art was giving his closing statement first. He paused before starting, but Isabel knew an attorney such as him would know exactly what he was saying before he even entered the courtroom. She listened carefully as he spoke.
When he'd finished, Isabel had to admit that she was surprised. From all indications during the trial, Art was aiming for the most severe penalty for Jaran. The mercy he was showing Jaran, recommending to the court for Jaran... It was what Isabel would have chosen. Not death or life imprisonment, but a chance at helping him get better. For Art to suggest that indicated to her, at least, that he thought Jaran might be capable of being rehabilitated.
She felt torn in two over the whole thing. On the one hand, innocent members of her crew had been killed. Killed by Jaran while he escaped with help from other crewmembers... Of the time she'd served with Jaran, he was hot-headed, arrogant, always pushing towards what he wanted to have happen. More recently he was very disturbed...the things he'd done while away from the Malinche were haunting him, and even more so after killing some of the crew.
Part of her felt that she should be angry with him, seeking justice for those he'd killed. But the bigger part of her...she couldn't quite describe it, but she felt she should protect him as well. While he could have been faking his apology to her for what he had done, Isabel was certain he was sincere. The way he'd looked at her haunted her... She felt she could see into his soul almost; could feel his pain and anguish. Despite his actions, deep down he had a loyalty to the Malinche, to her. It was as if he wanted, needed, her approval. Needed her to help him set things right. Needed her to help him out of his own personal hell.
Her thoughts were broken as the defense began their closing argument. She watched Jaran for a time, could see the hopelessness in his demeanor.
At the mention of her name, her eyes snapped over to Saxon. Startled, yet not surprised in the least, she listened and shook her head. His argument didn't even make sense. If she was so bent on revenge against the Borg, wouldn't she have gone back to the Malinche and sought them out? If revenge was what she wanted, she could've had it long ago. Being an engineer, Isabel was far too logical for that. She knew that Derek had chosen his duty to StarFleet, just as she had. He could have been killed by accident or by someone else. Of course she loved him, but revenge wouldn't bring him back, so why waste her time and tarnish her career...not to mention bringing her crew to danger?
It seemed to her that Saxon hadn't been paying attention to testimony as he went on...There had been evidence of the Borg, and they had been spotted, but they were posing no threat to the Malinche. If they wanted the Mali, they could have come and attacked as soon as they'd arrived at Direidi, but they didn't. Really, they could've come and attacked at any time, but never so much as moved closer or scanned the Malinche. There was no reason to believe that they would. Even if they had, Jaran would have been in charge and she had full faith in his abilities in such a situation. Of course, he'd taken himself out of that position by defying her and being insubordinate, but that was not her intention.
He also was twisting the actual events... Jaran hadn't been trying to save the crew, he had been trying to escape from the ship with those who were helping him. He didn't go to the bridge and try to take over, he fled to the shuttlebay and stole two of the shuttles. That isn't trying to help the crew.
Isabel listened and watched the judge. He was listening intently, of course, but she didn't think he was buying into Saxon's argument either. Anyone with common sense and who had been listening to the whole trial couldn't buy into the argument. It was rather ridiculous...at the same time, he did have to try something for Jaran, but Isabel wasn't impressed with his choice.
As Saxon finally finished his delusional argument, the court was called to recess as the judge deliberated.
Soon enough, the fate of Abubakar Jaran would be decided...
Isabel and Jack had arrived at the courtroom a few minutes before the trial was scheduled to continue. Leading the way, Isabel managed to find seats near the middle of the room, though the courtroom was packed for the last day of trial. She sat down with Jack beside her, looking around to see which other Malinche crewmembers were present. A good portion of the Senior and Junior staff was there, though it was difficult to tell how many due to the large crowd.
The whole thing had her nerves frayed; the not knowing and waiting were difficult. She was also torn as far as what to hope for or to expect. Part of her didn't expect any mercy to be shown, but the other part hoped that Jaran wouldn't be given death.
The room quieted down as the judge entered the room. A tenseness filled the air...almost like a fog that could be cut with a knife. Isabel glanced over at Jack then turned her attention to the front.
Art was giving his closing statement first. He paused before starting, but Isabel knew an attorney such as him would know exactly what he was saying before he even entered the courtroom. She listened carefully as he spoke.
When he'd finished, Isabel had to admit that she was surprised. From all indications during the trial, Art was aiming for the most severe penalty for Jaran. The mercy he was showing Jaran, recommending to the court for Jaran... It was what Isabel would have chosen. Not death or life imprisonment, but a chance at helping him get better. For Art to suggest that indicated to her, at least, that he thought Jaran might be capable of being rehabilitated.
She felt torn in two over the whole thing. On the one hand, innocent members of her crew had been killed. Killed by Jaran while he escaped with help from other crewmembers... Of the time she'd served with Jaran, he was hot-headed, arrogant, always pushing towards what he wanted to have happen. More recently he was very disturbed...the things he'd done while away from the Malinche were haunting him, and even more so after killing some of the crew.
Part of her felt that she should be angry with him, seeking justice for those he'd killed. But the bigger part of her...she couldn't quite describe it, but she felt she should protect him as well. While he could have been faking his apology to her for what he had done, Isabel was certain he was sincere. The way he'd looked at her haunted her... She felt she could see into his soul almost; could feel his pain and anguish. Despite his actions, deep down he had a loyalty to the Malinche, to her. It was as if he wanted, needed, her approval. Needed her to help him set things right. Needed her to help him out of his own personal hell.
Her thoughts were broken as the defense began their closing argument. She watched Jaran for a time, could see the hopelessness in his demeanor.
At the mention of her name, her eyes snapped over to Saxon. Startled, yet not surprised in the least, she listened and shook her head. His argument didn't even make sense. If she was so bent on revenge against the Borg, wouldn't she have gone back to the Malinche and sought them out? If revenge was what she wanted, she could've had it long ago. Being an engineer, Isabel was far too logical for that. She knew that Derek had chosen his duty to StarFleet, just as she had. He could have been killed by accident or by someone else. Of course she loved him, but revenge wouldn't bring him back, so why waste her time and tarnish her career...not to mention bringing her crew to danger?
It seemed to her that Saxon hadn't been paying attention to testimony as he went on...There had been evidence of the Borg, and they had been spotted, but they were posing no threat to the Malinche. If they wanted the Mali, they could have come and attacked as soon as they'd arrived at Direidi, but they didn't. Really, they could've come and attacked at any time, but never so much as moved closer or scanned the Malinche. There was no reason to believe that they would. Even if they had, Jaran would have been in charge and she had full faith in his abilities in such a situation. Of course, he'd taken himself out of that position by defying her and being insubordinate, but that was not her intention.
He also was twisting the actual events... Jaran hadn't been trying to save the crew, he had been trying to escape from the ship with those who were helping him. He didn't go to the bridge and try to take over, he fled to the shuttlebay and stole two of the shuttles. That isn't trying to help the crew.
Isabel listened and watched the judge. He was listening intently, of course, but she didn't think he was buying into Saxon's argument either. Anyone with common sense and who had been listening to the whole trial couldn't buy into the argument. It was rather ridiculous...at the same time, he did have to try something for Jaran, but Isabel wasn't impressed with his choice.
As Saxon finally finished his delusional argument, the court was called to recess as the judge deliberated.
Soon enough, the fate of Abubakar Jaran would be decided...
Captain Isabel Kersare
Commanding Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
-
Quarterstaff
- Crewmember
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Mon Sep 25, 2006 5:06 pm
- Location: MA
- Contact:
<< Courtoom, 0930 hours, Day 4, Starbase 259 >>
The Ensign wasted little time this morning, she was up and dressed and looking for something to do. For the past few days Lynn had been feeling particularly restless. She attributed the feeling to the nervousness that seemed to enshroud the crew of the Malinche. Lynn knew very little about what had happened aboard the ship before her arrival, only that it was now resulting in a trial. True, that she seldom interacted with her shipmates, but it seemed there had been little time to before shore leave.
The medical officer wondered if it would be appropriate to inquire upon the crew as to what had happened?but deeming it not so, Lynn decided she?d take the initiative to see for herself what it was happening.
The red head slipped into the court room, and found herself a seat as near the exit as possible. Such events made Lynn uncomfortable. Now all there was to be done was to wait and see what the fate of the poor soul on trial would be.
The Ensign wasted little time this morning, she was up and dressed and looking for something to do. For the past few days Lynn had been feeling particularly restless. She attributed the feeling to the nervousness that seemed to enshroud the crew of the Malinche. Lynn knew very little about what had happened aboard the ship before her arrival, only that it was now resulting in a trial. True, that she seldom interacted with her shipmates, but it seemed there had been little time to before shore leave.
The medical officer wondered if it would be appropriate to inquire upon the crew as to what had happened?but deeming it not so, Lynn decided she?d take the initiative to see for herself what it was happening.
The red head slipped into the court room, and found herself a seat as near the exit as possible. Such events made Lynn uncomfortable. Now all there was to be done was to wait and see what the fate of the poor soul on trial would be.
Ensign Lynn Quarterstaff
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: Courtroom. 11:30. Day 4.
?All rise? called the court clerk as Clarkson entered his court for the last time, to pass verdict and sentence on Jaran.
He sat down and surveyed the court, his heart was jumping and fluttered with nerves. He couldn?t believe what he was about to do.
?Lieutenant Jaran Abubakar? he began. ?I have reviewed the evidence against you, and the testimonies given by your crewmates and fellow officers.?
------------
Jaran exhaled deeply, his right leg was twitching at the knee and he felt his stomach doing all sorts of manoeuvres as he waited for the verdict.
