USS Malinche NCC-38997-A

ON:
<<Shuttlebay, Day 2, 1030>>

Myka (PNPC) leaned casually against a stack of crates in the shuttlebay, quietly watching as a few crewmembers finished loading the runabout they were taking to the colony. The Bajoran was in civilian clothing, grey loose fitting trousers and a sapphire top with gold designs. She had a simple satchel where she was concealing her phaser as well as a few practical items for her mission. Although there were a few Bajorans in the colony, Myka had had a prosthesis attached to hide her nose ridges. All she had to do now was wait.

To that end, Quinn's own patience had worn thin. Everything felt gritty and grainy. And that grated and chafed against the seemingly slow-moving chronometer. Every sight, sound, and touch she took in, every move she made in the past few hours felt like it had a dusting sheen of sand she couldn't shake. Perhaps it was simply due to the sleepless night Elle had just had. The day before the beginning of a new assignment always wreaked havoc on her already only-tenuously-maintained sleep schedule. Thankfully, they would soon be on their way.

She thought she'd have been the first to arrive at the shuttlebay, thinking that the extra time would allow her to work some of the weird tension off via obsessive-compulsively performing, then checking and rechecking pre-flight procedures. But Myka was there already, the first to arrive. As Elle made her way to the controls of the shuttle, she nodded at Myka and began to gesture at the civilian clothing, about to compliment the "costuming" ... before stopping herself. Instead, with a finger already raised, she segued into a "zipping her mouth" motion and winked. While Elle obviously wanted nothing to go awry, she enjoyed playing a part in the skullduggery. And so, Quinn set about the standard pre-flight checks, as others continued to arrive.

Returning the pilot's nod, Myka watched the young woman quietly. Saoirse seemed a bit...frazzled, but perhaps that was simply how she prepared for a mission. Myka didn't really know her well enough to be certain. She considered offering to assist the other woman, but there was likely a method to the madness and she'd only be in the way.

Flanked by the security contingent she'd put together for the away mission, Awen (PNPC) strode purposefully into the shuttlebay. Her eyes surveyed the area, taking in who was present and what was happening. Myka was already there and gave her a brief nod as their eyes met. She had to admit she liked the Intel Chief's plan. It certainly brought her back to her days in the Resistance.

Korath was the next to enter the shuttlebay. His frame towering over the other away team members as he came to a stop next to the craft. He nodded to the security team. "Chief, have you given any thought to which side arms you will be issuing to your security teams? " the Klingon asked.

"I've already issued type II phasers and have some phaser rifles set aside, just in case there are any issues with the local wildlife or simply as a contingency," Awen answered. The type II's theoretically would be plenty for a mission to a friendly colony, but the Bajoran preferred to have the rifles and not need them rather than the reverse.

"I'd like to not give the colonists the impression of a heavily armed away team. I would suggest type 1 phasers. However it is up to your discretion for your team."

Awen nodded, "We'll keep what I've already issued. From what I read, it seems their own security teams carry type II's so it shouldn't be overly concerning for them, sir." She kept her expression and tone neutral, but she was not particularly used to being questioned about her choice of weapon for away teams. Of course, the last Executive Officer had been a Counselor, but Awen was perfectly capable of choosing appropriate gear.

Korath stifled a smirk as he gauged the Chief's response. It was after all well within her duties to assess the situation and assign the appropriate side arm compliment. He nodded approvingly. "Very good." He replied. He liked an officer that would stand their ground. In his experience far too many officers put too much stock in a commanding officers 'suggestions' He liked this one.

<Outside Main Engineering>

Derek Tournneau and Viradia Belad (PNPC) were pushing the last cargo pallet out of Main Engineering. Viradia peered around the stack of containers, ensuring that they did not pancake any fellow crewmates. Tournneau turned towards Viradia. "All right, are we sure this is it? It's a long walk back if we forget something."

"Yes, Derek, for the tenth time, this is it. This pallet has all of the isolinear circuitry, memory chips, and the core processors that we're going to need to repair the the ground station and keep them stocked until their next resupply. They took the longest to replicate, so that's why they're last."

Even with the anti-grav sled, the mass of the containers was unwieldy. Fortunately, the turbolift was just across the hall from the main doors. They crammed the sled into the lift, and stepped just inside the doors as they closed.

"Shuttlebay," Derek said.

Viradia looked over at him. "You know, I hear the planet is supposed to be quite beautiful. Lots of plant life, and even a few oceans. Maybe we can find some time to...get away for a while?" Her eyebrow arched mischievously as she finished her question.

Derek chuckled. "Well, let's make sure they have things like, oh, air-con and running water first - but that does sound promising."

<Shuttlebay>

The door to the lift hissed open, and the two engineers pushed their sled out of the hallway and onto the shuttlebay deck. Crewmembers from each department were there, finishing the Xuanantunich's preflight and loading the last containers on the shuttle. Tournneau called out to the quartermaster. "Ms. Sorenski (NPC), we've got one more load here and we're good to go."

Sorenski turned and groaned at the sight of the sled. "Oh good - more boxes! You lot are going to be sitting on them if you bring anything else, sir!"

Derek put his hands up in mock surrender. "This is the last of it, I promise. Probably. Maybe." He grabbed his personal effects from the top of the stack, and Viradia joined him as they boarded the Flyer-type shuttle. He tossed his bag in an underseat storage bin in the rear compartment. With all the cargo that was stacked in the center of the compartment, there was just enough room to walk into the ship and around the edges of the compartment where the crew benches were.

Quinn continued with the pre-flight checks on the shuttle craft, confident that her slight tweaks to instrument calibration would serve them well planetside. It still struck her as strange that, contrary to the data they had about the storm season being over, sudden spontaneous swells of charged particles continued to crop up in the atmosphere, almost in reaction to their sensor sweeps... and sometimes in anticipation of them?

Speaking of anticipation! Elle realized that in preparing for a longer stay away from the Malinche, she'd left a memento she'd brought along, left it sitting in the shuttle cargo compartment! "It" was a tiny turbolift servo-connector that Doug Kinkaid had gifted her upon his *un*-anticipated departure. That broken bit of machinery from Outpost 8013 had failed, causing the turbolift Elle was in to halt between floors. That in turn had pressed Kinkaid into post-shift repairs, which in turn caused Quinn and Kinkaid to meet. It was a bittersweet souvenir at best. And really, the more she thought about it the more Elle thought she shouldn't have brought it at all. Nonetheless, she didn't want anyone thinking the item was trash. Best to go grab it now before that happened.

As she made her way back toward the cargo compartment, she heard the shuffling sound of people boarding the shuttle. There she saw Derek and Viradia squeezing into the tight confines. Not one to let a social situation pass without making it more awkward — unintentionally, of course — Elle smiled. Having heard whispers of their romantic involvement, Elle tried her best to let the two engineers know that, not only did *she* know about them and that she was happy for the pair, but also that she was confident they'd continue to excel in their duties, while maintaining professionalism — something she briefly, wistfully recalled she'd never had the chance to even test with Kincaid before his departure.

"So, uh, kind of cramped back there, might have to sit on each other's laps, haha — I mean, not that, you know, you would *want to* or anything." Don't wink. Fortunately, she didn't. Unfortunately, Elle's mouth kept at it. "Or that you shouldn't be able to! Or that you'd not *not* want to, or couldn't help yourselves. I mean, Engineering access corridors can be a tight squeeze already is all. Close quarters and all that." Wow, stop it. "Uh... okay." Finally, Elle stopped talking.

She suddenly snatched what looked like a random bit of detritus from off of one of the crew benches. Then, after a long moment of silent fidgeting, Quinn flashed them a sheepish grin and turned away to face the flight controls.

Derek and Viradia looked at each other, both wearing the same perplexed expression with eyebrows raised. The Mali’s new flight controller was certainly verbose, but well-meaning. After Elle clambered up the ladder and into the forward compartment, they broke their silence.

“Well, what does that make, seven? Eight?” Viradia asked.

Derek sighed. People had already been dropping hints well before they started dating, and now that they had begun the crew had become especially preoccupied with the pair. “I’m not sure - although, I suppose we should expect this sort of thing for a while.”

Viradia sat down on one of the benches. “So, should I sit in your lap, or should you sit in mine?”

“Shut up,” Derek said wryly. He patted her bare head as he stepped up the ladder to follow Elle. He walked through the midsection and on to the flight deck. He strode around the rear engineering console and took his station. “So,” he said over his shoulder to Elle, “Is this your first time flying a Flyer?”

Elle quickly palmed and pocketed the small bit of scrap she'd retrieved from the cargo compartment, before turning to see if Tournneau had seen her do so. Though it didn't appear so, either way, she was relieved that the new topic at hand was one she was genuinely excited about.

"It is!" she said, with a smile. "Outside of the simulations anyway. But I'd reviewed all the specs long before that — my Dad taught starship and shuttlecraft design at the Academy. The Flyer's a great... uh, amalgam, you know? And all those conflicting design notes on the prototype! I'm inclined to agree with Mister Paris on this one — a 'Hot-Rod' is right. I hope it's as responsive in real life as its reputation. Here's hoping I won't need to push pedal to the metal."

"Ahem," Elle cleared her throat. "And... sorry about that, back there. I didn't mean anything by it — and I had *nothing* to do with that 'Romance in the Jefferies Tubes' meme-thing going around on the PADDs. Honest. And I only ever saw the one." Elle gritted her teeth, as she belatedly realized there was the distinct possibility neither Tournneau nor Lieutenant Beladd had set eyes on those.

"Uh... yeah, the Delta Flyer Type," Ell said, trying to change the subject back to safer ground she's unwittingly abandoned, "I wouldn't have minded dynametric tailfins."

Tournneau snorted derisively. “Oh, yes, the memes.” His staff thought he didn’t know, but he knew. They had been trading doctored images with stupid witticisms written in bold, capital letters across the top and bottom. The images had been kept innocuous - for the moment - but the texts were becoming increasingly suggestive.

Derek turned his seat to face the cockpit. “My favorite one so far is where I’m asking Viradia to realign my hydrospanner.”

Elle stifled a laugh, trying to keep a straight face.

“Oh, don’t worry - I know *exactly* who’s been pushing them to PADDs on the ship. Let’s just say that Fields is in for a *lot* of manifold scrubbing duty when we get back.” Derek turned back to finish his checks on the console. “In the meantime, he’s going to find his replicator can only make gagh, and his sonic shower can only play the Bee Gees; and oh no! Everyone who can fix it is planetside, gee what a shame.”

And at that, Elle burst out laughing. And it was the kind of rip-snorting laughter she'd not given herself over to in a long while.

Fields had indeed been the culprit. She herself would not have known, had the Chief not "accidentally" sent an image to everyone still lingering at the lounge after hours. Elle of course had been unable to sleep, and though she was initially uncomfortable with the "joke" being at Tournneau's expense, she was glad to have been on the inside of the joke for once, rather than locked out of it, or at best, on the outskirts. It was a relief to know Tournneau was now wise to it too.

Korath stepped within earshot at the wrong end of the conversation, hearing the last few exchanges. Momentarily setting aside wanting a status update, the thought of replicated Gagh made him cringe. "I would not inflict burnt gagh on Feklar himself. I trust the pranks will not get out of hand." The Klingon let the open ended statement linger for a moment as he checked over the reports on the colony one final time.

Derek chuckled, "Of course, Korath - nothing permanent, anyway."

Elle's posture straightened immediately, as she tried covered the ebbing laughter with a series of (unfortunately obviously fake) coughs. "Sir. Heh. Yes, sir." She cleared her throat, "And pre-flight checks are complete. On my end at least, we are good to go!"

As the others boarded the Xuanantunich, Myka, Awen, and the security team joined them. While the other security officers remained behind, the two Bajorans continued on to the flight deck. "Everyone is on board and everything is loaded as far as I'm aware," Awen confirmed.

"We should depart as soon as possible," Myka said. "If at all possible, Ensign, I would like you to give us a good flyover of the colony and then I'll need beamed down on the outskirts outside of view before you land in the designated area." It would give her a good initial feel for the current situation and might help her decide on her entrance point after being beamed down.

"Aye, sir," Elle responded, with as stern and professional an expression as she could muster.

Tournneau turned back to his console and made his final readouts. "Flight systems: RCS, impulse, warp drive are nominal...fuel intermix ratio is good...ECS is running...secondary systems are green...we are go for launch, Ensign."

Elle nodded at Tournneau, with half of a crooked, suppressed-but-still-lingering smile resurfacing. Then she turned back to her console and turned her eyes to the forward viewport, "Hang on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. Flash holography is allowed, but try to keep your hands and feet inside the shuttle," she said, "we're takin' the scenic route!"

OFF: TBC

JP brought to you by:

Ensign Saoirse Quinn
Flight Control Officer

and

Lieutenant Commander Derek Tournneau
Chief Engineering Officer & 2XO

and

Lieutenant Viradia Beladd (PNPC)
Asst Chief Engineering Officer
played by Tournneau

and

Lieutenant Commander Korath
Executive Officer

and

Lieutenant Turren Myka (PNPC)
Chief Intelligence Officer
played by Kersare

and

Lieutenant Commander Fala Awen (PNPC)
Chief Security/Tactical Officer
played by:

ON:
<< Torva IV | Day 2 | 1111 Hours >>

The line was luminous... iridescent. Golden sunlight lit rolling purple nebulae from within — all pressed thinly into a shimmering horizontal row of wonder, hovering above now-roiling waters, but beneath dive-bombing, suddenly furious, low-looming clouds. It was beautiful really. That must have been how it appeared to the colonists too: a promise of what awaited them... if they survived the storms. Storms like this one that had engulfed the Xuanantunich. A true tempest — though storm season was supposed to be over. Whatever this was then, it had appeared without warning, and was wreaking havoc with the shuttle's sensors. The glowing artificial horizon, created by encroaching sky and rising waters, appeared to be both a glimpse into something otherworldly, as well as a window through which something stared back out. Like a slot sliding open, in the unmarked door to a speakeasy, a slit through which wary, knowing eyes peered back at you, in appraisal and judgement.

The readings on the Xuanantunich's instrument panels had already begun fluctuating wildly, as soon as they arrived in atmosphere, let alone what nonsense they read now, on their current approach to the colony itself. And that same atmosphere appeared intermittently peppered with signs of life, signs that seemed to flit into and out of existence. Though with how temperamental the sensors were at the moment, Elle could see someone chalking up such findings to interference from environmental conditions — these mad environmental conditions. And she could see that someone being wrong.

It was no wonder that maintaining a coherent matter stream would have proven too risky, and that the recommendation to use shuttlecraft over transporters had been so strong. Still... this was what was deemed less of a risk? A dramatic death at sea, instead of one at the transporter room's quiet remove? And it was no wonder too then, that the colonists had begun telling tales of living elements, for the phenomena that descended upon the Malinche's envoy seemed so sudden, so reactive, so... purposeful. So aware.

The shuttlecraft was rocked from side-to-side, buffeted by blasts of water and wind. And Elle Quinn juked and jinked the flight controls accordingly. Sometimes even in apt anticipation, trusting hunch and intuition where the computer saw no predicable pattern. Pillars of sea surged up from below, and for a moment, became one with the clouds, before crashing down just as suddenly — only to be replaced by another pillar ahead, blocking their path anew and in new ways. Were lives not at stake, navigating such a mercurial labyrinth would have been thrilling for Elle.

