Machinations of Deception
Episode Name: Machinations of Deception
Written By: Eidolon
Cast: Albertz, Anderson, Eidolon, Foster, Ghorev, Lopez, McCauley, McTiernan and Takamura.
Produced By: Starfleet
Directed By: Eidolon
Aired On: Sun Dec 05 02:41:03 2004
Stardate: 54583.1
Time: Sat Dec 04 22:00:35 2004
Stardate: 54582.6
Harris is in the command chair, leaning back in it slightly as he watches the viewscreen.
Dhar Dovoro steps into Ops, carrying one of his ubiquitous PADDs. Walking over to the big chair, he smiles at Harris. "Good evening, sir. Here are the most recent supply reports. Nothing out of the ordinary this time around."
Harris takes the PADD, glancing over it. "Looks good," he replies after a moment.
At that moment, the operations console chimes. "Sir," states the gold-shirted ensign at the console, "I've got a distress signal coming in, tightbeam transmission only."
Dhar Dovoro grins with a nod, pleased by Harris' reply. When the Operations Ensign speaks up, the Chief's antennae twitch in that direction with a curious expression.
Harris lifts his brows as he turns to face the viewscreen. "Put it on, Ensign," he orders softly.
The screen changes to show a harried looking captain on a burning bridge. "419-U, this is the starship Hannibal. We're under attack near..." the back of the bridge washes with bright light and the deck heaves, tossing the captain to his knees. "...require immediate assist..." And then the transmission blanks out.
Harris turns to a blanched out white color, pushing to his feet. "Get them back! Get them back now!"
. o O Harris' ordered calm demeanor suddenly collapses into barely-contained panic.
Dhar Dovoro's attention turns to the viewscreen, his expression souring at what greets his eyes. As the Hannibal's captain calls for assistance, the Andorian glances to Harris ot see what his orders are.
The ensign at Ops shakes his head. "I can't," he mutters in frustration after a few moments. "They're gone."
Harris turns his eyes to Dovoro. "Chief, give him a hand." His voice shakes with emotion as he reaches for his communicator.
Harris taps his com badge. "Lieutenant Harris to Commander Ghorev."
Over Harris's com badge, someone says, "Go ahead."
Into his com badge, Harris sounds like his day has just gone to hell. "Sir, we've just recieved a distress signal from the starship Hannibal. She's under attack."
Over Harris's com badge, Ghorev says, "Range?"
Dhar Dovoro nods to Harris and quickly heads over to the console with the Ensign. Tapping away at the smooth surface, he tries to reestablish contact.
Into his com badge, Harris says, "We're working that out now, sir. She was headed out toward Rynka when we lost sensor contact with her earlier."
Over Harris's com badge, Ghorev says, "We're the closest resource, then? I'm on Thomas Paine, and can launch within minutes if necessary."
<CONTEST> Dhar Dovoro (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Communications) skill vs a difficulty of Impossible and Succeeds!
The viewscreen snaps back on after Dhar's work. "...Rynka... only Starfleet... range... can't risk interception by the Romulans... assistance! Repeat..." and then the signal is irrevocably gone.
Into his com badge, Harris says, "Yes, sir, I believe we are."
Over Harris's com badge, Ghorev says, "We're on our way, then. Send all pertinent data to the bridge of Thomas Paine. I'll take command on this one myself."
Dhar Dovoro grins as his blue fingers are able to bring some of the signal bck to life.
Harris settles into the command chair. "Good work, chief," he murmurs shakily.
Time: Sat Dec 04 22:19:23 2004
Stardate: 54582.6
Ghorev looks at the arrivals with a turned head. "Doctor, you can join Lieutenant Takamura and myself down here." He gestures to the third command well seat. "Mister Anderson, good of you to stand your post so quickly. You and Mister Lopez are advised that the ship's auxiliary cargo bay is to maintain power and cohesion of internal security grids as a level two priority, over and above everything else except the destruction of the entire ship. The need-to-know is classified on that. And now that we're all here, Lieutnant Foster, you can signal the clearing of moorings, tell Mister Harris we're on our way and he can wish us the usual fleetspeed when we return."
Takamura takes a few more moments to finish the pre-flight checks from his seat. "Sir, the cargo bay is secured for flight."
McCauley nods to Ghorev. "All systems should be functioning normally sir. Engines are warmed and ready," says McCauley from his station.
"Mission Ops on line and ready, Sir" sound off McT from her console. Allotment of power to the cargo bay gets a raised brow but need-to-know is just that so she doesn't ask.
Albertz steps onto the bridge, 'RFC' medkit slung over his shoulder. No station to occupy, he goes to his preferred spot on the bridge. Aft.