------------
?Given the computer based evidence put before the court,? Clarkson said in a commanding voice. ?I have no option, but to find you guilty on all charges.?
Clarkson paused to allow the brief flutter of voices in the gallery to die down.
?However? he resumed. ?In taking into account the medical evidence provided by Doctor Fairbairn, and indeed the suggestions made my Mister Lassiter, Captain Saxon, I find myself unable to present you with a lengthy criminal, custodial sentence.?
Again he allowed the voices, somewhat less pleased this time, to die down before continuing. ?I must also take into account the possibility that the orders given were flawed, and not proper.? He deliberately avoided looking at Kersare, unable to meet her eyes. ?However I do not feel that the argument presented warrants any additional investigation into the matter. Still, I must consider that Lieutenant Jaran was, in his eyes, acting in the interests of saving lives, and not ending them.?
?In particular, I have to remember the fact that Lieutenant Jaran, painted as a cold blooded murdered by some, had the opportunity to murder again.? He looked at the Intelligence Lieutenant from Malinche, unable to remember his name, ?but he did not. He instead returned to his cell I must also think that this does indeed show remorse, and a willingness to face trial and punishment for his actions.?
Saxon took a long pause, breathing deeply. ?Lieutenant Jaran Abubakar, I sentence you to an indefinite period of rehabilitation, and order that you are remanded into the custody of Starfleet Medical. Upon your rehabilitation, you may be allowed to continue your Starfleet career pending a review at the time. In the mean time, your commission and status as an officer is revoked. You hold no rank, and are to be listed only as a member of Starfleet.?
?Before you are remanded into the custody of Starfleet Medical, you are required to serve a period of 6 months imprisonment in a maximum security facility, with the possibility of early parole into your rehabilitation centre dismissed. Make no mistake Mr. Jaran, you are not off the hook yet, and I would be very surprised if you do continue in Starfleet. Whatever the justification, you killed your comrades, and it unsettles me just to be in the same room as you.?
Clarkson snapped his head round and shot a look at the guards. ?Take him down!? he boomed.
OFF
?All rise? called the court clerk as Clarkson entered his court for the last time, to pass verdict and sentence on Jaran.
He sat down and surveyed the court, his heart was jumping and fluttered with nerves. He couldn?t believe what he was about to do.
?Lieutenant Jaran Abubakar? he began. ?I have reviewed the evidence against you, and the testimonies given by your crewmates and fellow officers.?
------------
Jaran exhaled deeply, his right leg was twitching at the knee and he felt his stomach doing all sorts of manoeuvres as he waited for the verdict.
------------
?Given the computer based evidence put before the court,? Clarkson said in a commanding voice. ?I have no option, but to find you guilty on all charges.?
Clarkson paused to allow the brief flutter of voices in the gallery to die down.
?However? he resumed. ?In taking into account the medical evidence provided by Doctor Fairbairn, and indeed the suggestions made my Mister Lassiter, Captain Saxon, I find myself unable to present you with a lengthy criminal, custodial sentence.?
Again he allowed the voices, somewhat less pleased this time, to die down before continuing. ?I must also take into account the possibility that the orders given were flawed, and not proper.? He deliberately avoided looking at Kersare, unable to meet her eyes. ?However I do not feel that the argument presented warrants any additional investigation into the matter. Still, I must consider that Lieutenant Jaran was, in his eyes, acting in the interests of saving lives, and not ending them.?
?In particular, I have to remember the fact that Lieutenant Jaran, painted as a cold blooded murdered by some, had the opportunity to murder again.? He looked at the Intelligence Lieutenant from Malinche, unable to remember his name, ?but he did not. He instead returned to his cell I must also think that this does indeed show remorse, and a willingness to face trial and punishment for his actions.?
Saxon took a long pause, breathing deeply. ?Lieutenant Jaran Abubakar, I sentence you to an indefinite period of rehabilitation, and order that you are remanded into the custody of Starfleet Medical. Upon your rehabilitation, you may be allowed to continue your Starfleet career pending a review at the time. In the mean time, your commission and status as an officer is revoked. You hold no rank, and are to be listed only as a member of Starfleet.?
?Before you are remanded into the custody of Starfleet Medical, you are required to serve a period of 6 months imprisonment in a maximum security facility, with the possibility of early parole into your rehabilitation centre dismissed. Make no mistake Mr. Jaran, you are not off the hook yet, and I would be very surprised if you do continue in Starfleet. Whatever the justification, you killed your comrades, and it unsettles me just to be in the same room as you.?
Clarkson snapped his head round and shot a look at the guards. ?Take him down!? he boomed.
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
-
Peters
- Senior Staff
- Posts: 202
- Joined: Mon Mar 20, 2006 2:17 pm
- Location: Space, the final frontier...
- Contact:
ON: <Peters' Quarters, Day 4, 0730>
Peters stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. As he dried off he went over the things he had to do today. First up was sending the Captain a status report about the repairs. He then would need to meet with Akios about those readings from last night. After that, goodness only knew what would pop up.
Of course, before all that he needed to feed himself. But before that he needed to get dressed. Peters wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back into the bedroom to pull out a fresh uniform. Moments later he was dressed with freshly shined pips and commbadge in place.
Walking back into the main room, Peters approached the replicator. "Computer, give me 2 eggs, over-easy, some hash browns, one piece of sausage, a biscuit with butter and raspberry jam, and orange juice, please."
After a moment the requested items shimmered into existence on a tray. Peters picked up the tray and pulled it out of the replicator, then saw that his orange juice was purple and the egg yolks were blue. He sighed. "Computer, I thought we'd talked about this..."
"Please restate inquiry."
Grumbling, Peters set the food down on the table. "Computer, run a complete diagnostic on my replicator and its processing systems."
"Diagnostic complete; all systems are functioning normally."
Peters turned towards the replicator panel and retorted, "Then why are my eggs blue?"
"Please restate inquiry."
"For the love of..." Peters cut himself off and tried to calm down. It wouldn't look good if he went bananas at the computer... especially if the computer would insist that those bananas were red. He could tell already that this was not going to be one of his better days, and it wouldn't help matters to get in an argument with the computer over a completely edible, if discolored, breakfast.
"Never mind, Computer. Please add a replicator diagnostic to my schedule for this afternoon."
The computer bleeped acknowledgment as Peters sat down to eat.
OFF:
Peters stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. As he dried off he went over the things he had to do today. First up was sending the Captain a status report about the repairs. He then would need to meet with Akios about those readings from last night. After that, goodness only knew what would pop up.
Of course, before all that he needed to feed himself. But before that he needed to get dressed. Peters wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back into the bedroom to pull out a fresh uniform. Moments later he was dressed with freshly shined pips and commbadge in place.
Walking back into the main room, Peters approached the replicator. "Computer, give me 2 eggs, over-easy, some hash browns, one piece of sausage, a biscuit with butter and raspberry jam, and orange juice, please."
After a moment the requested items shimmered into existence on a tray. Peters picked up the tray and pulled it out of the replicator, then saw that his orange juice was purple and the egg yolks were blue. He sighed. "Computer, I thought we'd talked about this..."
"Please restate inquiry."
Grumbling, Peters set the food down on the table. "Computer, run a complete diagnostic on my replicator and its processing systems."
"Diagnostic complete; all systems are functioning normally."
Peters turned towards the replicator panel and retorted, "Then why are my eggs blue?"
"Please restate inquiry."
"For the love of..." Peters cut himself off and tried to calm down. It wouldn't look good if he went bananas at the computer... especially if the computer would insist that those bananas were red. He could tell already that this was not going to be one of his better days, and it wouldn't help matters to get in an argument with the computer over a completely edible, if discolored, breakfast.
"Never mind, Computer. Please add a replicator diagnostic to my schedule for this afternoon."
The computer bleeped acknowledgment as Peters sat down to eat.
OFF:
Tony
AKA
Lieutenant Commander Todd Peters
Chief Engineering Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
<Starbase 259, Day 3, 2123 Hours>
Mason laughed and took a few sips himself, the restaurant started to pick up in business as it did at the long wait at the bar. Romulan ale to him tasted much like that of heavy apple juice mixed with andorian spice but it did quench his thirst and made the evening more pleasant sitting across from Rayne.
While he was eating more of his food, he noticed an old friend or more to say an acquaintance during his old academy days. His name was Alan Moore(NPC) he and Mason were both top of the classes at the command school and were good friends until they both came up for a mission ops position on board the USS Glastonbury.
Hunt was awarded the post because he had noticed several isolinear chip assemblies had been misconnected to crew replicators instead of the auxiliary comm systems and Alan(NPC) had seen this and misread the panel read out. Since then he held a small grudge against Mason. ?Well, well isn?t old iron face.? Said Alan(NPC)
The XO chocked and eventually cleared his throat, ?Alan(NPC) how are you, this is Ensign Rayne we work together aboard the Malinche.? Said Mason trying to hold his smile to his face as best he could. ?Is that right, my ship just put in a few hours ago the Groton I am its second officer just got promoted to Commander last week.? Said Alan(NPC)
?Congratulations, I am the Malinche?s first officer been a Commander for over a year now. Its really good to see you rising up in the ranks so to speak.? Said Mason hoping his rebound would wound Alan(NPC) from his bragging.
?Well, then we must be going. Good to see you again Hunt, Ms. Rayne.? Said Alan(NPC) Mason just continued to glare at him as Alan(NPC) walked away and sat back down to a stunned Sara. ?I am sorry about that old academy buddies slash rivals. Now what do you say to some desert?? asked Mason.
