The Long Road Home (part one)

 Episode Name:  The Long Road Home (part one)

   Written By:  Fortunae

         Cast:  Alarcon, Fortunae, Ghorev, Harris, Havaris, Laco and Nilee.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Fortunae

     Aired On:  Sat Aug 23 02:09:52 2003

     Stardate:  53454.9

Time: Fri Aug 22 21:24:01 2003

Stardate: 53454.4

Officer's quarters aboard the USS Thomas Paine, Lt (jg) Robert Harris is pulling on a uniform tunic in anticipation of heading to the bridge for his starting of alpha shift which is still a quarter of an hour away, when the LCARS station in his quarters chimes indicating a personal communique for him. Activating the message the routing information is displayed then an attractive young woman appears and begins to speak the body of the message...

To: Lieutenant (JG) Robert Sean Harris, Systems Manager S-419
From: Midshipman Christine Hurley, Systems Manager DS-121
Re: Your Letter

Grandfather,
Please don't take it personally that my response is so long in coming. It took me a while to figure out how I felt about our situation, mainly trying to see things from your perspective before I did respond. And of course we had a lot of work recently, even before that pulse blew out our systems and knocked us flat in space, but that's another story we can talk about some other time.

It was a strange thing, really, to discover someone who had been a picture and a family "legend" if you will, was alive and well and working in the same sector in the same department even. I mean, I've even seen your name on some reports we get fed from Sector Command and it never occurred to me that you would be /my/ Robert Harris. Well, not to say you are mine, but you know what I mean.

It is sad, really, that you missed meeting your son. Dad was a great man, I think you would have been really proud of him, he was always proud of you. He made me a model of your ship when I was eight and during that tour of duty when we were together, he told me stories about you, the ships you had been on and the adventures you had had. I think that was in part why he joined Starfleet, it was certainly part of it for me, and of course Grandmother as well was an inspiration.

My girlish enthusiasm aside though, how are you doing with all of this? It must be quite a shock. And you're dating and stuff, and well… okay so I checked into you in your current incarnation in more detail. My commander helped me out a bit. I'm like the same age as your … girlfriend? Fiancé? Significant other? You included her name when you looped her into your message buffer for delivery, I do work in communications after all, please don't be angry. How is that going to work for you? Isn't it going to cause some problems for her? And don't get me wrong, I'm sure it would be fun to call her grandmother and talk about how old she is, but she's in security and I don't really look for getting a poke in the nose as part of my recreational activity.

Okay, so I'm stalling I guess. What should I tell you? Should I tell you that grandmother found happiness but it was the haunted kind? You know, the second place kind of happiness? That she never forgot you, that she could describe your face in intimate detail and mimic your speech? She made sure father /knew/ you, even though he couldn't know you. I suppose I could close that circle by making sure you knew him, though as his daughter obviously there were parts of him I never knew, you may want to consider thinking about talking to my mother, your daughter in-law. Bet you didn't plan on having one of those anytime too soon.

Please, write back, we can plan to get together or something, and you can introduce me to the cute guys on your station when I get to take my separation leave after my cadet cruise.

Hoping to hear from you soon,
Christine.

P.S. --- I believe there is a matter of an entire lifetime of birthday presents to be addressed grandfather, I always did want a Pony.

The message then ends restoring the Starfleet Emblem to the screen.

Hand pressed to the screen, Robert's eyes fill with tears of mixed happiness and mourning all at the same time. After a long moment of just standing there, a small grin works its way across his face - gradually becoming a brilliant smile. "Introduce you to the cute guys? *Hardly*." Applying the final touches to his uniform, he inspects himself in a mirror and then races out the door to be on duty on time.

Ghorev settles into Thomas Paine's command chair, and presses on one of the console touch-points in the armrest. "Captain's Log, USS Thomas Paine, Stardate 53454.5, Commander Akeen Ghorev in command." A pause. "We are about 15 minutes from the assigned search grid for Thomas Paine's post-repair voyage, a follow-up to USS Champion's discovery of some unusual subspace readings about a light year from the Federation side of the Romulan Neutral Zone border. Champion's command logs show that, in the area which has been widened for our search grid, a series of signals were received from a Starfleet probe which, by telemetry data, showed to be perhaps 80 years old, but broadcasting as if no more than 3 hours of subjective time had elapsed for the probe from its launch. Because Commander Davis of USS Champion had priority orders to continue on what was then his primary mission tasking, we've been asked to search for this probe, and inspect the area of the search grid for any subspace tears or possible micro wormholes which might explain the apparent temporal discrepency." A pause. "From launch until now, all systems have been go, for the first time since Thomas Paine's last outing. Green-line on power, our own sensor and communications arrays check out. I've even let Lieutenant Alarcon, as First Officer on this mission, steal a little command time so that I could keep a personal eye on the main engineering console. But now, as we approach the target zone, I've forced myself to steel for the more important task of commanding the vessel, and Lieutenant Laco has agreed to keep an eye on the engineering data for me. Hopefully, this will be a quick review, we'll locate the probe, confirm no damage, and haul the probe home for a complete inspection of this little mystery. End log."