Foster's fingers dance over the controls, then pause. "Reading moorings clear, sir." He taps one more control, clears his throat, and pronounces more succinctly, "Station 419 Upsilon Operations, reading green across the board. Thomas Paine en-route." A few more seconds pause, and Foster adds, "Thomas Paine clear of Station 419, ready for course and speed."
Ensign presents herself for duty in a few words of acknowledgement, and quickly threafter finds herself at her post. "Baseline readings of security grid efficiency all as normal for Auxiliary Cargo."
Anderson taps a few keys, and says "Weapons and shields reporting all normal, Sir."
The ship clears moorings and rockets away from the station under the deft fingers of Caleb Foster, hanging in space for a moment.
Lieutenant Harris appears on the viewscreen, seated in the big chair on the station. "Commander, here's the information you wanted." As he speaks, a readout appears on the viewscreen in split screen mode, showing a visual of a starship. "USS Hannibal, NCC-74159. She's Defiant-class, crew complement of fifty-two. Her current orders are above my clearance to access, but the distress signal she broadcast was from -within- Rynkan space, approximately 30 AU this side of Rynka itself. She's currently listed as carrying seven Timefleet specialists aboard, including Me... Lieutenant Donavon-Harris, sir." He clears his throat, trying not to look pale and mostly failing miserably. "That's all we've got up here, save for the actual distress signal. No clues or mention on -who- attacked them. I'm uploading everything now."
Ghorev says, "Thank you, Mister Harris. I'm sure Lieutenant McCauley will squeeze the engines until they're pleated, if he must." He motions to the viewscreen. "Conn, that's our heading and course. The transponder signal that's radiating a priority one distress call? Aim there, with all the power Engineering can give you." He turns to Takamura. "If your clearance isn't good enough to get that information from Sector Command, or Timefleet Command, en route, let me know and *I'll* hail them myself."
Takamura nods to Ghorev and turns back to his own console. "I'll see what information I can get for you, sir." The Timefleet Commander then sets to work with a determined expression.
GAME: McCauley spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> McCauley (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Engineering) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!
McCauley nods to Ghorev and goes to work at his console. A moment later he looks up. "Commander, Mister Foster, if you don't mind straining the engines, I can give you Warp 9.5."
McTiernan is mumbling to herself as she brings up schematics of the Paine on her terminal. "Calculating needed space and supplies for an additional crew of 52 so all of our ducks are in a row, Sir.."
Albertz sits down at Command.
Albertz moves from his position at the rear of the bridge, taking a seat at Command. While the Scot remains silent, there's plenty of other important talking to be done by the others, he begins mentally preparing for the task of dealing with fifty-two potential casualties.
Foster's head snaps up as Harris details who, exactly, is aboard the Hannibal. At the mention of Rynkan space, he starts to calculate course even before Ghorev orders it. But then, he is Starfleet-trained. It doesn't take much to know what that order is going to be. The addition of the distress call's location only makes it easier. "I'll take everything you can give me, Lieutenant. Course laid in. Engaging at Warp Factor 9.5." As the screen blurs, then settles into standard for warp travel, he adds, "Sir, if we can sustain that speed, our ETA drops to just under three hours."
Lopez prompts her console to display the pertinent information about the cargo shield accessable at her clearance, troubled, but as simply monitoring fluctuations in power.
Anderson flinches finding out that its someone on the station out there. He settles in and starts to double check all weapons and shield systems for anything.
Harris nods to Ghorev. "Aye, sir. We'll keep working on this end, 419-U out." The viewscreen blinks out, replaced by the rushing starfield.
Ghorev is now settled in, in his element. He leans back in the command chair, taking in the crew with a brief sweeping glance -- well, at least those he doesn't have tot turn 270 degrees or more to see. "Mister Lopez, as soon as Mister Foster drops out of warp at our arrival point, do not wait for signal. Give all available power not necessary for impulse dogfighting and the priority use of Cargo Bay A-1 to tactical." Things start to come together, to cohere. He gives orders more fluidly now, though closer together, a rhythm forming. "I want long-range scans of our target zone every quarter-hour until we've arrived, or until I tell you to stop. Mister McTiernan, three hours is a long time for that ship to hold out, so you should start preparing for the eventuality that we're going to need to either board someone or rescue someone. In the meanwhile, hail Hannibal and let them know we're on our way."
GAME: McTiernan spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> McTiernan (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Communications) skill vs a difficulty of Impossible and Fails!
GAME: Lopez spends a courage point.
Takamura continues working at his own console. Nodding slowly, he sends a text message to Ghorev's monitor in the command chair. Timefleet assets were being dispatched to land on Rynka, reconnoiter the area to see what the Romulans were doing, and pull out. After finishing his tapping, he looks over to Ghorev. "Sir, shall I prepare equipment for a boarding party?"
