A Meme Less Ordinary

 Episode Name:  A Meme Less Ordinary

   Written By:  Shaft

         Cast:  Alarcon, Dakin, Darax, Fortunae, Havaris, Idrani, Javits, LeClerque, 
                Medes and Shaft.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Shaft

     Aired On:  Mon May 05 02:46:50 2003

     Stardate:  53191

Time: Sun May 04 19:31:15 2003

Stardate: 53190.3

A streak of light stretches from the infinite into the finite in the void above Occa, a diminutive Brilliant Class Escort ceases its distension and collapses into its usual visual shape, gliding silently into orbit above the blue-green planet that is the Occan 'Colony' world. Below lies New Florida, the heart of the Occan Government and the Planet's capitol. All is peaceful, all is quiet. Occa's sun crests the edge of the planet, and dawn begins to roll over the metropolis below. Somewhere below, officials are sitting down to the morning news and cups of coffee. The Thomas Paine has arrived politely on schedule, though no hails greet the arriving craft from the surface.

Dakin shifts in his seat as the ship exits subspace. The view of Occa is a slighly welcome sight, inasmuch that at least the Paine got here with minimal problem. "All right, Thea, assume standard orbit. Lt. Idrani, hailing frequencies, if you please."

Idrani nods. "Aye, sir." She opens hailing frequencies.

Cakewalks. Havaris likes cakewalks. Diplomatic missions make for bored Tactical Officers. Bored Tactical Officers make for happy and safe crews. And so Havaris settles back in his seat and sighs contentment, smiling just a touch. And someone /else/ is opening the hails now, too. It's like a vacation!

Alarcon, likewise, is settled at her Sciences station, monitoring her displays. She, too, is enjoying what so far seems to be a trouble-free mission... and marks her first visit to Occa.

Javits is, unlike the others, all but on the edge of his seat, stealing brief glances over his shoulder at the viewscreen while monitoring the engineering console with perhaps a little more attention than necessary.

Medes's stubby-fingered little hands move confidently over her console, almost absently so. One hand rises to, likewise absently, rub at her left shoulder. "Assuming standard orbit. Orbit in three. Two. One. We are in orbit above Occa, sir." Medes make Thomas Paine go zoom. She is thusly happy as a wolf with a fresh-caught rabbit. Mmm, rabbit.

Darax does the whole settled in thing over at Mission Ops. This is his first time on the Paine as well as his first time to Occa, so might as well enjoy it while he can.

The hail is answered from the surface after an irregularly long amount of time, relative to Federation technologies. But it is answered, and politely so. The grainy image of a clean cut and crisply uniformed officer seated at a communications control desk -- headset and all -- pops onto the screen. "Greetings foreign craft, this is Leftenant Rourke of the Occan Ministry of Communication. Please state your affiliations, purpose, and identify your senior officers." Rourke is, to put it mildly, one of those people that really needs to loosen his collar.

Dakin stiffens in his seat, though the all-business mask has engulfed his face. "This is Lt. Dakin Rann, commanding the Federation starship Thomas Paine." Nodding to each of the others, he introduces, "Lt. Thea Medes, Lt. Havaris Kusto, Ensign Gwi'on Darax, Lt. Isobel Alarcon, Lt. Nicholas Javits, and our diplomatic officer, Lt. Jaylas Idrani. We're here at the invitation of your government, Leftenant."

Rourke glances at his terminal tapping a few controls and nodding his head in satisfaction. "So you are, Leftenant." His eyes return to the screen before him, unimpressed. "I shall transfer you to our Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Stand by. Rourke out." He works the controls and the screen blackens with a little hold message that is the Occan Anthem and its governmental emblem. The transfer ends, leaving a salt and pepper haired fellow dominating the screen. He wears a uniform as well, similar to the one of Rourke. "Federation Starship Thomas Paine, and Lieutenant Dakin Rann. On schedule directly. I am Colonel LeClerque, Occan Ministry of Foreign Affairs, your liason on the surface. Are you able to reach our reception area from your orbit?"

Dakin nods confidently. "I believe our transporters can manage, Colonel. Is there anything we need to know before coming planetside?"

"Yes. You are to come unarmed, save for your security personnel and yourself. You will not be conducted to any actual diplomats or civilian dignitaries, and will deal directly with the Ministry's Personnel. You will not be allowed to deviate from this course, and if that does not please you, Lieutenant, you are free to receive your survey team and depart our space with our blessings." The old man on the screen folds his hands on his desk, awaiting answer.

. o O Javits thinks "Friendly sort, aren't they?"

Dakin nods. "Sounds agreeable, Colonel. You may expect me and my away team within the next half-hour. Thomas Paine out." He then nods to Idrani as an indication to close the channel. Once that's done, "Kusto, you've got command while we're gone, call up the beta shift. Everyone else, grab your gear and head to the transporter room, and you heard the colonel. The phasers stay here."

Idrani nods, closing the channel. "Aye, sir." She gets up from her station as soon as her replacement at Ops arrives. She doesn't take much, save a couple PADDs.

Havaris nods his head, closing out his personalized session at Tactical, preparing to hand it off to a replacement Ensign. "Aye, Sir. I'll keep the engines running while you're away." Once the handoff is made, Havaris moves up towards the command chair to stand at Dakin's side for the time being.

Alarcon takes her PADD and tricorder, gives her seat to the officer who has come to relieve her, as well. Instead of saying a word, she replies with a proper sort of nod, following Havaris to queue up next to Dakin.

Javits can't seem to wipe the huge grin off his face as his relief arrives, all but bolting from his station and heading for the turbolift, checking his equipment holsters along the way.

Ensign Expendable #13 comes to take Medes's place at the Helm, and, rubbing at her left shoulder again, she gets to her feet. PADD? Check. Tricorder? Check. She watches Javits enthusiastically progress ahead of her, shaking her head slightly as she heads out.

Darax slips out of his seat just as his own replacement arrives. A quick once over is done to make sure that he has all of the things that he'll need. Yup, all clear. Got what he needs. Time to join the rest of the crew...away from the ship.... Not that he looks nervous or anything. He's just usually the guy who stays on board.

The team assembles in the Transporter room, leaving Havaris behind to play God on the Bridge. While that's all well and good, he really did enjoy being at Tactical. Maybe on the trip back...? The Chief engages the transporters, sending the Away Team to the surface in a glitter and shower of sparkles and light. The Thomas Paine's transporter room fades out, revealing the austere and semi-regal reception room of the Occan Ministry of Foreign Affairs. (And, to their credit, they have one now.) Red carpets, wooden furniture, white washed walls hung with many mirrors and pieces of art, flags and banners of all sorts. Ornate furniture. Pretty lamps. Oh. And LeClerque, waiting at the head of the room flanked by a party of armed Occan Security forces. Each one is armed with a hand gun. Rifles send the wrong message. LeClerque steps forward and stiffens up, clicking his heels and offering a brief snap of a salute. "Welcome to Occa, Lieutenant! Some of you, I believe, for the second time."

Dakin nods and returns the salute. Ah, diplomacy. "Glad to be here, Colonel." He looks around the interior of the building. "Splendid decor." As he is both the only person permitted a weapon and the only security officer in the party, only he is armed with a Type II phaser.

Alarcon stands crisply beside Dakin, hands at her sides, doing her level best to represent the station and Starfleet well (despite her Mad Scientist hair). She smiles to the Colonel, and of course lets the mission commander do the talking. The weapons do not go unnoticed, but her gaze slides smoothly over them as over just another part of the beautifully-appointed reception room.

Idrani smiles politely, also remaining silent as it is quite likely the appearance of an obviously alien Andorian might be disconcerting. She remains quiet, observing.

Javits stands behind and to one side of Dakin, adopting a rather rigid stance, though his hands are held somewhat loosely at his sides. He offers a friendly smile to the Colonel and the Occan Security Forces personnel, perhaps with a nervous twinge. If he notices the weapons, it's not too obvious, if only for the fact that he's nervous enough already.

Medes folds her hands behind her back, all the better to hide her fiddling with the Ring That Isn't There on her left hand. She nods her head slightly, and examines the handguns of the Occans with barely concealed fascination -- wow, antique tech! -- for a moment or two, before remembering that, oh, right, guns, and suddenly finding the toes of her boots very interesting indeed.

Darax stands back a little bit in his official slot as lowest-ranking-officer-here. His mouth stays shut and his eyes wander around, taking in the Colonel and his armed entourage with his usual friendly Bolian smile in place. If they are going to shoot him for any unknown reason, they are going to shoot somone who probably would have liked them.

LeClerque steps forward more, once the salute is ended, heading directly for Alarcon. He offers her a hand, palm upward. And, should her hand be given out, stoops over it to place a kiss around her middle knuckle. "Lieutenant Alarcon. Could it be that so beautiful a form could hold a beautiful mind?" Her hand is squeezed before he continues on down the line. Next is Medes. He appraises her and her bald head for a moment, then offers her a hand. For a shake. "Lieutenant Medes. Welcome back." His eyes move away easily, searching out another female in the crowd. No? No. (Idrani isn't female, apparently.) Next in line is Javits. "Lieutenant. Welcome to Occa." Handshake. Handshake. And then he's left with Ghelinoids. Cementing his expression into one of resignation, he moves to Idrani. "Miss." Shake. And then Darax. "Mister." There. Welcome to Occa. He steps back once more, offering them space, and folds his hands behind his back.

"I am afraid... there has been a problem."

. o O Javits thinks "Bloody hell."

Dakin blinks as his eyebrows raise just a bit. "What sort of problem are we talking about, Colonel?"

Alarcon blinks. A fair amount. Well, he's sticking out his hand... so she reaches out as if to shake his and then all of a sudden there's this man saying stuff about her form and her mind and HEY, what is he--oh, good glavin, he's kissing her hand. Her sciency /hand/. She reacts to this with a lot more blinking, some reddening of her olive skin, and a stammered, "Er, hello... thank you... hello." She's PRIME diplomatic material, this one.

Idrani isnt's surprised at the human's obvious resignation at contact with Ensign Darax and herself. She seems to take it in stride, expression politely impassive. She does incline her head slightly when the Colonel mentions a problem, but remains silent.

Javits accepts the Colonel's handshake a little stiffly, but in a friendly enough manner. He almost seems to sigh with relief as the man moves on. At the declaration of a problem, his smile drops into a concerned frown.

Little Miss Bald and Demi-Butch offers the Colonel her best mannish, Enigneery handshake and a brief, "Glad to be back, sir," nodding her head once. She offers a brief 'it's okay, it's okay' sort of sidelong glance to Alarcon, obviously sympathetic to her plight. See, the advantage to a shaved head: skeevy old men don't try to flirt with you.

That would be Medes, there.

Since that what he is supposed to do, Darax continues to smile and shakes the hand that is offered to him. His attention shifts over to Alarcon and the oh-so comfortable way that she deals with her own greeting. Must. Not. Laugh at. Superior. Officer. In front of. Diplomats.

"Your Survey team? The one you sent here to monitor the impact of Dominion Occupation? The that has been studying the White Factories, and the Cloning Vats, the one that has been here for some time and whose company I have, admittedly, rather much enjoyed?" LeClerque purses his muttonchopped lips and lets out a considering growl. How to put this best. "We've lost it." Succinct, accurate, vague, lacking direct blame. Sounds good. "Yes. We have... lost. It. In that we do not know where it is."

Dakin sighs and frowns somewhat. "Colonel, would you object to me ordering my ship to begin scanning for them? If their commbadges are still active, we may be able to locate them."

Dakin sighs and frowns somewhat. "Colonel, would you object to me ordering my ship to begin scanning for them? If their commbadges are still active, we may be able to locate them."

Alarcon just blinks some more. She's not flushed anymore, and seems to have recovered from the shock of her own personal little welcome. Clearing her throat, she clasps her hands neatly behind her back once more and remains silent, listening with interest.

Idrani's brows lift slightly. They lost them. She's heard worse explanations, but not many. The young Andorian glances sidelong at Dakin, then returns to quietly observe the Occan. Her antennae, however, move independently of her gaze, taking in the sounds of the room.

. o O Idrani thinks "Romulans."

Javits blinks, both eyebrows arching up at the Colonel's pronouncement and his frown deepening considerably. He glances from he Colonel to Dakin as he listens to the exchange.

Medes raises her eyebrows slightly and gnaws on her lower lip. Her hands are folded in front of herself now, and she still idly fiddles with the place where the now-melted wedding ring once was on her left hand. A glance aside at Javits, now, and then back down at the toes of her boots.

Dakin frowns. "Um, thank you, Colonel, but if you don't mind, I think the location of our missing fellows has to take priority for the moment. One moment, if you please..." He then reaches towards his commbadge. "Dakin to Thomas Paine." Anyone answering should be able to tell he is NOT happy.

Havaris answers over Dakin's Compin, "Paine here, Lieutenant."

Dakin answers back, "Kusto, it would seem our survey team's gone M.I.A... have whoever's running Sciences up there to begin a full-spectrum sensor scan of the planet. Commbadge signals, Federation energy signatures, non-indigenous species in case any of the team were non-human, the works."

"Ah, Sir... that could take some time. And we'd have to leave Standard Orbit to get distal scans. Permission to do so, Sir?" Havaris responds over the comlink.

Dakin nods. "Permission granted, Lieutenant. And double-time it."

"Aye, Sir. Thomas Paine, out." The link ends.

Alarcon is frowning pensively at a spot on the floor, lost in thought. Eventually, the faux-sciency babble intrudes, and she looks up, confused for a moment. Her social skills could use a little... ah, polishing. When it finally hits her, she blinks a couple of times in LeClerque's direction, then looks at something safe. Liiiike... the tops of her boots. That's safe. Nothing weird going on down there.

Idrani stands quietly, features inscrutible.

Javits stands by, rocking back a bit on his heels as he quietly observes, though he seems a somewhat lost in thought over the Colonel's report, as if considering options.

Darax's smile fades to the point of nonexistence at the goings-on around him. He continues to keep quiet, however. He's just doing so a little more stoicly.

Tea? No? LeClerque deflates just a touch at that while the security forces behind him stew a bit, themselves. Nothing Occans love more than admitting to having lost foreign persons. They love that slightly less than inviting off-worlders down for tea, in fact. "In the meantime? While your vessel scans us from orbit to their considerable amusement? Perhaps I could deliver to you their findings thusfar? Very intriguing. I have it here somewhere..." He pats his person before plucking up a PADD from his waistcoat. Ah ha! "Not a very practical device, though it has allowed us to liase nicely with your team." He steps forward, handing it towards Alarcon rather than Dakin. It is, after all, the results of a science survey. "You just press that little button there, then there. Then... well. There you are, dear." He backs away again. "They were, I believe, at the site of the White Factory most recently. How would you like for us to proceed, since you've refused tea like a sensible fellow?"

. o O Javits thinks "Oh lovely, the limey git knows how to use a PADD. Will wonders never cease? Oh wait, no, he didn't lose it, yet."

Dakin nods. "Would it be permissible for us to see the White Factory? We'd have no problems with you or any of your men escorting us." The prospect of being there a second time doesn't sit well for the Bajoran, but funny how discomfort fades with the possibility of lives being at stake.

Alarcon takes the PADD, which she knows well enough how to work, thank you, Science officer, you don't have to tell her, with the little button and the you-just-press-it and the /dear/ and... /glavin/. She simply clears her throat, however, smiles as sweetly as she can manage--for diplomacy's sake, of course, ever-diplomatic, Isobel--looks over the findings briefly, offers them as a courtesy to Dakin, should he wish to look over them, as well.

Idrani's antennae move slightly, alternately flicking her gaze from LeClerque to Dakin, to the Security guards and back again.

"Well that's quite the drive, isn't it, and in this weather?" LeClerque bristles quietly at the thought before clearing his throat. "Oh, what harm can it do. Just. Please. Let's not cause a stir while out and about, hmm?" LeClerque gestures towards Dakin's phaser. "I believe I can have my driver pull around and we can all ride in my state vehicle." LeClerque moves towards a desk off in the corner and pulls out his service pistol, fastening it to his belt. He then plucks his hat from the desk, tucking it under arm. "A jolly field trip, wot. Shall we, then?"

Dakin smiles a bit. "Yes, let's, and you needn't worry, Colonel. We aren't here to start any firefights. Lead the way." He looks towards the rest of the away team then follows LeClerque wherever he may lead them.

Idrani follows along, speaking finally. "If I may, Colonel," she says in dulcet tones, accent pronounced, "When did the survey team turn missing and where was their last known location?"

Javits gives Dakin a clipped nod, his frown not fading a bit, then moves to follow along with the rest of the team.

Medes gives Javits a sidelong glance along with raised eyebrows when LeClerque mentions his state vehicle. This would be the 'Look, I told you! Fossil fuel ground vehicles! Like I said!' look. She cannot help the Engineerigeek, even as she shuffles off with the rest of the team.

LeClerque leads the team towards the doors at the back of the room, these parting to open onto a long hallway with high vaulted ceilings, marble-like floors, and lined with many ornate wooden doors. Each end of the Hallway and every other parcel of ceiling is done in glass, suffusing the whole hallway with the early golden glow of morning. Boot heels scuff and click on the floors. The sound of Bureaucracy. "Two nights previous they failed to return from their usual errands. Quite literally, they failed to come to dinner. I was having a bit of a soiree in the reception hall, here. I meant to introduce them about, have my picture taken, run for Office. Failing that, having something nice for the old scrapbook. They were late. Later. Eventually written off as rude. And only later understood to be missing in point of fact. Blushed and stammered my damn way through a dinner party, and for what?" The doors at the end of the hallway are parted for the group by a pair of smartly dressed doormen, and there is in fact LeClerque's limousine. Black with darkened windows, complete with a primly dressed Chauffeuse. In that she's female. The doors are opened for the party. LeClerque notes Medes' and Javits' glancing, smiling pleased. "Perhaps one of you would like to drive?"

Dakin looks over to Medes and Javits as the offer to operate the vehicle is made. Obviously, he has little on his mind besides the missing personnel.

Alarcon arches an eyebrow at limousine and chaffeuse, then glances at Medes with half a grin, knowing the Littlest Engineer must be beside herself with excitement at the prospect. Shaking her head slightly, settling the grin into a standard polite smile, she queues up by the vehicle, quietly waiting her turn to board, or whatever one does to a vehicle of this sort.

. o O Medes thinks "Me! ME! LET ME DRIVE!"

Idrani smiles, eyes on the Colonel. "I've been very interested in your political system, Colonel LeClerque. Is it similar to that of pre-Federation Earth, or has yours evolved? You mentioned running for office?" She waits to get in, after the senior officers.

. o O Idrani thinks "...fishing..."

Javits appraises the vehicle with a long curious look, then gives Medes a sidelong glance and a rather sly smile, along with a nod, as if to say 'Here's your chance!'

Despite her concern -- and she does listen quite carefully to the conversation quite carefully -- Medes is completely derailed by the offer to drive. She can't /help/ it. It's like a wolf wandering into a store where there are plenty of sugar-coated rabbits just there for the taking. Her eyes get rather wide, and she nods her head a few times, giving Javits a quick, 'I know!' sidelong glance. "I'd love to. Uhm. Thanks." Please, allow her to continue to fulfill her idiom and reinforce LeClerque's assumptions. At least he's not flirting with her.

Darax keeps quiet and towards the back of the group. Occasionally he glances at LeClerque and his men, but for the most part his eyes just travel from person to person in this away team. He will, of course, be the last to enter the vehicle.

"The /Diplomatic Attache/ does not know of our political system? I find this apalling, Miss." LeClerque waits for the others to crawl inside and find a seat before waving off his driver. "Thank you, Mindy. I believe someone is applying for your positions with the Ministry. At least temporarily." The driver smiles, hands a set of keys to Medes, and even removes her chequered cap, setting it atop Medes' bald head with a wink. "Mind the clutch." Mindy, smart short haircut and all, tugs off her gloves and climbs the steps back to the ministry. LeClerque, boarding after Idrani and before Darax, settles himself onto a plush seat and plops his hat atop his head. "Similar to, yes. Similar to your present one, in fact. Ministries and Presidents and rhetoric aplenty. Are you blue folk much inclined to that pursuit?"

Dakin stifles a smile at the "blue folk" comment as he settles into his seat in the limousine.

Alarcon settles herself in the limousine, as well, sliding in next to Dakin, since that's just kind of how it worked out. She looks around with undisguised interest, running a finger over some of the door controls, looking at this and that.

GAME: Medes spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Medes contests her Vehicle Operations (Ground Vehicles) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

Idrani nods faintly. "Every species has its members with political inclinations, mine is no exception." She speaks smoothly, "Of course, I've read the briefings on Occa, but often such dry reports from the perception of a third party, leave much details unsaid. I am certain you could provide a more... detailed explanation." She smiles. "I've heard that your government has recently made diplomatic overtures to the Terran planetary government."

Fortunae has left.

Javits seems to be making an attempt to examine every detail of the vehicle's interior as he settles into his seat, constantly examining each bit as it comes into his field of view. If he's hearing the conversation, it's not obvious.

Medes offers Mindy a game sort of grin at first, even as the hat's set on her head and then the short haircut and the smile and the wink and the... uhm. Oh. /Oh./ Oh dear. Thea raises a hand to scratch at the back of her head, her ears turning briefly red as she coughs and climbs into the driver's seat. Stereotype backfiring now! Please go into the Ministry now, okay, thanks. She turns the hat around -- because it's a little big, you know, keeps falling in her eyes -- and takes a few moments to adjust the seat (raising it so she can see all the way over the dash and moving it so she can reach the pedals and all) and the mirrors and stuff. Then, it's time to turn the thing on. She revs the engine once or twice after turning the key. Okay, maybe three times. Well, four, but who's counting? Okay, really driving now! The tiny Engineer can't help but grin even as she puts the car into gear. Erk. Mind the clutch indeed. It's a bit sticky. She pulls out, and the motion of the car is a bit jerky as she shifts into second, but the shift into third is smooth. Ah. Just like the holodeck.

Darax cocks his head to one side and offers the Colonel another one of his patentedly friendly smiles. Since he was asked a question, he will answer it. "My own people are also," he pauses to make sure he has the wording right, "inclined to such pursuit." He isn't condescending. He probably couldn't be if he tried.

. o O Medes thinks "This. Is so. Cool."

"Has it?" LeClerque scratches his furry cheeks for a moment, eyeing Idrani keenly. If he had a monacle, it would be ideal for the look he's offering her. "Certainly you understand how rumors do spread. You lot have been knocking on our door ever since you came out here and poked your nose in on our business. If we knocked back, I am certain it was to shout that you ought to keep the noise down. You have been a most unique neighbor, I will say that much. Sometimes stealing tools out of our shed, sometimes sending us holiday cards. Not certain if we should invite you for dinner or pour salt on your lawns... ah!" LeClerque jerks a bit as the car lurches, chuckling for Medes' sake. He then glances between Darax and Idrani, giving those chops another scratching. "I say, you're different." Blink. "Which is which, for my sake? Bolaru-- Bol. And the. Other ones." Never an attache around when you need one. He then looks to Dakin and Alarcon, "Feel free to avail yourselves of the bar!" By the red tint of LeClerque's nose, he certianly does.

Fortunae has arrived.

GAME: Fortunae is joining this location.

Dakin smiles and holds up a hand in polite refusal. "Thank you for the offer, Colonel, but we're obliged to pass while on duty."

"If you drink it before ten, Lieutenant, it isn't drinking." LeClerque, veteran enabler.

Alarcon clears her throat, reddening slightly again, and demurs, politely.

Idrani doesn't reply to the offer of the drinks, presuming that it wasn't meant for the non-humans. "I am an Andorian. Ensign Darax is a Bolian. We are different species, though we share the trait of cobalt-based blood." She peers at the human, deciding to allow her line of questioning to be diverted. For now.

Javits gives the bar a rather disdainful look , then glances to Dakin, relaxing at the officer's refusal of the offer. He then returns to his scrutiny of the vehicle's interior, along with an occasional glance out the windows.

Medes is up front. Drivin'. Yep. She's drivin'. It's the greatest thing that's happened to her in at least the last few hours. Okay, she needs to be on... this side of the road, and... oh, MAP! She can get a map from her PADD! So she does, while sitting at this sign. It says STOP. So she stops. And gets a map. Hm. Turn. Turn.... right. Okay. Green means go, red means stop. Yellow means... uhm... slow down? Okay, and NOW stop, 'cause it turned red. And what does that sign say? And now she turns again. Wait! TURN SIGNALS! They're... here! Yes!

. o O Medes thinks "I'm driving a car. This is so crazy. It's like... history. On WHEELS. It's like those people that used to have buggies. This is like driving a buggy. Only with an engine. Yep. And a stick shift! Maaaaan."

No need for Darax to offer any information. Idrani has been kind enough to do so for him. Instead, he merely nods, affirming the Andorian's information. The matter of drink is politely ignored by him. Dakin gave the answer there.

"No tea, no bourbon. You do /drink something/, don't you?" LeClerque is forced to refrain from drinking. Much to his lack of delight, in truth. And if his demeanor changes subtly, it's got nothing to do with twice rebuffed hospitality, naturally. He then glances Idrani's way noting, "Aside from rank, is there some cultural superiority at play, here?" It's the Bolian's obliging silence, of course. "Awful quiet for a smiling man. Makes a fellow nervous." The car rolls through New Florida, taking a highway and eventually an unmwarked road out to the site. The whole compound is cordoned off by tall fences, barbed wire, frequent military patrols, and armed guards. The checkpoint to enter the compound is manned by a unit of Occa's finest. The rifles they are carrying? They don't have cartridges. Those are energy weapons. Suddenly the bullet glass isn't quite so comforting. When Medes draws to a stop, the head of the contingent moves to the window and raps twice. That's a rifle muzzle levelled conveniently at her head, even if he can't see where he's aiming it.

Dakin peers at the armed guard knocking on the window. His hand doesn't go to his phaser... yet. "Colonel, I'm assuming our being here isn't going to be a problem for the guards here?"

Idrani shakes her head faintly, "No, Colonel. No cultural superiority play." She speaks lightly, glancing out the window occasionally. She falls silent as the car comes to a halt.

Javits has by now satisfied his curiosity over the vehicle's interior and was occupied with watching Medes driving. At the approach to the compound and his notice of its obviously heavily guarded state, particularly the weapons, he shoots a warning look at Dakin.

Medes slowly rolls down the window, looking over her shoulder briefly, "Uhm, Ran... uh, sir?" She wonders, looking for direction, even as she opens the window, as indicated by the man with the rifled pointed at her head. She's been shot here once already, thank you.

Darax shakes his head as he looks up to Idrani and then over to LeClerque. "As Lieutenant Idrani said, there is no cultural superiority. I merely do not have much to say, and as such, remain silent so that I do not say anything wrong. I know little of your...." he trails off and as he does, the smile fades from his face. The color doesn't drain since that would be impossible for him. Calmly, and making no sudden moves, he motions towards the window and Medes' date with the busniess end of a weapon. "Sirs."

. o O Medes thinks "Suddenly not so cool!"

The Officer steps back and raises his rifle. That isn't Mindy. That's someone in a Starfleet Uniform. The other guards, having expected a routine wave-through or turn about, respond with surprise as the rifle comes up. Lots of rifles raise to match. Suddenly things aren't quite so pleasant in the driver's seat. Or in the car in general. LeClerque, before he does anything, motions to Dakin's weapon. "I would hand that over now, Lieutenant. It's not that I don't trust you, it's more that I don't trust weapons in general. And they won't listen to me if you have that on your person. After all, I could be a prisoner." LeClerque motions with his fingers, "If you please."

. o O Medes thinks "Oh... excrement."

Dakin sighs and nods, then removes the phaser, powers it down so no idiot accidentally vaporizes something, then reverses his grip on it so, as he hands it to LeClerque, the handle's pointed to him. "There you go, it's powered down." To Medes, "Stay calm, Thea..."

Alarcon remains very still, although she glances sharply at LeClerque. Uncrosses and recrosses her ankles, the only sign of fidgeting she displays.

GAME: Idrani spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Idrani (claiming advantage) contests her Material Engineering (Personal Equipment) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Fails!

Idrani leans forward, peering out the window, trying to get a closer look at the energy rifles.

Javits all but freezes in place, only his eyes moving as they scan over the group, paying particular attention to LeClerque and Dakin.

Medes just sits very still. "I'm. Calm. I'm very calm." Her hands are on her steering wheel now. See? Steering wheel. Hands. On it. Not threatening anything. Waiting.

Darax stays rigid, his eyes staying locked on the display around the car. He doesn't look so much nervous as just very, very cautious. Best not to give them a reason. Alright. Maybe just a little bit nervous.

LeClerque accepts the sidearm with a gracious grin, "You will have it back shortly, Lieutenant." The Occan then leans forward to work the sunroof controls, weapons shifting their aim in anticipation. He stands up and squeezes out of the rooftop, resting his arms and the phaser on the rooftop with a gamely squint at the sunlight. "Morning, blokes! Right weather for a drive, wot? You remember Lieutenant Medes? Got shot to sin kicking the lizards off our planet? Mind opening the gates? There's a lad." Bemused, the officers lower their weapons, muttering apologies. "Stay right! And Private, your collar is crooked. Good lad." LeClerque taps the phaser's grip on the roof. "Driver, /if/ you please?"

. o O Medes thinks "I didn't get shot in the shin, I got shot in the shoulder."

Dakin nods and relaxes a bit. He'll relax completely once he gets his phaser back and their people home safe, but this will do for now.

Alarcon sighs, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She uncrosses and recrosses her ankles again, primly, leans back more comfortably into her seat.

<CONTEST> Medes contests her Vehicle Operations (Ground Vehicles) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

Idrani hms softly to herself, settling back in her seat as the people with energy weapons are no longer in view. She remains silent, though not adverse to picking up the conversation again.

Javits sinks into his seat with a sigh of relief, folding his hands across his lap and once more resuming his observation of Medes' driving skills.

Medes pleases, right, and once the gate is opened, she smoothly starts up the car again -- no jerking the clutch about this time, she's a quick study even on the tricky bits -- and drives on through.

Darax relaxes heavily and finally lets his gaze move from the armed men outside. He doesn't look at anyone else in the limo. Pointedly. The ceiling, the floor, the window, the bar. Yes.

LeClerque of the indomitable pluck slides back into the vehicle and roll closed the sunroof. He inspects the phaser or a moment or two before handing it back with a toss and an abrupt, "BOO!" This, followed by gravelly laughter. "Tense lot, wot. You'd think we were barbarians." LeClerque brushes off his service medals and offers a toothy grin across to Alarcon, "Gets the blood running, eh? Driver, just tuck her into the motorcade, there. To the right. There's a girl. And you're obliged to fetch the door, too."

Dakin catches the phaser with one hand, the "boo" not fazing the Bajoran as he calmly reholsters the weapon.

. o O Medes thinks "There's. A. /GIRL?/"

. o O Medes thinks "If you weren't letting me drive a CAR I would be VERY CROSS."

Alarcon jumped at the BOO!, however, and instantly regrets it. Her attention was unavoidably drawn to the source of the cry, and, coloring slightly once more, she offers LeClerque a somewhat strained smile of what she hopes is diplomatic politeness. "Ahaha," she adds, gamely.

Idrani smiles politely at the Colonel's joke. Relax. Sure. Not like there was a Federation survey team that suddenly went MIA or anything. But she keeps those thoughts from registering on her features.

Javits jumps slightly at LeClerque's bellowing, then sits back with a rather disgruntled expression, which he manages to quickly fade into a decidedly stern frown.

Thank the Prophets that she doesn't have to /paralell/ park. Medes twitches a little at the BOO, but she has her mind settled on something, so it helps with the not twitching. Which is good, what with the her controlling the vehicle they're all in and all. Her ears color as she's called a 'girl,' though it doesn't seem that getting the door bothers her at all. What, like she cares? No! She got to /drive a car./ Opening the door and being flirted with by the actual driver is a small price to pay. So, after parking the car and turning it off, she opens the door. Tadah.

Darax's head snaps towards the Colonel's sudden sound. His blinks heavily at the man once or twice and then opens his mouth to say something. Shortly afterwards, his mouth shuts... It is finally just too much for him. With a smile, he asks the man. "Are all of your people so forthright and," findtherightwordfindtherightword, "jovial?"

. o O Javits thinks "Barbarians? No, not at all. Primitive? No, never. Bloody git."

"Not at all, Ensign," LeClerque replies as he rises up and squeezes through the doors to offer Medes a nod of thanks, "I'm an exception, as sure as any. One doesn't become an official in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs on a planet renowned for its xenophobia without pinching the wrong arse at an Embassy function." LeClerque takes in a deep breath and lets it out in a pleasant sigh. "Still can't fault the weather. They called for rain in the morning news. Their offices were just up those stairs, there. Through that door. Last place we hard from them, at least." When Alarcon appears? You guessed it. Out comes the hand. As is only polite in helping ladies out of cars in the 24th century.

Dakin waits to climb out after his subordinates. Being the first to enter the car meaning being the last to leave and all.

Alarcon isn't used to getting out of limousines. When a hand is offered, she debates for a split-second, then takes it, if only to avoid falling on the man. Which would be worse. She lets go promptly, mind you, and smooths down the front of her uniform, discreetly. Waits for Dakin. Clears her throat.

Idrani gets out of the car, when it is her turn. She doesn't expect LeClerque to assist her. "You'll have to excuse us if we seem a bit preoccupied, Colonel," the young Andorian says smoothly, "We'll feel much more sociable when our wayward survey team is returned. We signed for them and all." She quirks a smile. "I'm sure you know how it is."

Javits reluctantly exits the vehicle, still wearing a decided frown, then slowly scans the area with his eyes, noting various details.

Medes is already out of the car, so she just kind of stands there. With the hat on, still, and all. Backwards. It's a cool hat. Also, she has the keys. And she's keeping them for the moment. The keys. They are hers. Except not really. She'll just hold them, for now, stand here, and look vaguely awkwardly up the stairs.

. o O Medes thinks "We /signed/ for them? What are they, a package?"

Darax climbs out as well, somewhere towards the front of the order. As the first must be last out, the last in is one of the first out. Once outside, he waits, quietly and off to the side looking up towards the building.

The compound would have titans of industry speaking of raising even larger buildings upwards, but quietly, and where the makers of this complex couldn't hear them. It. Is. Enormous. And moreover, there are all manner of tubes and ventillation, catwalks, smoke stacks, just a general mayhem of technology gone terribly wrong. All of this to power an army that could have swept the Alpha Quadrant away like so much dust. It lies dormant now, marked only by rusting joins and bird nests where angles allow. Yep. This is something LeClerque gets to deal with. "Right. Up the stairs, then." Off they go, up the metal stairs and into the offices marked with the stenciled words 'Visitor's Office'. Safer than flying a Federation Emblem. The offices themself are a likely comfort. Gunmetal gray. Blue carpet. Familiar furniture. Familiar technology. All neatly arrayed. The main fixture is a desk, on which rests an ego-serving placard, "I am the Wormhole Alien of this Desk." That joke never dies. LeClerque motions in general about the room, "Have to. They didn't drink tea or bourbon either. So I'll refrain."

Dakin takes issue with the placard for reasons likely obvious to the rest of the away team, but gets down to business regardless. He looks over to Alarcon, "Start a tricorder sweep. Anything out of the ordinary."

GAME: Alarcon spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Alarcon (claiming advantage) contests her Personal Equipment (Tricorder) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

Alarcon deftly and immediately unholsters her tricorder, sets to doing said sweep before any entreaties otherwise can prevent her. Peering down at her display, the color drains out of her face. "Sir. Bomb under the desk. Sweep just set it off."

"Nice weather for it?" Hazards LeClerque. As he. Backs. Bravely towards the door.

Idrani's antennae move. Bomb? Well, /that/ was unexpected. She moves back as well, not having any experience in bomb disposal and she doesn't want to get in the way. She doesn't, however, appear overly alarmed.

Javits quietly glances about the offices, apparently more at ease in familiar surroundings, with the exception of the fact that the previous occupants inexplicably disappeared. At Alarcon's report of the bomb, he too begins carefully backing away from the desk. So much for being at ease.

Medes slowly backs away, glancing toward Dakin and clearing her throat. "Uhm."

Darax does the whole backing away thing. Guns are one thing. Activated bombs are another. They don't train you for Bomb Squad in Crew Management.

Dakin also backs out of the room, though he waits by the door to wave the Colonel and the rest of his team out first. "Everyone out! Colonel, I'd consider it a VERY good idea to get this building evacuated...!"

Everyone out? Why, that would include the gal who activated the bomb! Isobel, tricorder still in hand, follows orders. Out the door she heads, presumably behind whoever zipped out first.

Idrani obediently backs out of the room. "How quick can you get a bomb disposal expert in here?" she asks. "Or can we beam the bomb into space?"

Sound advice. LeClerque turns and scampers -- bravely -- down the stairs. "There's a bomb, lads! Everybody out!" Down the stairs, eyes on the limousine. Blast and foul! His limo! When the guards come closer to see what all the fuss is about, LeClerque throws his hat at one of them. "Bomb! Daft, lad! Back! Double time!" Fleeing has never been done with more... heroism. Truly! Idrani's unconcerned and patient questions don't get answered. Because of the bomb in the office that's ticking, and LeClerque's brave retreat. So brave.

Javits exits as ordered in an rapidly and orderly a manner as possible, not bothering with even so much as a glance to the rear. He does manage one lengthy remark as he heads down the stairs at the best possible speed, "Someone expected us to be here and do this. Tricorders aren't normal to this planet, and a bomb would effectively eliminate any possible clues, along with us."

Medes evacuate first. Theorize later. She jokes about getting blown up, but she'd really rather not. Really.

You certainly don't need to tell him twice, though a thought does strike him... A ton of questions run through Darax's head, all of them wanting to fight their way out so that he can have every answer about this he could possibly want. The flesh is weak, however and all he gets out is. "How much time?"

Dakin overhears Idrani's suggestion and slaps his commbadge. "Dakin to Thomas Paine! We've got a primed explosive device within our vicinity... lock the transporters on it and beam it out into space..!"

GAME: Havaris spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Havaris (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Transporter) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

Now that's just peachy. Havaris voice replies, "Sir? Sir! Find the device and send it 10,000km to starboard." There is, naturally, no response for some time. Nothing explodes. And Havaris finally reports, "We have it, Away Team. It's been disabled in transport. We can send it back down now, if you like."

LeClerque and the majority of the nearby Occans aren't being very cavalier. They're taking cover like sensible folks, though many are muttering more than a little with respect to all of this fuss. The Federation's presence here is slowly losing its welcome. Disappearing survey teams. Planted bombs. Even LeClerque looks less than pleased as he rises up from behind the barricade he'd been hiding behind, moving out to join his charges.

<CONTEST> Alarcon (claiming advantage) contests her Personal Equipment (Tricorder) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!

Again, Alarcon lets out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. An adventure, this. She breathes, checking her tricorder again. Shaking her head, she looks slightly uneasily around at the disgruntled Occans.

Idrani absently straightens her uniform, glancing sidelong at the Occans, then back into the room.

Javits' decidedly stern frown has once more returned as he glances about the area, making an attempt at presentability in tugging at the hem of his uniform. For a moment, he pauses, staring at a wayward sprig of grass as if lost in thought, then moves in a quiet burst of activity, pulling out his PADD and tapping at its display in a rapid series of strokes.

Medes skids to a stop when she hears Havaris's confirmation. It's almost comical, really. Starfleet officer, driver's cap on her head looking silly, sliding to a stop and almost falling over when she stops? Amusing.

Darax tries to make his sudden stop and turn back towards the building look as casual as he possibly can. Which probably only makes it look comical. Yes, he was running out of the building as ordered, but not quite as cowardly as the Occans. And well, some people can even strain his natural good nature. Might as well try to show him up. Even if you look like a moron doing it.

One of the younger, scrawnier, no doubt more picked on among the guards rises up slowly as LeClerque moves to join up with the Federation personnel. He glances from left to right down the line of crouching comrades and raises his voice to call at the Away Party, "Why don't you just /leave/! We don't want you here! You have trillions of people out there, you won't miss these six! Go back up to your ship and stay there!" This sentiment, voiced by their least, is met with a few shouts of agreement as other guards begin rising to their feet. Another one, unfortunately a more magnetic presence, bellows, "We can show you where the door is, if you've lost it!" LeClerque, for his part, sighs rather sharply, wheeling back on his men. "Put in a sock in it, lads! These are our guests!" The ringleader retorts, "/Your/ guests, our trash! Time to take 'em out, boys!" LeClerque, showing that he really /is/ brave underneath it all, advances back towards the taller, younger, stronger, and better armed guard, plucks off his beret, smacks it across his face, drops it to the ground, and then slaps the man's stunned face. First once. Then twice, harder. This is now a very. Tense. Silence.

Dakin sighs. "Negative on that, Kusto. Apparently tricorder activity triggered the thing in the first place. Can you analyze the bomb on your end?" He then turns to Idrani and silently mouths the words, "good thinking." Upon seeing the display of unrest, he eyes each of his officers intently, then the crowd, then LeClerque.

"Stand by, Rann," comes Havaris' reply.

Alarcon simply... stands there, still a little pale from her activating-the-bomb-adventure, even if her colour has again started to rise, rosier than before as the guard's shouts reach her ears. She straightens up, tugs self-consciously at her own uniform, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

Idrani takes a step forward, speaking in soft tones. It's an old psychological tactic, often used to help diffuse angry people. "Gentlemen, please," She speaks calmly, even gently. "We appreciate how difficult our presence here is for you and we are profoundly grateful for your assistance in helping us locate our missing team members. But you must understand, we cannot simply leave them behind. We need your help. The sooner we find our people, the sooner we leave your planet in peace."

Javits continues to tap away on his PADD, at least until the guard's outburst, at which he looks up with a snap, then slowly lowers the device to his side as the confrontation plays out. He winces at the slap, then all but freezes in place, watching and waiting.

. o O Javits thinks "And how are we to know /they/ didn't plant the bomb?"

GAME: Idrani spends a courage point.

Maybe if Medes stands very, very still, they won't notice she's here. Except for the, you know, gold shirt and the checkered hat and... well. Best just to stand really still anyway, while her ears turn red.

<CONTEST> Idrani contests her Persuasion (Oratory) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

. o O Medes thinks "These ungrateful bastards. I crawled through a sewer for them! I was SHOT for them. I was... GAH!"

Darax straightens himself out completely now, letting out a heavy sigh while he also straightens his uniform. This brief show of pride is disrupted by the sudden truth coming from the guards. Instincively, he takes a step back so that he can be just a little closer to the group of Fleet officers.

LeClerque begins a dressing down of legendary proportions, barking up at the face of his nothing less than speechless suboordinate. "If you are /quite/ through insulting the lady," and here LeClerque motions towards Alarcon, the most palatable of the females present, "we can get on with the business of being gentlemen. Now pick up your cap, lad, there's an officer present!" Stunned into a shamed silence, the alpha male of the pack offers Alarcon a bashful glance, "Ma'am. Dreadful conduct. Meant nothing by it." That murmured, he stoops to pick up his beret, only to find LeClerque's boot on it. "And the Andorian." And so it was that, from a position of inferiority, that the private in question glances up to Idrani and swallows once, nods his head, and stammers out, "Apologies, miss." LeClerque's boot moves, the private plucks up his beret, dusts it off, and replaces it atop his head with a swallow of his own pride. Between LeClerque's example and Idrani's words, the crowd seems to ease up a bit, all but the runt with the rifle who started it all. The kid strides the four steps necessary to bring him up beside LeClerque and smashes the butt of his rifle into the back of the man's skull, dropping him like a sack of grain to the ground. "Bollocks on you." And around comes the rifle, aiming for Dakin...

. o O Javits thinks "BLOODY EFFIN' HELL!!!"

Dakin blinks and dives to one side, unholstering his phaser, set for medium stun, and fires a phaser beam aimed mainly to make him drop the weapon first and foremost, but if he has to get stunned, oh well.

. o O Alarcon thinks "THIS is precisely why I am not a diplomat."

GAME: Dakin spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Dakin (claiming advantage) contests his Energy Weapon (Phaser) skill vs LeClerque's Dodge skill and Succeeds!

<CONTEST> LeClerque contests its Fitness (Vitality) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

The stream of phaser fire smacks the private square in the chest, sending him stumbling back a few feet, dazed. He comes to rest against his former cover, a low concrete wall, before struggling to get his weapon up and return fire. Weapons are moving all over the place now, some pointed at the Federation's Away Team, others at other Occans -- and many of those at the private taking aim. He fires, a haphazard stream at best.

<CONTEST> LeClerque (claiming disadvantage) contests its Energy Weapon (Disruptor Rifle) skill vs Dakin's Dodge skill and Fails!

The stream strikes the pavement a good yard from Dakin, the private blinking hard behind his thick glasses all the while.

Alarcon remembers, fortunately, that Dakin is the armed one of all of them, and just... endeavours to stay out of his way. She's wielding--a tricorder! So there's not a lot she can really do, but look alarmed and menacing and somewhat taken aback all at once. And maybe, you know, if things get really out of hand, she'll fling said tricorder. Or something. This bit's not really her forte.

Idrani takes another step forward, her demeanor switching from soothingly diplomatic, to in-control command. "STAND DOWN, PRIVATE!" She barks, antennae flattening. Now that she's gotten their attention, her tone lowers from Andorian military bark to steel fist/velvet glove. "Put your weapon down, /now/. Your superior gave you an order."

Javits relaxes just a bit, looking on in a rather approving manner of the Colonel, before the runty guard strides forward and smashes LeClerque. Muttering a curse, Nick drops his PADD as he dives for the nearest possible form of cover. The sound of weapons fire only serves to quicken his pace.

Medes's eyes turn this way. They turn that way. She has, at her disposal, a mighty... PADD! And a tricorder! Perhaps she'll just stand still. Very still. And hope not to get shot. Or perhaps the better idea is to dive for cover. Yes. She'll do that instead. Hi Javits. I'm going to share your cover with you. It's the Engineering Hideout!

Look left. Look right. Put up hands in a 'I am not a threat' sort of way. Darax carefully moves backwards a step or two in hopes that it will at least bring him to within diving distance of some cover if the firing starts.

GAME: Idrani spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Idrani contests her Command skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!

LeClerque has begun to moan on the ground now. At least he's not dead. Idrani's advance and bellow serves two purposes. It attracts most of the rifles aimed at the Federation, and it attracts some of those aimed at other Occans as well. You win some, you lose some. Idrani's ground has been lost, and it shows in the Private's beady eyes, in the sweat that is no longer streaming quite so readily down his features, and in the way he begins to recover from both the stun and his desperation. "Hear that, lads? The blue devil's taken to giving me orders." He straightens up a bit more and shouts, "Whose corps is this? Whose planet? Whose people? I dropped the drunken bastard that's made us let these offwordlers /in/ and /out/ -every- day! We can shut 'em out for good, now!" Oh, the fickle tides of the vox populi. "You stand down, you bug-headed freak. I'm the one with the rifle. Why don't you go back there and hide with the rest of the aliens?"

GAME: Medes spends a courage point.

Dakin holsters his weapon and begins speaking, "No one's trying to give anyone orders here. And the shooting stops now. You want us gone? Help us find our friends, and we'll gladly leave without further incident. Were it people of yours missing, maybe even hurt, wouldn't *you* want to get them back? Wouldn't you? We didn't come here to start fights or challenge your way of life. We came here to collect our countrymen, nothing more."

After a look at Dakin, Alarcon, who still hasn't dived for cover, perhaps out of general bewilderment, also steps forward, holding her arms out, tricorder holstered, palms facing the Occans. "Gentlemen, please..." she pleads, calmly, as soothingly as she can. "Really. Lt. Dakin speaks the truth." The slight scientist stands there, utterly unarmed, hands still out to her sides, straightens up. "We simply came for our people. Our actions, past and present, have never been intended for Occa's detriment, the detriment of the Occan people. Please. Don't harm us." With this, Isobel bets wildly on her vague intimations of approval from some of the Occans.

Idrani meets the young Private's gaze, unblinking and unflinching. That's the advantage of the belief that you're living on borrowed time. She walks over to LeClerque, to assist the Colonel to his feet, if possible. "Colonel, are you all right?"

The Private shouts back at Dakin, "This is here because of /your war/! You want our sympathy because of the defense you gave the galaxy, when they were coming for /you/! /You/ brought the Dominion! /You/ brought the Siinogans! /You/ brought the Ketricel White, the Cloning Vats, the Shield Arrays! /You/ brought it /all/! And we /owe/ you because you came and tried to clean up the mess you made? Occans /died/ in /your/ war, Auschlander! We had a resistance! We fought! Don't sell your sympathies to me, don't you ask us to help you find what's here when they were here because of /you/! We didn't ask for them, we didn't ask for you, we didn't ask for your war, your aid, your presence, your diplomacy! Your ship!" He shakes his own weapon. "Your weapons! None of it! You polluted our culture, you polluted our politics, you will pollute our /blood/ if we let you! We /were/ human once! Now we are /better/! We are /Occan/! Not the galaxy's brothel house of goodwill and temporizations! Whore your goodwill elsewhere! Go!"

LeClerque is aided to his feet and murmurs softly, "No chance you folks offer asylum, wot? This is a powderkeg. We need to go."

. o O Idrani thinks "Calm down, Jaylas. You -want- that little punk to shoot you and you've got to stop it."

Javits pops his head up from behind, of all things, the Colonel's vehicle, then slowly stands, glancing from one Occan guard to another, thought eh majority of his attention is on the Private and LeClerque. He remains back, probably thinking it best not to crowd the boy.

. o O Medes thinks "WHOSE PLANET? WHOSE PLANET?! DO YOU WANT TO SEE MY SHOULDER?! MY *&$# POLARON SPLASH SCAR?! WHY DO YOU THINK YOU STILL HAVE THAT PLANE... No. No. Not. Screaming. Not. Losing. Temper. Not. No. Not losing temper. No. I am not a diplomat. I am an Engineer. I am not in charge of this mission. I am an Engineer. I fly things and fix things and right now I am keeping my mouth shut and staying /right where I am./ OH PROPHETS YOU REALLY THINK THE DOMINION WOULD HAVE LEFT YOU ALONE? YOU IDIOT. YOU SIMPLE, SIMPLE FOOL. I am staying where I am. I am. I'm staying right here. I am KEEPING MY MOUTH SHUT."

Medes remains in her cover near Javits. It's Engineer Cover Land. Fittingly, it's a car. Her face turns /bright red/ for a few long moments, and her breathing becomes more ragged, before, with a force of will, she evens out her breathing, closing her eyes tight for one short second.

Darax keeps his hands out in front of him, but slowly forces himself to relax into a standing position... As much as that is relaxing. He still looks ready to spring behind the nearest rock, but since the firing hasn't started and he doesn't do so now. This is probably one of those instances where it would be best if he remained quiet, so he does so.

LeClerque's prediction holds true. The Occans, most of them, start shouting encouragements and brandishing their weapons. A select few, the Private LeClerque dressed down in particular, back off a bit. Not foolish enough to abandon their posts under these conditions, but simply refusing to take part in it. Some words go too far, even for an Occan.

Dakin frowns. "Isobel, give the Colonel your tricorder." He then taps his commbadge. "Dakin to Thomas Paine. Requesting extraction beam-out. An Occan colonel has requested to come with us. He can be locked on with Lt. Alarcon's tricorder."

Alarcon smooths her hands over the front of her uniform, her spine acquiring more steel, posture perfect and straight and becoming an officer, her chin pointed upward at precisely the right angle, expression utterly impassive. Crisply, she turns on her heel to face LeClerque. Unholsters her tricorder, places it delicately and with precision in the Colonel's hand. Turns coolly back to face the Occans, says not a word, gives Dakin a clipped nod in reply. "You just press the little button there, dear," she adds, as an afterthought.

Idrani swings her gaze to Dakin, the question 'What about our people?' on her lips, but unspoken. Her jaw tightens, but she says nothing.

Javits steps forward to join the rest, presumably to prepare for transport to the ship, and the sooner the better as far as he's concerned.

Medes gets to her feet, then, once the order's given, and pulls the hat off of her head. She's keeping it, though. See. It's still in her hands. Just not on her head. She grinds her teeth together, apparently silently wondering the same thing as Idrani.

Darax steps in a little closer to the rest of the group when the order for transport goes through. It just seems like the type of thing one should do.

LeClerque dusts himself off, bleeding from the back of the skull in a manner that is worrisome to the beholder and an inconvenience to his dry cleaner at worst to the man himself. Proper officer. He'd stick in a saddle with a leg blown off. A regular Wellington. When Alarcon approaches and places the tricorder in his hands, he blinks bemusement, making a quiet sound of understanding as she instructs him in its-- hey...! The Colonel gives Alarcon a wry glance and takes a few steps towards the officer he'd slapped twice and upbraided. "Here, lad. Have a look at this." And thus did Colonel LeClerque extract the man he made into an example, and also a target. Right along with him. The confused Private and the Colonel begin to fade in unison a few moments later.

As the away team in general begins to fade away, a shout of celebration goes up among the ranks of the Occans. And a spindly private who never knew one ounce of success in his life is elevated to the podium of people's hero. Tyrranical dictators get their starts in such ways.

Then Occa is below them, and the transporter chief before them.

Dakin is off and running for the bridge. "Lt. Alarcon, I want you up on the bridge and scanning the planet for our people. This ship goes nowhere until they're found."

Alarcon bolts for her station at a sprint, shoving the Ensign there aside, having anticipated Dakin's order in this instance. It's the only logical course, and it's why she didn't give him a 'what about our people?!' look. An apology to the Ensign she pushed in front of even as she strains to start attacking her station's LCARs... once she gets there. Runrunrun.

Idrani gets out of the way of the bolting department heads. She turns her attention to the Colonel and the young private. "If you want to talk about political asylum, Colonel, let's talk about your options..."

<CONTEST> Javits contests his Shipboard Systems (Transporter) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!

Javits releases a sigh of relief as he steps off the transporter pad, reaching for his PADD... Looking to the Chief, he strides over and speaks briefly to the man. Moments later a certain PADD appears on the transporter pad. "Better safe than sorry." He mutters as he retrieves his wayward PADD, slipping it into neatly into its holster as he exits the transporter room with a cheery, "Thanks Chief."

Medes, hat still in hand, scoots on along to the bridge. She's little enough to dodge between people, rather than needing to elbow through them too much.

Darax is probably going to be best off helping on the bridge. How exactly still remains to be seen, but better there than doing nothing. As quickly as his lanky Bolian body can make it to the bridge, he does.

"Not at all, Sir. Good to have you back." The Transporter chief pats Javits' arm and nods towards the doors, "They'll be needing you on the Bridge, Sir."

LeClerque and his companion regard Idrani, the latter with a blank stare of total shock, the former with a hopeful grin, "Will there be tea? And a doctor?"

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew speed their way to the bridge where Havaris is idling away his time in the command chair. Sciences is running full spectrum scans, Operations pumping juice into the sensor arrays. It's been slow going, but Havaris has gathered significant data on the Occan surface. Which will be useful only after analysis. The Bajoran hops from his seat and moves down to Tactical, dropping into his seat.

GAME: Alarcon spends a courage point.

Idrani goes home.

Idrani has left.

Dakin heads over to the command chair with an appreciative nod to Havaris. "How're we doing, everyone?"

<CONTEST> Alarcon (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Sensors) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Fails!

Alarcon literally pounds the top of her console with a balled-up fist. Mutters something sharp and probably unladylike under her breath. Keeps at it, single-mindedly.

"I've gathered the sensor data you requested, Sir. Most of it. Engineering is still analyzing the bomb. But it looks crude by our standards." Havaris reports that much from his seat, poking his terminal awake.

Javits exits the turbolift and immediately heads over to the engineering station. He stops short at the mention of the bomb, turning to face Havaris, "Any chance I could take a look at the device?" He indicates his holstered PADD with a light tap, "I have an idea or two about it I'd like to explore."

Medes pauses on the way to Flight Control and ooohs. No, really, she says, "Ooooh." Pause. "I'd like to assist Lt. Javits, if you can stand not having me at the Helm, sir." Want to look at primitive bomb.

"And I can assist Lieutenant Alarcon," Darax chimes in as he moves his way back over towards Mission Ops. "If it is needed," he adds on quickly afterwards, just in case someone might be offended by him suggesting that.

Dakin nods sharply. "All requests approved. Sooner we find our people and why they vanished, the sooner we can break orbit and go home."

Havaris glances about the fast emptying stations and sighs once more. This has been the busiest vacation he's ever had. He pushes up from his seat and motions towards the empty Operations station with a see-saw of his head. "I'll just... my job." He heads over yonder and begins working the controls to give Alarcon the power she needs. Again.

GAME: Medes spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Medes (claiming advantage) contests her Demolitions (Primitive Demolitions) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

<CONTEST> Alarcon (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Sensors) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Succeeds!

A jubilant cry comes from the Science Officer, one knee in the seat at her station, other planted on the floor, the woman veritably draped across her terminal, working at a frenzied pace. "HA! Underground sewage disposal system, Ketricel White plant. And -under guard-." She looks back over her shoulder at the Occans, briefly, shaking her head. "There's shielding down there. Enough, easily, to keep a simple scan from locating them." With effort, she manages NOT to stress the word 'simple.' Diplomacy, that's her art. Doncha know it.

Javits nods as he turns abruptly and retraces his steps back to the turbolift, "Aye sir. That bomb should provide a few clues." After this he seems to be talking more to Medes than anyone else, "Starting with the trigger package. The sooner we discover how the designers knew how to interpret tricorder signals, particularly bandwidth and modulation, to be used as a trigger, not to mention our standard operating procedures, the better." His voice fades into the turbolift, though a few words can be caught as the doors slide shut, focusing primarily on the carrier frequency and sidebands used for standard tricorder scans.

GAME: Darax spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Darax (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Transporter) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

"Well, that's the thing," says Medes after a moment spent looking at the bomb. "They didn't." She looks at the firing cap, then points to another bit. "Primitive sensor device. It wasn't the tricorder that set it off. It was us walking in. It's a really crude piece of work. There's just enough time on this thing attatched to this carbon composite goop here, this stabilizer for the high explosives, for, like, someone to walk into the place, you know, escort us in, and leave, and for us to get blown up. Disarming it... we'd just have to have cut it... here. It was built /really/ quickly."

Darax does a miniature fist pump when Alarcon manages to find them. He may not have been able to do alot, but that Bolian...he's a team player. Always willing to chip in any little bit that he can. Once they are located he goes on with his next task. Getting them off of the planet and onto the ship. "I've got a transporter lock on them sir. I'm bringing them up."

Somewhere below decks, a crew of six Human Science officers breathe a collective sigh of relief and are offered tea by LeClerque, no doubt.

Dakin nods sharply, and tabs an intership comm channel open. "Dakin to sickbay, send a medical team to the transporter room, our survey team should be arriving there shortly." Then to the relief helm officer once they're confirmed on board, "Helm, break orbit and lay in a course back to the station. Warp 4. Engage."

Javits grumbles as he examines the now inert bomb, "Next time, I'll try not to overestimate the designers, if that's what they could be called." Peering more closely at the device, he shakes his head, "As usual, you're correct, it's as primitive as could be, but well within the Occan's technological capabilities."

"I wouldn't go so far as to call them designers," Medes replies drily, poking at the plastique with a forefinger. "Really, the thing's as inert as anything now. The firing cap's no good anymore. Without a new one, it's practically safe enough for a kid to play with." Pause. "Not that I'd let a kid play with this stuff." She clears her throat. "Right. So the question now becomes, who exactly expected whom to walk into that office? The 'whom' is probably us, and I can guess at the who. Which probably means I'm wrong, because I'm no investigator. This is now officially Rann... Lt. Dakin's thing to play with."

The Thomas Paine rounds its way out of Standard Orbit and speeds off into the void in a streak of light, leaving Occa's deceptive peace and hospitality floating untouched by the presence of the alien craft.

Just the way they like it here.