So Rock the Heavens

 Episode Name:  So Rock the Heavens

   Written By:  Fortunae

         Cast:  Cristobal, Fortunae, Ghorev, Idrani, Ivos, 
                Kepler, Medes and O'Carroll.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Fortunae

     Aired On:  Sat Apr 10 04:17:29 2004

     Stardate:  54009.5

Time: Fri Apr 09 22:43:33 2004

Stardate: 54009.0

The Beta Quadrant - Alliance Task Group near bak'TUR

Through the forward view screen the stars are obscured by the collection of starships of the Alpha Quadrant Alliance that have gathered from nearby sectors to meet the challenge offered by a colossal block in space referred to in ancient myths and records as the "Eater of Worlds". In the space between the view screen and Commander Ghorev's command chair, three holographic images stand. Fleet Captain Krotar of the IKS Howl of Honor, scion of the House of Kang; Admiral Graves of USS Little Bighorn, commander of the 17th Fleet; and Admiral Gulvan of the Phoenix Eagle, commander of the 23rd Border Fleet of the Romulan Star Empire.

Krotar, having fleet command, speaks. "The time is upon us. That which comes to finish an ancient vendetta will then turn to feed on our worlds and it falls to we, the brave, the loyal, to put our will in its path and show it that its time has passed. This is *our* time. This is *our* day. And though we may perish, we will do so in proven company.

Among peers

.Among Heroes.

Those of us who should fall this day shall be remembered in song and legend. Those who fight this day fight the representation of the past itself. The Old Gods. The old ways. Let us show this relic that we have no place in our future for it. Let us face what has come before and howl our defiance. Let us find glory, and let us find Victory! Q'plah!" The hologram looks to the Romulan commander.

Gulvan speaks. "Our governments even now send messages that may end this alliance. Alliances end. But this alliance still stands and so we stand together, united. We are Romulan, Klingon… citizens of the Federation but on this day we are brothers and sisters in arms. I prevail upon you all then, do your best. Watch your sister's back. Do not let your brother stumble. To fail here on this day, is to fail our children not yet born. To duty, and victory!" The Romulan then looks toward the hologram of the human.

"My fellow officers have said what must be said. You all know your assignments and your duty. God speed." With that the holograms vanish, leaving the view on the screen - and on the lateral sensors, the image of the Iconian Eater of Worlds approaching unrelenting…

Ivos flexes his fingers a little before running through an initial systems check. After a moment or two, he reports, "All systems normal. Been awhile since I've been any closer to the direct action than one form removed." He furrows his brow slightly, saying, "Times like this make me wish I'd kept in better practice."

Idrani sits at the Sciences station, apparently acting as the Blue Shirt for this mission. Though this may seem an unusual posting for the young Andorian Diplomatic officer, her prior career placed her in the social sciences position, specifically in the study and excavation of Iconian artifacts. She listens to the speeches of the task force's commanding officers with her customary reserved dignity. Her body posture seems composed, even relaxed. Pale green eyes flick between her station andthe view screen, at the image of the approaching Eater of Worlds.

Cristobal, Assistant Operations Manager aboard the station, nods in response to the words of Krotar and Gulvan. He appreciates the sentiment, and the oratorical skills of the commanders, but in the end, they're just more words. Letting your emotions be stirred up on the cusp of a battle is a good way to get yourself heroically killed. He's got work to do, a victory to win. He'll appreciate fine rhetoric far more afterwards.

The tiny bald Engineer is flying today instead of, well, Engineerifying, and through the speech given by the three leaders, she idly checks their heading, making minute, routine adjustments to the Paine's flight path as she does so. All the while, the balls of her feet rest on the deck, and Medes is dwarfed by the console she mans. Her eyes flicker up to the Andorian in the Big Chair as much as they do to the holograms. Ivos's commentary causes her to glance over her shoulder at him with an expression of undisguised concern, first at him, then at his console, and then back up at Ghorev again.

. o O Medes thinks "Great. Just... just great. If only I had two extra hands, then I could run Engineering /and/ fly the ship at the same time."

. o O Medes thinks "I bet I could do it anyway."

The young Jig's post is Tactical, and she minds the console with pride and excitement. It's in the shoulders, held straight, head tall. Ponytail keeping her hair out of the way and down her shoulders. It's been a tough adjustment for Katarzyna Kepler, a rocky start into her position of Tactical Duty Officer for S419. OERs flubbed, defeated by exams. All overcome; with effort, with tears. It brings her to where she feels she should be: manning tactical, in a time when the skills she truly feels she has could best serve. "Tactical reports nominals," she notes, quietly. Watching the leaders of this armada. Proud and excited.