It's never just an asteroid. It's never just a simple temporal anomaly. It's never, ever so simple. But the Mission XO keeps her lips firmly pressed together, her expression as jolly as possible, and simply silently hopes that things go as well as Akeen predicts. For now, Alarcon keeps a watchful eye on her Sciency folk, in addition to the rest of the current Paine bridge crew.

. o O Alarcon thinks "At least I'm not in charge, this time."

Havaris lounges at his Operations station, tapping away at his terminal in an effort to make nominal readings even more nominal. Green across the board is good for business. His eyes sneak up to the viewscreen for a moment, just to make certain there's still space out there, before creeping their way back to his terminal. "Another day, another drama."

Ghorev says, "Mister Nilee, I'd like you to take point on the subspace scans -- focus on the background itself, and let Operations worry about finding the probe. Anything that looks suspicious, check a second time, and don't be bashful about asking for confirmation. Micro worm-holes are a huge pain in the hindquarters, if that's actually what we're dealing with here."

The turbolift doors swish open, allowing Harris onto the deck at the back of the bridge. Circling rapidly, he taps the random redshirt at the conn on the shoulder, and takes over the console as the other officer departs.

Harris sits down at Conn.

. o O Harris thinks "I'm flying a starship. I'm flying a starship."

. o O Harris barely witholds a cackle of glee.

Nilee is tapping actively at his station when Ghorev speaks, and the Trill pauses his... work, to look over at Ghorev. Giving him a nod, "I'll keep an eye on things, Commander. Yes sir." He nods once more and returns to the station, bringing up subspace readings.

GAME: Nilee spends a courage point.

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

<PROVE> Nilee has the merit of Scientific Genius at 3.

<CONTEST> Nilee (claiming advantage) contests his Space Sciences (Subspace Field Dynamics) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

Nilee quirks his lips to one side as he watches the readings come in from the scans, he hums quietly to himself as he taps a few more buttons before speaking, "Commander? I'm reading a large variety of subspace irregularities in the area... I'm trying to narrow that down to specifics right now..."

Ghorev sits straighter. So much for a few minutes to relax before the target was reached. "Please." He motions to Alarcon, specifically to the armrest console of her seat, a silent indication to give a look at the data, herself.

Laco pauses in what he was doing, and looks over at Nilee, his fingers poised over his console mid-tap.

<CONTEST> Havaris contests his Shipboard Systems (Sensors) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

GAME: Alarcon spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Alarcon (claiming advantage) contests her Space Sciences (Subspace Field Dynamics) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

Havaris sets to work on finding that probe, lazily poking away at his terminal with little in the way of joie de vie. Finding probes is not, it should be said, Havaris' usual thrill-a-minute method of self-employment. After a brief bit of scanning, he pokes a speck on his terminal and enlarges the area of space concerned, nodding his head all the more certainly. "Got it, sir. Our target is running parallel to the neutral zone, making steady at last reported speed, roughly 57 AU from our current coordinates. I can plot an intercept course, Sir? Forward to the helm?" Havaris glances back to the Big Chairs, raising his eyebrow slightly.

Alarcon takes a moment or two to study Nilee's data. A moment of silent reflection passes, Isobel's index finger thoughtfully pressed to her lips, expression a pensive frown. "Hmm. Decaying neutrino signatures, chroniton refractions, anti-chroniton dispersement flows... multiwave subspace field intermixtures." A slightly longer pause. "Well, that's what's either here now, was here ten minutes ago, or will be here in ten minutes. Or a mixture of all of the above. I take it that's what you're seeing, too, Ensign?"