OFF: Tag Rayne
Mason laughed and took a few sips himself, the restaurant started to pick up in business as it did at the long wait at the bar. Romulan ale to him tasted much like that of heavy apple juice mixed with andorian spice but it did quench his thirst and made the evening more pleasant sitting across from Rayne.
While he was eating more of his food, he noticed an old friend or more to say an acquaintance during his old academy days. His name was Alan Moore(NPC) he and Mason were both top of the classes at the command school and were good friends until they both came up for a mission ops position on board the USS Glastonbury.
Hunt was awarded the post because he had noticed several isolinear chip assemblies had been misconnected to crew replicators instead of the auxiliary comm systems and Alan(NPC) had seen this and misread the panel read out. Since then he held a small grudge against Mason. ?Well, well isn?t old iron face.? Said Alan(NPC)
The XO chocked and eventually cleared his throat, ?Alan(NPC) how are you, this is Ensign Rayne we work together aboard the Malinche.? Said Mason trying to hold his smile to his face as best he could. ?Is that right, my ship just put in a few hours ago the Groton I am its second officer just got promoted to Commander last week.? Said Alan(NPC)
?Congratulations, I am the Malinche?s first officer been a Commander for over a year now. Its really good to see you rising up in the ranks so to speak.? Said Mason hoping his rebound would wound Alan(NPC) from his bragging.
?Well, then we must be going. Good to see you again Hunt, Ms. Rayne.? Said Alan(NPC) Mason just continued to glare at him as Alan(NPC) walked away and sat back down to a stunned Sara. ?I am sorry about that old academy buddies slash rivals. Now what do you say to some desert?? asked Mason.
OFF: Tag Rayne
Commander Mason Hunt
First Officer
USS Malinche NCC 38897-B
<Courtroom, 1140, MD04>
Jack watched as the judge made his decision, the courtroom a sea of mutterings, those in favour of the decision and those against, Jack was wondering if he was the only one who felt completely ambivalent about the entire proceeding. In the past when he?d been involved in trials he had always gone to visit the accused afterwards, often to get the last word as a detective, but as he sat trying to gauge the emotions that must be running through Jarans mind he decided against it, mostly because he could decide what he should say, ?good luck?, ?good riddance?? He just didn?t know.
The guards removed Jaran as the crowd slowly stood and began filtering out, reporters from the Federation newsletter leaving faster to file their stories in time, Jack imagined they would report the story as a victory for the enlightened times, the murderer being sent to a medical institution for the remainder of his life, but it Jacks mind it had been a draw, and he imagined the two attorneys would see it the same way.
He offered the Captain a small smile as they rose from their seats, he straightened his dress uniform and began shimmying along the row of chairs towards the aisle. He shuffled down the aisle and eventual left the courtroom and entered the lobby, breathing a sigh of relief as he did so, oh well at least it was over now, some lunch, a change of uniform and he could get back to work, finally?
Jack watched as the judge made his decision, the courtroom a sea of mutterings, those in favour of the decision and those against, Jack was wondering if he was the only one who felt completely ambivalent about the entire proceeding. In the past when he?d been involved in trials he had always gone to visit the accused afterwards, often to get the last word as a detective, but as he sat trying to gauge the emotions that must be running through Jarans mind he decided against it, mostly because he could decide what he should say, ?good luck?, ?good riddance?? He just didn?t know.
The guards removed Jaran as the crowd slowly stood and began filtering out, reporters from the Federation newsletter leaving faster to file their stories in time, Jack imagined they would report the story as a victory for the enlightened times, the murderer being sent to a medical institution for the remainder of his life, but it Jacks mind it had been a draw, and he imagined the two attorneys would see it the same way.
He offered the Captain a small smile as they rose from their seats, he straightened his dress uniform and began shimmying along the row of chairs towards the aisle. He shuffled down the aisle and eventual left the courtroom and entered the lobby, breathing a sigh of relief as he did so, oh well at least it was over now, some lunch, a change of uniform and he could get back to work, finally?
Lieutenant Jonathan "Jack" Hawkins
Acting Chief Security/Tactical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
<<Starbase 259, 1145, Day 4>>
After hearing the verdict, Isabel remained motionless in her seat. She wasn't completely surprised about the judge's verdict, especially considering what Art (NPC) said in his closing argument... Nor did the mention of her orders surprise her, by this time she pretty much expected it.
She wasn't sure how she felt about the judgement. It hadn't totally sunk in yet, for that matter.
Her eyes moved to the front of the room and fixed on Jaran. Isabel stood and their eyes locked briefly as he turned to be led away. From the short amount of time he'd looked at her, and just because of his overall nature, Isabel couldn't quite tell what he was thinking. Probably he was numb.
Once Jaran had been escorted out, Isabel turned and headed out of the courtroom, giving a nod of acknowledgement to any of her crewmembers on the way.
Isabel wasn't quite sure where she was going, but she started walking, allowing her mind time to calm itself.
Finding a lounge with viewports and seating, Isabel slowed down. She headed for a quiet area of the room, a lone chair next to a smaller viewport. Isabel looked down at her hand...her knuckles were white from gripping the PADD she'd brought so tightly. At first, she hadn't been sure as to why she even brought it, but now she was glad she had.
Slowly she began writing a message to Jaran...
Jaran,
So many thoughts are running through my head that I hardly know what to say.
I was somewhat surprised at the verdict, but partly relieved at the same time. People were killed needlessly...crewmembers on my ship. It saddens me, but at the same time it saddens me to see you in the state you've been in lately. From the look in your eyes, I can tell things are haunting you.
You're excellent in your job; I couldn't have asked for a better pilot. However, your actions have me wondering how severely the past has been disturbing you.
When we spoke while you were in the Starbase's Detention Facility, I knew, deep down, that you were sorry for what had happened. I hope that was a first step for you...and that you'll use the sentence given to you to improve yourself.
You have a great deal of potential, even more than you've already shown. Right now it's buried deep within you, under the anguish, pain, and despair. When you can let that go, you'll be able to heal.
I hope you take this opportunity and use it as best you can. I'll keep an eye on your progress and keep you in my thoughts.
-Captain Isabel Kersare
Reading over the message once more, Isabel sent it and sat back sighing. It had been a long few days. She felt drained, her energy gone. And yet, she was still the captain and she would go on.
Soon she'd be getting the orders for the next part of their journey, their next mission. But for now, she needed a little time to take everything in. Isabel would head back to the ship, but not just yet.
For now, for this small amount of time, she would allow herself to just be Isabel. Not Captain Kersare the Commanding Officer, but just Isabel. She sat back and looked out the viewport, watching the activity outside the base.
After hearing the verdict, Isabel remained motionless in her seat. She wasn't completely surprised about the judge's verdict, especially considering what Art (NPC) said in his closing argument... Nor did the mention of her orders surprise her, by this time she pretty much expected it.
She wasn't sure how she felt about the judgement. It hadn't totally sunk in yet, for that matter.
Her eyes moved to the front of the room and fixed on Jaran. Isabel stood and their eyes locked briefly as he turned to be led away. From the short amount of time he'd looked at her, and just because of his overall nature, Isabel couldn't quite tell what he was thinking. Probably he was numb.
Once Jaran had been escorted out, Isabel turned and headed out of the courtroom, giving a nod of acknowledgement to any of her crewmembers on the way.
Isabel wasn't quite sure where she was going, but she started walking, allowing her mind time to calm itself.
Finding a lounge with viewports and seating, Isabel slowed down. She headed for a quiet area of the room, a lone chair next to a smaller viewport. Isabel looked down at her hand...her knuckles were white from gripping the PADD she'd brought so tightly. At first, she hadn't been sure as to why she even brought it, but now she was glad she had.
Slowly she began writing a message to Jaran...
Jaran,
So many thoughts are running through my head that I hardly know what to say.
I was somewhat surprised at the verdict, but partly relieved at the same time. People were killed needlessly...crewmembers on my ship. It saddens me, but at the same time it saddens me to see you in the state you've been in lately. From the look in your eyes, I can tell things are haunting you.
You're excellent in your job; I couldn't have asked for a better pilot. However, your actions have me wondering how severely the past has been disturbing you.
When we spoke while you were in the Starbase's Detention Facility, I knew, deep down, that you were sorry for what had happened. I hope that was a first step for you...and that you'll use the sentence given to you to improve yourself.
You have a great deal of potential, even more than you've already shown. Right now it's buried deep within you, under the anguish, pain, and despair. When you can let that go, you'll be able to heal.
I hope you take this opportunity and use it as best you can. I'll keep an eye on your progress and keep you in my thoughts.
-Captain Isabel Kersare
Reading over the message once more, Isabel sent it and sat back sighing. It had been a long few days. She felt drained, her energy gone. And yet, she was still the captain and she would go on.
Soon she'd be getting the orders for the next part of their journey, their next mission. But for now, she needed a little time to take everything in. Isabel would head back to the ship, but not just yet.
For now, for this small amount of time, she would allow herself to just be Isabel. Not Captain Kersare the Commanding Officer, but just Isabel. She sat back and looked out the viewport, watching the activity outside the base.
Captain Isabel Kersare
Commanding Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
-
Abubakar
- Senior Staff
- Posts: 60
- Joined: Mon Dec 19, 2005 11:29 pm
- Location: A hole, usually, sometimes referred to as Blackpool (UK)
ON: 13:00. Day 4. Holding Cell.
Jaran sat on the floor, his dress uniform loose on him where he?d undone some of the tighter buttons, he was sweating although the cell was quite cold and his eyes were glazed with tears, though he couldn?t articulate what the tears were of.