However, from the planet's elements working in tandem against them, she chose to take inspiration instead. And in that, she surprised herself. Elle realized that she too needed to work in tandem with the elements — or at least the ones she knew well: the conn and the computer. Leaving the autopilot program on, despite its desired course leading them into the thick of potential disaster, Elle used its rigid insistence as a kind of compass, and chose her moments of rebellion well — forcing the shuttle to wildly veer from its desired path only in fits and spurts, and in dives and corkscrew-courses, whenever water and wind threatened destruction... before allowing the computer to "reset" their flight vectors during any all-too-fleeting moments of calm. This proved especially effective whenever up was down and cardinal directions became as murky as the waters, even to sensors. The computer's stubborn overlay of grids upon terrain that did not abide by its plan should have been a disadvantage, but Elle turned it on its head — and to her advantage. And it worked! Elle felt in sync with machine and program, in a way she thought early aviators must have felt, when everything felt right and went their way — through combination of skill, luck, and gritted teeth.

And so, darting suddenly between pillars of water that had shot up and separated from the sea below, reaching heights high enough for a Delta Flyer to maybe just squeeze through the spilit-second space created before creation came crashing down, Elle spun the shuttle to — and through — the final turn of the gauntlet! And then... suddenly they were safe — for the time being. Before yet another "routine" mission revealed itself to be anything but, she thought.

Gurgling waves finally receded behind them. The waters suddenly calmed. And they seemed to do so only begrudgingly, only after the Xuanantunich was out of its reach. Elle guided the shuttle into a wide turn and began the promised flyover. With their line of sight now clear, tall angular mesas rose to greet their gaze, reflecting the sunset's sheen of lavender and aerial fire. Stone bulwarks, gatekeepers guarding a valley carved by the river, the river feeding the ocean, the ocean that had in turn tried to feed upon the Away Team. To consume them. Yet what seemed so much at first like a... "Planet Hell" began to lift its veil to potential heavens too. Because there, visible in the distance, finally, were the first signs of settlement. Lieutenant Turren (PNPC) would have to make her departure soon, and unseen.

Realizing she'd been holding her breath, again, Elle exhaled and laughed — the latter she hoped, only to herself. "You see! Safe and sound... the scenic route."


OFF:

ON:
<<Torva IV, USS Xunantunich, Day 2, 1120>>

From her seat on the flight deck, Myka (PNPC) had watched silently as the ensign pilot brought them to the colony and took, as she put it, 'the scenic route'. It hadn't been the smoothest ride, but that wasn't the fault of Saoirse. The Bajoran could easily see how the planet's natural elements could stir up the colonists. The away team had already gotten quite a show and the actual storm season was over.

Myka peeked inside her satchel, reassuring herself that she had what she needed for her mission. Everything seemed to be there. If she was missing anything, she'd just have to improvise. During any kind of infiltration improvisation typically became necessary at some point, but she did like to be prepared.

"Ensign, would you please do a loop around the colony to give me a better visual of the layout and so I can settle on a spot to beam down?" Prior to leaving, Myka had looked up a few potential drop off locations, but seeing it in person would help her make her final decision. She glanced over at Awen (PNPC) and nodded; the other Bajoran probably knew as much as she did about a situation like this. Myka had trained for infiltration at the Academy and used the knowledge during her career, but Awen had used it for survival in the Resistance.

"Aye, sir," Quinn answered, adopting an air of seriousness when Myka addressed her. Elle went so far as to purse her lips and furrow her brow. There hadn't been much skullduggery that she was privy to back when she served on the New York. And so Quinn hoped to convey that she understood "undercover" Intelligence missions were delicate and that *she especially* could be trusted with matters of secrecy.

Elle aimed for a tall but narrow channel between the two towering, sheer rock faces ahead, guiding the runabout through a vertical space that had been worn into place over many years — a canyon carved slowly into the angular cliffside by the rushing river that ran through it still. Perched atop one rocky crag along this alley-like entrance was a robust Starfleet-issue weather sensor, the only sign of settlement thus far. That is... until the Xunantunich passed through the narrow canyon and into a lush, vast valley within!

The river began to snake and to wind, zigging and zagging beneath canopies of luminous flora cast in alluring shades of pale blue and crimson, violet and gold. The jungle valley seemed so verdant. So full of life that it was surprising to Elle — at least on the surface — that the colonists were experiencing such difficulties. And if this seemingly rich locale hadn't been the preferred place for the colony to plant their roots, how much better could the other choice have been? Turbines or windmill-like structures began to dot the sides of the river, as did shelters — sparse at first until they became clusters. More densely concentrated the farther Elle flew the shuttlecraft into the valley. People, still tiny at this distance, looked up as the Xunantunich passed overhead, then into a wide arc... surveying the scene.

Derek Tournneau began entering commands into his console. "Beginning hi-res scan," he announced for the flight recorder. The sensors on the hull's exterior began sweeping the settlement and gathering the data that they could not get from orbit due to the atmospheric conditions. What a strange place to settle for a colony world, Derek pondered as the computer began to generate detailed schematics of the buildings below. Surely there were other, more stable, worlds to choose from in this sector.

Once the runabout made it through the canyon, Myka moved next to Saoirse to get a better look of the surroundings as well as the more basic layout appearing on a console. Her dark eyes took in the vivid colors stretching out before them, then looked deeper, assessing her options. The jungle would certainly be beneficial; she could look for some herbs or plants and emerge from the jungle into the South Western part of the colony which had some of the dwellings.

The Bajoran watched as the various colony structures passed below them. There was some evidence of storm damage and a fair bit of flooding. It looked like the away team would have their work cut out for them with the colony's systems, if this was any indication. Hopefully it would give her time to find out more about the rumors.

Nodding as she made up her mind, Myka said, "Thank you, Ensign. If you could make another pass and this time perhaps at a third of the speed... I'd like to be dropped off here...and then you can make your way to the landing spot. If anyone asks, you were getting a closer look at sensors and turbines from above." She pointed to a particular spot on the console display — within the jungle near the river, in the vicinity of one of the turbines.

"Aye, sir," Elle said as she moved her fingers across the LCARS display, making a "seven" shaped gesture along the proper touchpoints of the control console. The Delta Flyer class craft again responded nimbly, mimicking her movements as it slowed and turned, angling back in a vector that mirrored their initial approach. Elle adjusted their course however, ever so slightly — but obviously enough to make it clear to any onlookers that the runabout was now headed toward one of the two turbines. The farthest one first, as it appeared to have suffered some damage from the storms, for even at this distance, its rotors churned more laboriously in comparison to its counterpart closer to the center of the colony proper.

Elle smiled. Just like on stage, a little overacting not only allowed the performance to reach the back row, but also to better "sell" the show and cement the illusion. "Just fly formally," she said to herself, an inversion of a well known quote from that series of films Kinkaid had been so fond of. And as the Xunantunich made its second, slower pass, Elle saw that a crowd began to gather near the center of the settlement, no doubt drawing both the troubled and the merely curious, out from even the outskirts of the colony. For a moment, Elle wondered if this had been intentional on Myka's part: divert the colonists' attention skyward, to their Starfleet allies and saviors, so as to ensure her own arrival would remain secret and that her beaming down would go unnoticed. Already Intelligence was playing at sleight of hand.

Myka smirked as she watched the colonists gather - all the easier for her to sneak in. "Excellent; very convincing. When we get to those coordinates, please beam me down, Commander," the Bajoran said, inputting the coordinates she'd selected. The spot would be out of sight from the colonists, but close enough that she would be at the edge of the colony quickly so she could either look around or immediately blend in with the crowd.

Derek T. switched his LCARS display to transport mode. The scans continued in the background, giving text-only notifications on the side. The targeting scanner showed a live visual of the ground below that Derek began to pan to and fro looking for a good spot for transport. In the corner of the readout, the computer displayed the calculations it was compensating for, such as the current vector of the shuttlecraft, the difference in gravity between the shuttle's hull plating and the planet, the planet's rotational momentum, and several other variables. Derek found a suitable clearing in the forest floor and locked the scanner to its coordinates. The molecular scanner concealed in the cabin's ceiling swept Myka's body and sent an affirmative chirp to Derek's console. "Ready for site-to-site transport, Lieutenant."

Watching Derek as he worked, she nodded, "Ready, sir. Beam me down." Myka felt her muscles tense slightly in anticipation. She adjusted the strap on her satchel and mentally prepared herself for any surprises she might encounter. They'd already scanned the area and none of the colonists would be in the immediate vicinity, but that didn't mean some of the 'local wildlife' couldn't greet her.

Derek keyed the particle lock, which engaged with its characteristic warm, glassy ring. As he swept his hand over the orange bars of the energizing coil controller, the annular confinement beam surrounded Myka, visible as several silvery threads. Swiftly, the matter and energy inside the forcefield, including the Lieutenant, was transported to the pattern buffer in a wash of sound and light. A faint draft was felt in the cabin as the air filled the volume of space that Myka had previously occupied. Derek frowned, as the phase transition coil began to drift out of alignment. "I've got a zero-point-zero-zero-three phase variance, compensating."

After adjusting the phase discriminator manually, the lock re-established and the pattern buffer allowed Derek to transmit the passenger to the surface. Derek watched on the targeting scanner as Myka emerged on the jungle floor. He confirmed that the transport was successful as he powered down the coils. "All right, she's down." Derek turned to the rest of the cabin. "That was...odd...the computer had already calculated the proper transport vector, but a small phase difference emerged right during transport. I would...not recommend we do that again with personnel unless it's an emergency." He keyed his combadge. "Turren, this is Tournneau. You make it in one piece?"

<Colony Surface>

Once she rematerialized, Myka glanced around. She was a bit closer to the edge of the jungle, but still within the clearing and as best she could tell, she was alone. Listening closely, Myka only heard what she would consider normal sounds - a river trickling in the distance, some birds, and some rustling. Hearing Derek, she tapped her concealed comm badge to reply, =A="Turren here. I arrived safely and at first glance, everything appears as it should. I'll report in when I know more and use the established communication protocols. Good luck. Turren out."=A=

<USS Xunantunich>

"Well, sounds like she didn't feel it on her end," Derek said to himself. Even though it was old hat by now, he still found transport to be both thrilling and horrifying. Being stuck in a pattern buffer for even a few seconds could be very disorienting. The console chirped at him again; this time, to notify him that the building scans were complete. "All right, Quinn, looks like the sensors have what they need."

Elle turned and smiled, relaxing more — now that Lieutenant Turren had beamed down, and that transporter use on the planet had proven safe at this distance at least. "Aye, sir," she said, guiding the Xunantunich into its final approach. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that the jungle seemed to... *react* to their arrival, and to their impending landing. Canopies seemed to arch their luminous limbs toward the Xunantunich, spreading overlapping leaves and branches wider — narrowing safe clearance in even the widest of clearings.

Maybe she was just being paranoid. Maybe it was just the wind... and maybe *that* was the problem. Sated sensors were one thing. This might be something else altogether. "Let's just hope *we* have what the *colonists* need," Elle said.

OFF: JP brought to you by:

Ensign Saoirse "Elle" Quinn
Flight Control Officer

and

Lieutenant Commander Derek Tournnneau
Chief Engineering Officer & 2XO

and

Lieutenant Myka Turren (PNPC)
Chief Intelligence Officer
played by:

<<USS Malinche, Science Lab 2, Day 2, 1100>>

Aniela (PNPC) sat quietly at a console, reading through the research reports and colony data the science team had been working on. The others were either off duty or in Science Lab 1 or Stellar Cartography. She could have joined them, but at the moment she preferred solitude for reflection...and the Chief Science Officer's office no longer seemed appropriate.

Captain Kersare had informed her yesterday that a new Chief Science Officer would be joining the Malinche and therefore, Aniela would be going to the Operations department as Acting Chief there instead. She had done a few stints in Operations previously, but that was only on a temporary basis. Still, she was a senior officer and the Malinche was short on department heads. Now that someone qualified had been found for science, it made sense to move her to a different department. It would be a challenge and she would miss the science officers and her spatial anomalies, but she would make it work.

<Corridor>

T'koll double, then triple checked the sign to make sure he was headed in the right direction. It had been a long time since the Caitian had needed to navigate a new ship, and was quickly remembering how stressed it made him feel.

"Science Lab Two. Science Lab two..." he trailed off quietly, eyes narrowed and scanning as he muttered his thoughts under his breath before spotting Laboratory 2, and gingerly entering the room.

<Science Lab 2>

Glancing back towards the door as she heard it open, Aniela was about to speak, but paused as a Caitian she didn't recognize walked in. He was in sciences teal, a Lieutenant. Presumably he was the one taking over the Science department. "Good morning, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?"

He stood up straight and put his arms behind his back, "Ah! Lieutenant Commander Darvetti, a pleasure to meet you. Apologies I haven't found you sooner, you know how it is... starships are always a maze for the first few weeks!" He chuckled. His voice had a natural warmth to it like most Caitians, however this still failed to mask his nervousness shining through as he noticed her reading the research reports.

"I-I do hope I haven't disturbed you Ma'am, but I figured I should meet with you before the official hand over. I can come back later if that suits you better?" he backtracked, clearly wanting to make a good impression but plagued with second guesses, his tail fidgeting back and forth gently with his nerves.

Aniela cocked her head to the side slightly as she watched the Caitian while he spoke. His tail seemed to twitch slightly, perhaps from nervousness, based on his demeanor and speech. Technically he hadn't actually introduced himself to her, though it was obvious from what he said that he was in fact the new Chief Science Officer. "Nice to meet you too....Lieutenant T'Koll, correct?"

The Caitian realized he hadn't even introduced himself and felt a twinge of embarrassment "Correct, yes ma'am..."

Smiling slightly she replied, "Now is fine, Lieutenant. I was just going through the colony data and research reports from the department one more time to make sure everything checks out before handing it off. I was going to have them transferred to you when I was done."

He returned the smile and took a seat by the desk. "Oh! Why th-thank you! That will save me a lot of hassle tomorrow for sure." he chuckled, easing his guard down slowly. The Caitian looked about the laboratory around him; much larger than his last posting, though then again these ones didn't have to be divided between Romulan and Federation scientists like some border dispute.

"I must say you've been running a splendid department. The laboratories are spotless, the team members I have met so far have been lovely... Let's hope I can keep up the standard." The whole department was an enormous upgrade from his previous postings, though this also meant he had a lot more to deal with. "So what's next for yourself? If you... don't mind me asking of course?" he added politely.

Aniela chuckled, "I do my best. And the team is...unique. They play off of each other well; just don't get Gerard (NPC) started talking or be prepared for a long conversation." She would miss the Science team, even with their various quirks. "The away team's busy on the planet, but I'm hoping they'll have some more information or possibly samples for Science to look into. Captain Kersare asked me to move into the Operations department to help out there, so I'll be getting up to speed with that. I'm happy to help get you acquainted or answer any questions, of course. And I'm happy to help out in Science as needed if Ops isn't falling apart."

While she didn't want push herself on the new Science Chief, Aniela at least wanted him to know that she was willing to help. It was a fine line between offering assistance and making a newly transferred officer feel like they might be inadequate, which wasn't her intention. "My specialties are in spatial anomalies and particles, but I've dabbled in most things so I could keep up with the various research projects going on," she added.