O'Carroll stands at ease behind the Mission Operations console as her pale blue eyes focus in towards where the holograms had been standing on the bridge. Once the images have vanished, she moves her hands out from behind her back and steps a hair closer to her console to check over her systems, "Mission Ops is ready, sir."

Ghorev says, "For the record, people, let's belay all talk of not feeling ready for this. We're in the thick of it soon enough." The Andorian Commander's eyes scanning over the battle formation in the picture-in-picture window on the main viewscreen. A series of large blips fly in a loose 'We're-Big-And-We're-Bad' formation ahead of a tighter formation of six other blips, one of which has the different coloration and pulsing ring around it which clearly note it as USS Thomas Paine-C, this very vessel. He sits up straighter in his chair, with a last critical eye on the flight formation, then turns to face Ivos as he says, "We're ready enough." He makes a choppy hand gesture. "Mister O'Carroll, raise the rest of our wing. Advise Baden-Powell, Harrington, Cyclone, Prodigy, and Juggernaut that we've reconfirmed the order of battle. While our charges unload on the Obelisk's front, Escort Wing 22-Foxtrot will slip around the flank and concentrate fire there on our lead."

Ivos forms his mouth into a neat grin, "I work better when things aren't ideal." He adjusts his posture, resting his fingertips lightly on the console, maintaining a readiness to move as if the threat could spring out at any particular moment, getting back into old habits.

Idrani's antennae flick in Ghorev's direction as he speaks. Her calm, self-possessed demeanor seems unruffled. She carefully monitors the sensor feed.

Cristobal runs through a perfunctory final check of the power status, confirming that yes, nothing has broken in the last five minutes. Good ol' Starfleet equipment. He pats the ops console once before looking up at the screen.

Medes's hands move quietly and adeptly over her console; she shoots Ghorev a brief and undisguisedly grateful look at his first comment, then pays attention to her job, and her job alone.

Nothing to report here, move along. Lieutenant Kepler maintains a vigil over her console, watching power levels, system status. Inventory of torpedoes, in case any should decide to sneak off early. Status of ship's phasers. Nothing to report, so she'll look to see if she can find something out of place. Tactical paranoia.

"Aye, sir." O'Carroll chimes, her hands quickly setting to work at opening the needed channels, only pausing a moment to brush a stray bit of red hair from her eyes and back behind her ear where it goes. "Nay." she responds to some unseen question, "Escort Wing 22-Foxtrot. ... Aye. Right. Good luck." she closes out her one-sided conversation, "Transmitted, Commander." the Irish lass reports at the completion of her assignment.

Ghorev says, "Mister Idrani, as the closest thing the Escort Wing has to an expert on the Iconians and their technology, your task will be to keep both antennae cocked for any unusual responses the Obelisk may make. Obviously, the big things we won't fail to miss -- if it starts swatting back at us, that's all well and good, but the *patterns* of the swatting are yours to find." He swivels his chair slight to face the Science station as he says this, and then when it's done, turns his head back around. "Mister Kepler, remember that while I'd *like* to unload all we can in our first pass, our task as Wing Lead is to paint the target. If at any point you feel you have to pass up a spread of torpedoes in order to keep the target point lit with concentrated phaser fire, don't hesitate. Giving the other ships of the Wing a big glowing target point is more important than striking the killing blow ourselves." A pause. "Oh. And .... Mister Ivos?"

Ivos taps the console briefly, and reports, "Damage control teams are in place and on standby." And he looks up briefly, "Yes, sir?"

Ghorev says, "Keep an eye on Juggernaut. Last I had a look at the Wing status feeds, she was running a bit hot on engine power even for a Defiant. Lieutenant Commander Brasilio is used to flying Sabers and I think he's asking his engineers for a bit more than they can give. If you notice them overreaching, have Ensign O'Carroll send them word. Brasilio's new to being in command, and I don't want to undercut him, but if we're the lead, he's the anchor. We all know what kind of firepower a Defiant brings to bear and I want it ready."

Ivos nods to that, "I'll keep an eye on their output and energy signatures. They push it, and we'll know about it." He taps in a few brief routines on the console, adding, "How much of the benefit of the doubt are we extending on this one?"