Ghorev says, "Plot course, yes. But," he shifts his head in a small arc, "Mister Harris, don't engage on that course until we can narrow down what we're seeing with regards to these anomalies and I sound the all-clear. The last thing we need is to fly right into a subspace fissure."

"Aye, sir." Harris' reply is soft as his hands work the helm. The last thing he wants is to get sucked into another one of those kind of things - God knows where he'd end up this time.

<CONTEST> Nilee (claiming advantage) contests his Physical Sciences (Temporal Physics) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

Nilee nods his head slowly as he overhears Alarcon's words, "Yes, sir. I'm seeing the same thing..." he pauses, "Give me a minute... let's see..." he fades off and starts busily tapping at his console.

Ghorev waits on the mutual conclusions of Alarcon and Nilee, intently shifting his gaze between the two science officers.

Havaris nods to the Commander and turns his attention back to his terminal, forwarding the course and positioning of the probe on to the Helm. "Here you are, Helm. Enjoy with my compliments." He concludes his sensor sweep and reverts his terminal to standard monitoring functions, returning to his usual tasks.

Harris' fingers work the console. Once. Twice. Three times. And then he pipes up. "Commander, the helm's response to my input is sluggish." The frown that settles on his face is pensive, as if remembering something unpleasant.

. o O Harris thinks "This is too familiar."

Ghorev asks "Computer-based lag, or a physical drag on the ship, Lieutenant?"

Nilee nods his head slowly, "It appears, sirs..." he pauses briefly confirming his data, "Yes... we're in a juxtaposed locality of space/time. From what I can tell, we could be in a combination of any of the past, present and future... at the same time." He pauses, looking to Ghorev and then back down, "The best analogy I can think of is if you were to push the sides of an inflatable ball inwards to touch. The 'ring' around the outside is normal, but the two dimples created by the pressure touch, and things are different from how they should be." Tapping a few more buttons, he continues unabated, "We're already in the 'dimple'... I'll try and figure out how far in, but it's going to take some more tests."

Laco's console emits a short trill, and the psuedo-engineer enters a few commands. With a confused look upon his face, he looks over his shoulder, toward Ghorev. Interrupting, he states, "Commander, there appears to be something wrong with the main deflector as well. Its not screening particle radiation properly."

Ghorev says, "Full stop, Flight Control" and then, to Laco, "Can you reinforce the output?"

"Aye, sir," Harris replies, running his hands over the console to collapse the warp field and decelerate the ship as safely as possible.

Alarcon sits forward, frowning, but says nothing. She wrings her left hand very slightly and absently with her right--perhaps she simply isn't entirely used to being in these situations without the reassurance of a Science console before her.

<CONTEST> Laco contests his Systems Engineering (Engineering) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

Nilee stops tapping at the sensor controls for a few moments and looks over towards Ghorev, "Commander?" He pauses, making sure he has his attention before continuing, "If the deflector problem isn't serious, I could use it to emit a resonate chroniton pulse wash to give us some perspective of the dimensions of this dimple... it's a start anyways."

Laco says, "I'll give it my best shot commander," and goes to work. After entering a few commands his expression brightens, "I think it working. They've been reinforced. Let me see if the radiation is still accumulating...""

Ghorev motions to Nilee. "Give the Lieutenant a moment to check on his work, Mister Nilee, then make it so."

<CONTEST> Havaris contests his Shipboard Systems (Mission Ops) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

Nilee nods his head to Ghorev, "Aye sir." He answers as he turns back to his station and begins preliminary calculations.

Laco shakes his head. "I managed to block them coming in from the front, but they're still coming in from aft section. Should I attempt to reinforce those deflectors as well?"

Ghorev says, "Pull up the readouts on those particles, and let me see how much damage we could be in for."

Havaris eyes his display for a moment before arching an eyebrow. Without speaking of it, Havaris hops from his station and moves across to Mission Operations, examining that terminal for a moment, adjusting its displays with a few pokes from his hand. "Sir," he calls to get Ghorev's attention, "we are being scanned, Sir. More to the point, we're being touched by a sensor pattern. Long range sensor pulses, the sort we might use to chart space or have a look for traffic at a distance. But the sensor frequencies, the fluctuations, they're rather dated, Sir. About a match for the alleged age of the probe. But we have nothing on our lateral sensors. Of course... that doesn't mean much."

Alarcon perks. Sensors? Scanning? Clearing her throat slightly, she shifts position in her cushy XO chair, uncrossing her legs and recrossing them in the opposite direction.