Mostly he just felt nothing, but ?nothing? was just as every bit of something as anything else was. It was both as liberating as euphoric victory and as condemning as terrifying defeat. His ?nothing?, was a presence, a nasty and sick presence that had become him.
Did it therefore not mean that he was ?nothing?? Or was it worse, was it that his nothing, was as much a presence as ?something? that was as overtly crushing and negative that it destroyed everything around it, much as he did.
So his ?nothing? was as big as ?something?, and it had become him, and so he had become ?something??terrible.
?Get up? one of his guards ordered. ?The transport taking you to Earth is ready to depart?
Remaining motionless, Jarans eyes snapped to the guard standing on the other side of the forcefield. ?Service? he said. ?I only made reservations not two hours ago? he flashed a smile, keeping his shell completely in tact.
The guard returned with a disgusted look and lowered the forcefield before locking Jaran in the irons again. ?Move? he ordered, and Jaran followed the guard in front of him, leading the way.
They walked for what seemed an eternity for Jaran, lost in his overwhelming thoughts and watching his memories like a holonovel. ?Your CO, she sent you a message? the guard in front informed him.
?May I read it?? Jaran asked, politely, in what turned out to be a shockingly soft, almost desperate, voice.
?Wait until you?re on the transport, then you can have it.?
Jaran kept silent, for a second he wondered what was in the message, then he heard a clatter up ahead, seemingly near a junction they were approaching, and he stopped dead in his tracks ? his heart thumping loudly.
Jaran Abubakar, was not a stupid man any means ? this was a prisoner escort, a high-profile prisoner too, the corridors would have been cleared ? any security staff would have been visible; deterrent to Jaran. Yet, at the T-junction ahead, there was a definite clatter as if something had been dropped.
?Hey! Move it!? instructed one of the guards, and Jaran shakily moved his tingling feet forward and began to shuffle closer to the junction, his neck, his face and arms thumping with his heart.
?Do you know?? he began. ??The worst part of a death sentence??
?You weren?t given a death sentence? He was interrupted.
Jaran smiled and replied with a curt nod, ?The worst part of a death sentence?is that moment, right before it happens, where you know ?this is it? and there is nothing you?ll be able to do about it, and it was all for ?this?? Jaran stopped again at the junction, right at the corner, the sweat on his face was dripping now, and his breath came in short shallow rasps. ?I always did what I thought was right? he said, and looked down.
?What the fuck?? The guard from the front exclaimed, wheeling around and facing Jaran. ?Are you ok??
Jaran locked eyes with him, nodded and replied; ?Oh yes, yes I?m fine now.? He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and jumped forward ? the orange flash came from the right and hurt his eyes from behind his eyelids and lit up all the blood vessels.
A pain, unlike anything had ever comprehended before exploded in his chest and then flared up the left side of his face, just before he felt his left ear detonate in white hot agony he heard the distinct sound of a ricocheting energy blast strike the metal corridor. The burning in his chest just sunk deeper and deeper, his mouth was agape in pain and blinding shock and he opened his eyes, only the right one opened, the left wasn?t there anymore, as he felt when he raised his left hand to his burning face.
The right eye locked onto one of the guards belting it down the corridor, and the other screaming at his comm. badge, it seemed to happen in slow motion, those 2 or 3 seconds, though the pain was happening as fast as anything. He had dropped to his knees, he realized, and his hands were locked in a tight claw as he fell backwards.
?JALBADOR!? he tired to scream, but his throat had seized up and his burnt left cheek refused to move, it was stuck still, keeping his mouth in the twisted gape of pain. In his chest, the felt like it was made of burning sulphur, a different pain overrode the rest, a tight and sharp stabbing, and then his right eye rolled backwards, and in his faiths eye, his true sight ? he saw the Kosst Amojan, and the true gods, and his mother, and father, in the temple of flames that was to journey to, and remain.
Over the pain, a sense of urgency overcame him, the message. From Kersare. Did she hate him? Was she telling him she was glad he was going to be put away for a long time? Did she forgive him? He would never know. And that, in that instant before he died, in that flash of a second ? he truly understood hell, and it was there in every bit the nightmare he?d always been told, and that hell was the only presence in the space before the nothingness came, ?til the end of his time, eternity in every sense of the word.
Jaran Abubakar, was literally in eternal hell.
Jaran sat on the floor, his dress uniform loose on him where he?d undone some of the tighter buttons, he was sweating although the cell was quite cold and his eyes were glazed with tears, though he couldn?t articulate what the tears were of.
Mostly he just felt nothing, but ?nothing? was just as every bit of something as anything else was. It was both as liberating as euphoric victory and as condemning as terrifying defeat. His ?nothing?, was a presence, a nasty and sick presence that had become him.
Did it therefore not mean that he was ?nothing?? Or was it worse, was it that his nothing, was as much a presence as ?something? that was as overtly crushing and negative that it destroyed everything around it, much as he did.
So his ?nothing? was as big as ?something?, and it had become him, and so he had become ?something??terrible.
?Get up? one of his guards ordered. ?The transport taking you to Earth is ready to depart?
Remaining motionless, Jarans eyes snapped to the guard standing on the other side of the forcefield. ?Service? he said. ?I only made reservations not two hours ago? he flashed a smile, keeping his shell completely in tact.
The guard returned with a disgusted look and lowered the forcefield before locking Jaran in the irons again. ?Move? he ordered, and Jaran followed the guard in front of him, leading the way.
They walked for what seemed an eternity for Jaran, lost in his overwhelming thoughts and watching his memories like a holonovel. ?Your CO, she sent you a message? the guard in front informed him.
?May I read it?? Jaran asked, politely, in what turned out to be a shockingly soft, almost desperate, voice.
?Wait until you?re on the transport, then you can have it.?
Jaran kept silent, for a second he wondered what was in the message, then he heard a clatter up ahead, seemingly near a junction they were approaching, and he stopped dead in his tracks ? his heart thumping loudly.
Jaran Abubakar, was not a stupid man any means ? this was a prisoner escort, a high-profile prisoner too, the corridors would have been cleared ? any security staff would have been visible; deterrent to Jaran. Yet, at the T-junction ahead, there was a definite clatter as if something had been dropped.
?Hey! Move it!? instructed one of the guards, and Jaran shakily moved his tingling feet forward and began to shuffle closer to the junction, his neck, his face and arms thumping with his heart.
?Do you know?? he began. ??The worst part of a death sentence??
?You weren?t given a death sentence? He was interrupted.
Jaran smiled and replied with a curt nod, ?The worst part of a death sentence?is that moment, right before it happens, where you know ?this is it? and there is nothing you?ll be able to do about it, and it was all for ?this?? Jaran stopped again at the junction, right at the corner, the sweat on his face was dripping now, and his breath came in short shallow rasps. ?I always did what I thought was right? he said, and looked down.
?What the fuck?? The guard from the front exclaimed, wheeling around and facing Jaran. ?Are you ok??
Jaran locked eyes with him, nodded and replied; ?Oh yes, yes I?m fine now.? He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and jumped forward ? the orange flash came from the right and hurt his eyes from behind his eyelids and lit up all the blood vessels.
A pain, unlike anything had ever comprehended before exploded in his chest and then flared up the left side of his face, just before he felt his left ear detonate in white hot agony he heard the distinct sound of a ricocheting energy blast strike the metal corridor. The burning in his chest just sunk deeper and deeper, his mouth was agape in pain and blinding shock and he opened his eyes, only the right one opened, the left wasn?t there anymore, as he felt when he raised his left hand to his burning face.
The right eye locked onto one of the guards belting it down the corridor, and the other screaming at his comm. badge, it seemed to happen in slow motion, those 2 or 3 seconds, though the pain was happening as fast as anything. He had dropped to his knees, he realized, and his hands were locked in a tight claw as he fell backwards.
?JALBADOR!? he tired to scream, but his throat had seized up and his burnt left cheek refused to move, it was stuck still, keeping his mouth in the twisted gape of pain. In his chest, the felt like it was made of burning sulphur, a different pain overrode the rest, a tight and sharp stabbing, and then his right eye rolled backwards, and in his faiths eye, his true sight ? he saw the Kosst Amojan, and the true gods, and his mother, and father, in the temple of flames that was to journey to, and remain.
Over the pain, a sense of urgency overcame him, the message. From Kersare. Did she hate him? Was she telling him she was glad he was going to be put away for a long time? Did she forgive him? He would never know. And that, in that instant before he died, in that flash of a second ? he truly understood hell, and it was there in every bit the nightmare he?d always been told, and that hell was the only presence in the space before the nothingness came, ?til the end of his time, eternity in every sense of the word.
Jaran Abubakar, was literally in eternal hell.
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: The One Club. Day 4. 0335.
The rapid beat of the bass thudded and thumped through the floor, pounding in the chest of everyone on the packed dance floor.
Glasses and bottles of real alcohol clinked together as the hordes of mostly young men and women grinned and danced, the pulsating lights and old-style lasers danced across the room with them, in time with the music, something from 20th Century Earth by Katty B. The place was incredible, seemingly hundreds of different ?disco? technologies from as many different worlds ? plasma ceiling streakers to controlled Ion explosions, Tellerite snow bombs to Gorn fire crystals ? the club had everything.
For Marco, it was one of those rare moments where he could unwind, dressed in casual trousers and an open necked black shirt, the Russian put his arms round two of the 7 others he was out with and nodded his head in time with the beat.
?The old thumpa ya?!? he called out to Tim Burns, the Chief Ops NCO on the U.S.S King Charles, the slightly older thin man shook his head with the beat also, Marco swore he saw the lights bouncing off of the mans white head.