T'Koll couldn't help but chuckle, "Is that so? Well if Tar'Quesh (NPC) from my last post were here he would say I could give Mister Gerard a run for his money! Romulans can be a lovely people once you get to know them but they don't do 'small talk'." He winked with a smirk; rather beginning to enjoy Aniela's company now the bugbear of rank had been qualmed by a bit of idle conversation.

"That is a very kind offer Miss Darvetti, I do hope I won't have to take you up on it but we shall see. Truth be told this is my first 'handover' as it were, and it almost feels like I'm imposing," he added with another nervous chuckle. "Sounds silly, I know. But you know how the mind can be." He admitted, his mind still a racing mess of questions, doubts and new experiences, causing his mouth to continue on without much of a filter enabled.

Aniela nodded, "Small talk can be a skill... The offer stands, regardless. If it would be alright with you, there were a couple projects I was working on that I'd like to continue in my spare time - obviously only if they weren't interfering with current Science needs." Hearing his chuckle, she offered him a brief smile and said, "You're certainly not imposing. I suppose I should ask, though, do you have any questions for me about the department or the ship?"

T’koll couldn’t help but chuckle remembering his Romulan coworker’s dry remarks “Indeed, truth be told it’s one I’m also still working on. Laboratories are my home, but they don’t do much for your social skills do they?” He joked, easing in his seat slightly. “Well you’re more than welcome to continue any of your projects by all means. I know how frustrating it can be to leave work unfinished. Just send me a comm and I can arrange a bench for you.”

He gave the next question a long consideration. “As for questions, are there any...” he leaned in slightly and softened his voice “‘pressing matters’ that weren’t on the brief? I know that personnel matters can be sensitive sometimes and kept off the record.” He asked, remembering back to a few ‘cultural clashes’ early into his time aboard the USS Turing that were kept from him, until they reached a critical level... “Other than that I should be fine. I imagine I will have plenty more queries as they arise. That tends to be the way of things, though I won’t be badgering you every other second, don’t worry.”

Pausing to consider the Caitian's question, Aniela shook her head. "No, I can't think of any other pressing matters. We were looking into more information about this planet and colony for our current mission...and I'm sure if something comes up, the Captain will want Science to investigate further, but that's it. The department members have some quirks, but they all generally get along. And feel free to ask me questions as needed, or I'm sure Lieutenant Commander Korath could answer some as well."

T'Koll nodded, "Well what laboratory doesn't eh? Very well. I do look forward to getting to know them all." T'koll stepped up out of the seat and offered a hand to shake and returned a confident smile, much more confident than when he had first entered. "Well I believe I have intruded on you enough, I'll leave you to your work. It was a pleasure talking to you Lieutenant Commander. I might just have a wander about the ship and introduce myself to Lieutenant Commander Korath whilst I'm at it."

"True," Aniela replied with a smile. "They're a good group of people to work with, as I'm sure you'll find out. I'll send you any additional relevant information I come across." She shook his hand, "Pleasure meeting you as well, Lieutenant. Certainly feel free to get acquainted with the ship, but I'm afraid Lieutenant Commander Korath is with the away team going down to the colony. The Captain is still aboard and most of the others, but our Chief Engineer, Chief Security/Tactical, the Executive Officer, and some others aren't."

"Ah, well I suppose I will just take a walk then," He smirked, breaking the handshake and nodding to her. "I'm sure I will get to meet them soon enough!" The Caitian bowed his head and departed the room with a smile on his face. His nerves had been quelled a good amount by meeting the Lieutenant Commander, and it seemed he had inherited a good team. He departed the laboratory and headed towards the bow of the ship, continuing to explore and familiarize himself with the Malinche's various twists and turns.

OFF: JP brought to you by:

Lieutenant Commander Aniela Darvetti (PNPC)
(Acting) Chief Operations Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
played by: Captain Kersare

and

ON:
<< USS Xunantunich | On approach | Day 2 | 1140 Hours >>

Korath made his way to the cockpit of the shuttle as Quinn made one final pass over the settlement. He peered through the forward view port and took in the surrounding land as they continued to descend. He came to a standing rest just behind the pilot's seat. His hand resting on the forward bulkhead. "Set us down as close to the governor's office as you can," the Klingon ordered as the shuttle began its final approach.

"Aye, sir," Elle answered, steering the Delta Flyer down through what seemed — to her — like an ever narrowing iris of iridescent flora… until finally the Xunantunich alighted softly upon the ground. Elle nestled the runabout some thirty meters from the governor’s office, as close as the terrain would allow.

Like the other colony buildings, the governor’s office was almond shaped, with a sloped, rounded roof and a base that curved upward, like the hull of a seagoing vessel — each feature designed to ward off rising tides or heavy rains. And though all of the structures closest to the water were elevated, built a meter or more up into the gnarled jungle trees, as protection against possible flooding, this building still sat noticeably higher than others.

Conversely, no one person stood out from the crowd of colonists that had gathered to greet them. Through the Xunantunich’s front viewport, Elle could not quite pick out the governor by sight. So varied were the heights and builds of the humanoid colonists. Nonetheless, Elle suspected she might still tower over most of them, and so she was glad that Korath appeared set on being the first to meet their welcoming committee.

<< Colony Surface | 1144 Hours >>

As the shuttle set down and the doors opened, the Klingon nodded slightly to the away team as he led the way down the ramp and out into the open, catching sight of whom he assumed was the colony’s Governor and aides. He took a breath and put on his most diplomatic face as he walked toward the approaching group. "Greetings, I am Lieutenant Commander Korath. This is Commander Tournneau our Chief Engineer, Commander Fala (PNPC), Security Chief and our Helm Officer Ensign Quinn." The Klingon extended a hand for the Governor to shake.

Elle approximated a grin as she was introduced, though she suspected the expression looked more like a grimace. Such social exercises were still, in many ways, more taxing to her than even their dangerous flight over tumultuous seas from minutes ago.

Brenal (NPC) stepped forward with a warm smile as the Malinche's away team arrived and the Executive Officer introduced the main staff. A few others were unloading cargo from the runabout. "Good morning, Commanders... Ensign. I am Governor Savin. Welcome to Torva IV; I must say we are glad to see you. This is Lieutenant Governor Kala Eteke (NPC), Lieutenant Torik (NPC) our Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Luka Volkov (NPC) our Chief of Security, and my assistant Colin Dirth (NPC). Our doctor is seeing to some patients and couldn't join us, I'm afraid."

As the colony staff was introduced, Awen listened carefully to take note of who each of them was. Brief files on each had been available for review before the Malinche arrived, but now she could watch their interactions in person. While the governor appeared welcoming and almost nonchalant, a few of the others seemed a bit anxious. Perhaps they simply wanted to get started on repairs or perhaps it was something more.

Korath watched the body language of the colony staff, but his expression didn't reveal anything out of the ordinary as the away team exchanged pleasantries. "Nothing serious, I hope?" The Klingon replied to the news that the colony's Doctor could not attend. "My officers and I are at your disposal, if you need any assistance."

Perhaps one of the colonists shared her social anxiety after all, Elle thought. Once the groups had come closer together, she noticed that the human standing closest to Governor Savin, his assistant Dirth, had gone to great lengths to maintain a... "stiff upper lip", so to speak. Dirth's demeanor was so overtly formal that Elle became convinced he was as uncomfortable with this initial meeting as she was. Beneath his calm and collected veneer, Elle was sure he fretted fiercely.

Unlike the colony's chief engineer or chief of security, who both wore concern on their sleeves, understandably so, Dirth remained stoic. In fact, he seemed quite like the sound of his name — except that his scarcity of expression emotion wound up revealing a glimpse of it instead. Elle extended her hand to shake his — and wound up hitting Savin's hand in the process, as the governor had reached her in his series of greetings. "Oh... yes, hi. Hello," she said awkwardly, starting off on the wrong foot — or in this case, hand — as usual.

Brenal smiled, amused, at the young StarFleet Ensign. Of course, to him they all seemed young. She seemed a bit unsure or nervous and and probably picked up on a similar mentality from his assistant. He waited patiently and shook her hand next, "Good to meet you Ensign. Don't worry, we don't bite."

Elle stammered, "Same. I mean, me neither. Or rather... likewise." Then she inhaled sharply... and held it, exhaling only after the governor moved on. Once he did, she'd see about helping out where needed. This world seemed so lush, bountiful even, and Elle was curious to see what secrets it held.

The Governor, hoping he had set the young woman's mind at ease, turned back to Korath after the slightly awkward greeting and said, "No, no, nothing serious. The doctor was hoping to be finished in time to greet you with us, but got held up slightly. We've been doing what we can about the flood damage and our systems affected by the storms, but our resources are limited as you're aware. If you would like assistance with unloading your runabout, we can see to that as well as show you where the relevant areas are."

Korath nodded at the explanation, as well as the offer of assistance with the gear they had brought. "That would be appreciated," he replied. "Commander Tournneau and Lieutenant Greyman, see to any engineering needs the colonists require. Doctor, Commander Fala, assist the Colony's medical staff any way you can; the rest survey the remainder of the colony and see what else we can do. I'll head to the governor's office and coordinate from there."

"Survey duty then," Elle said softly to herself, nodding, while wiping away the sweat that had already begun to bead at her brow. The air was thick, and a walk through such dense humidity wouldn't exactly be pleasant, but at least it would provide her time alone with her thoughts, and a chance to take in the landscape. "Aye, sir," she said aloud suddenly, as she activated her tricorder. This in turn elicited a small nod — and an *almost* amused look — from Dirth... before he quietly joined the group headed back to the governor's office. And that was as the extent of any greeting as he shared with Elle, for her earlier gaffe prevented them from even exchanging words.

Tournneau turned to Viradia (PNPC) and Greyman (PNPC), and gestured with his head to his opposite number in the colony staff. The two parties began to break and disperse into their disciplines. Tournneau and the others in his group came up to Lieutenant Torik. Derek extended his hand in greeting, which the young Vulcan man met impassively.

“Mr. Torik, Derek Tournneau, chief aboard the Malinche. This is my assistant chief, Ms. Beladd, and one of our security officers, Derek Greyman.” Torik nodded politely to each of them as Derek continued. “We’ve conducted some high-resolution scans of the area, as well as the information that was provided to us en route. I’m anxious to see what you have, and where we can best get started.”

Torik gestured towards the settlement. “If you will follow me, Mr. Tournneau, I would be happy to show you the areas that we have identified as priorities for repair. My office is in the administration building, right this way.” Torik gestured to a squat structure near the governor’s office. “Our main concern is of course, getting the main computer and power systems operational. We have been operating on emergency power only, with no environmental controls and minimal lighting. It is... quite humid... here.” Derek noticed that the Vulcan was perspiring profusely. “We have everything necessary for survival; however our position will be untenable, if we cannot both repair what has been lost and enact preventative measures for the future. It is only logical to presume that these conditions will one day occur again.”

The engineers entered the building through the open doorway. With no environmental controls, the colonists were keeping doors and windows open for ventilation. They made their way through the main lobby and through a small door set in the wall, where a stairwell was concealed. The group continued to Torik’s office.

Once the engineering group left, Awen turned to Toren (PNPC), "Is there anything else you need, Doctor, or are you ready to go to the medical facilities?" Truthfully, the Bajoran wanted to have a look around the colony herself, but Myka (PNPC) would likely come up with the most useful information.

"No, Commander," Toren responded, "Everything necessary will be brought by the crew. Since the main computer is offline, I cannot begin work on their medical equipment. Until then, I will simply be observing the colony's patients for anything out of the ordinary."

Kala made her way over to the Malinche's Chief Security/Tactical and Doctor and waited until the Doctor finished speaking. "I would be glad to show you the way, if you'd like. I was going to check in with our Doctor anyway," she offered, smiling. She could sense some restlessness from the Bajoran, but it didn't show.

Awen gave the woman a brief smile, "Please do, Lieutenant Governor." She glanced over at Toren, nodding to him, then followed as Kala led the way. Considering the rumors, unfounded as they might be, it was still better to exercise caution and be ready for anything. Hopefully Myka would find out more.

The walk to the governor's office was a relatively short one. Korath was confident that the Away Team would be up to the task of determining what was going on with the colony. He paused as he crossed a darkened alleyway. For a split second he... he felt like something was watching him. A feeling of foreboding welled up in the pit of his stomach. Before he could think, he tapped his comm. "Korath to security..." He said. His voice betrayed a tone of panic? Despite his return to duty, there was still something not quite right about it. At first, he passed it off as discomfort from being cooped up so long in sickbay, but now he was not so sure.

"Security, disregard last transmission." Korath let out a low, barely audible growl at the darkness and continued toward the governor's office.


OFF:

A Joint Post by:

Lieutenant Commander Korath
Executive Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A

and

Lieutenant Commander Derek Tournneau
Chief Engineering Officer & 2XO
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A

Lieutenant Junior Grade Toren
Acting Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
PNPC of Derek Tournneau

Lieutenant Torik (Male Vulcan)
Colony Chief Engineer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
NPC played by Derek Tournneau

and

Lieutenant Commander Fala Awen
Chief Security/Tactical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
PNPC of Isabel Kersare

Brenal Savin (Male El-Aurian)
Colony Governor/Administrator
NPC played by Isabel Kersare

Kala Eteke (Female Betazoid)
Colony Lieutenant Governor
NPC played by Isabel Kersare

and

Colin Dirth (Male Human)
Colony Governor's Aide
NPC played by Saoirse "Elle" Quinn

ON
<< Torva IV | Beneath the dark jungle canopy, far from the heart of the colony... and perhaps too far down the river | Day 2 | 1234 Hours >>

The sights seemed realer than real, for the shape and the color — especially the color — felt far more vivid. Almost *too* vivid, as though someone had turned a holodeck’s photoreceptor filters to their highest luminosity, maximum saturation, and starkest contrast. Except the contrast was somehow both stark and subtle in its movement from dark to light. And it was beautiful. Stunning, really. The glowing, globular flora was made more luminous after the storms, while wavering stalks of green appeared to be dotted with emeralds, though those tiny jewels were just droplets of rain, clinging to life before falling to the dirt below.

As Saoirse “Elle” Quinn wandered through the gnarled maze of tangled tree roots alongside the river, she almost forgot she held a tricorder in hand. She was collecting data of course, but the meandering walk caused Elle to become lost in thought, reminded as she was of walks she had taken as a child. When, as an independent little girl, she would always take the roundabout way through Harvard campus after a particularly heavy New England rainstorm. Ostensibly, she did this to delay her arrival at her mother’s office — Ma always made her wait anyway. But more than that, she did it simply to take in the sights. She'd walked the campus innumerable times of course, but after rainfall, "the sights" were cast in a new light and took on new life. The grass and the green were so unusually vivid that, like now, it didn’t quite feel real. And therein was the escape — landscape lit anew and subtly fantastical, so that young Elle could lose herself in other, more fanciful lives she’d envisioned — lives that still and finally felt real, because the rain had laid them plain for her to see while awake.