<CONTEST> Ghorev contests his Physical Sciences (Physics) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!

Nilee shoots a glance over towards Laco as his preliminary calculations are finished, "Lieutenant, let me know when things are set with the forward deflector and I'll run my chroniton wash." He pauses looking over Havaris' way, "I'd say this dimple is a meeting point between our present and the past of the probe we detected... that may be why we've gotten the anomalous readings from it."

Ghorev, eyeing the data on the screen, manages to break his gaze from it long enough to ask, "Can you trace back the pulses?" Unfortunately, doing this breaks his train of thought, and he frowns. "Isobel, my metallurgical skills come from a more applied angle -- have a look at the data and give me as quick a risk assessment as possible on the accretion of the particles. I don't like what I'm seeing, but I'm not *quite* sure that I'm seeing what I'm seeing, if you get my drift."

"On that note, sir... our communications array is picking up transient comm traffic." Harris' gaze has been attracted by a blinking light on his own console. "I'm not actually recieving it, but someone is transmitting."

GAME: Alarcon spends a courage point.

Laco nods to ensign Nilee, and makes a sweeping you-can-proceed-now gesture with his hand.

<CONTEST> Alarcon (claiming advantage) contests her Physical Sciences (Physics) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

"I probably could," Havaris replies from Mission Ops, "but I'd need the Long Range Sensors back from Sciences. We can only look so many ... placetimes at once, apparently, Sir. But I assume we could just wait here for a while and soon we can change our mind all over again." Bajorans. They much this temporal physics stuff. Comes with the ridges.

Alarcon's eyes widen as she reviews the data, and again, she takes a moment to put her findings in words. "Sir. If we continue to pick up many more of these sorts of particles, it could shift the resonance of the Paine's hull. Were we to go to warp with the hull altered in this manner... well. Theoretically, we could find ourselves travelling through dimensional space... without any control. I must note, I've not seen anything quite like this... in fact, the only mention I've heard of such a scenario, though plausible, is at a Terran science conference I attended some time ago, hosted by the Daystrom Institute." Isobel acquires a strangely thoughtful expression, now, as she continues to study the readings.

<CONTEST> Nilee contests his Shipboard Systems (Engineering) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

Laco says, "We could try raising shields, Commander. I don't know how effective it would be, though."

At Laco's ok, Nilee turns back to his station and begins accessing forward deflector control to make the nessecary alteratins, "I've begun to make adjustements to the forward deflector... it should take about fifteen minutes before we start receiving data."

Ghorev frowns at Alarcon. "Any known way to purge the particles, or reset the resonance shift if it occurs?"

"Nilee, if you're not using those Sensors...?" Havaris turns from his station to peer back at Sciences with a raised brow.

Nilee glances up to Havaris, concentration momentarily broken, "Ahh, yes, Lieutenant. Sorry. I'll need them back once these adjustements are made, but otherwise, go ahead."

GAME: Havaris spends a courage point.

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

Havaris forwards his data from Mission Ops back to his original terminal at Operations and drops back into his chair to set to work. He works through the morass of data and distortions before three little axes on his LCARS intersect at a single red point on his display. He watches as this point goes through a song and dance of shape and size for some time, and winds up rubbing at his eyes as though challenging them to behave. "I... have a lock, Sir. On. On an anomalous reading, Sir. No other way to put it. My initial estimate said... big. Sovereign, maybe. Then smaller. Jem'Hadar fighter, maybe a Sabre. Then I had two readings at those coordinates, about the size of an old Excelsior hull. Maybe the old sweptwing Warbirds the Romulans used to employ. And. It's gone, Sir." Havaris files his sensor data away and settles back in his seat to adjust his earpiece a bit.

Ghorev says, "Were you just getting size, or shape, as well? Is it just a difference in the scale?"

"Sir," replies Isobel, after another moment lost in thought. "I would suggest not letting the hull reach the point of... unreliable resonance. A purge would be... well, like bailing out a small boat instead of fixing the hole that's letting the water in. We would, ah, continue to accrue particles at the same rate, and have to continue the purge indefinitely. I believe we could, however, set up a counter-resonance field with the opposite polarity to the particles we're picking up and ring the hull with that. It would repel the particles and maintain the hull's stable resonance. It would not, I think, be too difficult to set up." She falls silent, then, listening to the new data from Havaris.

Frowning slightly, Harris fishes one of those little communication earpieces out of his pocket and places it in his ear, then begins manipulating his console. After all, there's not much for a pilot to do when the ship is sitting still.

Ghorev says, "Make it so," to Alarcon. Then he says, "Mister Harris."

Harris glances over his shoulder. "Yes, sir?"

Ghorev says, "Probes from that time -- refresh my memory on their remote command and control capabilities. Can we send out a command signal to that probe or not?"

Nilee is completely silent, except for the sound his fingers make when the hit the console buttons in front of him. He even looks oblivious to the orders being issued around him. Busy working in coordination with the engineers downstairs, "Preliminary adjustements complete. Moving on to the meat of the changes now." He announces aloud, but to no one in particular.

"Size, mass, area, displacement. No real form to it, Sir, per se. But those are the origins of our sensor sweeps. I could reanalyze the data, perhaps, and attempt to infer a hullstrike from the records? Worth a shot." Havaris glances back towards Isobel, then to Ghorev, then to Harris for a polonged moment before shifting once more to face his terminal.

There's a pause as Harris thinks that over. "If you have the retrieval code, sir, you can take control of it. Our computer should have the general admiralty overrides in the database - but only you'd be able to pull them up."

<CONTEST> Ghorev (claiming advantage) contests his Search skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

Alarcon squints down at her command chair console and rapidly taps out a message. There is a muted 'bloop' as it is sent. "Yes, sir, I set Engineering on that right away, under my supervision."

. o O Alarcon is slightly disappointed that the Command chair means she gets to be less hands-on, but tries to balance that with the reminder that she needs to set a responsible example.

In the earpiece Harris is wearing, and also taken in by the keen sensory powers of Commander Ghorev... "*..kshhhk-ayday. This is a general distress call to any and all Ksshkk-ppkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Romulan surprise attack in violation of the Neutral Zone Treaty *KKKKKKKKKKKKshhhhhhhhhhhhk* reQUESTing ImmdPKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK...*"

Ghorev grips the armrests of the seat, leaning forward. "Mister Harris, the source of that transmission." Clearly it's a question disguised as a statement.

Nilee glances up briefly as he hears Ghorev's sudden statement, but since he didn't hear the transmission, he returns to his work for the moment, taptaptap, "Adjustements nearly completed on the forward deflector."

Ghorev holds up a 'just a moment' finger to Nilee, his gaze now on Harris.

GAME: Harris spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Harris (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Sensors) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!

Tappity tap. Tap tap tap. *BUZZ*. "I... can't narrow it down, sir. Too much transient interference." Harris glares at the console. "I'll keep trying."

Alarcon frowns down at her terminal, opens her mouth to speak, and pauses, as Ghorev is clearly otherwise occupied. When Harris makes his announcement, she cuts in swiftly with, "Sir. Engineering is too short-handed to handle both Ensign Nilee's request and mine. Your priority? And also... I can assist Harris, if you like."

<CONTEST> Laco contests his Physical Sciences (Physics) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!

Ghorev says to Alarcon, "Set up the polarization first. Then the pulse. I want to make sure that if we *do* send a pulse, it won't attract the wrong kind of attention from something somewhen else. As soon as the polarization is complete, we'll try to home in on the probe again. In the meanwhile, instead of assisting Mister Harris, I want to pick your brain. Specifically, I want some theories -- is this compression something we can fix, or are we limited to working around it?"

In the eartpiece Harris is wearing and also taken in by the keen sensory powers of Commander Ghorev... "*May day, May day. TKSSSSSSSSSSSSSKKKKKpkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk all Starfleet vessels within reception range of this distress cappppkkkkkkkkkasskkkkkkkkhhhhhhh I repeat this is the USS Exeter Ma KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKSHsskppppppppppppppkkkkkkkkkkk*"

<CONTEST> Havaris contests his Space Sciences (Subpsace Field Mechanics) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

At his console, Harris goes stiff and pale all at the same time. His hands freeze in place, his task forgotten for a moment.

GAME: Ghorev spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Ghorev (claiming advantage) contests his Strategic Operations skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

Nilee glances up as Ghorev chooses to do Alarcon's task first, so he can free himself up to do... not too much for the moment, since Havaris has control over the sensors. He monitors the happenings from his science station for the moment, continuing with some of the calculations he can do without needing to forward them to engineering for a response.

GAME: Havaris spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Havaris (claiming advantage) contests his Computer (Programming) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

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

Ghorev's brow furrows hard. "Easy, Mister Harris." He leans forward. "Remember to breathe. The time stream is a harsh mistress."

Havaris shifts his eyes about the bridge, thankful that he has something to do. Idle hands are Kosst-Amojan's failed analogy. Ahem. He yanks up the LCARS Astrometrics database and sets to a bit of research, frowns slightly at a tidbit or two and drags them into his workspace sidebar for reference. With a doubletap he's back out in his sensor screen, drawing up a quick reworking of the sensor sweep's parameters in entire. ...Drag out this block of code, drop in that block of... no. /THAT/ block of code, there. Peer nervously over the shoulder at Ghorev to make certain he's not glaring at, continue on about your business. Reinitialize the scans, settle back into your seat and rub at your face. Such is Havaris' time spent. "Sir, I took the liberty of programming in an anti-chroniton wave slope to our sensor presets, here. It's automatically filtering out the chroniton distortion. Figured I knew enough hodge and podge between Space Sciences and Engineering I didn't need to trouble anyone." A soft clearing of the throat. "It's working, Sir. Results in a moment."

After a moment, Harris' hands start to move again. Slowly. "Sir... there are 430 people on the Exeter. If I can get the long range sensors or some more power from Engineering, I can locate them."

. o O Harris thinks "I can *save* them."

Commence brain-picking. Isobel sits back in her seat, then, twines her fingers, considers the situation. "Well. Ensign Nilee's background in temporal mechanics will prove, I am sure, invaluable in any actual temporal aspects of the whole compression. But... I suggest trying to find the dimensions. If we know its size and shape, we can pinpoint its centre, which I suspect would lead us to its source or cause. Something else we might do... when this polarization operation is complete--" A quick glance at her console. "--maybe we could, ah, use the change to make it act like, well, a hovercraft. With enough velocity, we could perhaps... well, I can't think of a better comparison than surfing. We could surf up and perhaps -out- of this dimple. Provided we encounter no real unanticipated resistance." A moment to think on surfing, and then Isobel adds, "Of course, if we miscalculate... erm. We could, as in surfing, slip under the wave, so to speak. And we might fall into a deeper layer of subspace or, ehm, perhaps slip into another dimensional resonance."

Ghorev says, "Mister Havaris, a priority timeslice of the sensors to Flight Control." He frowns. "Mister Harris, locate that ship, and then pass sensor control back to Sciences." Then to Alarcon, and nods at her explanation. "Estimated time-to-completion of the polarization?"

"Aye sir, cancelling scan. Forwarding sensors to Flight Control with my presets." Havaris scratches his nose and pokes his scan out of alignment, shucking the control of the sensors towards Harris with a sideways glance.

<CONTEST> Harris (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Sensors) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Dramatically Fails!

Perhaps it was his nervousness at what the target of the scan was... perhaps it was the distortion in the localized area twisting the results of his intention... perhaps it was his blind luck... or perhaps it was his inappropriate for the 24th century vengeful cowbowy subconscious, but what pops up on the scan lock run by Harris is not the U.S.S. Exeter... but a outdated cloaking field surrounding a Romulan Warbird that has been a reoccuring guest of Robert Harris' dreams for quite some time since the first time he discovered it...

"I've got the warbird..." Harris whispers, hatred seeping into his tone as he addresses the sensor sweep directly. "I've got you now, you heartless bastards."

Havaris glances over to Harris, then up at his own view of the sensor readouts, smiling pleased. Not that he can really see what's being seen, he can simply tell it's working. And this, you see, is pleasing. "You see," Havaris chirps, "it worked!" When facing one's inner demons -- or the inner demons of one's junior officers -- it's best to focus on one's minor feats of cross-training.

Laco touches the pad beside the turbolift door.

Laco summons the turbolift.

The turbolift doors slide open with a hiss.

The turbolift doors slide closed.

"Since they're understaffed, it'll be done in about fifteen to twenty, Sir..." Isobel trails off at what her command chair display is showing her, at the moment. And just sits there, head canted slightly to one side.

Still sensorless, Nilee access the computer's database, "Commander... I've accessed data on the USS Exeter, it was declared missing in 2294 after a loss of communications in December of the previous year. Our records show that it reappeared in 2374 only to be destroyed by the Jem'hadar..." He pauses, looking up to Ghorev, "We will need to be very cautious in our approach Commander, any action we take... or don't take, could alter the timeline." Ohh, doesn't everyone just love when that happens.