?Damn right!? He called back, although Marco could only make out the reply by lip reading ? Marco grinned and along with the 7 others, all Chiefs of one level or another, began to sing along with the song, raising their bottles into the air.
?Let?s hear it for the boys?.!?
They shouted rather than sang, smiling and looking to one another, arms linked around necks. It had been their ?song? since the time they had spent together on the Norfolk as young fresh Enlisted men, all except Marco who had been a Marine ? fortune had it that 4 of the 8, Marco included, all served on the James Kirk afterwards too. ?The Boys? they had been known as, even Sarah, thick as thieves and always in trouble together, never individually, if one had done something wrong you could be bound sure to link the other 7 in somehow ? though in silent truth their nickname was self-founded and seldom used outside their own circle.
They kept in touch and met up once a year, something they had managed to do even during the war, and the grace of the gods of the 4 different species that made their number had been on their side ? none of them had died.
Tonight was special.
?Jim..!? One of his friends shouted, placing a hand on the shoulder of another. ??On your deathbed!? The group chuckled and exchanged glances whilst Jim mouthed ?fuck you? at everyone. ?I mean retirement! Don?t get your bra in a twist!?
The group of 50somethings all cheered and banged their glasses and bottles together.
Marco now grabbed Jims shoulder. ?Starfleet will be a?.different, not to mention quieter, nicer smelling place without you comrade!? Again, the group cheered and Jim playfully shoved Marco away, who returned with an exaggerated old Russian hug and cheek kisses.
Another song came on, again something from 20th Century Earth, by some guy with a bad afro, Lionel something or other? ?Find somewhere else?? Sarah shouted, gently pushing the two friends on her arms towards the door. The group collectively nodded, and dropped, threw, or placed their drinks and started for the large shuttle-bay like doors that exited into a large old cargo corridor, the bases converted ?club land?.
As the group approached, laughing with eachother, a smaller group of much younger men stepped into the bar, hair slicked back and wearing pretentious smartass clothes, blocking the doorway, they pointed and laughed at a group of NCO?s further into the club.
Marco?s group approached and they all hurried up the five or six metal stairs. ?Fuckin? officers? Arharla muttered in a slurred and intoxicated voice, the Andorian turned and snarled at the young guys as they passed eachother.
?You!? one of the young men called. ?You?re a Non-Com?!? he said in a voice that dripped with arrogance, high pitched and rich-boy, the syllables were dragged out and slow, in a condescending manner. ?You can?t talk to me like that!?
Marco shook his head and rolled his eyes, young officers straight out of ?Frisco usually thought that way. Arharla wheeled round and smacked the smarmy twit straight in the nose, he fell backwards and flipped over the side rails of the stairs, landing with a thump down the side of the platform. The three others all stood to height and looked like they were about to do something, but when faced with the prospect of 8 drunk SNCO?s, clearly backed down. Arharla leaned over the side and shouted, ?Fuckin? Officers, SIR!? The Andorian grinned widely and walked out of the bar, the Russian and Tim stood and watched, very amused, before following their friend out.
Minutes and metres later, in what seemed like hours and miles, the 8 staggered down the corridor in search of the next watering hole, they all linked arms and tried to hold on to eachother for support, their laughter roared and voices boomed as they walked on.
Without warning, the whole station rocked violently ? ?We?re under attack!? yelled Marco, the alcohol emphasising his Russian accent.
A firm hand grasped his shoulder. ?No? said Sarah firmly ?You just fell over you mad old git.?
Too drunk to be embarrassed, Marco was helped to his feet and joined in the laughter at his own expense, shrugging it off, the group walked on.
?If?? Arharla started, stopping to visibly hold in vomit, ?If the Health and Safety Officers knew about that place?? he finished, once more donning that wide grin.
?You?re kidding no?? Marco replied. ?You just knocked one out? 7 erupted in laughter, the 8th ? Arharla, took a second before realising the joke was on him and cynically waving it away.
?And the Lieutenant was in there too!? Andy, another Human, informed them in a voice that sounded far too sober. ?Getting friendly with an Andorian lady?
?Ah, missed opportunity friend? Marco said to Arharla through a grin.
?Not at all? he replied. ?Too many antennae, they get in the way.?
The other 7 exchanged glances. ?Of?? Sarah enquired.
Arharla flashed a smile. ?I could always show you.?
?Oh get over yourself? Sarah retorted, returning the smile.
The rest of them cat called and whistled before moving on to enjoy the rest of their evening, in decades of Starfleet service nothing had come between them, and nothing ever would.
OFF
The rapid beat of the bass thudded and thumped through the floor, pounding in the chest of everyone on the packed dance floor.
Glasses and bottles of real alcohol clinked together as the hordes of mostly young men and women grinned and danced, the pulsating lights and old-style lasers danced across the room with them, in time with the music, something from 20th Century Earth by Katty B. The place was incredible, seemingly hundreds of different ?disco? technologies from as many different worlds ? plasma ceiling streakers to controlled Ion explosions, Tellerite snow bombs to Gorn fire crystals ? the club had everything.
For Marco, it was one of those rare moments where he could unwind, dressed in casual trousers and an open necked black shirt, the Russian put his arms round two of the 7 others he was out with and nodded his head in time with the beat.
?The old thumpa ya?!? he called out to Tim Burns, the Chief Ops NCO on the U.S.S King Charles, the slightly older thin man shook his head with the beat also, Marco swore he saw the lights bouncing off of the mans white head.
?Damn right!? He called back, although Marco could only make out the reply by lip reading ? Marco grinned and along with the 7 others, all Chiefs of one level or another, began to sing along with the song, raising their bottles into the air.
?Let?s hear it for the boys?.!?
They shouted rather than sang, smiling and looking to one another, arms linked around necks. It had been their ?song? since the time they had spent together on the Norfolk as young fresh Enlisted men, all except Marco who had been a Marine ? fortune had it that 4 of the 8, Marco included, all served on the James Kirk afterwards too. ?The Boys? they had been known as, even Sarah, thick as thieves and always in trouble together, never individually, if one had done something wrong you could be bound sure to link the other 7 in somehow ? though in silent truth their nickname was self-founded and seldom used outside their own circle.
They kept in touch and met up once a year, something they had managed to do even during the war, and the grace of the gods of the 4 different species that made their number had been on their side ? none of them had died.
Tonight was special.
?Jim..!? One of his friends shouted, placing a hand on the shoulder of another. ??On your deathbed!? The group chuckled and exchanged glances whilst Jim mouthed ?fuck you? at everyone. ?I mean retirement! Don?t get your bra in a twist!?
The group of 50somethings all cheered and banged their glasses and bottles together.
Marco now grabbed Jims shoulder. ?Starfleet will be a?.different, not to mention quieter, nicer smelling place without you comrade!? Again, the group cheered and Jim playfully shoved Marco away, who returned with an exaggerated old Russian hug and cheek kisses.
Another song came on, again something from 20th Century Earth, by some guy with a bad afro, Lionel something or other? ?Find somewhere else?? Sarah shouted, gently pushing the two friends on her arms towards the door. The group collectively nodded, and dropped, threw, or placed their drinks and started for the large shuttle-bay like doors that exited into a large old cargo corridor, the bases converted ?club land?.
As the group approached, laughing with eachother, a smaller group of much younger men stepped into the bar, hair slicked back and wearing pretentious smartass clothes, blocking the doorway, they pointed and laughed at a group of NCO?s further into the club.
Marco?s group approached and they all hurried up the five or six metal stairs. ?Fuckin? officers? Arharla muttered in a slurred and intoxicated voice, the Andorian turned and snarled at the young guys as they passed eachother.
?You!? one of the young men called. ?You?re a Non-Com?!? he said in a voice that dripped with arrogance, high pitched and rich-boy, the syllables were dragged out and slow, in a condescending manner. ?You can?t talk to me like that!?
Marco shook his head and rolled his eyes, young officers straight out of ?Frisco usually thought that way. Arharla wheeled round and smacked the smarmy twit straight in the nose, he fell backwards and flipped over the side rails of the stairs, landing with a thump down the side of the platform. The three others all stood to height and looked like they were about to do something, but when faced with the prospect of 8 drunk SNCO?s, clearly backed down. Arharla leaned over the side and shouted, ?Fuckin? Officers, SIR!? The Andorian grinned widely and walked out of the bar, the Russian and Tim stood and watched, very amused, before following their friend out.
Minutes and metres later, in what seemed like hours and miles, the 8 staggered down the corridor in search of the next watering hole, they all linked arms and tried to hold on to eachother for support, their laughter roared and voices boomed as they walked on.
Without warning, the whole station rocked violently ? ?We?re under attack!? yelled Marco, the alcohol emphasising his Russian accent.
A firm hand grasped his shoulder. ?No? said Sarah firmly ?You just fell over you mad old git.?
Too drunk to be embarrassed, Marco was helped to his feet and joined in the laughter at his own expense, shrugging it off, the group walked on.
?If?? Arharla started, stopping to visibly hold in vomit, ?If the Health and Safety Officers knew about that place?? he finished, once more donning that wide grin.
?You?re kidding no?? Marco replied. ?You just knocked one out? 7 erupted in laughter, the 8th ? Arharla, took a second before realising the joke was on him and cynically waving it away.
?And the Lieutenant was in there too!? Andy, another Human, informed them in a voice that sounded far too sober. ?Getting friendly with an Andorian lady?
?Ah, missed opportunity friend? Marco said to Arharla through a grin.
?Not at all? he replied. ?Too many antennae, they get in the way.?
The other 7 exchanged glances. ?Of?? Sarah enquired.
Arharla flashed a smile. ?I could always show you.?