Idrani touches a button on her console. "Aye sir. Lateral sensor contact is firm. The Iconian contact is scanning the fleet."

Cristobal runs through his incomings briefly, mentally checking off one after the other before saying, "All stations reporting secured for battle. Sickbay is standing by for casualties."

"The Dominion Battleship has launched vessels, Captain," Kepler notes in a calm tone, tapping at her console to see what fresh information she can squeeze from the tactical readout, "Fast attack craft. The Akiras and Steamrunners are launching fighters." Sensor data is skimmed, analyzed, looking for anything unual, finding nothing as yet.

O'Carroll goes about her monitoring of communications frequencies like the professional she is. Her lips quirk slightly as a thin red brow is arched, "Sir.. the Klingons are broadcasting song on one of the supplem.. aux channels." big words, ugh. "Opera, I believe. If you're interested." blink.

<CONTEST> Cristobal contests his Artistic Expression (Klingon Opera) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

Cristobal tunes into the signal and says matter-of-factly, "Kahless and Lukara. The second act. A very moving piece." He goes back to work, but he now seems to be humming a tune of some sort.

Ghorev watches the fleet readouts crowd as all the little fighters suddenly split off from their parent ships and become separate blips. "Let's not have too much sensory overload at once, now. Distance to the Obelisk?"

Idrani replies, "Six hundred thousand kilometers, sir."

Kepler's com badge chirrups. "Ensign Mulwray to Crew Quarters 1509."

Fortunae resets the com terminal.

Medes holds course as assigned, checking and adjusting as necessary; she glances aside at Cristobal for a moment and quirks up a corner of her mouth, but goes back to her work. "I'll have to make the usual small adjustments to our course, sir, according to the nav feed from the fighters. Otherwise proceeding as normal."

Kepler's com badge clicks as Mulwray drops off channel. The channel closes.

Kepler resets her com badge.

A glance over to Ops suggests that Tactical Duty Officer was, briefly, entertaining the notion testing the first setting of her phaser on the Lieutenant, should there had been the threat of Klingon Opera during her watch. Alas, Kepler can't recall there any clear Standard Operating Procedure in regards to such things. "Heavy vessels are powering up forward weapon arrays, Captain," she notes, coming back to the physical threat rather than the moral one, glancing up from her console and to the main viewer. It's her first big action, and some things just look better on a big screen. "Preparing to fire."

O'Carroll turns her attention and raised brow to Cristobal before glancing back at her console. She continues monitoring, the singing frequency routinely having it's moment of glory should someone broadcast something meaningful over it. Another glance is cast towards Cristobal who somehow is keeping pace with the noise despite not listening to it. Her head tilts up towards the command chair, "The Dominion Commander has broadcasted to the fleet.. he 'hopes that the alliance proves as pesky here as they were during the war.'" she pauses, trying to grasp the tones, "I'm pretty sure that's a compliment." oh, listen, song again. Bah.

. o O O'Carroll thinks "At least it's audio Klingon culture and not visual.."

Ghorev says, "At one hundred and fifty thousand kellicams" -- there is a smile on his face from using the Klingon measurement equal to two kilometers -- "is when they start to open fire and we veer to the flank and let our own weapons rip. This is for Ambassador Lux would call The Big Pile of Latinum, people ... Let's all go home safe and give the man some autographs to sell when this is done!" The smile remains on his face now. "Fire Control, begin the countdown. As soon as Lieutenant Medes brings us into range and flank, paint the target and fire."

Exterior of the Thomas Paine the seasoned vessel is visible in ventral profile, pulling away from the point of view and shrinking, fives similar in size vessels if different in class mimicing the Thomas Paine's course in careful precision. Back and back, the starships shrinking to the size of toys and the edge of behemoth Iconina Obelisk pulls into view. The dark backdrop of space is illuminated by the sharp eruption of energy weapons fire -- gold-orange, ruddy red and vibrant green, then joined by pillums of violet. Winks of light erupt from the craft, twisting and racing toward the unyielding relic from a former age...

...The Battle has begun.

GAME: Ghorev spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Ghorev (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Command) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Succeeds!

GAME: Ivos spends a courage point.

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

GAME: Idrani spends a courage point.

GAME: Medes spends a courage point.

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

GAME: Cristobal spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Cristobal (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Mission Ops) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Succeeds!

<CONTEST> Medes (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Flight Control) skill vs a difficulty of Impossible and Succeeds!

GAME: Kepler spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Kepler (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Tactical) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!

<PROVE> O'Carroll has the merit of Bold at 1.

<CONTEST> O'Carroll (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Communications) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Fails!

GAME: Ghorev spends a courage point.

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

<CONTEST> Ivos contests his Shipboard Systems skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

GAME: Idrani spends a courage point.

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

GAME: Cristobal spends a courage point.

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

GAME: Medes spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Medes (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Flight Control) skill vs a difficulty of Impossible and Succeeds!

GAME: Kepler spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Kepler (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Tactical) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

GAME: O'Carroll spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> O'Carroll (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Communications) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

GAME: Ghorev spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Ghorev (claiming advantage) contests his Starship Tactics (Naval) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

Inside the bridge of the Thomas Paine, readiness turns to action as the firing mark is met and the vessel leaps forward from the main body to commence it's run along the length of the alien artifact of destruction. The view screen shows small craft, fighters, leaping past the Paine and "dropping" toward the mammoth vessel in an attempt to harry specific shield points...

...the Thomas Paine and the rest of 22-Foxtrot begins to unleash firepower in concert while behind them the larger capital ships weave in a dance of facing and fire keeping the pressure up...

Ghorev frowns as the first volley proves virtually ineffective, even as the volley continues. "It's got some kind of diffraction effect, scattering the energy of our weapons!" He makes some taps on the armrest console, and says "Mister Idrani, sensor reading on the dispersion points! I need to know how this thing is doing what it's doing!"

"Commander," Ivos says, "I'm getting a lot of strain on our port side. Some sort of gravimetric effect out of proportion to the mass of the obelisk." He pauses slightly, and says, "That might be the source of our dispersion problems. Or it may be some sort of weapon. I'll try to work out a plan of response if it increases. Or at least, one that doesn't involve backing off."

Idrani's fingers fly on the console, antennae registering the various ambient sounds around her. She studies her station readings through narrowed eyes. "Working on it, sir." She pauses briefly. "The Obelisk's scans are focused on the singularity mine, even though the mine is hidden by the Romulan cloaks. I think it knows what we're doing."

. o O Cristobal thinks "Damn. Not a good shot, and she's using too much juice. Ess Eye Eff is a scary thing to turn off in a fight. Well, given the fleet we've got, this ought to be a short battle one way or the other. We can take a few extra celsius..."

Cristobal frowns at his console and says, "We're using too much power." He skims his fingers over the controls quickly and says, "I'm taking auxiliary life support offline. It's either that or the Structural Integiry Field. Kepler, we're just painting the target, don't use a joule more than you have to."

Medes slides forward slightly in her bridge chair, tucking one of her feet under her chair as if bracing herself, like she thinks she might be thrown out of her chair or some such. Her fingers dance over the console before herself, eyes fastened firmly on the viewscreen before her; the diminutive engineer notes aside to Kepler, "Pinwheel spin coming up, Tactical, you'll be open for both banks." The ship executes a tight, neat maneuver just as described, though Thea notes, "Encountering some unexpected pull, Boss. Compensating." And she does, bringing the ship around and slipping between two of the fighter craft perhaps a /little/ bit closer than is usually recommended as she does so.

The tactical computer is screaming bloody murder at having all these Dominion ships zooming around in close proximity and not being allowed to shoot them, something which is requiring Lt. Kepler to madly keep up with, rapidly reprogramming torpedo IFF recognition as fast as they can be fired. It's keeping her very busy, as banks of torpedos and phasers take full advantage of Medes' quick maneuvering. "Roger," is all she can manage to acknowledge with, as her hands dance across the console.

O'Carroll rests her pale blue eyes on the forward displays for a moment as the action begins. She grasps the forward edge of her console before returning her attention to her own displays. A frown tugs at the redhead's lips as her hands begin a systems check, "Sir.. our intervessel communications link is failing. Like.. we're in a nebula." she reports with a small bit of awe, "I should have it up again in a couple minutes."

. o O O'Carroll thinks "I wish I had a chair."

On the viewscreen the unusual texture of the Eater of worlds passes along quickly on the bottom left hand corner when Medes is not spinning the ship is a corkscrew fashion... the sky is alight with the incessent firing but as can be seen so far, there is not counter-fire by the Inconian vessel...

Ghorev smiles that kind of smile that someone smiles when there's absolutely *no* reason to smile ... that you know of. "The singularity isn't going to work, because the blasted thing *is* a singularity! It's like it's an event horizon in a hard shell!" He half-rises from his seat, still gripping the armrest consoles as a brace against any Medes Maneuvers. "Mister O'Carroll, launch a standard hazard warning buoy *away* from the thing, maximum velocity. Even if the signal isn't simple enough to be understood through the interference, its silhouette on short-range scanner is unmistakeable, and hopefully the fleet will understand what we're trying to say. Mister Ivos, we're not jumping to warp this close to a gravitic shear -- give me any workable calculation on what can put even the smallest of holes in an event horizon. Mister Medes, pull back, tight enough for the rest of 22-Foxtrot to follow close ... If we want another pass at this thing, we're going to have to earn it, and fast!"

"O'Carroll, might be time to let Brasilo know he's running too hot." Ivos selects a few sets of data and transfers them over to O'Carroll's console, saying, "Suggest the best way to do that is to point out the effect of the gravity well that thing is generating, combined with the power drain of ablative armor." And then he notes to Ghorev, "On it", and proceeds to be so.

Idrani's pale green eyes don't leave her sensor station as she processes the data coming to her console. "Sensors indicate that the Obelisk is generating an artificial gravity sink.... that could impair any attempt to flee at warp or perform the Picard manuver...." She scans her console further. "The exterior hull seems to have neutronium composites in its make-up....I've not seen a variety like that before..." Another brief pause. "Thank you for the power boost, Cristobal... it's possible that the Obelisk is using point to point gravity control, in order to intercept the energy weapons and compress the torpedos." Her voice, this entire time, is calm and clear. The only outward signs of her stress level is in the set of her jaw and antennae.

Cristobal gets more power than he expected by taking auxiliary life support off-line. Noting Thea's taxing of the impulse engines, he sends some of that power her way. Considering, he says, "Commander, if we can pinpoint the frequency of the gravimetric waves this thing's putting out, we might be able to generate a countering field with our shield generators that could lessen or halt the impact it has. On the ship, at least. Maybe even on our weapons."

A spread of torpedoes, pushed off-course by the obelisk, flies toward the Paine; Medes is only barely able to manage calling a quick, "Hold on!" across the bridge before the ship's impulse engines begin firing alternately and at strange intervals, one out-pacing the other and then the other out-pacing the first. The Brilliant-class escort twists and spins on multiple axes -- it almost seems for a moment to be out of control, moving erratically as it slips beneath some of the torpedoes and /between/ the tail end of the spread -- and then, it's all back in control as quickly as it seemed to go out of control. Stubby, scarred fingers patter across her terminal as Thea brings the ship back around, pulling back neat and tight so as to let the rest of 22-Foxtrot follow after.

. o O Cristobal thinks "Oof. Next time Thea's piloting, remember to divert extra power to the intertial dampeners..."

. o O Medes thinks "Make me useful. Make me useful. Make me useful."

. o O Medes is oddly... zen. Calm. Completely at peace. Her piloting is almost prayer, almost meditation. Tense? Yes. Afraid? No. Not afraid at all.

There's a stifled curse from the Tactical console, and Lt. Kepler's manipulation of her controls picks up for a frantic moment, "Control loss on some torpedos, Captain," she says, in a quickly clipped tone, playing commentator for the masses of energies the Paine is unleashing out into space. Sure enough, the last volley is just visible in the corner of the main viewer for a few moments, before the Paine twists away, the formation of torpedoes breaking apart into all directions. She's not even waiting for instruction, the path is clear. "Initiating self-destruct on the last spread, I think it's gonna.... /damnit/..." She looks up, to see the blast of the suicide order cripple a Starfleet fighter. Saving it from destruction, but not leaving it unscathed. She's back on her console, tapping, "Fighter down, but the crew seems fine."

O'Carroll nibbles at her lower lip as she works on correcting the communications issues, "Aye, sirs." she replies to the additional tasks set before her. But, all is not quiet, "Sir," she begins another report, "The fighter group.. below us, closer to the surface, is sending out a lot of distress messages." there's a pause as another report comes into her station, "The Baden-Powell is reporting that they've been hit on a blue on blue, sir. Friendly fire." she clairfies on the incoming message.