<CONTEST> Lopez (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Sensors) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!
"I can give you 9.5 for the whole trip Mister Foster," says McCauley from his station. For now he seems to just be watching his station.
McTiernan nods, "I'm on it, Sir. Sick bay is postage stamp size but well stocked. We're carrying about 30 EVAs and we've one transporter pad. While we can squeeze 52 additional souls aboard, I wouldn't want to do it long term." she pauses as the scan completes. "They are still within the jamming field being generated by the Romulans near Rynka so I have no way of knowing if the Hannibal is receiving the message I'm sending out."
Albertz purses his lips at McTiernan's assessment. "Tight squeeze. If even a tenth of those people have serious injuries, it's going tae make frae a long flight home. Hopefully we've got more than just Leftenant Takamura wi' additional training wi' us."
"Thanks, Lieutenant," Foster says, keeping his eyes - and hands - on the controls of the ship, ready to react the moment it becomes necessary.
Lopez lets her fingers race across the console, several times prompting for a reading of the space beyond, and several times receiving the same unresponsive result result, much to her frustration. Well, its not as if it hadn't been said before. Her face forms a tense arrangement. "Confirmed jamming. A negative on all readings from the Rynkan system. The jamming is making getting anything nigh impossible."
. o O Foster thinks "Damnit, Meg. You better be okay. Spent too much time working with you to break in a new partner before the invasion."
. o O Lopez thinks "Come on, there's bound to be a bald spot in that frequency somewhere... Damelo, pedaza de lata."
. o O Takamura thinks "Just great. Another rescue mission where we're going in blind. At least it is in our own universe and Ghorev is in command. Pay attention, Hiroshi. You might learn something."
Ghorev's brow furrows. He says to Albertz, "Thomas Paine's transporter bay itself can handle 12 people at once, and there's actually a terminal down there for medical triage on the spot. I hope you don't have to use it, but you can pull up the specs on that armrest console now to start familiarizing yourself." A pause. A moment's thought. "Mister McTiernan, give a general hail on any frequency used by the Romulans, and advise them we are responding to a distress call from one of our own."
. o O McTiernan thinks "Whoa there little girl.. you almost gave the CO the current water temp, current strength, tide rate, and known sea floor obstruction. Being a widely known supporter of the ocean, I'm sure the big blue teddy bear would be just thrilled to get -that- kind of a report. Yup, I can hear him now... 'Right this way, Lieutenant McTiernan.. we have a new way of breaking in our Mission Ops officers. Haven't you heard of this? It's called airlock training. *PUSH* Been nice knowing you, Piper. Do write if, you know, learn to breath on your own in SPACE!'. Oyve.."
Takamura makes a few notes of his own on his console. Glancing to Albertz, he replies, "I'll give you whatever assistance I can if we take on casualties. I can at least help get the minor ones stabilized."
McTiernan nods, "Aye, Sir on all frequencies.." A tap and she says, "This is the USS Thomas Paine hailing any vessels in the sector around Rynka. We are responding to a distress call given by a Starfleet vessel. Please respond if you are receiving this transmission."
Albertz nods to Ghorev and starts looking over the schematics on his display. "Fell, here's hoping we'll not need use of those pretty hands of yuirs,Leftenant."
The speakers crackle to life with a silky Romulan-type voice. "USS Thomas Paine, permission to cross into Romulan territory is denied. Violate our territorial boundaries, and you will be destroyed. Transmission ends." True to his word, the Romulan signal cuts out at that point, followed by a double chirp from the communications console indicating another incoming transmission.
. o O Takamura thinks "Damn Romulans. I wouldn't be surprised if they were the ones who shot down the Hannibal. They won't even let us respond to a distress signal."
McTiernan doesn't have time to really respond to the Romulan when a hail comes in, "Incoming transmission .. it's a Starfleet signal but I can't tell anymore then that, Sir."
Ghorev frowns now, and rises from his seat. "Bring it up, and when we're done, hail the Romulans again and advise whoever is in charge that I want to speak to him, and that if he won't spare me the 3 minutes to discuss alternatives, his only *remaining* alternative is to assume the authority to declare war on the Federation, and accept the consequences."
Takamura's ears perk up when he hears the Romulan voice. His expression sours though at the content of those words. He then glances over Ghorev, unconsciously nodding his approval of the Andorian's statement.
McCauley frowns slightly from his station, but without anything to do he remains still and quiet.
McTiernan nods, "Aye, Sir. Channels open" she offers from her console as she makes preparations for the next hail to go out.