?Oh get over yourself? Sarah retorted, returning the smile.
The rest of them cat called and whistled before moving on to enjoy the rest of their evening, in decades of Starfleet service nothing had come between them, and nothing ever would.
OFF
Warrant Officer First Class Marco Tupalov
Chief Flight Control Officer
U.S.S Malinche
-
Quarterstaff
- Crewmember
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Mon Sep 25, 2006 5:06 pm
- Location: MA
- Contact:
<< Courtoom, 1150hours, Day 4, Starbase 259 >>
While the crowd issued their own opinions forward at the final decision, Lynn sat still, her brow creased. It was moments like now that she was reminded of just how quickly life was given or taken away. The young woman sat for a while longer, lingering to watch many of those in the crowd leave. The accused had been taken away already and the normally lively red head couldn?t help but wonder what he was thinking at this moment. Was he feeling sorry for what he had done?
Lynn didn?t feel like engaging in conversation at the moment, far too busy absorbed in her thoughts to bother with any one else. It would be one of those days that only the heaviest of thoughts would enter her mind. She steered herself back to the ship, ready to hide for a few hours.
? I think I?ll have a nice cup of Joe?? she muttered, feet dragging themselves to the galley. When a person was feeling down there was nothing better than a steaming cup of coffee to relax with, she seriously began to think it was a better prescription than anything the medical books prescribed.
<<end>>
While the crowd issued their own opinions forward at the final decision, Lynn sat still, her brow creased. It was moments like now that she was reminded of just how quickly life was given or taken away. The young woman sat for a while longer, lingering to watch many of those in the crowd leave. The accused had been taken away already and the normally lively red head couldn?t help but wonder what he was thinking at this moment. Was he feeling sorry for what he had done?
Lynn didn?t feel like engaging in conversation at the moment, far too busy absorbed in her thoughts to bother with any one else. It would be one of those days that only the heaviest of thoughts would enter her mind. She steered herself back to the ship, ready to hide for a few hours.
? I think I?ll have a nice cup of Joe?? she muttered, feet dragging themselves to the galley. When a person was feeling down there was nothing better than a steaming cup of coffee to relax with, she seriously began to think it was a better prescription than anything the medical books prescribed.
<<end>>
Ensign Lynn Quarterstaff
Medical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
ON: Starbase 259. Guest quarters. 15:30. Day 4.
In a Russian accent, slurred with sheer pain, a voice dragged its way through the dark and messy quarters of Marco Tupalov, whose eyes had yet to muster enough power to open.
?How ever many Klingons are on my face, go away? Marco opened his eyes slowly and groaned. ?No, ok just me? he whispered hoarsely, moving very, very slowly into a sitting position, touching his head lightly and wincing in pain and surveying his Starbase quarters, which seemed to fare better in an attack than in its current state. But a drunk Marco Tupalov didn?t care what got knocked over or whether or not chairs were supposed to be barricading the toilet doors ? though he suspected that one was Sarahs invention to stop him puking anywhere sensible in a hurry.
?Every time?? he muttered as he climbed out of his bed which stank of the smoke of some narcotic, the smell of which had gotten in his hair and on his skin from the club. He staggered in the vague direction of the barricaded doors, taking the long route around what otherwise would have been two or three steps in a straight line. He grunted as he pushed the chairs over and cursed himself when they crashed to the floor.
Marco braced himself on the door frame and the sink unit as he moved inside the bathroom and picked up the hypospray he had placed next to the sink the night before. He examined the device for a second before raising it to his left arm, the hypo? was Starfleets, but the drug inside was something he?d acquired years ago, fortunately it had an indefinite shelf life, and Marco didn?t use it often so the quantity he had purchased had lasted him, although it was dwindling.
He injected himself and gripped the sides of the unit as the effect took hold, the effect to someone who was still drunk from the night before and who was also suffering a killer hangover, was amazing ? the headache and the pounding was instantly gone, replaced by a light and distant buzzing, some chemical reaction, he was told, reacted with the blood and destroyed alcohol ? it was packed full of some kind of carbohydrate and he instantly felt like he could run the Qu?onos endurance trek.
He threw his head forward as he vomited violently into the sink, and braced himself as several smaller waves of nausea hit him. Another side affect of the drug on people with alcohol in their stomachs, the sudden eradication of a substance was enough to throw most humanoids stomachs into a wretch, at the very least. It was dangerous, and the biggest killer of frequent users was the stomach thing ? lots of young scrotes used it as an instant hangover cure, daily, eventually the stomach would just give out and perforate. Most regular users also topped themselves up after 7 or so hours when the downer set in, and the grogginess hit ? basically caused by a sudden drop in glucose as the drug almost instantly wore off, then they?d sleep through the next downer after becoming pissed as a newt, and the cycle would start again the next morning.
He coughed and blew through, clearing his throat of the vomit and the taste of blood and turned to the sonic shower, he looked at it in disgust, shaking his head and blinking hard ? trying to focus through the buzz. ?24th Century?? he muttered. ?Not bloody thing wrong with water? He harrumphed ?Sonic showers??
A few minutes later he stepped out and dressed into a duty uniform ? it had been a very long time since he?d donned his Marine fatigues but he still missed them. Marco examined himself briefly in the mirror and swept his hair back so it stayed up, one thing he didn?t miss about the grunt days, was the hair ? or lack thereof.
?Well, old man? he said to the mirror, sighing. ?Time to meet her then.? He shook his head again and suppressed the buzz, it became easier to do after about an hour, until then it would just look as if he were very tired.
He stepped outside into the Starbase corridor and started to walk towards the docking area.
OFF
In a Russian accent, slurred with sheer pain, a voice dragged its way through the dark and messy quarters of Marco Tupalov, whose eyes had yet to muster enough power to open.
?How ever many Klingons are on my face, go away? Marco opened his eyes slowly and groaned. ?No, ok just me? he whispered hoarsely, moving very, very slowly into a sitting position, touching his head lightly and wincing in pain and surveying his Starbase quarters, which seemed to fare better in an attack than in its current state. But a drunk Marco Tupalov didn?t care what got knocked over or whether or not chairs were supposed to be barricading the toilet doors ? though he suspected that one was Sarahs invention to stop him puking anywhere sensible in a hurry.
?Every time?? he muttered as he climbed out of his bed which stank of the smoke of some narcotic, the smell of which had gotten in his hair and on his skin from the club. He staggered in the vague direction of the barricaded doors, taking the long route around what otherwise would have been two or three steps in a straight line. He grunted as he pushed the chairs over and cursed himself when they crashed to the floor.
Marco braced himself on the door frame and the sink unit as he moved inside the bathroom and picked up the hypospray he had placed next to the sink the night before. He examined the device for a second before raising it to his left arm, the hypo? was Starfleets, but the drug inside was something he?d acquired years ago, fortunately it had an indefinite shelf life, and Marco didn?t use it often so the quantity he had purchased had lasted him, although it was dwindling.
He injected himself and gripped the sides of the unit as the effect took hold, the effect to someone who was still drunk from the night before and who was also suffering a killer hangover, was amazing ? the headache and the pounding was instantly gone, replaced by a light and distant buzzing, some chemical reaction, he was told, reacted with the blood and destroyed alcohol ? it was packed full of some kind of carbohydrate and he instantly felt like he could run the Qu?onos endurance trek.
He threw his head forward as he vomited violently into the sink, and braced himself as several smaller waves of nausea hit him. Another side affect of the drug on people with alcohol in their stomachs, the sudden eradication of a substance was enough to throw most humanoids stomachs into a wretch, at the very least. It was dangerous, and the biggest killer of frequent users was the stomach thing ? lots of young scrotes used it as an instant hangover cure, daily, eventually the stomach would just give out and perforate. Most regular users also topped themselves up after 7 or so hours when the downer set in, and the grogginess hit ? basically caused by a sudden drop in glucose as the drug almost instantly wore off, then they?d sleep through the next downer after becoming pissed as a newt, and the cycle would start again the next morning.
He coughed and blew through, clearing his throat of the vomit and the taste of blood and turned to the sonic shower, he looked at it in disgust, shaking his head and blinking hard ? trying to focus through the buzz. ?24th Century?? he muttered. ?Not bloody thing wrong with water? He harrumphed ?Sonic showers??
A few minutes later he stepped out and dressed into a duty uniform ? it had been a very long time since he?d donned his Marine fatigues but he still missed them. Marco examined himself briefly in the mirror and swept his hair back so it stayed up, one thing he didn?t miss about the grunt days, was the hair ? or lack thereof.
?Well, old man? he said to the mirror, sighing. ?Time to meet her then.? He shook his head again and suppressed the buzz, it became easier to do after about an hour, until then it would just look as if he were very tired.
He stepped outside into the Starbase corridor and started to walk towards the docking area.
OFF
Warrant Officer First Class Marco Tupalov
Chief Flight Control Officer
U.S.S Malinche
<CIO Office, 1302, MD04>
The door to the larger office slid open to reveal an already stripped room, looks like the former occupant had made sure he vanished without a trace, Jack was hardly surprised. He walked round the desk and sat in the chair, leaning back and resting his feet on the table, he looked around the room before speaking to no-one in particular, ?Good riddance??
He was feeling much more himself now that he was back in a regular uniform, not that he enjoyed the experience, but it beat the dress uniform he had been wearing the last two days. He had also given up on the sling, his arm was feeling better now he was up and about and about so he decided to forego it for now, his afternoon was going to involve a lot of moving furniture around after all.
He slid the computer terminal across the desk and activated it, bringing up the Malinches crew manifest and scrolled down to those crewmembers under his command now.