Even then she knew the scientific explanation for the phenomenon — her father wouldn’t have let Elle get away with relying only on flights of fancy, after all. Increased number of water molecules in the air, steeper angle of descent for light upon leaves, reflected light that was then diminished of its absorbable wavelengths — hence richer perception to the eye. Et cetera. That was fine for her father, but not enough for Elle. Not then, nor now. And so, she was glad to be here for such a post-rainfall windfall. Despite the oppressive humidity that now made her uniform cling uncomfortably, Elle was... enjoying? She didn't think simple survey duty could be ever so —

Suddenly she saw a flash in her periphery! By the edge of the river. By one of the still fully-functional turbines. Swathed in shadow, beneath overlapping arms of the jungle canopy, the bursts of electricity popped like balloons filled with fireflies. Elle almost laughed — even her mental images of mundane malfunctions had grown painfully poetic in the moment. Still, Elle only now realized she'd already come quite far from the center of the colony. With tricorder in hand, and phaser at her hip — she made sure of the latter just now, Elle spun in the direction of the flash, ready to “draw her pistol” like she’d seen in so many of Earth's old frontier-themed programs. What she saw surprised her.

Wavering like a willow, was a wisp of a child. A girl about the age Elle was in her recent reminiscing — running, along and alone through the thicket ahead, circling the perimeter of the sparking turbine.

“Hey! Hey, Kid! Get away from there. That could be dangerous!” Elle yelled, knowing full well she herself was about to run *toward* that same danger. And as Elle did, she half-wished she'd kept the other surveyors from the Away Team in line of sight. Too late now. Besides, she could take care of herself. That reed of a child probably thought he or she could too, as it continued its play at the machine, whose sparkling sputtering grew more frequent with each stride Elle took toward them.

“Listen up! Look out, that thing's on the fritz,” Elle shouted — but then, almost out of a nowhere, the root of a nearby tree was suddenly underfoot, while another knobby snare seemed to swing low from above just as quickly. Thankfully, Elle was agile, despite her gangly frame. She crouched mid-stride like a hurdler, and managed to clear the barriers of branches that were suddenly above and below.

She landed on surprising soft ground however, and started to sink! Nearly needing to take a knee, she glanced down to see that soil was swallowing her foot. After freeing her boot, she looked back up, shouting a warning to that child once again. “Hey Kid, you better...

But there was no one.

"... watch out.”

And with a final burst of sparks and crackle to the ear, the spinning turbine ground to a halt. And the willowy branches of the tree overhead righted themselves — after being bent low by the wind Elle only now noticed. Their leaves tickled the top of the now-inoperative machinery — as though teasing. Gently... or cruelly.

“Oh yeah, no. Good. This is good. Perfect even,” Elle sighed, arms akimbo as she looked around. The flora’s glow and flow seemed softer now. Like a timed nightlight dimming in the dark, after its Sandman’s duty was done. Elle drew her phaser and turned 360 degrees, scanning the surroundings with squinted, wary eyes, and with tricorder too.

Still there was no one.

“Hey Kid,” Elle said to herself. “You better watch out.”


OFF:

ON:
<<Torva IV Colony, Day 2, 1200>>

After being dropped off by the Xunantunich, Myka (PNPC) had made her way through the jungle to the outskirts of the settlement. It wouldn't normally have taken her quite as long to arrive at her target area, but she'd had the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. She'd used every strategy she could reasonably employ to lose whoever or whatever might have been following her, but something still made her feel uneasy. There were never any actual physical signs of anyone following her and the Bajoran certainly didn't see anything, but the feeling had persisted nonetheless.

Myka found a well worn path leading to the settlement and finally entered at a leisurely pace. It was lunchtime and everyone seemed to be bustling about - either heading home for a meal or off to find one, perhaps. From her research, she knew there were a few bakeries and eateries that had opened as well as a marketplace which had been expanding a fair bit...at least it had been until the storm season's damage.

Her best bet was probably to find a meal and eat slowly so she could listen to the other patrons, so she looked around casually, smiling politely at the other colonists. It wasn't a huge colony, per se, but it was at least big enough that a new person didn't particularly stand out. Moving smoothly through the crowd, Myka headed towards a cafe that looked fairly busy and found a small table to sit at. A few minutes later, a waitress arrived.

"Hello! I'm Brina(NPC); I apologize for the wait...it's been a little hectic. Is there something I can get you to drink while you look over the menu?" The petite brunette smiled at Myka as she gestured towards a menu already sitting on the table. "Oh, and the lunch special today is a half sandwich, a mug of vegetable soup, and a side salad."

Glancing down briefly at the menu, Myka looked back up and smiled, "Hello Brina. Actually, I think the lunch special will be just fine and perhaps just a glass of water to drink."

A startled and perhaps concerned look crossed Brina's face, "Um...we don't serve water. Not since...well. Anyway, perhaps I could get you some juice or milk?"

"Juice would be fine - whatever you recommend," Myka told her, feeling a bit confused. Offering an apologetic smile, she added, "I'm sorry, I don't know where my head is at...I suppose I'm still used to ordering water from before and just forgot for a moment."

"It happens from time to time," Brina nodded. "Okay, I'll put your order in and bring your drink."

Once Brina left, Myka frowned. Why wouldn't they serve water? There seemed to be plenty on the planet, plus the colony would have its own water system as well. The only things she could think of were that the planet's water had been contaminated by the storms or perhaps the colonists' belief in the elemental creatures had spooked them out of drinking it. Something to look into, anyway.

Brina returned fairly quickly with a coral colored beverage and sat it on the table in front of Myka. "Here you go, ma'am. Your food should be along shortly."

Myka didn't have a chance to respond before the waitress flitted away. She'd been hoping to perhaps get some more information out of her, but considering how busy it was that was unlikely. Settling back into her seat, she took a sip of her juice and listened more closely to the conversations around her, hoping that she might learn more.

OFF:

Lieutenant Turren Myka (PNPC)
Acting Chief Intelligence Officer
played by:

ON:
<<Torik's Office, Day 2, 1155 Hours>>

The officers from the Malinche followed Torik (NPC) up the flight of stairs to the second floor, where they found his office at the end of a long corridor. The office was quite large, more of a control center really, and had wide windows that overlooked the colony square. Torik had his desk against the far window, and the room was surrounded with various displays and control panels, each of which was manned by a staff member. They were working furiously to balance what little power remained for the critical systems of the colony. Despite the outside air being pulled in through what window panels were able to be opened, the room was quite stifling in the midday heat. A central console, much like the "pool table" found in Galaxy-class engineering bays, occupied the middle of the room. The officers gathered around the table as Torik keyed the console.

"As of right now, we are operating on 15% of normal power," Torik said, wiping his brow with his uniform sleeve. "Our staff is continually shunting power between the key systems, such as the auxiliary computer, the marketplace, and generator control. The main generator is offline, but a handful of our wind and water turbines are still operational. We have the dual problem of our main computer and generator being incapacitated at the same time. We must bring both of these online in order to effect any further repair of the colony."

Tournneau nodded as he took in the display along with Mr. Torik's assessment. "We scanned the colony on the way in - looks like the power distribution grid took a beating in the last storm cycle."

"That is correct, Commander; unfortunately it is difficult to replicate the required components with our current power levels. It is all we can do to keep the colonists fed. We have been able to repair only a few key power nodes - for instance, to keep the marketplace operational."

Derek Greyman (PNPC) had trailed behind the others into the office. By no means was he an engineer, but he'd heard Isabel talk about her work enough that he'd picked up more than others. Even if that hadn't been the case, anyone with some form of sense would realize that only having 15% of normal power was not sustainable. He frowned as he glanced at the display before them and listened. "What about any colony defensive systems, Lieutenant? Are they currently being powered or is the colony solely relying on security personnel?"

"We have enough power to activate our defensive shield should the need arise, but we would lose power to absolutely everything else - environmental controls, lighting, waste reclamation, even the hospital facility. However, with the main generator offline we are reliant on the wind and water. The planetary defense weapons cannot be operated in tandem with the shield at these power levels. I cannot guarantee the colony's safety should we be beset by some unknown foe."

Viradia (PNPC) spoke up. "Why is the marketplace essential for the colony? Shouldn't some of the power it's using be better served elsewhere?"

The young Vulcan engineer furrowed his brow in quiet frustration. He glanced furtively at his staff members; they all seemed to be working on their respective projects. "While I agree with your assessment, Lieutenant, the colony governor does not." Torik sighed as he pulled himself up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. "He - feels - that the residents need to have 'stability' and 'normalcy' to stay sane during these times. I believe that they need utilities and dry homes. But, I digress."

After a brief glance at his shipmates, Derek decided not to respond. From a strictly practical standpoint, he agreed that the basics were what the colonists needed. But there was a part of him that couldn't help but agree with the governor... When he had been freed from the Borg his basic needs were met - much like it seemed the colonists' were for the most part. What he had really needed was hope and encouragement; hope that he could still have a life after being with the Collective, despite how others sometimes treated him. Whether the marketplace was essential for giving them hope, he wasn't sure, but he at least understood the sentiment.

Tournneau looked at Viradia with his lips pulled tight in his best this-is-awkward-now-please-stop-talking face. "I see, Mr. Torik. Regardless, we'll start with your main generator. The auxiliary computer should be able to handle it and let us get the main computer online."

"That would be most appreciated, Command--" Torik was interrupted by a staff member at the near terminal.

"Sir, we've just lost Turbine Fourteen on the west river."

"Power is fluctuating in the marketplace - reading an overload building in some of the transformer circuits."

Torik shook his head. "Divert power from the marketplace - work on rerouting from the western residential district." He massaged his left temple with two fingers. "As you can see, Commander, the situation is deteriorating quickly."

Frowning, the former Borg looked over at the Malinche's Chief Engineer. At this point, it sounded more like the colony was falling apart. Not only did it not sound like they were stable, but they were losing even more equipment. What exactly was going on? Derek couldn't help but feel that he should be out seeing what was happening in the colony. Perhaps assisting colony Security. But his orders were to remain with the his fellow crewmates.

=A= "Engineering? This is Governor Savin... What's our status? One of the StarFleet officers apparently wandered off and informed us a turbine is no longer operational?"=A=

"Torik here, sir. Yes, we are aware of the situation....Turbine Fourteen is non-functional. We are working to contain a power surge in the marketplace, please stand by." Torik keyed the comm off. "Mister Nidra (NPC), I need that surge contained now!" He turned to the Malinche's officers. "We would be grateful for any assistance you could provide, Commander."

Tournneau nodded as he stood from leaning on the table. "Of course - I'll head down to the marketplace with my team and see what we can do to help re-route the grid. Mister Greyman, you're with me. Miss Beladd, stay here with the Lieutenant to coordinate with our people."

"Of course, sir," Derek replied with a slight nod. He had to admit he was relieved to have a task more suited to him. The whole reason he was with them was to help provide security, and getting a closer look at what was happening and the colonists would be useful.

Torik regarded Viradia with an arched eyebrow. "Very well, Commander, if you believe it is necessary. I hope you are...handy, is it?...with a hydrospanner, Miss Beladd." The Vulcan officer bowed slightly towards Tournneau before he rushed over to one of his officer's control panels. Once Torik was thoroughly occupied, Tourrneau sidestepped closer to Viradia and spoke into her ear while trying to look around the room disinterestedly.

"Hey V, keep an eye on him will you? Something is...not right here."

"Understood." Viradia nodded once and stepped behind Torik to see over his shoulder better.

Tournneau turned to the security officer. "All right, Derek - let's get down there." They strode out of the command center and back to the entrance of the building. "You notice anything unusual so far? Anything to worry about?"

Hearing Torik's comment, Derek groaned inwardly. As his crewmate came closer though, he raised an eyebrow and considered the engineer's words. "Well Commander, I realize their Chief Engineer is a Vulcan, but he and the others don't seem quite as concerned or proactive as I would expect...though perhaps that's because they've grown used to these issues and know they can't fix them alone? Or perhaps they have something else on their mind and sorting out these issues is a welcome distraction... Either way, do you think the Lieutenant is safe enough here on her own with them or should we find another Security Officer to join her?"

"Don't worry, Greyman," Tournneau replied as they strode down the office corridor. "She can handle herself. If nothing else, she can probably outrun everyone in that room given that she's a blue giraffe," he added, chuckling to himself.

As they made their way down the stairway, the sound of commotion became more and more noticeable outside. A high pitched whine of overloaded circuitry could also be heard in the distance, and its pitch and tenor were rising. Tournneau looked back to Greyman and jerked his head towards the exit as he began running down the final few stairs. "Sounds like it could go, double-time!"

OFF

A joint post by:

Lieutenant Derek Greyman
Security Officer
USS Malinche-A
PNPC of Kersare

Lieutenant Torik
Chief Engineering Officer
Starfleet 32nd Engineering Corps, Torvan Detachment
NPC played by Tournneau

Lieutenant Viradia Beladd
Asst. Chief Engineering Officer
USS Malinche-A
PNPC of Tournneau

Petty Officer (1st Cl.) Gavin Nidra
EPS Relay Specialist
Starfleet 32nd Engineering Corps, Torvan Detachment
NPC played by Tournneau

and

ON:
<<Colony Medical Facility, Day 2, 1150 hours>>

Kala (NPC) led the two StarFleet officers to the colony's medical facility. It wasn't a particularly long walk before they were standing in front of the building. "Here we are," she said with a smile as she looked back at Awen and Toren once they were inside. "Our doctor should be here; it's their regular shift. Let me see..."

As the Lieutenant Governor looked for the doctor, Awen (PNPC) stayed back a bit to take in the scene. It was a decently sized facility and it was fairly busy. Likely some of the patients were there for normal visits, but based on some of the other injuries, it looked like some of them had perhaps been injured while doing repair work. The medical facility seemed to be organized and well run from what the Bajoran had seen thus far.

Toren (PNPC) surveyed the hospital's foyer. Several patients were waiting to be seen with minor injuries; contusions, small lacerations; the usual run of little emergencies that visited a medical facility. However, there were some patients that seemed to be suffering from broken arms and legs...a few too many for the relatively small population of the colony. The medical staff were busy and to Toren, seemed efficient but looked a bit disheveled. The hospital had environmental controls, but lighting was at a minimum which meant that any other creature comforts were likely curtailed.

As another patient with a similar injury was carried past the two Starfleet officers — from the looks of her posture it might have been a badly dislocated shoulder or back injury — a small group of medical staff entered through the double-doors at the far end of the foyer. And the sight was strange. Were Saoirse Quinn here — ever the songwriter and lyricist, despite her trouble with casual conversation — she might have described the group as its own planetary system, a large orb encircled by bustling moons, rotating as slowly as its satellites moved with haste. But then, that "orb" *did* turn fully toward them at last. And Awen and Toren saw the beaked face of Doctor D'selaro M'olas (NPC).

A rotund reptilian Rigellian over two meters tall, M'olas must have hailed from the caste of Chelon nobility of Rigel III. M’olas’ height and still-elaborate — though tarnished — artificial carapace indicated as much. People who had passing familiarity with this non-binary-gendered species knew that Rigellian Chelarian culture was still outwardly feudal. Physically towering lords were served and waited upon by a (relatively) diminutive servant class. Those who had really done their homework however, knew the attendants were the ones who held real power, and that *they* (surprisingly) controlled the lives of their people's egg-laying nobility.

And so, it was unusual to see a Rigellian lord serving others. But that much had been in M'olas' file. The doctor had wanted to actively contribute to the greater good — to “help by healing” and “protect the future, protect others' eggs as the attendants' did mine" M’olas was quoted as saying on more than one occasion. But with the coterie of nurses flitting about in the Rigellian’s orbit, perhaps M'olas hadn't *quite* fully left that old life behind in favor of the frontier. Still, they were said to be a gifted diagnostician. But beyond that assessment, M’olas’ file contained little else. Soon it became clear as to why: it took twice as long to get this Rigellian to say half as much.