. o O Foster thinks "An excellent point. The Romulans don't want a war with the Federation right now. Jatila said that much, after all. It's not like they really WANT to handle a war on two fronts, D'era or not. Just doesn't make military sense."
Albertz gives his head a slight shake at the sound of Romulans but doesn't look up, still engrossed in his analysis of the Paine's medical capabilities.
Foster grimaces at the Romulan voice coming across, but doesn't otherwise change. He remains at his station, watching the helm.
Ensign Lopez leans forward at her console her one hand squeezing the casement and whitening her knuckles as she stands by. Intently observing the readings from auxiliary cargo, and trying to screen the rest to a dull roar.
A non-descript human commodore appears on the screen. "Thomas Paine, this is Commodore Elrich at Dulcais Headquarters. We've been monitoring the situation, and you're ordered to return to base immediately. We'll send a properly equipped starship to recover the Hannibal." The white-haired man eyes Ghorev across the lightyears. "We don't need to damage the situation more than it's already been bent out of shape, Commander."
. o O Foster is gripped with terror... for all of a moment.
. o O Foster thinks "What a load of ... The Commander won't do that, will he? Not when our people are out there? Then again, I suppose if he turned it over to Tak, it would become a Timefleet mission, then he wouldn't get in trouble. Damnit. If Rob knew Meg was involved, why didn't we take the Aegis? We could BE there by now!"
. o O Lopez thinks "What makes Fleet think that they'll be more disposed to let another vessel through-- that was a flat no! Our people are out there, and we're already underway-- send backup, but not a replacement! How can we leave?"
Ghorev says, "Commodore, with due respect, you and I both know that once we've relayed our response to a distress call, we *can't* stand down until and unless your other, and presumably much faster ship, is under way." His brow is furrowed, he shakes his head once. "With the lives currently on the line, I'm going to need a lot more than an order that compels me to bend General Order Six until it's taut and vibrates. Who have you got ready to go, and when will they be departing?"
"The Crazy Horse is enroute now, Paine. The Hannibal's mission was and still is classified, and we feel that it's necessary to send in something a bit more imposing and better equipped than a light escort." Elrich's lips compress into a thin line. "She'll be there in a little less than five hours."
. o O Lopez thinks "The Crazy Horse! My old post..."
Ghorev shakes his head more firmly now, taking a step forward. "Commodore, until and unless USS Crazy Horse should contact us with affirmation that it has pushed its engines and will beat us there at the three hour mark, we are required by General Order Six to answer this distress call. So unless what's on the other side of that blockade is more imposing than the Eater of Worlds, we're going to have to make do with this 'little escort.'"
. o O Takamura is very impressed by Ghorev.
Elrich's nose wrinkles, but Ghorev's got him and the look on his face says he knows it. "Very well, Commander. Dulcais -out-." And then the screen returns to the starfield.
. o O Foster thinks "Actually, I suppose that since the Aegis is primarily a Timefleet vessel, it might be problematic to have someone who outranks the TC on-board."
. o O McTiernan thinks "And -that- ladies and gentlemen is how you refuse an order. I hope you were all taking notes..."
. o O Ghorev thinks "And *that*, ladies in gentlemen, is how you handle refusing an order."
Without another word needed, McT puts out her hail. Long seconds stretch into a few minutes before she turns dark eyes to the command area. "The Romulan's are refusing to answer the hail, Sir."
. o O Takamura thinks "If they wanted eyes on the ground, why didn't they let us use the Aegis to do the recon? It would have been less risky."
Ghorev says, "If that's the way they want to play it, fine. Broadcast on *all* open channels, Mister McTiernan, ours as well as theirs, that under the terms of the Alliance Treaty, the Treaty of Algeron, the Treaty of Cheron, and every other blessed treaty between Starfleet and the Romulan Star Empire going back two hundred years, we are exercising our right to respond to a legitimate Federation distress call within their territory, and unilateral revocation of those treaties by them can and will be considered an act of war and a return to hostilities. We want our people, and we are coming to get them. And the man who stands in my way had better be nobody less than the Praetor in their biggest Flagship, because nothing less will do." A pause. "Feel free to trim that down a bit, as long as you hit the high notes." He turns from McTiernan and sits back down. "Conn, steady on, bring us in, full speed, unless you see an Excelsior with the words 'USS Crazy Horse' on the side overtake us."
. o O Lopez thinks "NCC 50446 was commissioned in '50. 9.2 is a generous maximum to haul that Excelsior when she's booking... she'll lag behind. All that "sturdiness" won't do anyone a damn bit of good unless they're going to really peel back the dash coverings. Caca."
McTiernan broadcasts her message, earning nothing but silence from the Romulans once again. Several hours later, the Paine crosses the Rynkan border with nary a word from the Romulan occupation fleet clearly visible orbiting Rynka and closes in on the last reported position of the Hannibal. As the ship drops from warp, it's clear that something is wrong -- there's no Defiant-class starship visible on the viewscreen, either whole or in debris form.
. o O Ghorev thinks "Well, now, how nice."
Ghorev leans forward in The Big Chair. "I need scans and pings, people. Let's look alive. We want to get Hannibal's crew, and head home."
GAME: McTiernan spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> McTiernan (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Sensors) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!
Takamura returns his full attention to his console once they come out of warp. Weh nthe scene greets them on the viewscreen, he mutters. "Where did the Hannibal go?"
<CONTEST> Lopez contests her Shipboard Systems (Engineering) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!
McCauley glances up the viewscreen as they come out of warp. He takes a moment to look at his console, probably checking the systems, and then looks back up.
. o O Takamura thinks "If they shot down, the Hannibal, where is the debris? Unless they tractored her into a cargo bay of something."
McTiernan's fingers fly over her console, pinging and ponging and generally looks alive as she tips her head and frowns. "Initial reports are in, Sir. I can find no signs of weapon fire and if it wasn't for the fact that the Hannibal's ion trail *dead ends* right here, I'd say she's never been here. What little debris I see is from an escape pod and comes complete with it's very own floating corpse. Widening search parameters now.."
GAME: Foster spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> Foster (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Sensors) skill vs a difficulty of Impossible and Succeeds!
"Oh, bloody .... hell," Foster swears as he scans his own sensors. "Sir, reading eight cloaked Romulan vessels, most likely all D'Deridex-class. They're taking up position around us. Painting positions now." His hands fly over his controls, linking to the computer to give relative locations for the Romulan vessels versus the tiny little Thomas Paine.
Down at the Operations console, Ensign Lopez has other fish to fry, the non-visibility of the Hannibal not withstanding. As per prior orders, the moment they drop out of warp, and the stars recoalesce as points rather than brief lines, she leans to. "Power has been diverted to auxiliary cargo, power and cohesion of security grids all holding steady."
. o O McTiernan thinks "Yup.. you see, Sef? Fecal material.. rotary oscillator.. Now we'll see what the Big Blue Teddy has up his sleeve."
Ghorev says, "Steady as she goes, all." A pause. "Mister McTiernan, send out another general hail, to any and all Romulan ships which may still be in the vicinity." Oh. Yes. The ol' 'they don't know we know, and we want to keep it that way' strategy. "I want details on the escape pod, and the corpse. In the meanwhile ... Ensign Lopez, based on what MIster Foster has found, start scanning randomly. I want them to think you're just sending out stray pings, blindly, so if only every ninth or tenth ping actually bounces where they don't know we know they are, that'd be just brilliant." A frown. "Our Defiant-class ship may be cuddled up in the middle of them, hidden by their cloaks, and I want to know for sure, but this has to be ... very ... gentle."
. o O McCauley thinks "Eight D'Deridex cruisers. I've got no idea what the Eater of the Worlds was, but that's a lot of power."
. o O Foster's heart flutters for just a moment as he watches the Romulan vessels move in for the kill, but then locks that emotion away. THIS is the kind of rush he goes on missions for. Risking certain death and all that. Gee, like most RRT officers are any different.
<CONTEST> Lopez contests her Shipboard Systems (Sensors) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!
Takamura looks up from his console and calls back to Anderson. "Mr. Anderson, prepare an EVA team in case we need to do things the hard way." He then rises to take over the Tactical position in his place.
McCauley shifts in his station, his frown growing more pronouced. With nothing to do atthe moment he sits and boths hands rest on the edges of the console while he watches the viewscreen and the bridge in general.
McTiernan again nods and repeats her pervious hail. "Aye, Sir on all frequencies.." A tap and she says, "This is the USS Thomas Paine hailing any vessels in the sector around Rynka. We are responding to a distress call given by a Starfleet vessel. Please respond if you are receiving this transmission." As she sends it off and closes channel, her scan results come in. The escape pod materials and composition match that of a Defiant class. As for the remains, the body is that of a human female, 20 to 25 years of age. Weapons fire is responsible for the destruction of the pod, Sir."
. o O Foster thinks "Meg."
. o O Foster thinks "No, couldn't be. Stop thinking stupid thoughts, Caleb."
. o O Takamura feels sudden feeling of dread.
. o O Takamura thinks "PLease. Don't let that be Meg."
. o O Ghorev thinks "Now we play the waiting game, oh, yes, indeed."
. o O Lopez thinks "Por favor, no... Come on Hannibal, where are you? Dónde está uds.?"