It felt odd, for years he had been someone who had a genuine distain for authority figures, and now he found himself being the person he would normally hate, couldn?t really get more ironic than that.
After briefly checking the various crewmembers service records he moved his still stiff arm to hit his combadge, ?Ensign Rayne, please report to the Intelligence Office.?
OFF:
<tag rayne (after your meal obviously
)>
The door to the larger office slid open to reveal an already stripped room, looks like the former occupant had made sure he vanished without a trace, Jack was hardly surprised. He walked round the desk and sat in the chair, leaning back and resting his feet on the table, he looked around the room before speaking to no-one in particular, ?Good riddance??
He was feeling much more himself now that he was back in a regular uniform, not that he enjoyed the experience, but it beat the dress uniform he had been wearing the last two days. He had also given up on the sling, his arm was feeling better now he was up and about and about so he decided to forego it for now, his afternoon was going to involve a lot of moving furniture around after all.
He slid the computer terminal across the desk and activated it, bringing up the Malinches crew manifest and scrolled down to those crewmembers under his command now.
It felt odd, for years he had been someone who had a genuine distain for authority figures, and now he found himself being the person he would normally hate, couldn?t really get more ironic than that.
After briefly checking the various crewmembers service records he moved his still stiff arm to hit his combadge, ?Ensign Rayne, please report to the Intelligence Office.?
OFF:
<tag rayne (after your meal obviously
)>Lieutenant Jonathan "Jack" Hawkins
Acting Chief Security/Tactical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38897-B
<<Starbase 259, Docking area, 1545, Day 4>>
After some time by herself, Isabel had eventually forced herself to get moving. She'd wandered around the base for a good while and was now heading back to her ship. As best she could, she pulled herself together. Her eyes moved over the hull of the Malinche slowly, like someone who'd been away a long time. She heard footsteps behind her, but paid no attention to them.
Marco caught up with the CO and looked where she seemed to be looking, a Prometheus Class - presumably the Malinche - hung in dock outside the window. Marco looked around and noticed the distinct lack of CP personnel, not even one Security JNCO with the Senior Officer - he scowled. Post-War Federation was no place for a high-val target like a Captain to be without CP. "Keptin" he said, announcing his presence.
Isabel turned as she heard the Russian accent, "Yes Chief?" He was in a duty uniform, apparently a Chief Petty Officer, with greying hair. She didn't recognize him right away, but he could've been part of the Starbase personnel.
"Keptin Kersare" Marco began, "I have my transfer orders for U.S.S Malinche, as Chief of the Boat" He looked around again, not even discrete CP, there genuinely wasn't anyone around.
"My apologies, Chief, I hadn't received any information regarding a new Chief of the Boat, this is the first I've heard of it," she replied. The way he was looking around made her a bit nervous, but probably she was just paranoid...all the time at the trial was affecting her. "Do you happen to have a copy of the orders with you? What's your name?"
Marco snapped to attention and realised he had left his orders in the quarters. "Chief Petty Officer Marco Tupalov Keptin" he replied. "I'm afraid my orders are not on me, no." 'Bloody officers and their endless paperwork...' he thought, inwardly rolling his anti-beauracracy eyes.
Isabel nodded, "We can get that sorted later, probably the orders were sent to me today and I've just not been on the ship to receive them." Offering a smile she said, "I'd introduce myself, but it appears you already know who I am. Pleasure to meet you Mr. Tupalov. What's your specialty?"
'An officer that can see further than her own PaDD' he thought wryly. "Piloting" Marco answered. "I flew Broadswords as a marine, and Peregrines as SQ Leader. I flew Endeavour during the war also" he continued. Clasping his hands behind his back.
"Wonderful, I'm sure that'll come in handy... We just lost our Chief Flight Control Officer, so we can use some more experience in the Flight Control department," she replied, trying not to think about Jaran. "Some of our auxiliary crafts were damaged during the last mission, but the repairs were going well the last I checked."
"Excellent" Marco responded, nodding thoughtfully. "I'm hardly surprised, if I may Keptin, that your Flight Officer is gone - these young flyboys these days, want to hop from posting to posting" He thought it was best to test the boundaries early, SNCO's did NOT take the piss out of young officers to CO's, so Marco needed to find Kersare's limits.
'Young flyboy?' Isabel thought to herself. The stress of the last few days edged into her voice as his words hit a nerve, "Mr. Tupalov, the Malinche's former CFCO was no young flyboy and he was not hopping from posting to posting. I realize you're new to the Malinche and wouldn't know this, however, in the future, I expect you to not make generalizations about people, especially when you don't know the facts surrounding the situation."
'Oh my...' he thought, 'another one who takes herself too seriously,'. "Keptin" Marco nodded. "I'm sure he had a good reason for--"
A young man walked closer to the two officers in Command red. He hung back a little as he heard the Captain reply to the older man, a bit nervous about giving her the news. She must've noticed him though, because she waved him over. "Captain Kersare? I don't mean to interrupt, ma'am, but I have some news about Lieutenant Abubakar..."
Isabel quirked an eyebrow....news already? She knew he was to be sent to Earth, but had no idea why a young Ensign would be coming to tell her he had just left. "What news?"
He hesitated a moment, "He's dead ma'am. I'm sorry, the details are here," he shoved a PADD in her direction and hurried off upon seeing the look of dismay on her face. He hated being the bearer of bad news, even though some would consider it good in this case...
In a state of shock, a blank look came over Isabel's face as she took the PADD. Dead? But he was going to be held, then treated....not dead... Quickly her eyes scanned through the PADD, just wanting to get the main ideas as she could read thoroughly later... As she found the information she was looking for, she said quietly, "That's not just death...that's execution..."
Marco wheeled on the young man and thanked heavens for the NCO stripes on his collar. "Details are here?!" he shouted. "You come to tell the Keptin about the murder of her officer and you don't know anything!" he screamed, louder. "On turn, move it!!" he barked and the young lad marched away. He turned to the Captain. "Keptin Kersare?" he asked, wanting to know what was going on.
Isabel took a few moments to collect her thoughts and regain her wits. "Lieutenant Abubakar was my Chief Flight Control Officer...during our last mission he became more and more delusional - haunted by what he had done in his past. He ended up in the Brig, but escaped with some help and several crewmembers were killed. He was put on trial here, that's where I've been the past few days, and was sentenced today - some time in a correctional facility, then rehabilitation. Apparently as he was being escorted to his transport, he was killed - someone waiting for him, to execute him."
Marco unintentionaly half-snarled at the disgusting news. "He deserved it" he answered. Rank be damned.
Part of her wanted to lash out at Marco, but at the same time, she knew he wouldn't understand her position. He hadn't known Jaran, he hadn't seen the state Jaran was in while waiting for trial and during the trial. So, Isabel knew it would be a waste of time to try to explain. "He did not deserve death. Jaran was troubled, Jaran did wrong, but he did not deserve to die. His sentence was already decided - the judge who'd heard all the evidence felt the sentence was right...even the prosecutor didn't feel death was appropriate. Where will it end if people decide to take the law into their own hands?"
Marco considered the question for a moment. "Keptin, it HAS ended, with a murderer dead, and justice given. True justice" he spoke softly, but with an edge of anger creeping into his voice.
Her eyes narrowed, "That was not justice. Murdering a murderer is still just murder. An eye for an eye will leave everyone blind." Isabel's fingers gripped the PADD tightly as she took a deep breath, deciding to change the subject. "I'm not sure how soon we'll be leaving for our next mission, but you'll probably want to get settled."
Marco bit his tongue, Kersare wasn't Alan Bright, and he could clearly only go so far with this woman - he obviously wasn't going to enjoy the same freedom he'd had with Alan, but then again Captain Alan Bright was a great man, and Isabel Kersare was obviously just another up-her-own-righteous-arse officer. "Yes Keptin, I plan to brief the enlisted men this evening also."
She nodded, "Good; it's been too long since we've had a Chief of the Boat. Is there anything you need, or any questions you have?" Though they obviously disagreed about Jaran - something that the Malinche crew would undoubtedly disagree on anyway - Isabel hoped to develop a good rapport the man. He was obviously knowledgeable and could be a great asset. It seemed they had gotten off on the wrong foot, unfortunately.
Marco nodded as he collected his thoughts, "Actually yes Keptin, I would like to have the formal inspection of the men by yourself." It was tradition to have an inspection when a new RSM or CoB took over a military unit, and instead of some one pip wonder, Marco wanted the Captain herself. "I plan for this evening, in the shuttlebay, say 21:00 hours?" Also in best tradition, he would give them little time to prepare for it, and beast the hell out of them when they got something wrong.
Isabel quirked an eyebrow, perhaps they hadn't gotten off on quite as bad a foot as she'd thought. She'd never had the opportunity to 'oversee' a formal inspection before, usually it went to a junior officer. Obviously Marco wanted to make an impact on them. "Absolutely, I'll be there. Anything else I can do?"
Marco grinned. "Just make sure you find a few things wrong, doesn't matter if they exist or not" He thought back to his days on the Endeavour as CoB, bunch of scrotes when he took over, he should know, he was one of them and internally promoted - within a month they were the best crew in 'fleet, according to Bright and the XO anyway.
"Don't worry, before becoming a Captain I was an engineer - I'm good at finding the smallest details; not bad at finding non-existent things either," she smiled.
Marco chuckled, maybe she wasn't so bad after all. "Excellent, thank you Keptin. I'll have the men assembled at 20:55, main shuttlebay." He looked out at the Malinche. "Does she carry fighters?"
"No fighters, we have a Danube class shuttle, 4 Type IX Shuttles, and an Argo Class Transport," she replied. In her mind, Isabel tried to decide if it would make more of an impact to arrive exactly on time, after they were assembled, or to be there to greet the officers.
Marco nodded. "Shame." He turned his attention back to Kersare. "Anyway Keptin, if I may, I must make preparations for the inspection."
"Absolutely," she nodded. "Pleasure to meet you, Chief. I'll see you tonight."
Marco snapped to attention again. "Keptin" he said, before wheeling round and marching down the corridor, round a corner and out of sight - where he relaxed and started walking normally, rubbing his temples.
OFF: JP brought to you by:
Chief Petty Officer Marco Tupalov
Chief of the Boat/Chief Auxiliary Pilot
USS Malinche, NCC-38897-B
and
After some time by herself, Isabel had eventually forced herself to get moving. She'd wandered around the base for a good while and was now heading back to her ship. As best she could, she pulled herself together. Her eyes moved over the hull of the Malinche slowly, like someone who'd been away a long time. She heard footsteps behind her, but paid no attention to them.
Marco caught up with the CO and looked where she seemed to be looking, a Prometheus Class - presumably the Malinche - hung in dock outside the window. Marco looked around and noticed the distinct lack of CP personnel, not even one Security JNCO with the Senior Officer - he scowled. Post-War Federation was no place for a high-val target like a Captain to be without CP. "Keptin" he said, announcing his presence.
Isabel turned as she heard the Russian accent, "Yes Chief?" He was in a duty uniform, apparently a Chief Petty Officer, with greying hair. She didn't recognize him right away, but he could've been part of the Starbase personnel.
"Keptin Kersare" Marco began, "I have my transfer orders for U.S.S Malinche, as Chief of the Boat" He looked around again, not even discrete CP, there genuinely wasn't anyone around.
"My apologies, Chief, I hadn't received any information regarding a new Chief of the Boat, this is the first I've heard of it," she replied. The way he was looking around made her a bit nervous, but probably she was just paranoid...all the time at the trial was affecting her. "Do you happen to have a copy of the orders with you? What's your name?"
Marco snapped to attention and realised he had left his orders in the quarters. "Chief Petty Officer Marco Tupalov Keptin" he replied. "I'm afraid my orders are not on me, no." 'Bloody officers and their endless paperwork...' he thought, inwardly rolling his anti-beauracracy eyes.
Isabel nodded, "We can get that sorted later, probably the orders were sent to me today and I've just not been on the ship to receive them." Offering a smile she said, "I'd introduce myself, but it appears you already know who I am. Pleasure to meet you Mr. Tupalov. What's your specialty?"
'An officer that can see further than her own PaDD' he thought wryly. "Piloting" Marco answered. "I flew Broadswords as a marine, and Peregrines as SQ Leader. I flew Endeavour during the war also" he continued. Clasping his hands behind his back.
"Wonderful, I'm sure that'll come in handy... We just lost our Chief Flight Control Officer, so we can use some more experience in the Flight Control department," she replied, trying not to think about Jaran. "Some of our auxiliary crafts were damaged during the last mission, but the repairs were going well the last I checked."
"Excellent" Marco responded, nodding thoughtfully. "I'm hardly surprised, if I may Keptin, that your Flight Officer is gone - these young flyboys these days, want to hop from posting to posting" He thought it was best to test the boundaries early, SNCO's did NOT take the piss out of young officers to CO's, so Marco needed to find Kersare's limits.
'Young flyboy?' Isabel thought to herself. The stress of the last few days edged into her voice as his words hit a nerve, "Mr. Tupalov, the Malinche's former CFCO was no young flyboy and he was not hopping from posting to posting. I realize you're new to the Malinche and wouldn't know this, however, in the future, I expect you to not make generalizations about people, especially when you don't know the facts surrounding the situation."
'Oh my...' he thought, 'another one who takes herself too seriously,'. "Keptin" Marco nodded. "I'm sure he had a good reason for--"
A young man walked closer to the two officers in Command red. He hung back a little as he heard the Captain reply to the older man, a bit nervous about giving her the news. She must've noticed him though, because she waved him over. "Captain Kersare? I don't mean to interrupt, ma'am, but I have some news about Lieutenant Abubakar..."
Isabel quirked an eyebrow....news already? She knew he was to be sent to Earth, but had no idea why a young Ensign would be coming to tell her he had just left. "What news?"
He hesitated a moment, "He's dead ma'am. I'm sorry, the details are here," he shoved a PADD in her direction and hurried off upon seeing the look of dismay on her face. He hated being the bearer of bad news, even though some would consider it good in this case...
In a state of shock, a blank look came over Isabel's face as she took the PADD. Dead? But he was going to be held, then treated....not dead... Quickly her eyes scanned through the PADD, just wanting to get the main ideas as she could read thoroughly later... As she found the information she was looking for, she said quietly, "That's not just death...that's execution..."
Marco wheeled on the young man and thanked heavens for the NCO stripes on his collar. "Details are here?!" he shouted. "You come to tell the Keptin about the murder of her officer and you don't know anything!" he screamed, louder. "On turn, move it!!" he barked and the young lad marched away. He turned to the Captain. "Keptin Kersare?" he asked, wanting to know what was going on.
Isabel took a few moments to collect her thoughts and regain her wits. "Lieutenant Abubakar was my Chief Flight Control Officer...during our last mission he became more and more delusional - haunted by what he had done in his past. He ended up in the Brig, but escaped with some help and several crewmembers were killed. He was put on trial here, that's where I've been the past few days, and was sentenced today - some time in a correctional facility, then rehabilitation. Apparently as he was being escorted to his transport, he was killed - someone waiting for him, to execute him."
Marco unintentionaly half-snarled at the disgusting news. "He deserved it" he answered. Rank be damned.
Part of her wanted to lash out at Marco, but at the same time, she knew he wouldn't understand her position. He hadn't known Jaran, he hadn't seen the state Jaran was in while waiting for trial and during the trial. So, Isabel knew it would be a waste of time to try to explain. "He did not deserve death. Jaran was troubled, Jaran did wrong, but he did not deserve to die. His sentence was already decided - the judge who'd heard all the evidence felt the sentence was right...even the prosecutor didn't feel death was appropriate. Where will it end if people decide to take the law into their own hands?"
Marco considered the question for a moment. "Keptin, it HAS ended, with a murderer dead, and justice given. True justice" he spoke softly, but with an edge of anger creeping into his voice.
Her eyes narrowed, "That was not justice. Murdering a murderer is still just murder. An eye for an eye will leave everyone blind." Isabel's fingers gripped the PADD tightly as she took a deep breath, deciding to change the subject. "I'm not sure how soon we'll be leaving for our next mission, but you'll probably want to get settled."
Marco bit his tongue, Kersare wasn't Alan Bright, and he could clearly only go so far with this woman - he obviously wasn't going to enjoy the same freedom he'd had with Alan, but then again Captain Alan Bright was a great man, and Isabel Kersare was obviously just another up-her-own-righteous-arse officer. "Yes Keptin, I plan to brief the enlisted men this evening also."
She nodded, "Good; it's been too long since we've had a Chief of the Boat. Is there anything you need, or any questions you have?" Though they obviously disagreed about Jaran - something that the Malinche crew would undoubtedly disagree on anyway - Isabel hoped to develop a good rapport the man. He was obviously knowledgeable and could be a great asset. It seemed they had gotten off on the wrong foot, unfortunately.
Marco nodded as he collected his thoughts, "Actually yes Keptin, I would like to have the formal inspection of the men by yourself." It was tradition to have an inspection when a new RSM or CoB took over a military unit, and instead of some one pip wonder, Marco wanted the Captain herself. "I plan for this evening, in the shuttlebay, say 21:00 hours?" Also in best tradition, he would give them little time to prepare for it, and beast the hell out of them when they got something wrong.
Isabel quirked an eyebrow, perhaps they hadn't gotten off on quite as bad a foot as she'd thought. She'd never had the opportunity to 'oversee' a formal inspection before, usually it went to a junior officer. Obviously Marco wanted to make an impact on them. "Absolutely, I'll be there. Anything else I can do?"
Marco grinned. "Just make sure you find a few things wrong, doesn't matter if they exist or not" He thought back to his days on the Endeavour as CoB, bunch of scrotes when he took over, he should know, he was one of them and internally promoted - within a month they were the best crew in 'fleet, according to Bright and the XO anyway.
"Don't worry, before becoming a Captain I was an engineer - I'm good at finding the smallest details; not bad at finding non-existent things either," she smiled.
Marco chuckled, maybe she wasn't so bad after all. "Excellent, thank you Keptin. I'll have the men assembled at 20:55, main shuttlebay." He looked out at the Malinche. "Does she carry fighters?"
"No fighters, we have a Danube class shuttle, 4 Type IX Shuttles, and an Argo Class Transport," she replied. In her mind, Isabel tried to decide if it would make more of an impact to arrive exactly on time, after they were assembled, or to be there to greet the officers.
Marco nodded. "Shame." He turned his attention back to Kersare. "Anyway Keptin, if I may, I must make preparations for the inspection."
"Absolutely," she nodded. "Pleasure to meet you, Chief. I'll see you tonight."
Marco snapped to attention again. "Keptin" he said, before wheeling round and marching down the corridor, round a corner and out of sight - where he relaxed and started walking normally, rubbing his temples.
OFF: JP brought to you by:
Chief Petty Officer Marco Tupalov
Chief of the Boat/Chief Auxiliary Pilot
USS Malinche, NCC-38897-B
and
Captain Isabel Kersare
Commanding Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A