M'olas looked up from their PADD...

Then at Toren...

Then at Awen...

Then back at their PADD...

Before *finally* speaking... a single word. "Yes?"

Awen glanced at Kala briefly before meeting Toren's eyes and raising an eyebrow with pursed lips. Turning her attention to the Rigellian, the Bajoran stepped forward slightly. "Hello Doctor," she began, realizing she didn't know their name. "I am Commander Fala, Chief Security/Tactical Officer for the USS Malinche which has come to help the colony. This is Doctor Toren, our Assistant Chief Medical Officer. Once the main computer is back online, we can assist further with the equipment, but for now we're here to observe or help as needed."

"Indeed," Toren intoned, "Your reputation is well known, Doctor. We are ready to assist you inasmuch as we are able."

The Rigellian turned their head curiously. For a moment, M'olas' head appeared on the verge of sinking back into the artificial carapace. Then the Doctor answered. Once again with a single word, "Ah."

"If you have a pair of hands you can help me stabilize this patient!" Doctor Stonne (NPC) called out over the myriad of voices. As he tried to keep his patient from going into shock. The patient had massive blunt trauma to their left side. Both the left arm and leg looked as if they had been crushed. "I need two liters of O-negative now! "

Suddenly, the coterie of nurses in M'olas' orbit sprung into action at Doctor Stonne's call, each meeting M'olas' gaze before going, and each receiving a nod of acknowledgement in turn. As the Doctor's group went to assist Stonne, M'olas turned their attention back to the Starfleet newcomers and took a long, deep breath.

"Thank you," M'olas said slowly, "for coming."

"Please," M'olas continued, beginning a slow wide turn, like the Earthern tractor-trailers of yore. "Follow me."

The Rigellian doctor raised a hand indicating everyone follow them to their office — something not difficult to do, given his trundling pace. "My team is good. We work hard, but..."

M'olas paused, then turned again, looking over a shelled-shoulder at Starfleet's new arrivals. And this time, it became clear that in the Rigellian's deliberate manner and movement, there was a certain sadness too. And a sincerity. Here was a heartfelt physician at a loss. "Still there is trouble. And we know not what to do...."

Toren peered up at the awkward being as they walked to its office. "I have seen an unusual frequency of severe injury in the colonists in this hospital. What are these patients engaged in that is so perilous? Perhaps we should limit colonists' activities until this facility is fully operational."

M'olas say nothing in response. The Rigellian leaned forward and for a moment, it looked as though the doctor was about to fall over. Instead, this was how M'olas "sprung into action" — so to speak. Once the group had reached the new patient, M'olas seemed to move faster somehow, though their physical movements retained the same torpid speed. But because the Rigellian correctly anticipated each and every medical act that would be required of them, the doctor's steady hand was already taking urgent action at the patient's next area of need before that need even registered for anyone else.

And so, with only a few deft and surprisingly agile moves from M'olas and steady work from Stonne, the patient's vital signs steadied. The Rigellian sighed. Only then did they answer Toren. "Perhaps you are right," M'olas said wearily.

Stonne approached once the patient was stabilized. "Whatever you think is going on, know that this hospital and it's staff are at capacity just trying to keep ahead of it. Our supplies are low and our doctors are overworked attending to the patients coming in. At the very least a fresh pair of eyes and hands would certainly not hurt."

Kala frowned slightly as she heard the Vulcan's assessment. The governor wouldn't be pleased at the idea of limiting anyone's activities; he'd wanted to ensure the Marketplace remained open, after all. She knew their doctors were doing their best. At the same time, she couldn't really disagree with Toren's observation about the higher than usual severe injuries which was certainly troubling. "I'll speak with the Governor about limiting non-essential personnel's movements while repairs are underway."

Toren raised an eyebrow towards Dr. Stonne. He was clearly exhausted; humans often displayed strong, chaotic emotions when pressed beyond their natural limits. The misplaced ire towards the newcomers was irrational, but not unexpected. "Whatever is transpiring is irrelevant insofar as this facility is concerned, Doctor." Toren did his best to approximate an empathetic facial expression. "I do not doubt that you are doing as well as anyone else, given the current situation. We are here to assist you in bringing this facility back to full operational capacity. While we will, of course, aid you and your patients in an emergency, the logical course of action would be for us to focus our attentions on repairing your primary systems as quickly as possible so that the full capabilities of this hospital can once again be at yours, and ultimately your patients', disposal."

As she listened to the others, Awen's eyes moved slowly around the room at the various patients and their injuries. "Doctors...I would like to speak with any of the patients willing to talk to me. Perhaps I can find a common link or links between them that would help us narrow down what, if anything, is going on out of the ordinary. If there are other patients recently that fit the parameters, I would also like to see any relevant details - I would just be looking for type of injury, when it occurred, where, and how. Would that be possible?"

Doctor Stonne considered the request for a moment before replying. "I'll have one of the nurses provide you with the triage and intake reports. As for talking to the patients, I see no reason that would be a problem so long as you don't disrupt operations; such as they are. If you have time there may be a few patients willing to talk in room 304."

OFF:

This Joint Post brought to you by:

Doctor D'selaro M'olas (NPC)
Torva IV Colony Doctor
NPC played by Quinn

and

Doctor Aaron Stonne (NPC)
Torva IV Colony Doctor
NPC played by Korath

and

Lieutenant JG Toren (PNPC)
Acting Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
Played by Tournneau

and

Kala Eteke (NPC)
Torva IV Colony Lieutenant Governor
NPC played by Kersare

and

Lieutenant Commander Fala Awen (PNPC)
Chief Security/Tactical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
played by:

ON:
<< Colony Surface | 1155 Hours >>

Dirth (NPC) let the Klingon pass, with a slight but slow and purposeful nod. Always the model of politesse. As Korath strode past the human, Dirth did not turn to follow — not right away, at least. Instead he kept his eyes fixed… upon the murky darkness into which Korath had gazed and growled, the same dark corridor between buildings that Korath had greeted with gritted teeth — but only for a moment.

Leading with his chin and chest, Dirth turned on a heel and quickly caught up with the rest of the group. Soon he was only a few paces behind the Klingon, while keeping everyone in full view.

Brenal Savin (NPC) glanced over his shoulder, then turned as he noticed Colin and Korath falling behind. Luka Volkov was in between, but also paused after seeing the Governor do so. The El-Aurian waited for them to catch up, then asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Of course," Dirth said, with a surprising lilt to his voice. His pace quickened slightly so that he was side-by-side with the Klingon in only two or three more strides. "It's just that, for a moment, it appeared as though the Commander was feeling..." Dirth cleared his throat, "unwell."

He pursed his lips and let his eyes flit over to Korath, before meeting Brenal's. "By now I'm sure the crew of the Malinche is aware of certain — hmm, how best to put it... tall tales." Dirth gestured matter-of-factly at the dangling vines, mottled as they were with luminescent floral buds, "Torva IV is a lovely place, but its beauty belies toil. These past weeks have been difficult, and our people are under duress. Some in the colony have let the ardor of their tasks and the failings of equipment get the better of them. They've let their imaginations run wild — I hope that these fabrications haven't already *and unduly* colored Starfleet's view of us."

Looking over at his aide, Brenal frowned slightly and nodded. "I agree, Colin. I'm sure these officers have seen their fair share of difficult situations and faced pressure before. Not everyone is an officer, though. Some here are, of course, but many are your average citizen. It does take a special sort to be a colonist, but even the most brave can let things get to them at times."

Dirth fixed his eyes on the Klingon, then allowed them to drift away, before continuing. "Commander, I had hoped that a *formidable* individual like yourself might serve as an example for how steadfast our people must remain in trying times. But if something is wrong, I..."

The Klingon didn't know if the man was extremely brazen or equally as foolish. "Anyone can rise to a challenge. One must only possess the will to do so." The words were as much autonomic as they were intended to ease tension; both for the colonists and himself. "That is why Starfleet is here."

Dirth paused for a long moment, before gazing back off into the jungle canopy. The look took on the appearance of worry. "Of course. I meant no offense, of course. You and the Malinche are doing the colonists a great service in a time of great need."

"This will be a true test indeed," Dirth continued, although what he was referring to, wasn't quite clear. Then the prim human turned to look Korath in the eye. "And we will most certainly rise to the challenge."