"Sir," Foster says. "They are setting up to hit us with a ball of death. One ship at each point, with the remaining two buzzing about supplying backup. I have some room to manuever..." And with the way his fingers are moving over the controls, he's obviously preparing to do just that. "... but not much. I don't think they're hiding the Hannibal. They aren't positioned for it - WE are in the middle of them."
Takamura stands and leaves Command.
Takamura sits down at Tactical.
Lopez turns out not to be brilliant enough, or at all. A virtual volley of sensor pings yield nothing. "Nothing, Sir. Continue random sweep?" She turns about at a seemingly awkward angle to ask it in the direction of command.
GAME: Ghorev spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> Ghorev (claiming advantage) contests his Starship Tactics (Naval) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!
The gently tumbling bits of escape pod slowly come into view on the screen, along with a darker mass that doesn't reflect light as it obscures parts of the debris from view. Even from this distance, it appears more or less roughly to be a humanoid shape.
The Romulans once again remain silent, no response forthcoming to any hails.
Ghorev says, "Mister McTiernan, as much as I hate saying it this way, claim the body. Read the combadge with the ACB guidance lock while you're at it. I want to see who that is. Mister Takamura, in order to prevent either of us coming up on charges later for what I may have to order us to do, please scan the escape pod one more time. If those were Grade 5 Romulan disruptors that scored that pod, it means that the Romulans are responsible and we things may get ugly ..." A pause. "Mister Foster, if you're at all uncomfortable with Captain Picard's Famous Maneuver, now's the time to speak up, because we may need it -- those ships don't have active sensors while they're cloaked, so it may fool them for all of two seconds."
GAME: McTiernan spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> McTiernan (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Transporters) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Fails!
<CONTEST> McTiernan contests her Shipboard Systems (Transporters) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!
Takamura sets up shop at the Paine's Tactical console just like old times. Nodding to Ghorev, he replies simply. "Aye, sir. Beginning scans now." And then his fingers start their walking.
GAME: Takamura spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> Takamura (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Sensors) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!
McCauley glances to Ghorev, and says, "Engineering is standing by sir. I'm ready to respond to any damage." Yup, just an added voice there. He's not asleep, just in case anyone was wondering.
McTiernan growls at herself as she works, focusing on the task at hand. "Transport complete.. She's in the sick bay but I can't get a read on her combadge, Sir as my ACB guidance lock failed."
. o O Takamura thinks "What the hell? The Hannibal destroyed its own escape pod? What's going on here? WE definitely better get that pod aboard."
. o O McTiernan thinks "Way to show your stuff, Piper."
Albertz shifts a little in his seat as the scene unfolds. "Do you want me in sickbay, sir?" he asks Ghorev.
Foster's answer is so close on the heels of Commander Ghorev's question that it's clear he's already been planning for this. "High-speed Warp jump laid in. Ready." And his finger is hovering over a control that is complacently blinking its ready status. It shouldn't take more than a fraction of a second for him to activate the program. If that long.
Ghorev motions to Albertz's armrest. "You can pull up the biofilter logs on the transport, Doctor. If that patient isn't alive, it's not a patient. And if you can match to DNA records and get an identity, so much the better. If the patient through some miracle *isn't* dead, then by all means do your duty. Otherwise, I'd prefer you be up here, in case something happens." A pause. "Mister Lopez, even if that pod wasn't destroyed by Romulans, it was destroyed by *someone*, and as soon as you can do so without interfering with Lieutenant Takamura's scans, tag it with a tractor beam and hall it in to our main cargo bay. Gently." To the room at large, since *someone* will know: "Our bogeys still sitting tensely?"
<CONTEST> Albertz contests his Computer (Research) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!
Takamura frowns deeply as his scans come back. Glancing to Ghorev, he reports. "Sir, that escape pod was destroyed by Starfleet signature pulse phaser fire. The same type of armament that Defiants have," he notes for clarification. "However, I have also detected that the pod's black box /is/ intact. Mister Lopez, you are free to tractor the remains in."
. o O Ghorev thinks "Translation: She was boarded and seized, and someone tried to escape."
McCauley glances up to Ghorev, still sitting there with his hands on the edge of the console. He's waiting for something to do, and apparently waiting patiently enough for now.
GAME: Lopez spends a courage point.
Albertz taps away at his seat's console, going over the transporter pattern of the human beamed aboard. "That was," he pauses to consult the readout "Leftenant Junior Grade Susan McDougal, one the Hannibal's crew. She's deed, sir."
<CONTEST> Lopez (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Tractor Beam) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!
. o O Foster lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in.
Foster glances over his controls, "Six of the Romulan vessels remain at ready status, manuevering for a perfect crossfire. The other two continue to circle. Weapons are, at this time, not powered." Still his finger remains poised, in the case that that changes.
. o O Takamura lets out a mental sigh of relief. "Whew. It wasn't Meg. What are you thinkg, Hiroshi? She was still a fellow officer."
Lopez acknowledges the order and the permission to proceed with a tense little nod. Gradually, she gets a lock on the pod and all its contingent disembodied parts, and begins reeling her in. Each piece is safely and meticulously deposited in cargo. "Pods in. Standing by."
. o O Albertz sighs inwardly, relieved the body beamed on board wasn't Meg.
The stars on the viewscreen begin to ripple like a pond that's just had a stone tossed in, replaced by the green hull of a Romulan D'deridex-class warbird. It sits stern and unmoving in all its massive glory, dwarfing the Paine by a large measure.
Slowly, two more Warbirds decloak behind it, and then Tak's tactical console come alive with weapons locks.
A broadband subspace transmission activates the speakers. "USS Thomas Paine, you are in violation of Romulan territory. You have ten seconds to withdraw from our space," proclaims the same silky voice from earlier. "Unless you wish to test the combat capabilities of your toy boat against the pride of the Star Navy, that is." The voice apparently prefers the latter option, judging by the snideness that crept into his tone.
Ghorev is now at the edge of his seat. "Mister McTiernan, repeat the general hail from earlier. Advise that we are still responding to a legitimate distress call, as is our right under treaties, and that we have no evidence that would end our search. If they wish, under the terms of the Alliance treaty in specific, to assist us in our search, we would value their assistance as honored allies." A tight smile. "But, just in case they don't like that, Mister Foster, lay in an evasive course that will take us straight up and over the snout of one of the cloaked ships. Lieutenant McCauley, prepare to augment forward shields, in case we have to skip off the unshielded bridge hull of a warbird. If they want to treat is like a /kochek/ ball, we're going to act like one. Oh, yes, we are."
GAME: McCauley spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> McCauley (claiming advantage) contests his Systems Engineering (Shields) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!
Takamura's attention is drawn immediately to the ligtinh up of his tactical console. "Sir, their weapons are definitely locked on us. Shall I bring our weapons online?" As he listens to Ghorev's orders, he can't help but grin at the kochek reference. Then he takes a deep breath and his expression turns into that of a stoic warrior.
McCauley nods to Ghorev and goes to work at his station. He taps for a moment and then looks up to Ghorev again, hands going back to the edges of the console. "We're ready to play the role of a kochek ball Commander. Forward shields are augmented and configured."
Other then a perked brow and a little grin, Piper only nods, "Aye Sir. Opening channel for a hail on all frequencies." Tap and then, "This is the Starfleet vessel USS Thomas Paine responding to a distress call transmitted by another Starfleet vessel. We show no current evidence that our search and rescue mission should be called off and under the terms of current treaties held with the Romulan Star Empire, we are attempting to conduct said search. As honored allies and under the terms of the Alliance Treaty, we would value any assistance given." Tap and end hail.
. o O Ghorev thinks "What was Aviram Kor's First Law? Oh, yes: "When talking to a fanatic, who keeps repeating the same thing over and over again, do likewise. Any attempt to speak the same language as a fanatic only gives them acknowledgement that you understand them, and puts you in their zone of control." Well, thank you, Master Kor. We're going to keep repeating our message as long as they repeat theirs."
Foster's fingers shift from their ready position to another flare of course programming. There is a brief delay as he shunts the current program into a storage location that can be activated with only a fingerstroke. "Course laid in. Ready to engage, sir." Of course, now there are TWO blinking Ready lights on his console.
Lopez continues to stand by at the Operations console.
"Very well then. May your deities welcome you into the afterlife." The channel immediately cuts. Apparently Mister Romulan wasn't too enamored with Ghorev's response.
On the screen, the three warbirds suddenly launch forward, all forward weapons banks spitting salvo after salvo of disruptor fire and plasma torpedoes. Sensor boards come to life as the rest of the stalking warbirds decloak and establish weapons locks.
Ghorev says, "Mister Foster, glance us off the last decloaking warbird *NOW*, before it's shields come up, then get us to warp. ALL HANDS, BRACE FOR IMPACT!"
GAME: Foster spends a courage point.
<CONTEST> Foster (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Flight Control) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Succeeds!
<CONTEST> Foster (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Flight Control) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Succeeds!
Foster's reaction is, again, fast enough that he had to have been primed for it already. But then, again, this is the kind of thing he lives for. What a rush! There is a shaking thud as the Thomas Paine's shields glance off the Romulan warbird and then Foster punches it. "Hang on, everyone. Lieutenant, I'm going to tax your engines. Maximum warp, engaged now." He's entirely too calm for this, y'know.
. o O McCauley thinks "I just finished fixing her..."
