The gate guard made his pronouncement about the loss of the leadership of the watch. 

"That makes you an officer, now, I suppose, rrow’ka," the Kazari rumbled, clapping the man on the shoulder with a bloody paw, "See to it that you do a better job than they did, yes?" His cat-like eyes flicked away from the man and regarded the spot dominated by the frozen form of Kithran and the lifeless form of Atharis for an instant. "Rouse whatever is left of your men and burn the bodies of all of the fallen," Ch’dau ordered, giving a gentle shove to punctuate the statement, "but get the gates secured, first. I have my own dead and wounded to attend."

The gate guard blinked a few times, looked worried... and then, an expression of resolve came over him.  "Right, then," he bellowed.  "'ollis, get your arse over 'here.  Ye an' Jeb start pullin' these bodies tagether fer burnin'.  Talc, grab yer spear and come wi' me ta tha gate.  Ced, Wilf - ye two go door ta door.  Rouse tha men an' strong lads.  Get them ta grab wha'ere they 'ave - clubs, pitchforks, I don' care.  We need wha'ere numbers we can get."

The one identified as Wilf - a burly, sullen character, and one that stormed out of the Inn earlier - sneered and balked at his orders.  "Wha' gives ye tha right to order enny 'o us aroun' then, Malk?  No damned cat man 'as tha right ta do tha, an' ye don' 'ave the right to tell us wha' ta do.  Stick it up yer arse, I'm goin' 'ome."

The gate guard - now identified as Malk - locked gazes with Wilf as best he could, considering the large man stood a full head taller than him - for a moment before looking down at the ground.  "Ye know, Wilf," he spoke quietly, "ye always were a stubborn fool 'o a louse."  Wilf started to turn away, but as he did, Malk stepped forward and backhanded the large man as hard as he could across the jaw, sending the bigger man sprawling into the muck.

Standing over the fallen man, the de facto leader of the watch roared.  "But I ne'er took ye fer a coward!  Tha' damned cat man an' 'is lads saved all our lives, did ye ferget tha', ye daft bastard?  If no' fer them, tha dead would be killin' our families e'en now!  Ye'll no' be goin' 'ome, ye damned fool, ye'll be rousin' tha men and lads 'o tha town to 'elp make sure tha there's a town still alive on tha morn!"

Rather than look for retaliation, Wilf scrambled to his feet and hung his head.  "Aye, Malk.  I'll rouse tha men." He replied.

Malk glared at the remaining survivors of the watch.  "Does ennyone else 'ave ennything ta add?  Right then!  Ye 'ave yer orders, get yer arses to work!"   The guardsman glanced at the party, gave a little grin, then trotted toward the gate with his companion as the others moved to their own tasks. 

Meanwhile, Atharis' body was searched.  His purse, spellbook, and contents of his pack was distributed for use as Kithran slowly regained use of her body.  While it felt a little disrespectful and unettling to do so, the fact was that it made little sense to burn useful gear when the young mage clearly had no further use for it. 

Once everyone was ready, the party set off after the scattered straggler zombies. 

It took a solid two and a half hours, but eventually, every bit of the town wass patrolled and another fifteen or so undead were cut down by twos and threes.  With Ch'dau and Aranwen at the fore, the slow abominations were no match, and the killing was fairly easy. 

More than once, the party came across a group of determined townsfolk led by a watchman.  Two or three times, the militia had found and eliminated lone zombies all on their own.  Meanwhile, guttering black smoke, along with the smell of burned hair and flesh, ascended to the sky as bodies were burned. 

As dawn's first rays began to lighten the eastern sky, it become apparent that Crandel was now safe - for the time being, at least.

Grumpy, let me shoot you a PM! 

... I'm starting to feel like I'm just playing out the string on this game, now!

Post is coming!

Waiting on me!

Post in the works.  I was hoping that PrincessAli would post, but I guess not.  I will NPC her to go along with the group for now.

Well, I now have four pretty firm "yes" responses for a future Trek game.  So, new captain or no, we may keep boldly going...

There are plenty of fixtures here, no doubt!  Perhaps some of them wil truly be making a comeback?

Slipp is not dead - not yet, at least.  However, he is not conscious, and his wounds are extensive.  Without serious medical attention, it's a matter of "when" he will die as opposed to "if".

Brighte kneels by the incapacitated clone's side. In a calm, detached manner, the HPD & MC clone pronounces "he is going to require a system reset before we continue."  He then places his laser pistol against Slipp's charred forehead (which requires a little probing in the darkness, as well as a finger gouge to the fallen clone's eye), then pulls the trigger.

Slipp convulses once as the pistol opens a neat hole through the front and back of his head, then lies perfectly still.

Yet again, Friend Computer's voice chimes from the same crackly speaker somewhere in the ceiling back in the hall behind you.

"Attention, Troubleshooter team MAO-17859 Dot R-2. Sensors indicate that your team has sustained yet another regrettable casualty. Mission success relies upon a full strength team; please stand by as a replacement clone is activated and dispatched to your location.

Your team is advised to use extra caution in your ongoing activities, as your mission has obviously attracted the attention of commie traitors or mutant saboteurs who are desperate to see you fail.  Be happy, as the importance of your mission to Alpha Complex is further proven by how desperately the enemy clearly wishes to see you fail.  Isn't it nice to be part of something so important?

Have an enjoyable day in Alpha Complex."

Once more, it is roughly a ten minute delay before the same hidden door slides open, and Slipp-R-YEE-2 is force marched into the corridor by a Vulture Squad.  "You worms are really good at this," one of the Vultures sneers to the chuckles of his buddies. They strip the dead clone, transfer his belongings to the replacement, and drag the corpse, feet first, thought the hidden door.  Before it seals seals behind them, the Vulture laughs.  "You guys may want to see if they need help scrubing the food vats.  You might live longer!"

Once again, the full strength team stands in near total darkness, though they have now covered a good fifty to a hundred feet of corridor.

Loved it.  Your posts have been just superb - the little twisted idioms are so much fun to read, and the unique personality of Asovil has just added so much to the game. 

I hate that we're coming to the end, too... though, of course, we should have ended months ago had I not flaked. 

I love D&D.  I laugh at Paranoia.  I have thorough;y enjoyed Star Wars and several other genres.

But no game ever captures my imagination like these Trek games do.  The writing is always so top notch, every post has me skipping in to read. 

I just PMed Eol about this; I can hear the siren song of Trek calling to me.  I have two games, they are going well, and two is a great number.  But man, the chance to write more Trek stories is just so alluring if you can keep a handful fo good players...

Hey folks - that's one step closer.  If you have plans for any sort of posts - be they current day/time, be they back posts - you should habdle them soon.  Unless something pops up, my next post may be our arrival at Starbase 118, and Drake's meeting with the authorities there. 

Stardate 2365.02.12
USS Peregrine, Captain's Ready Room - 09:44

Silas sat across the desk from his XO, and for a moment forgot to keep the weariness he felt out of his expression.  After a moment, though, it was gone, and his Captain's facade fell firmly back into position. 

"Hell of a mission, eh Tochi?" Drake asked rhetorically. 

OOC: whatever response

"We will be back at Starbase 118 soon enough," the Captain continued, "and we both know what will happen when we get there.  I'll be relieved of command and escorted from the Peregrine; depending on how much fuss Jacobs has raised and what the local attitudes are towards making a spectacle - attitudes I likely did not improve with my stunt towards station security - I will probaby be led away in binders."

Drake raised a hand to forestall any objection.  "It okay, Tochi.  I won't pretend that I'm happy with the situation, but I have come to peace with it.  After all, what would you have me do?  Hoist a Jolly Roger and take the Peregrine rogue?" 

His gaze strayed upon the model of the Golden Hind hung upon his wall, and Drake chuckled.  "Another lifetime, another set of circumstances... perhaps."

Silas shook his head.  "Seeing as how my fate is quite sealed, I have but two concerns remaining.  One, I will insist that the truth of the events surrounding the Gamera mission come to light."  As he spoke, his eyes flared with inner fire.  "Jacobs may well be insulated from real repercussions by his connections," Drake snapped, "but he cannot be left in charge of anything of importance - the facts must be known."

He took a deep breath, banking the surprising rush of anger down inside himself, before continuing.  "Two, I want to ensure that my crew is treated fairly.  Their roles in this mission cannot be held agianst them."

Silas smiled in a self-deprecating manner.  "Tochi, I have heard your talk about adjoining cells on a penal planet, and I cannot express to you how honored I feel from such loyalty.  I am not sure what I have done to deserve it, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart."  Interestingly, Silas found himself having to swallow a knot before he could continue.    "But Tochi, I cannot let that happen.  Starfleet cannot let that happen.  You were following orders, period.  Even if the orders were illegal, you are protected by the same chain of command that damns me.  You flew the intercept course because I told you to.  Berk fired the phasers because I told him to.  Even Commander Farr may be protected - she assumed command of the Coronado on my order, which she believed to be lawful."

Again, Silas held up a hand to forestall argument.  "Whether or not the order actually was lawful is moot.  You and I both know that relieving a sitting Captain of command is a tenuous prospect, at best; I went into an area the regs simply do not cover when I relieved Jacobs of command of the battle group.  Jacobs is too well connected, and I am barely tolerated.  Relieving him, firing on his ship... a penal colony is likely a merciful outcome for me."

Drake shook his head.  "But not for you.  And don't you dare try to testify in some manner that makes you culpable somehow; it won't save me, it will only damn you, too.  And for what?  No.  You are protected by the chain of command, you accept that, you continue to do the good that you can do... especially since I won't be in the position to do the same any longer."

Silas sat up straight.  "Which brings me to why I asked you here.  Tochi, I have been looking at your jacket.  You've been a Lieutenant now for seven years... which is getting to be a long time. Not for lack of ability - you are an incredible pilot, your department is one of the best run I have ever had the pleasure to work with.  You connect so well with everyone; far better than my 'the airlock is in that direction' attitude seems to manage.  Your instincts are excellent.  You are an asset to Starfleet."

OOC: any response

"You are an asset to Starfleet," Drake repeated, "yet you are in danger of seeing your career stagnate.  If you remain a Lieutenant much longer, you will eventually lose all consideration for further promotion, simply be considered a specialist for the duration of your service.  And that would be a shame."

Silas shook his head.  "In a couple of days, my commission will be revoked.  But as long as I have command, I have the authority to make certain decisions - decisions which, by fleet tradition, are considered to be my right to make, and which are not reviewed or confirmed by anyone."

The Captain placed a small, velvet-lined box on the desk.  Nestled inside was a single hollow pip.  "Computer, record," he spoke.  "By the authority invested in me by the United Federation of Planets, I, Commander Silas Drake, hereby promote Lieutenant Tochi Zai to Lieutenant Commander."

He grinned.  "Field promotions, in fact, are very specifically excluded from review.  Congratulations, Tochi - this is richly deserved."

Sorry to ninja you. 

No doubt!  So loved Brighte-2 just stepping righ tback into the situation. 

As an FYI, Slipp is now considered to be Incapacitated (wounded x2).  You'll have to carry or drag him along to seek actual medical attention. 

Slipp is a resourceful clone, always thinking of out of the box solutions to everyday problems.  Today is no different.  No light?  Take some hair grease, some gauze, apply flame, and voila - one makeshift torch. 

The light produced by the torch is not amazing, but compared to the near pitch black of before, it is welcome, indeed. 

Fun fact - Rogg-R-MORE brand hair oil has a surprisingly high combustion temprature.  Is most situations, this might go overlooked.  R&D might be interested in this fact.  But in the field, when applied to the barrel of a laer pistol, the results are... interesting.

What is the difference in a Red and a Yellow or Green laser pistol?  Nothing whatsoever.  The difference comes in the barrel screwed in to the pistol body; the barrel is color coded for security clearance, and indicates the power of the laser.  The barrel is the actual ammo source for the weapon.

Since the ancient days of black gunpowder, humanity has often been reminded that ammunition and fire frequently fail to play nicely together.  Troubleshooter team MAO-17859 Dot R-2 finds themselves being given yet another reminder of this when the heat from the flame manages to destabalize Slipp's laser pistol.

One moment, all is well; another, the pistol begins a shrill beeping.  Seconds later, it explodes.

The force of the explosion knocks everyone within a roughly three meter radius (read: everyone) to the ground.  Brighte and Steam are able to immediately pick themselves up, while Ammpe, Artie, and Blowz find themselves stunned, having to spend a minute or two shaking their heads and trying to get their bearings.

Slipp - being the one actually holding the pistol - gets the worst of it.  Long after the others have regained thier feet, the PLC clone remains motionless on the ground.  He is stil breathing, he occasionally makes small sounds of pain, but the skin around his face, hand and arms is heavily charred and he does not appear to be in any hurry to regain consciousness. 

Good to see you again, Grumpy.  We'd love to count you as active again.

DUUUUUUUUNK!  So great to see you, man!

Mayhap we have a Trek in our shared future? 

So I saw!  That only leaves PrincessAli, I'll reach out and see if she plans to post soon.  My won post will follow before long.

Lov the characterization, Blackthorn - that's such a realistic reaction, especially since Aranwen was already blaming himself for the pilgrims. 

Almerin!  You're one of the folks I was really hoping would respond.  You were always such an excellent addition to this place. 

I have kids and other interests, too - hence me not spending as much time here as I probably should have - but please don't be a complete stranger.  We're beter with you, even if it' just here and there. 

I've been threatening to wrap this.  This puts us a little closer.

Stardate 2365.02.12
USS Peregrine, Captain's Ready Room - 09:17

The Peregrine was under way, on her way back to Starbase 118, where Drake would certainly be relieved of command as the first step down the path of court martial.  Silas was strangely at peace with the situation. 

Oh, he had railed a bit the night before; for the first time in a very long time, he had crawled inside of a bottle of scotch.  He had taken some time to feel sorry for himself, to shake his fist at the unfairness of the universe, to summon Michelle's ghost (who took a dim view of both his feeling sorry for himself and shouting at the stars), and had come around to a comfortably numb take on the situation.

If he picked the details of the situation apart, Drake would surely find some minor aspects that could have been handed better.  But by and large, the events had been beyond his control, and he had done the best he could with the resources and information at hand.  It hadn't been good enough, true, but he had done his best.  Realistically, that was all anyone could ask of a person; for them to give their all.  

The CO of the Peregrine found himself a little sad, nonetheless; this was not how he had pictured his career ending.  He had long ago accepted that he might die in the line of duty; there was at least honor, closure in that. But to end things like this?  He would never make Captain.  Never defend the Federation against her enemies.  Never explore the uncharted sectors of the galaxy.  And for what?

Sighing, he keyed his communicator.  "Drake to Lieutenant Sh'iraolnas."

=/= Sh'iraolnas here. =/= came the reply.

"Lieutenant, please meet me in my Ready Room.  Drake out."

There were a few more things he could do before his commission was taken.

****************************************************************

A short time later, the CSO sat in a chair on the other side of his desk.  Leaning back somewhat in his chair, the Captain spoke.

"Lieutenant, my impression is that when you first joined us, you were less than thrilled.  Don't get me wrong; I understand.  You are a woman of science, and this is a warship that would appear to provide you a limited platform to pursue your field.  Correct?"

OOC: a response

A wry smile touched the corner of Drake' mouth.  "And yet, you managed to find a way to continue your pursit of scence, even so," he continued.

"Yesterday, when given a stressful, unfair situation, you persevered and came up with a legitimate scientific breakthrough.  Asovil, you saved lives yesterday - and I have no doubt in my mind that your work will lead to more Federation lives being saved in the future.  Your resourcefulness under pressure speaks volumes to your character, and I am proud to have served with you, even though the duration of that service has not been long."

Drake placed a small box on the desk, then opened it to reveal a ribbon inside.  "I have recommended you for the Cross of Alexander; your actions saved lives, demonstrated great achievement, and certainly set you apart from the performance of your peers in the same sort of circumstance.  I have no doubt that this will be confirmed; however, a review board must issue it, as I lack the authority to do so.  In the meantime, please accept this Captain's Commendation for your service."

OOC: a response

"Thank you again, Lieutenant, and congratulations." Silas spoke.  "Dismissed."

Myself, Alacrity, and Grugg are in chat!

Awesome!  Let me reach out to you.

I'm looking for a fill in player for Paranoia.  Check back, though, even if that's not your cup of tea - surely there will be a new game or two needing players soon. 

Noted, Ayrn.

bvberry - yep, that's why Eol and Bromern are discussing burning Atharis' body.