Korath raised his chin slightly in approval. "Well spoken."

~~~

<Governor's Office, 10 minutes later>

"Please, come in, Commander and welcome to my office. Do have a seat," Brenal said, gesturing towards one of the chairs with a welcoming smile. He waited until Korath, Colin, and Luka were settled into the room before taking a seat behind his desk. The office — done in a grey and green color scheme — wasn't grand by any means, but was fitting of a colony governor. His desk was near one of the large windows that overlooked the colony. Two chairs were situated in front of it and there was another seating area as well. A few potted plants were on display as well as some artwork. "Where would you like to start, Commander?"

Suddenly Quinn's voice came through the comms, her concern audible. =/\= “Ummmm… so! Bad news. That turbine near the western-most bend of the river isn’t anymore — isn’t *operational* anymore, I mean. It just went bye-bye and uh… so did someone... maybe?” =/\=

The Klingon tapped his comm, keeping his voice low and clear. "Clarify, define how a turbine went 'bye-bye' or how a colonist could 'maybe' do the same."

=/\= "I… I don't exactly know, Commander. I saw a child in the jungle, while I was collecting data along the river. A little girl running... or, uh, dancing maybe? Around the outermost turbine relative to colony-center. I saw the turbine was malfunctioning, so I called out to her. That's when things went... weird. All of a sudden, the... uh, terrain got more difficult to manage, and I took my eyes off of her for a second. When I looked back, she was gone. Turbine gave out right after. I thought maybe the Malinche had beamed her up at first, but my scans show no residual ionization in the air. And there are no fingerprints or other traces of DNA — no sign of any recent human contact with the turbine itself either. But... I know what I saw, sir." =/\=

Brenal glanced over at his aide and Security Chief. The El-Aurian remained fairly calm as he listened to the StarFleet officers speak. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, so he wasn't particularly surprised. Closing his eyes briefly, he slid his finger across the display on his desk, beginning a communication with colony engineering. "Engineering? This is Governor Savin... What's our status? One of the StarFleet officers apparently wandered off and informed us a turbine is no longer operational?"

Dirth said nothing. His face betrayed no surprise, nor even curiosity at the overheard communique. In fact, he'd been looking out the window almost absent-mindedly, and it was only when the El-Aurian contacted engineering that he turned to face the rest of the group, folding his hands calmly upon the table.

<Engineering Office>

"Torik (NPC) here, sir. Yes, we are aware of the situation....Turbine Fourteen is non-functional. We are working to contain a power surge in the marketplace, please stand by."

<Governor's Office>

"Understood, thank you Lieutenant," Brenal replied as he closed the channel. Knowing the Vulcan, he would be in touch once there was something to report. Turning back to the group, he said, "I'm sure they'll have it sorted out soon — especially with the help of your engineers. It seems you arrived at an opportune time for us. Between our personnel and yours, we should be able to get everything up and running in a reasonable time...certainly much sooner than we would have managed ourselves."

Korath took in the words as well as the odd report from Quinn. She might be prone to excitable outbursts, but she was not one to embellish. He still was not sure what to make of the report, but he was sure that it was imperative that they solve this mystery quickly. "Who has access to the turbines? I imagine that area would be a restricted area; am I correct?"

Dirth waited a moment, his eyes flitting to Brenal then to the Security Chief, before answering, "Yes, Commander Korath, the area is off limits to all but maintenance or perimeter patrol personnel. Certainly no children are allowed access. But…."

Dirth steepled his fingers in thought, then spread both palms out. The gesture had conciliatory trappings, but also appeared to pantomime... an explosion.

"Perhaps the child's parents were negligent. Or perhaps they simply let their guard down at an inopportune time. As you know, our people have not quite *been themselves*," Dirth continued, smiling thinly now. Though Dirth was looking in Korath's direction, he seemed to be looking *past* the Klingon. Dirth appeared to address address not only the others in the room, but the room and the air itself. Or rather, his surroundings in general.

"That is why *you* are here now, no? To help us... *resolve* these issues. To make sure that this world and our colonists achieve an... understanding, let's say? An equilibrium. Have you not come to see to it that the colony makes proper peace with this world and our role on it."

Korath's eyes were locked on Dirth. "It is Starfleet's intent to assist you are correct, however it is also our job to investigate situations like this. We will *attempt* to make it as unobtrusive as possible."

OFF:


A joint post by:

Colin Dirth
Colony Governor's Aide
NPC played by Quinn

Lieutenant Commander Korath
Executive Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A

Brenal Savin
Colony Governor/Administrator
NPC played by Kersare

Lieutenant Torik
Chief Engineering Officer
Starfleet 32nd Engineering Corps, Torvan Detachment
NPC played by Tournneau

and

ON:

<< En route to Starbase 122 -- Day 2, 0800 >>

Oisín Ocasta awoke to darkness. Not the soft, liquid darkness of night, that draped across and molded around the shapes of your surroundings, yielding to the faint flickers and glows of whatever light cast stray photons around the space; but the harsh, hard, impenetrable dark of blindness, the world around you void and absent.

It could have been terrifying, and for a long time it had been, but the sensation had become familiar now: not the kind of familiar that offered comfort, more the kind that you eventually learned to resign yourself to. It was a quirk of the ocular implants that allowed him to see at all: so sensitive were they to such a broad spectrum of light that Oisín’s mere mortal eyelids could not adequately block their vision, the darkness of closed eyes instead transformed into dappled shade between the tree-like branches of the blood vessels woven through his skin.

And so, he turned them off: a simple conscious thought at the cybernetics that governed the functioning of these implants as well as his myriad others. An equally simple thought turned them back on, and as they blinked into functioning once more, the world around him slowly came into view, mechanical structures in his artificial irises shifting and rotating as they brought his surroundings into focus.

He knew where he was, of course: the Shuttlecraft Ortegas, graciously loaned to him by Starbase 38 on behalf of the Department of Humanoid Resources to facilitate his reassignment from the Callisto to the Malinche. Specifically, Oisín woke in the aft section of the Type 9 shuttle, backside perched on one of the flip down passenger seats, boots propped up upon the other across the aisle. Not the most comfortable of positions to have slept in — something his shoulders in particular were keen to draw attention to — and not the most comfortable of vehicles to complete this particular journey in, either. A commissioned officer might have been afforded the spacious luxury of a Type 11; or at the very least something like a Type 8, something with enough passenger space to lie down for a proper nap. But a commissioned officer he was not, and a Type 9 was as much as Starbase 38 Operations had been willing to spare.

Oisín didn’t mind. He liked the Type 9. They’d been new to Starfleet around the same time as he was, and as a Crewman Apprentice working shuttle support on the Starfleet Academy Flight Range, he’d had the opportunity to get up close and personal while they’d still had that new shuttle smell. The Type 9 had caused quite the stir, setting aside the boxy aesthetics of the previous shuttle generation in favour of something that actually looked capable of flying. True, that sleek exterior came at the cost of internal space, but what harm was there in having to stoop a little, or take the occasional uncomfortable nap, if you got to do it inside a shuttlecraft that looked as if it deserved flames painted along the sides?

Of course, the Type 9 was no longer new — twenty-five years old by now, or thereabouts. This specific Type 9 wasn’t that vintage, of course, and it was a testament to her designers that Starfleet still fabricated Class 2s like this to this day; but while the compact little shuttle was still invaluable on Starfleet’s frontier explorers and patrol ships, there was little need to worry about efficient use of shuttlebay space at a facility as cavernous as Starbase 38. There, Starfleet’s sleek little hot rod was relegated to the most auxiliary of auxiliary status: too small to be of much use hauling cargo, too uncomfortable to be of much use hauling people, and too sophisticated for situations when a mere shuttlepod would do.

The perfect mediocre option, then, to ferry a non-commissioned officer to their next destination.

Oisín pulled his thoughts away from the Ortegas, and turned them to the reason he had awoken. Much like his eyes, the Vulcan-designed implants that restored his hearing were too sensitive — or at least, too sensitive by human standards, at least — and needed to be disabled or at least dialed down in order to shut out enough ambient noise to sleep. The implants themselves were never disabled, but the pathways connecting the technology to his brain could be rerouted; Oisín had negotiated with his cybernetics via his subconscious, training the technology to respond to certain sounds and stimuli. His name. Sounds of distress. The chime of a door. The siren of red alert.

The chirp of an incoming transmission on a standard LCARS interface.

Oisín let his boots drop to the floor, and heaved himself up onto his feet, half-clambering his way into the shuttle’s forward section, hair brushing against the ceiling above him as he navigated his way to the navigator’s seat.

“The lumberjack awakens,” commented the woman in the pilot’s seat. Starbase 38 might have been gracious enough to make a shuttle available for his journey to Starbase 122, but Starfleet was not in the habit of letting non-commissioned officers fly around the galaxy unsupervised. Fortunately for Oisín, one of the Starbase’s shuttle pilots — Warrant Officer Alexandria Mendez (PNPC) — had kindly volunteered to fly him to 122, and then fly the shuttle home afterwards.

Perhaps kind was the wrong adjective. “I don’t snore,” he shot back defensively, catching himself before he ended the sentiment with Lex. He and the Type 9 weren’t the only Starfleet relics pushing twenty-five years on this little voyage: Mendez had been at the Starfleet Technical Services Academy at the same time as he was, the two of them had gone through Basic together, and been Apprentices on the same rotation for much of their early careers. Their paths had diverged over the two decades since, however, and while Oisín had reached the heady heights of Senior Chief, Mendez had defected and become a Warrant Officer.

It wasn’t hard to see why. One look at her, and you could tell that Lexie was born for this, and not just because her petite physique was the perfect fit for something as cozy as the Type 9. She was a good, competent pilot, but more importantly she was a happy pilot. Content. Comfortable. She sat in the pilot’s seat with complete certainty that it was where she belonged. It would have warmed his heart, if his heart were still real, and not constructed from a polysynthetic alloy.

“True,” Mendez conceded, eyes looking Oisín up and down as he settled into the right-hand seat. “But there were some cute little grunts and whimpers going on back there.” Her expression softened ever so slightly. “Bad dream?”

Oisín huffed out a breath, the absent ghost of a laugh. “Just the usual,” he offered off-hand, pretending that his attention was needed by the console before and beside him. There wasn’t any need to specify what the usual might be: he and Lexie had parted ways years before his accident, but you didn’t need to be a therapist to recognise that Oisín was a changed man, no matter how talented his reconstructive surgeons had been. Some scars persisted, and no amount of healing would succeed in making them fade.

“I heard an incoming transmission?”

He presented it as a question, but it was a statement of fact: burdensome as his implants could be, they didn’t make mistakes, and neither did the former communications specialist on the receiving side of them.

“Just a flash update from 122. Looks like a fresh comms officer just started their shift, and fired out a routine bulletin for all of today’s scheduled arrivals.”

Oisín was already ahead of her, the time it had taken her to respond having been spent scrolling through the bulletin that she had described. Much of it was automated, the kind of sensor logs and course telemetry that Starfleet broadcast across the subspace network at regular intervals: course corrections, flare activity, irregular variations in the CMB; useless, trivial information ninety-nine times out of a hundred, but an invaluable piece of a diagnostic or investigative puzzle in that remaining one. Years of practice helped Oisín’s eyes glide over the data presented, his attention tuned to process only that which he recognised as relevant. His eyes came to a halt on one particular data point.

“Huh.”

Mendez glanced over in his direction. “Good huh, or bad huh?”

Oisín’s brow furrowed. “Just ‘huh’.” He settled back in his seat, a hand rising to scrub at the stubble on his jaw. “Looks like the Malinche was diverted yesterday. No details on why, but their ETA at the Starbase has been set to pending.”

Mendez quirked an eyebrow, a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, her demeanor shifting to that of someone about to be on the receiving end of juicy gossip. “Does it say where to?”

“Just a moment,” Oisín replied, already firing off a query through the shuttle’s subspace transceiver to the nearest relay station. A handful of seconds passed before Starfleet’s comm network responded with the Malinche’s most recent positional data. “Looks like somewhere called Torva IV. Federation colony, and a pretty new one at that. The comm net says they broadcast a request for technical assistance a little over a day ago; I guess the Malinche is responding.”

“So your new starship is gonna be late for your first date?” Mendez sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Not a great way to start a relationship, Cas. If she doesn’t show up with chocolates and flowers —” She massaged her knuckles for emphasis. “— I might have to say a few words.”

Oisín’s mouth tugged into a smile at the comment, but his lungs never produced a laugh to join it, and his eyes never got around to taking part. For the last few years aboard the Callisto, he’d been a Master-at-Arms. He’d grown accustomed to being in the thick of things, the point of the spear whenever danger was in store. Granted, a routine diversion for colonial repairs was hardly the epitome of potential peril, but it came as a reminder of the impending shift in his fortunes. He was to report aboard the Malinche as Boatswain: Operations, not Security or Tactical. Closer to his roots, yes — closer to the technical aspects that had drawn him to Starfleet in the first place, and an almost full circle back to the Boatswain’s Mate assignment that had been his first as a full-fledged Crewman — but more hands off, more supervisor than instigator. He had wanted that, he’d made this choice with his vision enabled, but the idea of finding himself benched from participation in whatever the Malinche was now up to, before he’d even had the opportunity to join the crew, wasn’t something he’d been braced for.

While she might not have understood the specifics, Mendez managed to infer enough from Oisín’s silence to connect a few dots. “Torva IV is only four hours away,” she suggested casually. “Your orders are to report to the USS Malinche. Technically, it doesn’t specify where the Malinche has to be when you do that.”

Conflict twisted in Oisín’s gut, the clash between adherence to duty and the opportunity to quiet the thoughts rumbling away in his head. Mendez was technically correct, and technically correct was the comfort zone within which most of Starfleet operated. One of their instructors at Technical Services had introduced them to the difference between things done by the book, and beside the book. Improvisation, interpretation, instincts, jury rigged systems, carefully bent regulations: that spark of rebellious creativity was what helped Starfleet to thrive, from the lowliest aspiring Crewman to the most decorated veteran Captain. But it had to be justified. It had to work. It was a gamble, all reliant on the premise that the deviation would be the lesser evil compared to the consequences of not succeeding. Uncomfortable as Oisín was, this wasn’t an emergency, and assuaging his own discomfort was not justification enough.

“Your instructions were to deliver me to Starbase 122. You’d be deviating from your orders. I can’t ask you to do that, sir.”

Oisín hoped his tone, and the sir, would convey everything he needed to. Thanks, but no thanks. It was a message that Mendez was not interested in receiving, however.

“You’re right, you can’t.” A mischievous smile tugged at her lips as she threw a lingering glance in Oisín’s direction. “You also can’t tell me not to.”

Her hands went to work, punching in instructions on the LCARS display in front of her: first a transmission to Starbase 122 informing them of their intent to change course, and then the commands to adjust the shuttle’s warp trajectory, and divert the Ortegas onto a new course.

“My instructions are to deliver you to your next assignment, and return to Starbase 38 with this shuttle. You let me worry about how much wiggle room that gives me. And I thought I told you to drop the sir. You know me, Cas. I’ve seen you in swimwear. How many more times do I have to say it?”

“At least twice more,” Oisín replied, allowing himself a small genuine smile to accompany it. “This time, and next time.”

Mendez shot him a look. “Oh, suddenly Ocasta has quips? That’s cute. I like that. I’m stealing that.”

“Typical dot behaviour,” Oisín fired back, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I assume you’ll be taking credit for it, too?”

“You’re damn right,” she agreed, her own smile broadening into a grin. “Warrant Officer’s prerogative. Enlisted does the work, we take the credit. It’s the way of the world, Chief. I thought you’d be used to it by now.”

“I usually try to maintain an air of protective mediocrity,” Oisín played along, offering Mendez a shrug. “People tend not to steal your thunder if there is no thunder to steal.”

A triple note of laughter escaped from Mendez, and then a sigh. “It could be worse,” she offered, waiting for Oisín to glance in her direction before she continued. “At least neither of us are commissioned.”


<< Orbit, Torva IV -- Day 2, 1200 >>

Beyond the transparent aluminum canopy of the Ortegas, the visual spectacle of distorted spacetime snapped back into the familiar view of stars, as the shuttle gently freed itself from its warp field and returned to the realm of conventional physics. Oisín’s eyebrows climbed in mild surprise as he regarded the telemetry on the console beside him, the ship’s internal chronometer ticking its way over to the new minute.

“Four hours, almost down to the minute,” he observed, letting the appreciation seep into his voice. “Not bad.”

Mendez shrugged, basking in the small dose of praise all the same. “I’m a pilot, not an engineer. We don’t have to exaggerate our estimates to make ourselves look good, it just happens naturally.”

Yet another silent grin formed on Oisín’s face, each one arriving a little easier than the one before. The last six hours had given him plenty of practice. Oisín had known many people over the course of his career. With most, they had simply just grown apart: friendly if their paths had ever crossed again, but always forgotten but familiar, nothing persistent. Oisín liked it that way; or at least, he’d convinced himself that he did. Keeping people at a distance was easier. The closer people got, the more they knew you, the more they saw you, and the more clearly they could see the cracks and the defects up close. Better to be remembered fondly and favourably than known intimately: better for them, and better for him.

But Mendez made that impossible. She’d settled into familiar rhythms almost instantly, and Oisín had — grudgingly at first — allowed himself to settle in beside her. It was nice, while it had lasted: a pleasant rest and reprieve, an opportunity to escape from the way people usually perceived him. There was no escaping the accident, no escaping the damage and the repairs. Everyone he’d known since the Dominion War knew him as the Petty Officer with super-vision, the NCO you couldn’t whisper around because he might hear. Many regarded his implants with awe, upgrades compared to natural senses that they envied. No one understood the fact that every time Mendez spoke, he had to concentrate past the background rumble of the shuttle’s engines, or the hum of its internal circuitry. No one understood the fact that every time he looked at her, he had to rely on his memory to know what she really looked like. They learned about his implants and thought they made him more; no one understood the ways in which they actually made him less: less human, less natural, less himself.