Exterior of the Thomas Paine the visually one-sided battle continues, the Iconian vessel not slowing in it's progress and closing with the main portion of the fleet. Several of the largest capital ships while shifting and firing begin to drift off course, spinning slowly nose around toward the enormous object like a person holding a fixed pole while ice-skating around it. Dozens of explosions erupt as the lightest craft that got the closets tumble back and into the invisible force around the Eater of Worlds, compressing while exploding and vanishing from visible reckoning. The Dominion behemoth, dwarfed in this battle, fires salvo after salvo of poloron beams... in response the first visible action by the Iconian monstrosity is a slender beam of shifting silver energy striking out, then stopping in an apparently empty position of space behind the main body before racing back toward it's point of origin. The result is catastrophic as the cloaked singularity mine impacts against the starboard side of the Dominion vessel and without preamble begins to tear through subspace as quickly as it tears through the structural integrity of the Gamma Quadrant's titanic starship. Smaller craft, like Federation Nebula and Klingon K'vorts being to bend and fall into the trap that was meant for their enemy...

Ghorev slams his body back down in his seat, to compensate for what the inertial dampeners can't, gravitic-shear-wise. He uses the opportunity to eye *some* kind of readout on his armrest. The single hissed word, the Andorian word for 'Neutronium'. And he looks angry now as he slams a hand against the side of his chair. He speaks again in Federation Standard. "Even if we counter the field, our weapons won't breach that hull. Neutronium laughs at phasers and photon torpedos." A split second decision is made. "But maybe not at *polarons*.... Mister O'Carroll, signal the wing to fall back and not follow. If we don't get this right, we're dead, and Baden-Powell will have to try it after us and get it right. On the other hand, tell the surviving Dominion fighters that if they're willing to risk it, half of them can follow us to death or to glory." He does not sound like he enjoys that thought. "Mister Ivos, I'm going to give you a hand with this, unless a steady Dekyon stream is something you do every day before breakfast. Even then, there's something else we're going to need to do at the same time. Mister Cristobal, pay attention to this, because once we're done, on the pass in, you're going to have to feed our deflector dish just enough power to sustain a steady wide-angle beam without burning out major systems. Mister Kepler, you'll be firing the beam. Forget the rest of our weapons. We're still painting the target, but with a wide brush and a different color." Medes doesn't get instructions because she's clearly got a handle on what *she's* doing.

Ivos replies, "Don't normally get to that until lunch." He waits for the further details to be transferred to his display, before getting to work attempting to reconfigure the navigational deflector, and directing the crews through the station to make modifications to that end.

"Analysis of the data supports the theory that the Obelisk is a singularity in a shell, sir. If so, than it is completely dwarfs the smaller singularities used by the Romulans..." She pauses, antennae flattening back against her head. "If it can control gravity effects so specifically, it could be biding its time to use the Romulan singularity drives against them, in relation to the mind. Sir, transmitting data to the communications station for Ensign O'Carroll to distribute to the task force."

As the first wave, including 22-Foxtrot, comes around and out again, part of the incoming second wave, a Romulan Starbird, inexplicably tears itself into three major pieces, bursting apart before the Thomas Paine. Medes is left with quite literally no time to do anything but fly /through/ the wreckage at her current speed, and so that's what she does; the Paine scoops neatly sideways, turning up on its left edge to slip between two of the major pieces of wreckage before twisting and flipping itself downward like a coin to avoid the third of the huge chunks of disintegrating ship. All this happens as the Paine passes the end of the Iconian object and begins to execute the sweep out and back around, prepping for the next pass.

Through it all? Medes just works her console, staring straight ahead, her expression calmly determined and unchanging.

There's a few moments of silence out of Tactical, Kepler skimming data being displayed to her by the console. "I think we can compensate for the sheer, Captain," she notes, glancing up at the Andorian in case he should belay the command to hold off on dishing out the photon, "Science is getting good readings." But that's not her order, so she goes about diverting the system power allocation as appropriate. There's a beat, as she reads something on her screen. "And I think we can lock tractors on some of the fighters, pull them out with us."

O'Carroll continues to work as rapidly she can at her console, "Communications feed is up again." she reports without looking up. Hasty taps bringing her into subprocesses she didn't mean to enter into, and result in wasting time getting back out of them. A frown is implanted on her features as she kicks herself for working too slow.. there's work to be done. "Aye, issuing new directives." she replies to Ghorev's new instructions in her thick Irish accent.

While the Thomas Paine leads 22-Foxtrot out of the gauntlet of destruction, the second wave continues it's first run, some ships breaking off as the warning broadcast by O'Carroll are procesed by their command structures. A cluster of Fast Attack Ships, now cut off from instructions from their Battleship being an arcing hard impulse burn to match heading with the reorientating 22-Foxtrot at the invitation of Commander Ghorev. The communications chatter over the fleet net if clouded with distress calls and calls by squadron group leaders to pull off or fall back. A quintet of Klingon vessels banks and races over the length of the Sovereign Class Little Big horn, precisely timed tractor beams seizing the large vessel and pulling it away from the maw of the singularity formed by the pre-mature springing of the mine. Event horizon distortion washes out command and control in the area of the main body, and sensor distortion effects lead to collisions or vessels firing into allies due to faulty sensor feeds. Swarms of vessels break and shift losing cohesion, some regrouping, some charging into battle with fierce determination even as the larger Romulan vessel seem to try to break away from the engagement zone to no avail -- the sloped shaped predators begin to sunder or shudder and implode, and the tear into fragile subspace being to open further. One of the largest Romulan vessels, a Warbird, banks irregularly and falls into the rift even as it is torn apart -- perhaps it is simply a trick of sensor distortion but it almost appears as if a second rift is torn even deeper... and on the Thomas Paine...

Idrani

Ghorev looks up from the armrest console. "Alright, Lieutenant," he says, looking Ivos' direction, "I think you've got it from here. Prep the spare containment pod for launching. We're only going to get *one* shot at this, so we'd better make it count." He slaps the armrest to kick in the shipwide intercom. "All hands, we're going in for another pass. Brace for possible gravitic shear." Then, turning off the intercom. "Mister Kepler, no matter what happens, you keep this dekyon beam on-target until we've completed the pass. Mister Medes, as soon as we've cleared, I need a hard Z-axis pull, and a roll out. We need to get as much of the Obelisk's own bulk between us and the antimatter as we can." He settles back into his seat, determined now. "It's an easy plan, people. Let's tear the side off of this monster and have the survivors home by suppertime!"

Ivos reports, "Antimatter pod ready for jettison." He leans in in front of the console, waiting for all the other pieces of the plan to fall into line--and for the moment to fire. His hand hovers above the proverbial big red button, and he says, "Whatever happens, keep that dekyon beam steady. We can't afford to let that thing catch this toss." He waits, and then as soon as everything is in order his hand gently pushes down onto the fire button.

Idrani keeps focused on the sensor console, trying to give the team the best data possible, in the ensuing chaos of the firefight.

Medes leans forward a little, tapping at her console with her right hand while her left twists a little, then moves over to a series of sliding controls (there are always, /always/ sliding controls). A long, smooth, sweeping pass seems to be the pilot's plan, and Thea holds her course steady while the Andorian Engineering Duo (with bonus sidekick Human Tactician) put their Cunning Plan into action. Once the antimatter pod has been released, the Paine /jerks/ sharply up and away in concert with the tiny Engineer's hand moving swiftly up that sliding control. (It's even there for a /reason,/ that sliding control.) The Paine's engines fire up to push the escort away from the horrifying rift opening up beneath them; the craft executes the specified Z-axis pull and rolls away to safety.

. o O Medes has absolute and complete faith in Ghorev's Plan. It's almost childlike, the faith she has in this plan. It's the sort of faith a puppy has in its Person. The Ghorev knows what to do. It'll work. The Boss Said So.

. o O Medes's mind is, thus, clear from worrying about the plan, and she concentrates entirely on executing her part of it.

Quickly punching in the commands to her console, Kepler brings up a dekyon beam on ready, relying on skills that had only been used before in simulation. Firing nonphaser and nonphoton is a tactical rarity, and getting to do so now is... well, kinda neat, actually. It might actually be enjoyable, if this weren't in the middle of a battle. "Yessir," she acknowledges, to both Commander and Lieutenant. A few quick diagnostics help verify the beam's readiness, and then she enages the beam, leaning into the console to help steady her hands against the buffeting the ship is getting from the sheer as it passes by the Obelisk, doing her best to keep the beam on target.

O'Carroll squints as she tries to make sense of all the noise she's getting from space.. her fingers continuing to tap at the terminal in front of her. "Break off, Break off! Regroup!" suddenly is heard on over the Bridge's audio system. O'Carroll's eyes widen as she moves to terminate whatever it was she touched.. the garbled radio chatter is replaced by the Opera still being broadcast by remaining Klingon forces in the area. It must be like the flag bearer in the infantry, or the broadcasting ship is having a good day. A few loud seconds later, it's quiet. "Sorries." O'Carroll apologizes, brushing some stray red hair from her pale blues again. She quickly fixes her eyes back on her console, not wishing to notice any looks spared her way.

The intertial dampeners strain audibly as Medes executes her manuever the only sound distinct in that rush of quiet that settles in as breaths are held and the universe itself seems to pause in anticipation for something unheralded.

The universe doesn't have to wait long as a few blinks later the antimatter pod released impacts into the area seconds before pounded by the Jem'Hedar on their last attack run. The explosion that follows is epic in its force and reactive power, literally pushing the obelisk to the opposite direction and causing it to shatter ships in its wake through the force of collision. The Fast Attack ships are no more in a moment so fast they surely only realized they were dead because this was decided before they went into battle, as is their tradition.

The concussive wake of the detonation rattles the timbers of every ship in the area, and some, succumb to this rattling and finish their entropical course to dissolution without another whimper. But it cannot be denied, something ancient, something believed by hundreds of cultures to be eternal and unstoppable, has been wounded.

And as is expected when a god is wounded, the reaction is terrible to behold. Excluding the area of the once perfect obelisk now marred by the extensive crater crafted by the cunning Akeen Ghorev, energy weapon's fire erupts from the obelisk in every direction like a dandelion hit by a strong waft of air. Nacelles are blown off, bridges are split, explosions and debris blossom like spring in garden. The Eater of Worlds is angry, perhaps for the first time in its existence, and the fury is terrible to behold.

Through this new ballet of carnage three things carry through:

Admiral Grave's general call for a strategic withdrawel and regrouping by all surviving forces.

The fact that a viable tactic against the Iconian Reclic has been uncovered, but at great cost, and one that will take time, precious a commodity as it is, to properly prepare for a finishing blow.

And the skill and cleverness of the crew of the Thomas Paine manifest in every micron of the crater that now marrs the surface of the Inconian's ultimate weapon against the enigmatic Rhana...

Ghorev says, "Devourer, eat thyself," with some sense of smug satisfaction. Then he gives the orders. "Mister Medes, pull us out of here. Mister Kepler, any tractor or transporter use you can handle to make passing rescues on our way out is at your own discretion. Mister Ivos, reset the deflector dish so we can jump to warp as soon as we're clear." Then he turns around to Science and Mission Ops on their arc of the rear bridge. "You two start preparing the briefing of what exactly we just did. Make sure every surviving lead ship has it before the Obelisk jams our communications again."

Ivos nods to Ghorev, "Working on it." And he is indeed doing so, dispatching work crews and undoing things previously done as fast as possible. "At least we've got the proof of concept, though. I'll start a research project to devise a more effective and efficient means of attacking this thing as soon as we're back."

Idrani watched the explosion from the sensor station, taking care to record all data for later analysis. At once both awed at the power and magnitude of the Obelisk and with a warrior's keen satisfaction of... if not triumph yet, the promise of hope and a battle to be joined again. "Aye sir." She notes, with the diplomat's calm, detachment.

Kepler's acknowledgement to her order is a simple "Ayesir," and she goes about bringing the tractors online, pushing out energies that the ship might reel in some of the less fortunate, pulling them away from this battlezone. There's only so many emitters that a ship of this class has, though, but the Lieutenant does what she can with what she has.

O'Carroll rubs her palms over the top corner of her console a couple times in a massaging action, "Aye, sir." she echoes behind the Andorian at the science station.

"Ship's Log, supplemental." Ghorev leans back in the Center Seat as he speaks easily into the quietly vibrating air of the post-battle bridge. "The Eater of Worlds is wounded, and a good portion of our battle fleet destroyed. It is because of the latter that we do not press the former, and Admiral Graves has ordered us to fall back to Station 419-Upsilon and make the best possible time we can on making our stopgap weapon into something more capable of the final knockdown blow. Though this ship is *made* for such things, we have to leave the rescue attempts to those who haven't yet fully realized what we've accomplished today, so that we can forge the weapon that will stop the Obelisk in its tracks." He shuts his eyes. "A lot of good men and women died today -- Klingon, Romulan, even Jem'Hadar -- and I've ordered Ensign O'Carroll to sort through the sensor logs and transponder signals to compile a more exact list of which ships were lost. Becuase these dead will be remembered, and this time it won't have been in vain. No, not this time." He rises from his seat. "This time, the Alliance worked. Cry 'Opratha' for the dead, and hold the living tight." He reaches down and toggles the switch to end the log. "Best course and speed for home, Mister Medes. Our families expect it, and the honored dead demand it."