"Galen," Havaris attempts to interject, "Galen...!" Trying again, "/Galen/!" Nope. Kusto winds up with his face coveres by a hand, hazarding a slight glance through his fingers at Harris. Oh, boy. "Nice report, Galen." An awkward pause. "Ehm. Keep it up."

Ghorev eyes Nilee, as well. "Yes, Mister Nilee," he murmurs, drily, "thank you for confirming that the timeline we already knew to be ours has not yet changed." Oh, look, and folks say Ghorev can't be diplomatic. Then his eyes catch something. "Wonderful. Just .... wonderful."

Nilee blinks a few times, between Kusto's attempted interjections, which he fails to notice and then Ghorev's reaction, shooting a glance towards Havaris the young Trill raises a brow quizically, following the look towards Harris, still not comprehending, he looks back to the Bajoran for a few seconds.

"USS Exeter, NCC-1672. Constitution-refit from original specification. Crew complement four hundred thirty. Captain Riley commanding." Harris shoots a glare over his shoulder at Nilee. "Assigned to Neutral Zone patrol in Sector Z-6 on December 14, 2293. Attacked by Romulans on December 24. Sucked into Kerr Superstring temporal anomaly. Declared lost with all hands in 2294. Destroyed in 2374 by Jem'Hadar battlecruiser. One survivor. Me." WIth that said, Robert turns back to his console, seething with frustration and anger. "Romulan vessel closing on intercept course, Commander."

. o O Nilee thinks "They could have just said they already knew... /I/ thought it might be relevant."

Havaris shifts uncomfortably in his seat as Harris goes off on a forgiveable explanatory tirade on the Exeter's fate, puffing out a sigh through pursed lips as he works his fingers over his earlobe. His eyes shift between the two officers for a moment before offering, "Now that we're all introduced..." A glance towards Ghorev, "Permission to assume Tactical, Sir."

Ghorev motions to Havaris to do so, by all means. "Mister Harris, this is the critical question: Did the Romulans pull away during that last battle? Were they destroyed at the same time? Do you know?"

Alarcon raises a slim finger. Just one. Just her right index finger, in that fashion that notes she is trying to perhaps subtly get Ghorev's attention, her brow furrowed. "...Sir? Um... Sir? Two minutes at Warp Five. Thought you ought to... know." This is said very, very quietly.

Putting two and two together, understanding hits Nilee's face, but not in a nice comfortable manner, but like a brick to the side of the head. He grimaces as he gets the glare from the helmsman and offers up a feeble, "Sorry." Which, really, isn't worth much at this point.

Havaris slides his chair out from his terminal and rises to his feet, pacing the short distance from Main Operations to Tactical and sliding inveterately into that seat. His head shakes slightly with a vague grin as his fingers settle over the surface of Ol' Tacky. His eyes flit to the viewscreen, then back to the command dais with a small nod of the head. "Tactical manned and ready, Sir. Awaiting orders." To /blow some stuff the heck up/! Awh, yeah!

"They sucker-punched us, sir..." Harris mutters, still glaring at his readouts. "They crippled our engines and pulled off, waiting for someone to come for us. Bastards." He glances over his shoulder. "I hoped the anomaly got them. Guess I was wrong."

"Sir. Excuse me. I really must interject." Isobel is riveted to her command console, now. "The ship is closing at Warp 5. One minute to weapons range. I don't think they realize we can see them." Stiffly, she pulls her attention away to look at Ghorev.

Ghorev says, "Isobel," quietly to Alarcon, "could you man main Ops? Thomas Paine's power regulation is trickier than a Ferengi tongo player on a good day." A pause. "And we are not having a good day." Then he looks to Harris, digesting the man's statement. "So we don't know whether this ship is *supposed* to live or die, basically. Mister Nilee, since you're already elbow deep in the research, see if there are any footnotes on the Romulan side of things, from what little historical archives we've shared through the Alliance. Mister Harris, move ahead at one-quarter impulse, at your best discretion. We don't want it to *look* like we're moving because they are. If they fire, take immediate evasive action. Mister Havaris, if I recall, these things have *only* torpedoes. The moment they come within phaser range, raise shields and fire. I want as many of their launchers crippled as possible."

"Sir, Polaron energy spikes on my screen, dorsal and aft of our position. Nothing showing on my sensors, but with these distortions it's hard to know for certain." Havaris' eyes work across his screen, playing whack-a-reading on his tactical terminal. "Jem'hadar attack ships powering up, Sir, I'd bet my ridges on it. We're about to be in a furball, Sir." Havaris' hands move more rapidly now as the order are coming in, "Aye, Sir. I'll eyeball their tubes and make them gag on it. Gladly, Sir. But. Someone watch our six. Purple's a horrible color to die by."

GAME: Nilee spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Nilee (claiming advantage) contests his Computer (Research) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Fails!

. o O Havaris thinks "Jem'hadar /and/ century old Romulans? /AND/ orders to engage? Thank you, Prophets, thank you. Not only have you restored my faith in your sense of humor, you have also taught me to /never/ think the phrase 'man, I miss the war' too close to the Temple. Thank you."

Harris turns to face his console again. "One-quarter impulse power, aye. Flying casually to evade... but not really evade." Unfortunately, the old man is short a Wookie.

. o O Harris thinks "I hope we kill the Romulans first. I hope they suffer."

Nilee shakes his head slowly, "I can't find anything in the records, Commander. That doesn't nessecarily mean it not there, but it would take me hours to go through the database thoroughly enough to make sure it isn't."

The Ops seat is still warm when Isobel hits it, abandoning the cushiness of Command for a welcomingly large and bright console. "Yes, Sir." After studying the current power configurations, she suggests, "Sir? I recommend a Red Alert, and getting the crews on mods to battle stations instead."

Ghorev says, "Well, blast it, the Jem'Hadar angle does change things to make that the very best bet. We'll tip our hands to the Romulans, and that sweeps all plans off the table." A motion to Havaris. "Red alert. Raise shields. Make it look like we're scanning the area behind us, let the Romulans think we're looking off our tail and not our prow. Because if I'm right, the Bird is going to fly-by with a quick decloak-fire-recloak. And if they don't know we know they're here, that's when we accelerate past them after they've overextended themselves. And that's when we strike. Are we clear, everyone?"

Havaris works all the more furiously at his tactical console, grinning the grin of a man only too pleased to be back at this particular chair under these particular circumstances. "Aye, /Sir/!" No arguments from the Bajoran. "Computer, red alert." A few more taps on his terminal. "Shields raised, Sir. Sending our eyes out our tail, Sir." A few more taps. "Weapons online. Phaser copassiters charged. Batteries powered. Tubes one and two cleared and loaded. Weapons Systems are in the green." With a wider grin, Havaris peers up at the viewscreen. "We're hot for shot, Captain."

"Loud and clear, Sir." Isobel mans Ops, not her console of expertise, perhaps, but it seems to suit her well enough to be in the fray. She seems hyperattenuated, her focus stretched, nerves almost audibly twanging with tension and vigilance. Less delighted than Havaris, perhaps, but more like a feline that is poised for the pounce, for good or ill.

"Absolutely," Robert mutters darkly as he manuevers in a lazy arc. As far as the old man is concerned, there's one target, and one target only - and he won't be satisfied until the stars are filled with debris and flash-frozen, pointy-eared, green blooded bodies. Quietly, he adds to himself, "No mercy." Vengance is at hand.

Nilee listens quietly to the Commander, a slight frown forming on his lips. He does give a nod and a, "Aye sir," that isn't quite as enthusiastic as the rest of the officers. He taps at his controls, bringing sensor monitoring around to the rear, and he waits.

Closer and closer the Predator races, unaware it's cloak is as useful as a targeting grid painted on it's hull to the vessel it would prey upon. On the viewscreen it appears directly where the lateral sensors said it would, a firey lambent plasma torpedo spitting forth from it's forward launcher followed by another and another as it closes to maximum phaser range, it waggles slightly as it's torpedos track down toward the Thomas Paine away from the Romulan Vessel's planned over flight and cloak route. There is no hail, there is no attempt to parley or warn off, it's just a straight up sneak attack without remorse. Lieutenant (JG) Harris initiates evasive manuevers designed to baffle far more cunningly honed torpedoes than those just fired, and at his position on the command chair Commander Ghorev sees it all coming to pass as he forsaw it would...

Ghorev says, "Mister Havaris," as he leans forward in his seat. "Take down their weapons! Mister Harris, hard Z-axis roll! Up and behind the polaron signatures! All hands brace! Even if I'm right, we're about to strain the dampeners, and if I'm *wrong*, it will matter for, oh, 6 seconds tops..."

(To Be continued...)