Mendez didn’t do that. She didn’t think of him as the man the Dominion had blown apart, and the Federation had stitched back together. She thought of him as the idiot who’d locked himself out of his quarters on Mimas. She remembered the Recruit who’d got too cocky on the assault course, and slipped from his perch, breaking his arm on the way down. She thought of him as the friend she’d comforted on the anniversaries of Wolf 359, and the one she’d messaged from half a quadrant away the instant she’d learned he’d been at Sector 001.

She’d reached out to him after his accident, too, but between the Dominion War and his recovery he’d left those messages go unanswered, and by the time he had found his way back to himself — as much of himself that remained, at least — the distance had seemed too vast, and too insurmountable. He’d been wrong. He knew it then, he knew it especially now. But pushing people away had become more than just a strategy, more than just a defense. It was reflex. It was part of his base code. Beneath the smiles and laughter, a stubborn knot of regret had formed, and now that they were here — now that the Malinche was within reach — he suddenly realised how imminently it was about to end.

He thought about saying something. Twisting Mendez’ last words into a more sincere compliment. But why ruin it? Why spoil a good thing? Better to be remembered, fondly and favourably, than risk the consequences of being himself.

Oisín waited too long; the moment passed, and Mendez spoke again. “Picking up the Malinche’s transponder. Standard orbit. Adjusting course.”

Her voice had taken a step towards professional, and so Ocasta encouraged himself to do the same, turning his attention to the shuttle’s communications array.

“This is Federation shuttlecraft Ortegas, broadcasting in the clear Torva IV and the USS Malinche. We have arrived in-system, and are requesting permission to approach to a standard orbit.”


OFF:

Warrant Officer Alexandria Mendez (PNPC)
Shuttle/Runabout Pilot
Starbase 38

and

ON:

<<Torva IV Colony, En Route to Marketplace, Day 2, 1205>>

Tournneau and Greyman (PNPC) ran out of the administration office, brushing into multiple colonists who were running into the building on the way out of the door. The two Dereks ran down the pathway leading from the central complex down to the colony square. Numerous colonists were scattering in every direction, some calmly and others clearly in a panic.

Staying close to the Chief Engineer, Derek's eyes scanned the people as they moved by, looking for anything out of place. Of course, it already seemed a bit odd that some were unusually calm - something of this nature usually inspired people to hysterics which also typically spread to anyone else in the area. The fact that there were colonists nonchalantly going about their business signaled to him that either this was not an unusual or unexpected situation, which nagged at the Security Officer. Even though the calm people weren't rushing away, it was difficult to hone in on what they might have in common.

A middle aged woman, perhaps sixty, grabbed Tournneau by the lapels of his chief's jacket as he passed her, pulling him around to face her. "It's back! You have to leave!" She ran off down the path, leaving Tourrneau with a new level of perplexion.

The two officers continued down the path and around the corner of a storefront that led them to the square. The sound of strained plasma relays was very clearly coming from the opposite corner of the marketplace. The relays were doing their best to contain the spike caused by the failed turbine's final attempt to create energy, but since the colony was continuing to send most of its power reserve to this location it was akin to pouring water into an already overflowing glass.

As he began pondering what the woman had meant by 'It's back', Derek suddenly stopped short as they came to the source and looked up, taking it all in. He was not an expert in these types of equipment issues, really, but he knew enough to recognize that the situation was dangerous. Some of the crowd was still too close and by the looks of things, whatever Tournneau was going to do, he'd need to do it quickly.

"Tournneau to Toren, you've got to get the power shut off to the market as soon as you can manage!"

While the engineer waited for Toren's reply, Derek turned to him, "What do you need me to do, sir? At the very least I'd like to get this crowd moved back, but if there's something more urgent you need from me..."

"Yes, Lieutenant - get with some of those colony personnel," he said nodding towards a few uniformed staff that came into the square from the opposite direction, "and try and get the civvies out of here. Especially these ones - " he was jostled by bumping into another colonist that seemed either dazed or wholly unconcerned by the turn of events. "These...guys that are just standing around, they're in the way at best." Tournneau frowned at the scene unfolding in front of him. "Something is really screwy here, Derek - watch yourself."

The Security Officer nodded, "Will do, sir." As the staff approached, Derek waved them over to the side to give them instructions. "Alright everyone, we need to get the civilians out of the area. It's too dangerous while the engineers work on fixing it. Some of them seem to be walking around a bit dazed; you may need to physically help them out of the way."

=A= "Toren here, Commander - we have diverted the power away from the market square, but there is still a buildup from the initial surge trapped in an EPS overflow buffer. It is in the building with a cafe in front of it - can you localize it?"

"Yes, I'd gathered that!" Tournneau exclaimed as he worked his way through another knot of insouciant colonists. Damned Vulcan pedantry...and what the hell is wrong with these people? "People, STAND CLEAR, MOVE PLEASE!" Tournneau bellowed at the civilians. The colonists turned and looked blankly at him for a moment, then turned back towards the source of the surge. He only saw them for a moment, but their eyes seemed somehow off to him; a clouded, milky appearance. Intrigued, but focused on the immediate problem, the Lieutenant Commander shoved his way through the group. He made his way around an attractive flower planter that helped to conceal a service panel on the outer wall of the cafe building. It was now smoking slightly and positively screeching in protest at the amount of plasma that it was trying to contain.

The security forces spread out, ushering people out of the way. Derek moved over to the slow moving civilians closest to where the Chief Engineer was working. "I need you to get out of the way, over here, out of this area..." Of the handful of people, one looked up with a glassy look to his eyes, but the rest just kept shuffling along. Derek gently but firmly took hold of the forearms of two of them to lead them away and the other started to just follow along. He frowned, such odd behavior when something like this was happening.

Myka (PNPC), despite multiple reassurances from her waitress when the power issues began, got up from her table when she saw the Malinche's Chief Engineer approach the cafe she was in. Originally she was just going to try to observe the crowd, but when the crowd was being escorted away, she knew that would no longer be possible. What really struck her was the difference in the colonists. Some were acting normal, but others... And prior to the turbine issues, they were all acting normally. Loudly enough for anyone close by to hear, she spoke to Derek once she was closer, "What's going on here? We've never had to leave before!"

"Nothing to worry about; as a precaution we need everyone clear of the area - small plasma overload in the EPS system."

More quietly, so just he could hear, she said, "Sir, if you don't need anything, I'll keep with my cover - follow the crowd and see if I can learn anything. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the market area before the power issues - the people, the buildings...everything was normal. Now though..." The Bajoran frowned slightly. Something was definitely going on and the Torvans didn't seem to even register it. Some panicked, of course, but the others seemed almost to be in a trance of some sort and nobody seemed concerned about them.

Tournneau mumbled as he removed the panel and exposed the EPS buffer. "Power systems are failing; seems like there's something else interfering...the people are acting very strangely." He grunted as he put the panel down,"Be safe. Tell Kersare what you find.

"Ma'am, please - for your own safety, please step back." He looked at her very briefly and nodded slightly.

Giving a slight nod to acknowledge his orders, Myka let a look of concern cross her face, "Yes, yes, of course sir." As she joined the crowed, she sighed, "This would happen just before I got my lunch." Perhaps if she could find the waitress, the woman would open up to her and help her fit the pieces together... The Bajoran's dark eyes scanned the area left to right, systematically looking for her target, until eventually she spotted the waitress. Time to catch up.

The power relay buffer was glowing a brilliant green, its temperature vents steaming as it tried to siphon off some of the heat in a gaseous state. Derek saw the buffer's readout:

DANGER - OVERPRESSURE
Press. - 348 kPa
Rated - 50 kPa
CASCADE FAILURE IMMINENT
Purge Buffer Immediately

Over three atmospheres! The engineer was concerned that the buffer would fail and cascade the plasma into the EPS system in the rest of the building. That would certainly disable the galley in the cafe, if not burn the cafe to the ground. With the colonists behaving so strangely, he couldn't be certain that the building was completely empty.

He removed a duotronic probe from his coat pocket and started trying to push the excess flow back into the greater network where it could dissipate; the problem was that the flow interlock could only handle backflowing small pulses, much slower than the buffer had filled. He kept pulsing the plasma on and off, slowly reducing the pressure in the buffer chamber; however, the vents showed no indication of improvement.

With the crowd out of the immediate area, Derek made his way back over to the Chief Engineer. "We've gotten everyone out of the immediate vicinity. A few of the colony security personnel are making sure they stay out of the way and the rest are clearing the nearby buildings to make sure there aren't any stragglers, sir. Anything else I can do, or shall I join them?"

Tournneau glanced under his own arm at the other Derek. "Check out this building's upper floor for colonists - if I don't get this locked down it's going to start a fire."

"Aye Commander," Derek replied, swiveling quickly so he could head inside.

<<Inside the Cafe>>

He pushed open the door to the kitchen and peered inside, but all was quiet. Heading back out, the Security Officer moved smoothly - as smoothly as he could considering the tables, chairs, and stools anyway - through the dining area, looking for any stragglers. Still nothing.

In the back corner of the cafe, he spotted a wooden staircase leading to the second floor. Time to go up. It seemed to be a living area - a small kitchen, living room, bathroom, and three bedrooms. Perhaps it was a family owned cafe then. "Anyone here?" Derek called out as he moved from room to room. Nothing. It seemed that the family got out. As he was about to go back downstairs, Derek heard a muffled thud. Turning around, his eyes swept around the living room again. Before he could call out again, something crashed into his legs, nearly knocking him off balance. Once he'd steadied himself, Derek glanced down, "You're kidding..."

<<Outside the Cafe>>

The readout on the buffer showed that the pressure had reduced to 102 kilopascals - better, but still way over its tolerance of fifty. The damage was done; the heat coming off of the unit was quickly becoming unbearable, and it was apparent that he wasn't going to be able to hold off the inevitable much longer. The best Tournneau could do was try and reduce the pressure as much as possible before the buffer turned to slag.

"90...80...75...that's all she's got!" he said to himself as he wrestled with the probe's controls. The outer casing of the buffer began to glow red as the inner pressure vessel finally gave way. Tournneau dropped the duotronic probe and dove through the planter, landing roughly on his side. Just a moment later, the service panel threw off a shower of sparks and green flame as the remaining plasma burst free. A cloud of smoke rolled out of the dining area of the cafe.

<<Inside the Cafe>>

Tournneau ran inside and found that a small fire had started on the inside wall opposite the service panel. Stumbling over a barstool, he ran into the kitchen and grabbed a plasma extinguisher from over the stove.

Coming back into the dining area, he saw that the fire had crawled up the wood paneling towards the ceiling. He started sweeping the extinguisher over the small amount of plasma still coming through the wall, quenching its green tendrils. The wood quickly lost its flame as well, the fire reduced to a smoky smolder. Other members of the colony began running in as well with more fire bottles and took over putting out the wall. Tournneau tossed the spent extinguisher on the ground as he regrouped with Greyman.

Hearing the commotion downstairs, the Security Officer rushed downstairs in time to see the Chief Engineer toss an extinguisher off to the side. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "I take it not everything went quite to plan, sir?" A small bundle of fur squirmed in his arms. "Mrrrow?" A young black kitten stared at the engineer from the safety of her makeshift perch, being carried by her rescuer.

"No, not quite - but it could have been a lot worse." Tournneau patted the head of the kitten in Greyman's arms. It started to nuzzle his hand, purring contentedly. "Aww, looks like you've picked up a nice new crewmember. You think Isabel is a 'cat person?'"

OFF

A Joint Post brought to you by:

Lieutenant Derek Greyman
Security Officer
USS Malinche-A
PNPC of Kersare

Lieutenant Turren Myka
Acting Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Malinche-A
PNPC of Kersare

Lieutenant Torik
Chief Engineering Officer
Starfleet 32nd Engineering Corps, Torvan Detachment
NPC played by Tournneau

and

ON:

<<Torva IV Colony, Marketplace Outskirts, Day 2, 1215>>

Myka (PNPC) caught up with the tail end of the crowd that had been ushered from the Marketplace area. Some remained gathered in a loose group, watching to see what would happen and if the Malinche crew would be able to help. Others kept moving - possibly returning to their homes, but the Bajoran couldn't be sure. A few that had been eerily calm during the evacuation were perking up slightly, but others still seemed to be in a daze. Their eyes...she tried not to openly stare, but one of those closest to her had white eyes, just like the rumors said. As the man seemed to come back to himself a bit, his eyes started to darken to a russet color, but with white specks.

Frowning slightly, she looked for Brina (NPC), the petite brunette waitress from the cafe. Of course, even if she found her, what would she say? Any of the questions she really needed answered would draw suspicion when she was trying to blend in. Perhaps letting Brina lead the conversation would actually be best. Myka finally saw the waitress off to her right, at the edge of the evacuation zone. Unfortunately, she wasn't alone. Both had their backs to her, but she made her way over to stand next to Brina. From this vantage point, she could see green flames burst from the panel Derek had been working at. "Looks like it's a little more serious this time..."

Brina sighed, "Yeah, it does. Hopefully the damage isn't too bad and we'll be able to open back up later or tomorrow... The governor's usually pretty good about moving things along that way. I'm afraid you won't get your lunch though, ma'am."

"No, I suppose not," Myka replied as she looked over at the man on Brina's left. He looked...familiar and her mind raced to place him. Mark. Covering her surprise at seeing the Intelligence Officer on Torva IV of all places, she nodded slightly to him. He hadn't come on the Malinche, so she reasoned he was undercover, much like her. It would be reasonable that they could know each other, but she had no idea what role he was currently playing and didn't want to give him away.

Mark Grayson wasn't happy to see Myka. Not because of her, of course. But because it was clear someone else on the higher ranks had got tired of waiting for results. 'It amazes me that some admirals still don't give Intel work enough respect', he thought. Myka was a good, solid intelligence officer. A career officer. They had met a five years back during an Intelligence briefing about the current threats on the Delta Quadrant.

Grayson had joined the colony using an alias, a 'Torbin Reese', with a merchant looking to buy exotic products. Settling himself in a small cottage just outside of the colony's outskirts, Mark had been following the sudden increase of storms and equipment failure with extreme frustration. He glanced at Myka and gave her a slight nod, indicating a direction for them to talk far from the others nearby.

With Brina occupied watching the Marketplace, Myka moved off to the side in the direction Mark had indicated. The last she'd heard, he was on a leave of absence, but either that had ended and he was undercover as she originally suspected, or he'd suddenly decided to join the colony. She was reasonably certain it was the former, based on what she knew. Quietly, Myka addressed him, "Lieutenant...I have to admit I'm surprised to find you here. StarFleet Intelligence didn't mention having anyone in the area, let alone in the colony."

Mark looked around discreetly. He slowly scratched his beard as he quietly spoke, "No ranks, Myka. About me being here, well, we both know how it works in Intel. One hand sometimes doesn't know what the other is doing. The fact that you're here proves that someone else in the upper management has lost their patience and decided to send reinforcements. And, as you know, when a starship arrives, no matter what is happening, it rattles the status quo. That makes it more difficult to gather intel". He paused for a moment, his eyes fixing on hers. "It took me awhile to integrate with the colony and gain the trust of key people and the Malinche's arrival may have botched my attempt to break open whatever is happening here."

Opening his arms, he continued. "All these storms and damages, if you look through the data, have been increasing exponentially in last few years. I'm sure you saw the pattern yourself. The 'how' and 'why' are still unknown to me. But..." Mark paused. "There's something happening here... Something that a few colonists know, so does the Governor. I have no proof and now, I don't think I will with all the Starfleet officers running around. Colonists are grateful to Starfleet until a certain point. I'm sure you know what I mean. What are your standing orders?", he asked.

"Technically we were only sent here to help with repairs. We either have or could replicate some of the equipment the colony needed. Officially we weren't asked to investigate what's going on, but of course I looked into it before we arrived and found some of the rumors... creatures of air, water, earth... people disappearing only to re-appear with white eyes," Myka shook her head. "I requested to go undercover to see if I could learn anything from the colonists while the rest of the away team started on the repairs. Nearly blew my own cover since I tried ordering a glass of water with lunch and apparently that's taboo..."

The Bajoran nodded towards Brina, "She was my waitress. When the turbine issues got worse and Derek - our Chief Engineer - arrived, they started evacuating everyone from the Marketplace. Most of the colonists either rushed off in a panic or slightly orderly, but a few of them walked like they were in a daze and I swear I even saw a couple with white eyes. One had white eyes but he seemed to almost...come to...and his eyes turned brown with white specks. I was going to ask her more when I saw you. Like you said, Mark, something is definitely going on here... Why do you suspect the Governor knows?"

Mark Grayson lowered his eyes to the ground for a second before answering. "What is not to suspect about him? All the reports from the colonists about the situation haven't been taken seriously by the Governor, despite the fact there's more than one colonists' report on the situation archived on his personal computer", he said before scratching his head. "I... may have... hacked the colony main computer for information", he added a bit ashamed. "I got frustrated by the lack of physical evidence and...", he shook his head, changing the subject. "The Governor knows what's happening for some time and didn't report it. Which could mean either he knows what's going on or he's causing it. And if he's causing it, I don't know how he's doing it, because I followed him for days and he's annoyingly adept at an hour-to-hour routine that never changes. Typical bureaucrat."