. o O McTiernan thinks "Oooh Mary, mother of.. Oooh, not good! Foster: The new God of my heart!"
. o O Foster thinks "WOOHOO! EAT THAT, YOU SMUG ROMULAN P'TACH!"
The Warbird's bridge crumples in a flash of fire before the vast majority of the torpedo and disruptor blasts meant for the suddenly vanished Thomas Paine rain down on her and she blows apart rather spectacularly. The other seven warbirds immediately launch into persuit of the Brilliant-class starship, bearing down on it to avenge themselves...
...when their persuit is rather spectacularly interrupted by the arrival of three new Federation starships -- the Excelsior-class Crazy Horse, the Defiant-class Indomitable, and the Sovereign-class Little Big Horn, all launching quantum torpedoes at the warbirds in an attempt to cover the Paine as she makes her mad dash for freedom.
Ghorev snarls ferociously now, a low, throaty snort. He's *hacked off*. "Mister McTiernan, transmit the last few moments of that to our vessels in range. I want them to know that the Romulans just declared war on the Federation. Once we clear the jamming range, I want the entirely of our communications logs sent to Admiral Whitehorse and Commodore Elrich at Dulcais Sector Command. Advise the Commodore that he can tell me 'I told you so, later', but that we were in the right here." A pause. "And then, *after* that's done, hail the Romulans," -- and his smile is no less ferocious for the curling of lip -- "and tell them that we seemed to have bounced off some space debris before our departure, and we intend to file a complaint about their shoddy exercise of custodial responsibility to keep the common spacelanes clear of obstacles in their claimed border territories. Mister Foster, take us the hell home, best speed."
. o O Ghorev thinks "This is where we stop *playing* with the Borva-be-damned Romulans. The Captain is going to get exactly what he wants, and I'm going to get some satisfaction."
Takamura hangs onto his console, bracing himself for the impact against the Romulan ship. His fingers then glide over the console ready to activate the phasers and torpedoes at a moment's notice. However, Ghorev refrains from unleashing his a-Tak dog and he stands fast tethered to his leash. All the while, he maintains an overview of the battle astern of them.
. o O Foster thinks "But... where's the Hannibal? Where's Meg?"
McCauley braces himself through the impact and then frowns a little as he watches console. "The inertial dampers and the structural integrity fields suffered a little from that move. Forward shields are down to 20, but the Paine is mostly unscathed." A moment to finish that and he glances up. "Sir, are the other ships withdrawing?"
McTiernan holds on through the shimmie and jive of the Paine until she's clear then she's back on her keys like nothings happened. "On Fleet frequencies .. Aye, Sir." Taptap and she begins in a voice oddly cold and measured. No ruffle here. Nope. "This is the Thomas Paine. All Starfleet vessels receive the following: The Romulan Star Empire has declared war on the Federation by attacking a Starfleet vessel on a search and rescue mission, safe passage granted by the Alliance Treaties that are currently in place." With her transmission is a subspace packet that outlines the last few minutes of time between the two sides. The Commanders other request is entered and set to send as soon as they are clear. *Then* she opens a hailing frequency to the Romulans. "This is the Thomas Paine under the command of Commander Ghorev who wishes to notify you that he'll be filing a complaint regarding your shoddy exercise of custodial responsibility in keeping the common spacelanes clear of obstacles in their claimed border territories. Personal experience as we've just bounced off your space debris on our departure from your space!" And with a tap, that hail is ended and she blinks, more at own cold tones then at what she's said.
Albertz fingers grip tighten around the armrests of his chair and he rides out Foster's fancy flying.
Foster doesn't do anything but as ordered, adjusting the course to take them back to Station 419-Upsilon. If there was someone in front of him, though, they would be able to see the torment on his face, and the worry. Best speed, he takes, in this case what he judges as the best speed that will not sacrifice the ship as well, whether that's the 9.5 Lieutenant McCauley was able to give him earlier, or the standard maximum, warp 9.2.
. o O McTiernan thinks "Next job for yourself, Pip.. find a Romulan willing to teach you how to curse.. you'll sound much cooler on comms next time. Ayup.."
To the stern, the furball drops to sublight speeds, flashes of green disruptor bursts and plasma torpedoes mixing with the red and blue of Starfleet phasers and quantum torpedoes -- perhaps the first shots in a cold war suddenly turned very hot. In the Thomas Paine's medbay, the jolt to the ship causes the cold, dead hand of Susan McDougal to pop open, allowing a golden wedding band covered with Celtic runes to drop to the deck.
As the ship escapes, the fate of the Hannibal remains in question. But, perhaps more importantly to some here and elsewhere, another question remains as well: What happened to Megan Donavon?
