Compile August 12-18 (Champlain) This compile is for the Champlain. Lots happening through these posts. Lots of minor timestamp corrections. Note: Whenever there were multiple locations in a single post, I split them up so that every thing falls chronologically. This does not alter the post count. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Mission: Beyond Vengeance Day: 1 Stardate: 2407.03.15 Compile Summary Part B (USS Wyvern - Bridge – FO Commander Martin O'Shea - 0214) (USS Champlain – Bridge - 3O/Acting CO Lt. Bree Frazier - 0215) (USS Wyvern, Deck 2, Security Officer Ensign Dizhei Ryan - 0216) (USS Champlain – Bridge - Tactical Chief - Lieutenant JG T'Larah Sullivan - 0217) (USS Champlain - Bridge - Counselor- Lieutenant Alosar - 0218) (Position in spacetime unknown – Olen Rhinehart) (USS Champlain - Sick Bay - SO - Ensign SG Derrick LaQua - 0219) (USS Wyvern, Ready Room - former CO Captain Angela Smithwick - 0220) (USS Champlain – Ready Room, and Starbase Geneva - Admiral Ohlsson's office – 3O/Acting CO Lt. Bree Frazier, and Admiral Ohlsson, - 0221) (USS Champlain - Bridge - Chief Tactical - Lieutenant JG T'Larah Sullivan - 0222) (USS Champlain - Ready Room - Counselor- Lieutenant Alosar - 0223) (USS Wyvern, Ready Room, Security Officer Ensign Dizhei Ryan - 0224) (USS Wyvern - Brig – FO Commander Martin O'Shea - 0225) (USS Champlain - Bridge- Science Station on bridge - SO - Ensign SG Derrick LaQua - 0226) (USS Champlain - Bridge - Tactical Chief - Lieutenant JG T'Larah Sullivan - 0227) (USS Champlain - Engineering - Ensign Gabriele Suvik-Bertorelli - 0228) (USS Champlain – Bridge - Ops/Helm - Ensign Smith - 0229) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Wyvern - Bridge – FO Commander Martin O'Shea - 0214) Jono let out a small suppressed smile, "Of course." He took a few seconds to collect his thoughts and then continued. "Commander, Before you arrange your engineering teams please take a trip down to the brig and collect Sam Moto, have one of my security men bring him to me in the ready room. Once that task is complete please begin making arrangements for your team. I will expect that report in an hour." "Certainly" Martin replied. He hated taking orders from a Lieutenant, but he had given his word and he wasn't about to break it. He turned and headed for the doors to the turbo lift. The two security officers trailing behind him. "Deck 9" he ordered once the turbolift doors had closed. (Reply none) (posted by Daniel Greene) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Champlain – Bridge - 3O/Acting CO Lt. Bree Frazier - 0215) The adrenaline wore off as Bree began to consider the thousand housecleaning chores that needed to be done, very few of them pleasant. Through her growing discomfort, she became faintly aware of a cool but firm voice addressing her. "…I highly recommend that I escort you to sick bay, before I'm required to remove YOU from duty and take control of the Champlain myself," stated Alosar. Bree actually smiled as she looked up at the stern Vulcan towering above her. "Of course, Lieutenant. Logical, as always. But logically, I have a few things to wrap up before I indulge in a trip to sick bay. Would you be so kind as to accompany me to the ready room for about fifteen minutes, then I will in turn accompany you, willingly, to sick bay?" Bree was polite, but she made sure that her tone conveyed that despite her injury, she was very much in charge. (Reply Alosar) Bree willingly accepted support as she made her way to the ready room. As she passed by T'Larah, she turned to her. "You have the Conn, Lieutenant Sullivan. Stand by for orders." (Reply Sullivan, Alosar) (posted by Connie) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Wyvern, Deck 2, Security Officer Ensign Dizhei Ryan - 0216) =/\=Janeway to Ryan. Please set out your team to scout out the ship. Make sure we have no stragglers that have decided they don’t want to be transported across to the Champlain. Once that is done please come to the ready room, I would like very much to hear your report on what happened.=/\= "Aye, Sir. Ryan out." She tapped off her commbadge. "Right, you heard the boss, stay as a team - it'll take longer but you never know if there might be a small group holed up somewhere who don't see things quite the same way as Commander O'Shea. See if you can tap into the internal sensors with your tricorders. That should assist you. Round up any stragglers, deck by deck, and take them to Cargo Bay 1. Any wounded or sick you find take to Sickbay." She looked consideringly at the team. She knew she should put Hawk in charge by virtue of his seniority but she didn't trust him to do the job properly. Besides this was a security matter not OPS and so the one in charge should reflect that. Not to mention she was not sure what Janeway would want to do when he heard her report. "Hellman, you're in charge. Ensign Hawk, you're with me." She ignored Hawk's exclamation and nodded to Hellman. "Move 'em out, Mayo. And keep in touch every ten minutes." (reply none) (posted by Connie) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Champlain – Bridge - Tactical Chief - Lieutenant JG T'Larah Sullivan - 0217) The exchange over the past few minutes, when the action was hectic, T'Larah noticed that Bree was more gruff with her then she usually was, like she was loosing her normally near-infinite patience for her own Vulcan antics. After Lt. Alosar had advised her to soon report to sick bay or he would relieve her, (an advisement for sure, Vulcans never bluff) T'Larah also noticed that Bree's complexion was leaning decidable more toward the pale end of the spectrum as she passed by her, she also had a sheen of sweat on her skin. ~ Broken ribs, irritability, pale skin, diaphoresis, Bree is going into shock, and it seems that Lt Alsoar has noticed it before I have. That would be his rudimentary medical training as a counselor manifesting itself. ~ T'Larah berated her self. "You have the Conn, Lieutenant Sullivan. Stand by for orders." Bree said as she walked by supported by the Vulcan counselor. "Understood, Bree, I won't let you down." T'Larah said as the pair made their way to the ready room. T'Larah motioned to a near by crewman to man the Tactical station, when she was relieved she sat down in the center chair, and checked all the systems. ~ Comfy chair.~ (Reply any on bridge) (Posted by Todd) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Champlain - Bridge - Counselor- Lieutenant Alosar - 0218) Alosar was actually that Frazier had agreed to him so readily. He had expected a bit more of an argument from her. He had noted several times the illogical position most humans took on having their injuries tended. Perhaps the Betazoid part of her was shining through. Although his experience had shown him that they, also, were not a very logical group. "Your terms, Captain, are acceptable," Alosar stated. Frazier made an effort to stand, and Alosar reached down to help her up. He could feel her body give to his strength and allow his assistance. The Vulcan continued to lend his strength to hers as they made their way to the Ready Room. At the last second Frazier stopped and turned to Sullivan. "You have the Conn, Lieutenant Sullivan. Stand by for orders," she said. As Sullivan gave her reply Alosar added forward momentum to get Frazier through the door of the Ready Room. (reply none) (posted by Al) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (Position in spacetime unknown – Olen Rhinehart) The sound of the broom's swish-swoosh-swish lulled him, soothed him and bore his tired mind away to a place beyond thought. It felt like there'd been little else lately but frantic mental exertion, and he was so very tired. He stopped for a moment's rest, the pommel of the broom propped under his folded arms, and pushed back the felt cap he wore, puffing out his cheeks. Too much to think about. How had he got here? Where was he going? And just who did he think he was? He frowned momentarily. They were all excellent questions, no matter how you looked at them. How had he got here? He glanced around the narrow, never-ending corridor, at the bare cinderblock walls with the single coat of whitewash, the cold, pitted concrete floor, worn concave in the middle with the ceaseless tramp of famous feet, the harsh flourescent lights, chain-hung, marching line astern down the ceiling, that buzzed down on him day and night. It was spartan and it was grim. And somewhere in the background there was a hollow roar, pierced by the occasional whistle or scream. He had no idea what it all meant. And just how had he got here? He still had no answer. Better to just keep sweeping. And so he gripped the broom, and bent his back, and began, once again, his slow walk down the corridor, pushing the dirt and fluff and dust of a thousand worlds ahead of him, the rhythmic swish-swoosh-swish carrying his mind away again, to the place where questions did not come. It would have been wrong to say the questions no longer bothered him there... but they were dim and remote, and by and large, it was a place of what had come to pass for contentment. “Steady there, son.” He was startled not by the soft umber baritone but by the deep, almost slurred, southern drawl. It slapped him in the face with its familiarity, yet like the forgotten link between a name and a face, the reason why hovered just outside his ken. His head snapped up and he snatched the broom back from the opening of the dressing room where the man stood. He frowned. He had surely never seen that door before. “I... I'm sorry, sir,” he replied. “I was in a world of my own.” The man just looked back, a smirk on the side of his mouth. The face was expansive and expressive, strongly jawed yet soft-eyed, the telltale dark irises of a Betazoid – or could he be half-Betazoid? The black hair fell over the forehead in a lacquered comma, its point swept back to the ear and meeting a lustrous crown that fell in dark waves to the high white collar. Curving sideburns, shaved to retro-stylish points, rode the cheeks. The man turned away then, the ends of the towel he bore around his neck swinging with him, and the moment was past. Shaking his head at his own inattention, he bent once again to his sweeping. “Say there, son,” came the voice again. He looked up, startled once more. The man stood, half-twisted, looking back over his shoulder, curiosity sparkling in the gentle eyes. “What town are we in, anyways?” “Uh...” he replied, wondering exactly how to answer that question. He glanced about, looking for inspiration, some clue, and finding none. Then he looked down, at his drab olive jumpsuit, and the embroidered nametag stitched to its breast. It looked like this: Welcome to Luna's Chariot Zero-Gee Hyperdome. My name is OLEN How may I help you today? “I... uh I guess this is... Luna?” he replied. There was a moment's pause. “That's amore,” the man replied, winking conspiratorially. Olen just looked back, smiling weakly, bafflement descending around him like drizzle. “Son, are you feelin' okay?” the stranger asked, sudden concern etching his features. “I... I guess so. I mean, I feel okay. I just...” he paused. “Honestly, it's fine. No need to... uh... no need to worry.” He tried another smile, weaker than the last. The background roar seemed to intensify, like a distant pack of hounds scenting blood on the air. The stranger looked back shrewdly, levelly, ignoring the rumble. “You can't snow me here, now,” he said. “You feel... lost... no identity, no direction. Am I right?” He turned on his stacked heel and walked back down the corridor, and he seemed somehow to fill it. Olen took an involuntary step backwards. “You just exist here. Got no past, no future,” he continued. “You haul that ol' broom around and you got no clue why you do it. Am I right?” Olen could only nod. The stranger loomed as he approached, the soft, dark eyes suddenly like drowning pools. He reached out a hand, heavy with signet, fingers outstretched. Olen flinched, froze, suddenly convinced the hand was about to pluck out his heart. Instead the fingers caught the nametag, turning it into the beam of flourescent light. The eyes devoured it, flicked up and caught his own again. Then he smiled, a lopsided grin. “Kid,” he said. “You ain't alone. I know just how you feel.” The meaty hand came up and clapped him on the shoulder, jolting him. “You just remember that. You ain't alone.” And with that, he was off in a whirl of white and rhinestone, strutting down the corridor toward the expectant roar. “Maybe one day I'll sing a song about this,” he called back over his shoulder. He rounded the corner and was gone. And Olen just stood there, stunned, pondering the stranger's words, feeling somehow impoverished for the lack of his presence. Lamely, he picked up the broom and trotted down the infinite corridor, wondering where the stranger could possibly have gone. And then, without warning, the roar intensified to a tumultuous howl, echoing off the bare, empty walls, its source unidentifiable, and Olen feared he might be deafened. “Ladies and Gentlebeings,” came the amplified voice. “Please welcome to the stage... Mr Elvis Presley!” Olen mouthed the name to himself, the syllables feeling strange on his tongue. “What kind of bloody name is Elvis?” he muttered. * The sound of the broom's swish-swoosh-swish lulled him, soothed him and bore his tired mind away to a place beyond thought. But while the questions still pursued him, they didn't bother him so much any more. He was whoever he was, and he was wherever he found himself. But, most importantly, he wasn't alone. And now, he whistled to himself as he swept, one of the many tunes he had heard echoing down the concrete tunnel the previous night, crouching against the wall, his hands clamped over his ears against the deafening volume. He never actually saw even a minute of the show, but judging by the approving (and agonising) roars that replied to each and every number, he had to assume that Luna's Chariot Zero-Gee Hyperdome had enjoyed the experience even more than he had. And though his ears rang, and though – owing to excessive vibration – the long empty floor ahead of him was now dustier than ever, he swept with a gentle swagger in his step, his mind lost in the memory of music. So it was a shock when he came upon another door he had never seen before, this time set into a blank wall blocking the end of the corridor, bare and unassuming, a dark wood with a brass knob at its centre, completely without note except for its novelty. Olen glanced around, again looking for some kind of answer. Nothing urged him on. But nothing warned him off, either. He reached out a hand, and twisted the doorknob. He emerged into the starlit canopy, a distant geodesic pattern sketched in glittering thread across the sugared sable. A curious, familiar vertigo washed over him, and he felt as if he hung over the stars' maw, ready to drop at any second. He forced himself to tear his eyes from the gaze of infinity and stared in shock as they alighted on something quite different a few metres in front of him. Sleek red metal, lined in chrome, swept from the inert dust to a mirrored bubble dome, crowned at the rear with twin pointed fins. And across the swooping nose, in broad, chunky chrome letters read the letters 'C A D I L L A C'. The craft, a dozen metres from nose to tail, hovered above the grey moon-dirt, inviting him forward. As he neared it, a wedge of red metal sighed outwards, forming steps up and under the mirror dome. “Welcome, Olen,” a metallic female voice intoned. He took the steps at a hop and found himself in a spacious cabin that would comfortably and indefinitely accommodate two. Olen collapsed into the command couch, stunned beyond words. To the right of his head swung two large pink dice, furred with black spots. Beyond them, viewed from this side, the canopy was transparent, the blackness of infinity beyond, no longer forbidding but rather welcoming. He gazed around in mute wonder. The voice had spoken his name, but this surely could not be meant for him. His eye alighted on a dataslate resting on the console before him. He thumbed the stud and it leapt into life, a handwritten script glowing in orange on black. It said: “Olen. Go find your future. Best wishes, E.” He shook his head in bewilderment, looking around the cabin once more. “Seriously though,” he mumbled, half-unconsciously. “Who the hell is called Elvis?” (Reply none) (Posted by Noel) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Champlain - Sick Bay - SO - Ensign SG Derrick LaQua - 0219) "You have the Conn, Lieutenant Sullivan. Stand by for orders." said Bree. "Understood, Bree, I won't let you down." replied Sullivan. As LaQua finally snapped back into conscienceness. He thought to himself, ~What the H*** is going on here.I am going in and out of time.Last thing I rember was working on the tractor beam problem and now we have Bree being escorted off the bridge and Sullivan was now in charge. Man I must have something wrong with me. I keep loosing track of time and things going on. I must report to Olen or someone about this.But now I have to get back to work. Deal it with it later Derrick show no problems.~ LaQua stood up and watched as Bree was escorted off the bridge and then focused on Sullivan going over to the command chair ans sitting down in it.LaQua shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Still a little confused LaQua asked,"Any orders for Science station Sullivan?" (reply Sullivan) (Reply Sullivan) (Posted John R Merriott) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Wyvern, Ready Room - former CO Captain Angela Smithwick - 0220) Angela sat huddled in a corner, as far away from the door as she could. Her head rested on her folded arms, which in turn rested on her drawn-up knees. She looked up as the door opened. A young man she didn't know entered the room, his uniform proclaiming him to be a Lieutenant in either Security or Engineering. The way he held the phaser in his hand suggested Security. "No no. Don’t speak," he said."Listen." She listened obediently but for a moment he didn't say anything. When he did it was in an unpleasant tone. "You lost, Captain..." he said then stepped forward before continuing, "Captain Angela Smithwick, I am placing you under arrest you have the right to speak in your defence however anything you do say could be used against you in any future trials. You are charged with treason and murder; DO you have anything to say in your defence?" "Fence? Oh yes, I should have stayed on the fence," she said in a sing-song tone, her eyes now fixed on some distant point in space or possibly time. "But its hard to stay on the fence when he has your family in his hands." She smiled a smile with no joy in it whatsoever and began singing softly, clapping her hands in time to the rhythm, "He has all of our people in his hands, he has all of our people in his hands, he has all of our people in his hands so you gotta do what he say..." The Lieutenant shook his head, and spoke to someone behind him. "Take her away. Beam her across to the Champlain where she is to be placed in the brig under constant surveillance. Also make sure she gets checked out by someone from Medical." Another man came into the room and helped Angela stand up. She went with him willingly enough. As she passed the Lieutenant, she gave him a sad smile and said, "He's going to kill them now, you know. All my dear ones. He's going to kill them." She began to sing under her breath again as she went calmly out of the Ready Room. "He's gonna kill all the people, cos he can, he's gonna kill all the people, cos he can...." (reply none) (posted by Liz) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Champlain – Ready Room, and Starbase Geneva - Admiral Ohlsson's office – 3O/Acting CO Lt. Bree Frazier, and Admiral Ohlsson, - 0221) The ready room seemed… empty. More so than it should have. It was as though the very walls awaited a presence that would never come again. ~ Edward… we'll miss you… ~ But after the initial edge of sorrow, the memory of her beloved Captain steadied her. She knew what he would have done… and that he would expect no less of her. She sat down, slowly and carefully, at the com terminal, and entered the hailing code for 52nd Fleet HQ. After she had made her initial report to the Ops officer on duty, including the death of Captain Wolfe and the incapacitation of Commander Mason, the Lieutenant immediately transferred her to Admiral Ohlsson's office. She watched wearily as his slightly freckled face shimmered into view. ~ Well, if it ain't Captain Kangaroo, ~ she thought, the pressure of the last hours making her a little silly. But she quickly suppressed the thought as Ohlsson addressed her. Ohlsson looked at the young woman on his screen, and frowned slightly. "Well, Lieutenant Frazier, this is serious news." He looked at her more closely, and grunted. "You look like you've been through the wars as well, Lieutenant. But you managed to capture that ship that attacked you, hey?" Bree smiled wanly. "Yes, Sir, we have the Wyvern secured. My acting FO, Lieutenant Jono Janeway, is in temporary command, and we have a skeleton crew being prepared to go aboard to fly her. Her crew, with the exception of her former FO, Commander Martin O'Shea, and an engineering team to affect repairs, will be held on the Champlain as prisoners of war. But both ships are damaged, Sir. It might be as much as forty-eight hours before either of us can go to warp." Ohlsson nodded and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Forty-eight hours? Very well, Lieutenant Frazier. Your orders are these. First, you get those ships ready for warp. Then you bury your Captain and the others who died. After that, make your way back with both ships at the best speed you can. We'll hold a memorial at Geneva for Captain Wolfe once you get back. My condolences to you and your crew on his loss. I'll arrange for a new CO to take over before you return. What would be your ETA, do you think? Assuming repairs can be completed in 48 hours?" Bree considered this. It had taken them two weeks to get this far out, but they had made stops. After a few seconds of calculation, she replied. "I think we can make it by 2407.04.05, Sir, if everything goes smoothly. And… Sir… may I ask you for advice on a situation I have here?" Ohlsson looked at her. She seemed a capable sort, but she was young, and still very inexperienced to have done as much as she had in the last few hours. She looked tired, and strained. He nodded. "That's what I'm here for," he said, a little gruffly. "Ask away, Lieutenant." "Thank you, Sir," Bree said sincerely. She could easily 'see' right past Ohlssen's stern exterior to the concerned, experienced officer underneath. She took a deep, albeit careful, breath, and framed her words as cleanly as she could. "Last week, we discovered that we had a Doenitz spy on board the Champlain… one James Alexander, an Intelligence agent from the Wyvern. Sir, I'm sorry, but I don't know for sure it this discovery was ever reported to HQ… Captain Wolfe's behavior had been somewhat… erratic… since his experience on Ivor Prime. But I spoke to Alexander in the intervening week. Sir, I don't look it, but I'm half-Betaziod... and I had good reason to believe that Alexander was sincere in his expressed wish to defect from Doenitz's service to ours. So, when the Wyvern ambushed us tonight, I gave him an opportunity to redeem himself, which he took, at the risk of his own life. He infiltrated engineering and forced a surrender by threatening to blow the Wyvern's warp containment field, while secretly communicating his intentions with me." She paused again, feeling a little short of breath… but after a short sigh, she continued. "We have lost our pilot, Sir… I would like to install Alexander at the helm, under my eye, and under quarters arrest when he is not on duty, pending further developments in his case." She paused for a second. "I trust him, Sir… and in any event, it's better to have a potential enemy inside the tent p*sing out than outside p*sing in…" Ohlsson let out a chuckle. "So, you want him p**sing out rather than in, hey? Not bad thinking, girl, not bad thinking. Very well, then, Lieutenant. Permission granted. And I'll leave your new Captain to review the situation with you. You've proved your worth ten times over today, Ms Frazier. I'll trust your intuition. But anything that gives you even the slightest cause to doubt him and I want that young man back in the Brig double time!" Bree grinned. "Thank you, Sir. You can count on that!" Then, she sobered a bit. "We'll be there, 2407.04.05, if not sooner. If anything goes wrong, I'll be in touch immediately. Will that be all then, Sir?" she asked. "Yes, for now. Keep me updated, Lieutenant Frazier. Oh, and well done, girl. Your Captain Wolfe knew what he was about when he made you 3O. He'd be proud of you. I know I am," he added in a gruff tone again. "Thank you, Sir," A sudden stab grief at Ohlsson's mention of Edward, far worse than the pain in her chest, made her own voice a little gruff as well. "I'll keep in touch. Frazier out." The channel closed. In the sudden silence, it all hit Bree. There was still much to do, even before she could get to sickbay… but right now, she had no choice but to take at least a few seconds for herself. She flailed half-blindly for Alosar's hand, clutched it tightly, and finally allowed herself to cry. (Reply Alosar) (Posted by Connie and Liz) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Champlain - Bridge - Chief Tactical - Lieutenant JG T'Larah Sullivan - 0222) "Any orders for Science station Sullivan?" Derrick Asked. T'Larah stood and turned to the aft science station seeing Derrick there as a confirmation. ~He was so quiet I almost forgot he was there.~ "Ensign La Qua, your specialty was xenobiology and linguistics, correct?" she asked. (Reply Derrick) "That's what I thought, as the Wyvern has surrendered, we are no longer in need of a tractor beam, perhaps you could take all the information that we have on the new species we have encountered, and compile a report for the Star Fleet First Contact Division, as the specialists may be picking up the mission. I'm sure either way Star Fleet will want to know all we have learned about them," she said officially. ".. and, Derrick it's good to have you back up and about." she said almost smiling. (Reply Derrick) (Posted by Todd) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Champlain - Ready Room - Counselor- Lieutenant Alosar - 0223) Even the usually stoic Vulcan could not help but be moved by being in the Captain's Ready Room. Although he had not served under Captain Wolfe for long, he and Alosar had had many conversations about the emotional defect of the human condition. Edward had some intriguing ideas on the subject. Those ideas would never be fully explored now, but he left Alosar with the legacy of the thought process. Something to add to his studies. He could also note the somber attitude of Brianna Frazier. Knowing how she felt about the captain, he realized that this might be somewhat difficult for her. He sent a wave up support through his mind, hoping that she would be able to sense it, and take emotional strength from it. Once Frazier made contact with Command Alosar took a step back and found a chair that had fallen over. He picked it up and placed the chair carefully, outside the range of the communication, and listened as Frazier gave her report. Soon after that she was in conversation with Admiral Ohlsson. Reports were given and plans were made. Brianna managed to hold up admirably. Alosar was beginning to wonder if she weren't part Vulcan. A very small part, albeit. As the communication ended he sensed her emotional wall crumbling, and saw her hand reachout for him. He reached out and took hold of her hand and felt it squeeze for all she could as tears began to fall. Alosar kneeled beside the seated commander and allowed her to bury her face into his shoulder. Of all the emotions that Alosar had studied, he believed he understood sorrow the most. Sorrow was a reaction, most often, to a loss. Whether it be a child who loses a toy, or the loss of a friend and comrade. There was always an empty space left where whatever was supposed to be there was gone. Humans had an amazing capacity to fill that void... with tears. Somehow, the shedding of tears was almost a ritual that allowed humans to accept their losses and start to heal that empty space. It was during this time of healing that humans had a need to feel connected to one another, and crying, apparently, allowed others to share in the feelings of sorrow, acknowledge the feelings, and even display their own sadness and commiseration. Vulcans simply repressed these feelings, with the belief that an emotional display was not beneficial to anyone, and most assuredly, did not solve the problem. Captain Wolfe was gone. That was a fact. Crying would not change that. It was illogical to think that it could. And still, Brianna Fraziers overwhelming emotional state could not help but ... touch... the logical heart of the Vulcan. It was a force of will to maintain his own composure at such a release of raw emotion. Once he was certain that he was still in control of himself he said softly, "I too am proud of you." As he felt the flood gates of her emotions start to close Alosar continued to speak softly. "Come, Brianna, your injuries need to be tended. We'll take the side door." He managed to get her standing, and with her near full weight on him now, he maneuvered Frazier to the side door, so she could avoid the eyes of the crew she now commanded. Captain's had to remain strong... for their crew. By the time the turbo lift got to deck twelve, Frazier was in control, and able to walk on her own, with just a minimal support. (reply Frazier) (posted by Al Muir) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Wyvern, Ready Room, Security Officer Ensign Dizhei Ryan - 0224) Diz, having told Hawk to remain on the Bridge with some of Janeway's team, sounded the doorchime and waited for permission to enter. (Reply Janeway, any) (Posted by Liz) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Wyvern - Brig – FO Commander Martin O'Shea - 0225) The doors hissed open as Martin strode into the security block. There were no security officers present, nor should there have been. He had ordered everyone to the cargo bay. And judging by the emptiness of the corridors, they had all complied. "He's right over here." he said as he led the way to Moto's Brig cell. Martin stopped in front of the door and peered into the cell. Moto had a wet streak of blood near his temple. Some of the blood had stained his uniform. "Ensign Moto. These men are security officers from the USS Champlain. Which is a ship assigned to the 52nd fleet. You're to be released to their custody." Martin said, then disengaged the forcefield. "It seems that we won't be having a court-martial for you today ensign. Do you require medical attention?" (reply Moto) (posted by Daniel Greene) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Champlain - Bridge- Science Station on bridge - SO - Ensign SG Derrick LaQua - 0226) LaQua stood there waiting for the responce trying to figure out what is happening to himself as Sullivans reply brought him back to the here and now. "Ensign La Qua, your specialty was xenobiology and linguistics, correct?" asked Sullivan. Derrick thought for a moment and decided to go this route with his answer."Actually Lieutenant Sullivan it's xenobiology and xeno archology. Linguistics is just a hobby I do but if you need linguistics done I will be happy to add that into what you need me to do Sullivan." LaQua smiled to her with the hope she would not be upset at him correcting her about his professions. (reply Sullivan) "As the Wyvern has surrendered, we are no longer in need of a tractor beam, perhaps you could take all the information that we have on the new species we have encountered, and compile a report for the Star Fleet First Contact Division, as the specialists may be picking up the mission. I'm sure either way Star Fleet will want to know all we have learned about them." LaQua was about to reply as Sullivan started to speak again. "And, Derrick it's good to have you back up and about." Sullivan replied almost smiling. LaQua looked at Sullivan and noticing the almost smile he tilted his head a little and raised his eyebrow. LaQua smiled back at her and replied, "Yes mam I will get right on that report and Sullivan, It's good to see you also. And yes dinner is on me when we get to Geneva." (reply Sullivan) LaQua turned and went right to work.His fingers flying across the panel like liquid flesh typing in and recalling data. LaQua was finally back in full force.He could not swing the feeling that something was going wrong with himself but he did not let that stop him from doing what he did best and that was science.He smiled to himself almost a slight evil grin as he continued the recalling of data and readying the beginning of his report to Starfleet. He allowed himself a quick thought. ~LaQua you the man. Now lets just stay there so we don't fail our friends ever again..~ (Reply Sullivan) (Posted John R Merriott) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Champlain - Bridge - Tactical Chief - Lieutenant JG T'Larah Sullivan - 0227) ."Actually Lieutenant Sullivan it's xenobiology and xeno archeology. Linguistics is just a hobby I do but if you need linguistics done I will be happy to add that into what you need me to do Sullivan." Derrick said with a smile. "I did not mention xeno-archeology, because that is the study of alien dead cultures, this culture is quite alive, and Ensign your skills in linguistics, even though just a hobby, are on par with those who call them selves specialists. Also, I seem to remember your use of Linguistics algorithms on DS5 and it's effect on our mission success. That is what I want you to do. The universal translator is a wonderful invention, but a literal translation sometimes loses some of the meaning. That is where personal interpretation of the translated words will come in handy." T'Larah said explaining certain parts of her upcoming request. "As the Wyvern has surrendered, we are no longer in need of a tractor beam, perhaps you could take all the information that we have on the new species we have encountered, and compile a report for the Star Fleet First Contact Division, as the specialists may be picking up the mission. I'm sure either way Star Fleet will want to know all we have learned about them....and Derrick, it's good to have you back up and about." Sullivan replied almost smiling. (Reply Derrick) "Dinner would be nice Derrick, when the Champlain is back in full working order." she said and returned to her duties as he returned to his. ~It was nice talking to Derrick, but I have to get this ship up and running, Bree's trusting me.~ "Bridge to Engineering, this is Lieutenant Sullivan." she said using the ship's comm unit in her command panel. (Reply Engineering) "Ensign, how are the damage control efforts coming along?" she inquired. (Reply Engineering) (Posted by Todd) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Champlain - Engineering - Ensign Gabriele Suvik-Bertorelli - 0228) Gabriele was standing by the warp core watching the matter and anti-matter streams as they pulsed through it. The sound and light produced by the core soothed him. He stood there looking into it (although his eyes were unfocused), arms folded, gaining comfort from the momentary escape of real life. It was just like - =^= Bridge to Engineering, this is Lieutenant Sullivan. =^= Gabe couldn't help but jump at the sound of T'Larah Sulivan's voice. He looked around quickly checking to see no one saw his jump of surprise and then activated his comm badge. "Suvik-Bertorelli here, Lieutenant." =^= Ensign, how are the damage control efforts coming along? =^= ~Not interested about the personnel, T'Larah?~ "Generally, repair and control are going well, Sir. We managed to avoid a warp cascade earlier and I have a team working on the damaged warp nacelle and pylon. I also have teams working on the damage caused by our impact." (Reply T'Larah) What Gabriele wanted to do was ask why there had been no earlier communication rom the Bridge until now. His teams were working their fingers to the bone and prepared to risk personal einjury to make repairs. Most of them had little idea what was going on outside of Engineering save for the starship status readout feeds from the Bridge. He wanted to say that it seemed none of the senior staff cared one damn about the Engineering staff. Instead, he took a deep breath and said: "We have numerous minor problems including damage to grav plating on decks 7, 8, 9 and 12. The turbolift network is running at a reduced capacity and the computer core in the star drive section is working at 85 per-cent efficiency. Basically, Sir, I have good Engineering staff and we're on top of everything - just - but we're spread very thin and the majority of them has idea about recent events." (Reply T'Larah) "Yes, Sir. With the Champlain in it's current state, I recommend we head to a starbase sooner rather than later." (Reply T'Larah) (Posted by Matt) --------------------------------------------------------------------- (USS Champlain – Bridge - Ops/Helm - Ensign Smith - 0229) Robert felt that he was finally getting the hand of flying. He had piloted the Champlain so that they were in a louse formation with the Wyvern. They were above and slightly behind. Which in his view should give them a good tactical advantage. ~Just in case~ He glancing at the specialist who was working at the Ops console. He knew that she was competent at her job it still felt strange being on the other side of the bridge. That did not mean that he was not enjoying where he was. ~Well I’ve not crashed it. Thanks defiantly a good sign~ "You have the Conn, Lieutenant Sullivan. Stand by for orders." He looked up from his console to see that Bree and Alsar left the bridge leaving Sullivan in charge. He looked back at his console. ~As long as Sullivan dose not as me to do the cobalt manoeuvre I think we should be okay~ He kept a close eye on the helm as he maintained formation with the Wyvern. ~This is not the time to get carried away~ He looked up to see that La Qua was talking to Sullivan. ~Nice to see him up on the bridge~ The console beeped at him and he turned back. he quickly added a minor course correction. ~Looks like I'm going to have to compensate for the drift coz of the starboard engine~ He smiled to himself. ~That will keep me out of trouble~ (reply any) (posted by Robbie) --------------------------------------------------------------------- End Compile ---------------------------------------------------------------------