The older intel officer then look back at Myka. "And without any hard proof, I can't simply accuse him of anything. Next step I was going to take was to watch all the places where the 'happenings' occurred and look for anything out of the ordinary. But then, the Malinche arrived and things got very exciting for the people here and that makes it more difficult, because anyone new is watched more carefully." He lowered his voice to whisper. "Which means we can't stay here much longer. Tell the captain I'm here undercover and tell her that as soon as possible I need to talk her personally."

"I haven't had the chance to meet Governor Savin (NPC) yet, so I've not gotten a read on him other than his personnel file. From the information I had before, he seemed to be acting normally - the colony tried to fix things themselves and were doing fine with that for awhile, but then during and after the latest storm cycle everything seemed to get worse, which is when the Malinche was called in," Myka replied, tapping her index finger on her leg in thought. "What you've found is concerning, but perhaps not surprising - he probably feels that having to call in reinforcements would mean he's not doing his job, so he was putting it off as long as possible. Likely under a lot of pressure too... I'm not saying minimizing the reports was the right thing to do, but it's not necessarily evidence that he's actively doing anything sinister other than protecting himself. Unless there's something else I'm missing."

She was curious what was in the colonists' reports. Mark was too experienced to be this concerned about reports going over equipment issues or problems due to the storms, unless he'd been undercover so long that was more paranoid than usual. The Bajoran nodded, "I'll let the Captain know. I'm going to try to either speak with Brina or find one of the Mali crew to see if there's anything else I should know. Should we meet up later or how will we keep in touch?"

Mark suppressed the annoyance off his face after Myka's remarks decreased the importance of Governor Savin on the situation. Something was wrong and the Governor knew it. Mark was sure of that. Despite his opinion, he turned to the side. "Just make an 'X' on the east side of the butcher's shop. I'll find you here ten minutes later."

He started walking away, but before he was gone, he turned his head. "Watch your back, Myka. Whatever is happening seems to be only beginning. Watch your back". With that, Mark left Myka's side. He had a mystery to unlock.

Myka frowned slightly, watching the Intelligence Officer walk away. She certainly didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with Mark and it wasn't that she wanted to dismiss what he had potentially found...but she simply didn't have enough evidence to definitively come to the same conclusions he had. Without more actual evidence, even if the Governor knew what was happening and was doing something wrong, they wouldn't be able to prove it and it would simply get swept under the rug. For now she needed to find one of her crewmates to get a message to Isabel.

OFF: JP brought to you by:

Lieutenant Commander Mark Grayson
Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
*Note: Character not currently part of the crew or Lt Cmdr yet

and

Lieutenant Turren Myka (PNPC)
Acting Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
played by:

ON:

<<Torik’s Office -- Mission Day 2 -- 1210 Hours>>

=A= "Tournneau to Toren, you've got to get the power shut off to the market as soon as you can manage!" =A=

Derek’s voice crackled on the intercom, urgency in his demand. The technicians in the control center office were furiously tapping on their workstations as they worked on diverting power in the wake of the turbine’s failure. Torik (NPC) stood over the pool table display as he began barking orders at the other engineers.

“Nidra (NPC), close the main relay from Sector Fourteen! Desai (NPC), open the relay on Sector Thirteen. Ms. Beladd (PNPC),” he said as he turned to the taller Bolian woman, “please oversee the EPS team over there --” as he pointed to a bank of workstations on the west wall, “ -- to keep power supplied to the infirmary.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Viradia replied and jogged over to the other side of the room. The techs there were working to keep the power stable as their grid accepted the overflow from the affected sector. However, one of the technicians, a petty officer in the Starfleet detachment, was just standing there, staring at her screen.

“Keri (NPC), you need to toggle the plasma interlocks on your sector to let me flow this through. Keri? Keri!” A young Tellarite man, also a petty officer (NPC), was talking to a female human colleague as Viradia came up behind them.

“What’s going on here, Officer…?” Viradia asked the man.

“Naarg,” replied the officer. “We need to shunt this power into the grid. Keri! Hey! Say something you stem-bolt!” he yelled with the usual Tellarite bluntness. Viradia grabbed the other petty officer by her shoulders and turned her, only to see the young woman simply staring forwards into her chest blankly, not even acknowledging her presence by looking up at the person who was now gently shaking her.

“What…what’s wrong with her? Hey, Officer! Wake up!” Viradia snapped at the crew member, but it was no good. As she was shaking her, she saw that her eyes had glassed over with a milky appearance, and what appeared to be yellow flecks glinting in the daylight streaming through the window. What in the hells?

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Torik could be heard becoming more verbose towards his team as he worked to manage the power spike.

“...is in the building with a cafe in front of it - can you localize it?" he finished speaking to Tournneau.

=A= “Yes, I'd gathered that!" =A= Tournneau exclaimed in response.

Torik turned to the crew on his side of the room. “Is there anything that we can do on our end now to ameliorate the power buildup in that service buffer?”

“No sir,” Ensign Desai responded, “it has to be purged locally. The Commander'll have to do it right there.”

“That is an unacceptable risk for him to undertake on his own. You and your team, go at once and assist him.”

“Aye, Lieutenant,” Desai responded. He, Nidra, and two others filed out of the office quickly.

“Now, where are we with arresting that surge in the remaining grid?” Torik said as he turned towards Viradia’s group. “Lieutenant - what are you doing?”

Viradia looked at Torik with flustered bewilderment. “I…I don’t know, sir. This officer is…something’s wrong with her!”

“Move her aside and take her position, we have more important issues at hand. We must keep the infirmary powered without interruption or our foothold on this colony will be fully compromised.”

“I…yes, Lieutentant,” Viradia responded reluctantly. She stepped the dazed woman aside. She remained standing where she was placed, still staring dumbly at nothing. Viradia took over her station and scanned her eyes across the readout. The power was now being absorbed into the greater grid, but the infirmary’s grid was fluctuating as the spike bounced back and forth through the system.

She located the interlock controls and set them to manual passthrough. “All right, Mister Naarg, try that now.”

The Tellarite roughly punched a few controls on his panel. “Got it - dissipating the spike through the residential sections now. Just a few flickering lights, maybe some burnt food in the oven. Nothing to worry about for sick bay now. Good job, blue!”

“That’s Lieutenant Blue to you, Mister.” Viradia almost laughed, but Torik’s panel made a loud bleeting sound.

“The buffer in the market cafe has just been destroyed,” Torik said with resignation. He pressed his commbadge, “Desai, are you at the buffer’s location?” Viradia listened intently, hoping that Derek was okay.

=A= “Yes, Lieutenant, it looks like the Commander was able to do enough to prevent a total burnout, but we’ve got a small fire here. I can see him, he’s fine. We’re joining him now.” =A=

Relieved, she turned to the dazed woman, who was still just standing there.

“You should not be here.” The warrant officer’s voice was oddly gravelly.

“Excuse me, Officer?”

“You cannot remain.”

“Torik, get over here,” Viradia called to the engineer. He calmly nodded and strode over to the Bolian woman.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Well - your officer here - is this normal? Does she have an underlying condition? What should we do for her, shall I take her down to the infirmary?”

“You will not remain.” The officer intoned again, still looking forwards blankly. Her eyes were still glazed over with white, the flecks of yellow seeming to shift and flicker on their surface.

Torik’s eyebrows raised quite suddenly for a Vulcan. “Naarg, Shevei (NPC) - relieve Ms. Beyett of duty immediately. Take her to the infirmary, and then escort her to her quarters once she has been examined.” He turned to Viradia. “Ms. Beladd, is it possible for you to take their watch until they return? We can best use your talents here.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Viradia replied. She watched as the two other petty officers escorted the affected woman from the engineering office. The woman moved slowly, almost reluctantly, but she did not resist the hands on her shoulders guiding her down the corridor and out of the building. She looked back to Torik.

“Will she be all right?”

Torik sighed. “Yes, I believe she will come to her senses, but she cannot remain on duty, clearly.” He massaged his temple, wiping a large bead of sweat away. “We have seen this before, but I have not had one among my staff as of yet.” He looked down in what almost appeared to be frustration. “There is much that has happened over the past few years that cannot be adequately explained by any of the tools at my disposal. Systems that should last decades have failed in only years or months. In the past cycle alone, we have nearly exhausted our replacement stocks, and now this season we have endured the worst weather this planet has seen since its surveyal.

“And of course, the ‘taken’. What you just observed has occurred before in the colonists; I am sure that you have heard rumors of it.”

Viradia nodded. “It was mentioned in our brief that the colonists were spreading tales of --”

Torik raised a hand to cut her off. “They are no tales. As you have seen, something is gravely amiss. And our -- leader -- the Governor, has done everything to quell these stories, but as for prevention…” he trailed off, pulling himself to his full height. “There is something that must be brought to light here, Lieutenant. I cannot speculate, but I am certain that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to the Governor. He was very reluctant to allow me to call for material aid; he has been greatly distressed as we prepared for your arrival. Now, with your officers roaming about, he is being uncharacteristically hospitable.”

He swept more sweat from his brow, wiping his hand on his uniform tunic. “This humidity…it is barely tolerable, at least for the Vulcan contingent. Unfortunately, there are more pressing matters than the truth to attend to - we must stabilize our power situation and get the main generator operational. When this colony is self-sufficient once again, perhaps then we can ascertain the full depth of the matter.”

“Agreed, Mr. Torik,” Viradia replied. She still didn’t quite understand what Torik meant by ‘the truth’, but certainly it was something that the others needed to know. “I’ll manage the EPS system until your officers return, and then my team will head over to the generator building to effect repairs.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I am certain we will resolve this situation now that your crew is present.” He bowed slightly and returned to his table console to manage what few systems remained operational.

Viradia turned to the EPS management consoles again, monitoring their status. Everything seemed to be fine now. There weren’t many areas that had active power, so it didn’t take much to keep an eye on the system. She pressed her commbadge.

“Beladd to Tournneau…we need to talk.”

OFF

Lieutenant Viradia Beladd
Assistant Chief Engineering Officer
USS Malinche-A
PNPC of Tournneau

Starfleet 32nd Engineering Corps, Torvan Detachment:

Lieutenant Torik
Chief Engineering Officer

Ensign Issac Desai
EPS Systems Supervisor

Petty Officer (1st Cl.) Gavin Nidra
EPS Relay Specialist

Petty Officer (1st Cl.) Naarg
EPS Relay Specialist

Petty Officer (2nd Cl.) Shevei
Plasma Systems Specialist

Petty Officer (3rd Cl.) Kerilyn Beyett
Plasma Technician

NPCs played by:

ON:
<<Colony Medical Facility, Day 2, 1300 hours>>

After receiving permission from Doctor Stonne to speak with patients, at least those who were willing, Awen (PNPC) made her way to room 304 while a nurse prepared the additional information she had requested. Names would be left out, of course, but their injuries and what had supposedly happened could be compiled. As the Bajoran approached the door, a nurse was walking out of the room, pausing as she saw Awen.

"I'm Nurse Riona Connor (NPC). What can I help you with, Commander," the petite red-headed young woman asked.

"Doctor Stonne suggested I speak with the patients in this room. We're trying to find a link between the injuries and find out why there seem to be so many more than usual," Awen explained. Given the demeanor of the nurse, she had a feeling getting past the woman might not be easy.

Crossing her arms over her chest with a frown, Riona scoffed. "They need their rest; they don't need to be interrogated and upset. It took me over an hour to calm one of them down and the other other recently woke from a coma. You can't expect to just waltz in and barrage them with questions!"

Awen knew the woman was just trying to protect her patients, but she had a job to do. "Nurse Connor... My goal is not to upset them or barrage them with questions. However, something is going on here and we need to figure out what it is. I need to speak with them and get some first hand information so I have something to work with," she explained. In a more subdued, quiet tone, she added, "If they don't want to speak to me or come to a point that they want me to leave, I will do so. But at least let me ask if they're willing to talk to me. It could help us prevent this from happening to even more people. Please."

Taking a moment to consider the StarFleet Officer's words, the nurse sighed and nodded. "If they are wiling to speak to you, I won't interfere. I'll be nearby though, just in case your questions do upset them."

Awen nodded and waited as the nurse moved aside. "Thank you; I understand - I would expect no less." What Riona didn't know was that Awen had quite a bit of experience in speaking with people who had been through a trauma. Her time with the Resistance had taught her many things and unfortunately she had seen her fair share of death and destruction back then.

There were four beds in the room, but only two were currently occupied. Both were men, one older than the other - perhaps in his fifties, with salt and pepper hair and pale blue eyes. The younger man was in his twenties, with blonde hair and pale green eyes. The older man had casts on both arms and legs as well as some kind of device around his torso. The younger of the two appeared groggy or dazed, with eyes that couldn't quite focus and some burn marks on his clothes.

Approaching them, Awen gave them a brief smile, "Hello. My name is Commander Fala Awen. I'm the Chief Security/Tactical Officer for the USS Malinche; we've come to the colony to provide assistance. I apologize for disturbing you, but I was hoping to ask you a few questions to gain some insight into what is happening here so we can try to help. Is that alright?"

The older man grunted, "About time someone did, Commander. Go ahead with your questions." The younger man glanced over at the StarFleet Officer, but said nothing.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Riona leaving. "Thank you, sir. What is your name, what were you working on when this happened, and what did actually happen?"

"Don't call me, sir. I'm just a colonist and I don't need those fancy titles. Just call me Ray, like everyone else does...and that over there is Sonny, but I doubt you'll get much out of him, ma'am," Ray looked over at the young man and shook his head. "Anyway, the two of us were working on one of the turbines, by the river. We were going over it, inspecting it, 'cause it was having issues. Out of nowhere, lightning hits it, goes through us, and throws us from the turbine. Not a cloud in the sky, nothin' to indicate lightning could come. Sonny was a bit more shook up than I was - he was pale...even his eyes looked white as a ghost, but as soon as I started to get to my feet, it was like the ground turned to quicksand, but it wasn't sand, it was dirt! I got pulled deeper and deeper and I was shoutin' for Sonny. He came to his senses and started trying to pull me out, but the weight of the dirt and all on top of me was crushing me and I couldn't call out anymore... I almost felt a sense of peace at first, calm, and warmth through my body, but suddenly I couldn't breathe anymore, I could feel my bones....shatter. Then I swear I heard a deep, rumbly voice shout, 'Leave', and a ripple went through the dirt and...I don't know...pushed Sonny into the river. I heard him cry out, but I was in a lot of pain...When I looked over, he was in the river, but not moving, like something was holding him under. It's not a really deep river, so he should've been able to just get out, but he didn't..."

Ray sighed and winced slightly before continuing, "Next thing I knew, a few people showed up to help. Somehow the dirt didn't seem as heavy and restrictive...and they were able to get me out of the ground. I didn't see what happened to Sonny, but one of them told me that he was laying next to the river when they found him, unconscious. He was in a coma or somethin' like it til about five minutes ago. He's not said a word; he doesn't seem like himself. They treated us both for electrical burns from the lightning and they've been working on putting my bones back together with those bone generators, but with how many patients they get and the extent of the damage, it's been taking them awhile to completely fix me up. I don't know what's happenin' here, Commander, but I hope you can make some sense of it."

Listening intently to the worker, Awen's concern deepened. She moved closer to Sonny and noticed that his eyes weren't really pale green...they looked like they should've been dark green, but there were swirls of white in them that made them look pale. Even when she approached, he didn't move at all and didn't seem to acknowledge her presence. Turning her attention back to Ray, she said, "Did they say how long you'd be here?"

With a snort, Ray said, "If it was normal circumstances, I'd probably be out of here tonight or tomorrow, but since it's takin' them so long to fix me up, plus the power and equipment issues and all the additional patients, it's hard to say. I suspect I'd already be put back together if not for the rest of the issues...which was partly what we were trying to help with."

So the additional issues occurring at the colony were causing delays with fixing the initial issues...everything was building up and making the problems worse. More workers got hurt, so it took longer to fix things...and additional things went wrong in the meantime. "Do you know where the voice came from that you heard? And has anyone else had a similar experience?"

He grew quieter and glanced at the door, then back at the Bajoran. "Ma'am, I don't need people to think I'm nuts and then lock me up with some psych expert."

"I just need to know what you think you happened and what others have experienced so I can try to help. I have seen some...interesting things in my time and I like to keep an open mind. What you do or don't tell any medical staff here is up to you. I'm conducting an investigation which doesn't need to be part of any medical file," Awen said, trying to reassure him.

Ray nodded slowly and spoke quietly, "That voice...it seemed to be coming from the dirt itself, deep down. I don't know how else to describe it. It was as if the dirt and the water and the lightning had minds of their own. They didn't want us there and they wanted to either kill us or scare us off. I don't see how that's possible, but dirt doesn't just turn to quicksand, suck you in, and crush you like that. A river that Sonny could wade through shouldn't nearly drown him. I've not heard anyone else having experiences quite like this...maybe smaller mishaps and some that could be explained away by clumsiness perhaps. But it's not like I took a survey of everyone here either. I do know some others who are like Sonny, though. Not really talking, not focusing, weird eyes. But most of them seem to snap out of it."

The Bajoran frowned. What he was describing didn't seem possible. But watching his reactions as he spoke, hearing his voice...he was sincere. They were on a different planet. Maybe there were invisible creatures causing havoc. Maybe something was causing hallucinations...but that wouldn't explain the injuries. And what was going on with Sonny? Nodding she said, "Thank you for your time, Ray. If you think of anything else, ask for me. I hope you recover quickly and don't worry - I'll get to the bottom of this."

Time to go see what information the other nurse had compiled for her. Maybe she could find a pattern.

OFF:

Lieutenant Commander Fala Awen (PNPC)
Chief Security/Tactical Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A
played by: