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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: I'm a dork!
OK, so I've put in place a couple additional posts. Eol is really the one to put the next few "directional posts" in place, so I didn't go too far into the next day, but I envision the Charon hanging out in that area until some conclusive evidence is found to back Lt. Commander Cameron's discoveries. Kelsey is, however, eager to get his report off to Starfleet (something Mac will likely be doing as well), and get on with the mission so he can blow up some Dominion stuff. So, he won't stick around for more than a day, or two, tops, and will likely push to go to warp before the end of first shift.
Speaking of which: there are three shifts aboard a starship. First shift is usually maintained on the bridge by the senior officers: Captain, senior department heads (though the chief engineer is usually in engineering, and the doctor is usually in sick bay). Second shift is maintained by the XO and usually the "seconds" of the departments. Third shift is usually the responsibility of a rotating senior officer (usually between the XO, Ops, and Flight) and ensigns.
Posted on 2008-07-27 at 06:18:38.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation Persephone
Subject: Punishment, and Other Stuff...
Stardate: 2374.09.06
USS Charon – Cargo Bay 2 – 12:30 hours
Lt. Kennedy was very well-known on board the Charon. As the Head of Ops, he was involved in just about every facet of the ship’s function. He coordinated with Engineering, TAC/Security, Medical, Command, Science…you name it, and he had something to do with the department at one time or another, and this made him extremely valuable to Captain Gavison. The scarred captain utilized Kennedy’s organizational skills regularly, his diplomacy, quick wit, and sharp mind were constantly put to the test, especially where Gavison felt that he either didn’t care to deal with the situation, or would be too grating to handle it himself. Abe never let that go to his head though. He knew full well that Kelsey Gavison was a very capable diplomat when he chose to be, and over the time that Abe had served under him, Captain Gavison had become something of an idle to the ops officer. He knew Kel’s record forward and backward, at least those points that were public access, and he’d give up his life for any initiative the captain ordered in a heartbeat. It wasn’t blind loyalty; no, Lt. Kennedy understood the vice that clutched his captain’s heart, as he’d lost his three brothers, his uncle, and his father to the Dominion-Cardassian alliance—their names were on the mess hall walls. Two of his brothers had been fighter pilots, his father had been an admiral, and his uncle a ship’s doctor. They’d all died in the same battle towards the beginning of this horrible war.
Abe had been one of the first assigned to Captain Gavison’s command. He’d been an ensign then, working ops under a Lt. Morris. Morris had been decent, the kind of fellow you could respect, but a little stuffy. As a matter-of-fact, Morris had fit the bill rather well since at that time, Gavison had been the clean cut officer straight from the Discovery, and Kelsey had pressed for regulation standards across the board. Morris had a plaque in the mess hall as well: killed in the attack on a squadron of Cardassian battlecruisers in one of those incidents where the Charon had limped home, venting the whole way. Kennedy had received his field commission then, and he’d been serving loyally ever since.
Now, he stood ready in cargo bay two having coordinated with Mr. Talon’s security detail to prepare for the arrival of the first group of survivors. His department was very slim, but it was something he completely understood, and had no complaint about. Each person handled the workload of two or three others without argument, and each was either a survivor from previous missions, or a volunteer—Gavison rarely took reassignments now without them being volunteers. Three of these were in the room with Abe at that moment, standing at attention behind the desks Lt. Kennedy had ordered replicated for processing, their red collared uniformed a nice contrast to the pair of gold-collared security personnel on either side of the desks. Everything was in order: the bunks lining the walls, the tables and chairs in the center of the room, replicators standing by to meet the survivor’s needs. Where Abe Kennedy had skimped on the refreshments that would be available at the command meeting, he’d gone a bit overboard in making sure his comrades-in-arms had all that they’d need in the sparse setting of the cargo bay.
/--\ Transporter Room One to Lt. Kennedy. /--\
Abe tapped his badge, “Lt. Kennedy here.”
/--\ We’ve come within transporter range of the pods and can begin retrieval maneuvers on your order. /--\
Glancing over at Ensign Seward, Abe raised his eyebrows. The hawkish man returned a small nod, and pursed his lips. “Begin retrieval, Transporter Room One.”
The first of the survivors were beamed over to appear twenty paces in front of Lt. Kennedy and the processing team. Captain MacTavish, Lt. Commander Rrowl, Lt. Amy Dixon, Chief Duncan Cameron, and Ensign Marie Lyvette materialized in a blue-white haze of reconstructing atoms.
“Welcome aboard the Charon, Captain MacTavish,” Lt. Kennedy stepped offered a salute just as a couple of medical crewman entered to begin the scans, the door swishing closed behind them. “My name is Lt. Kennedy, and Captain Gavison asked me to see that you were all seen to immediately.
“If you’ll approach the table, we’ll take care of some routine scans…”
(OOC: response, if any, otherwise I’ll assume everyone approaches the tables.)
“I trust there were no injuries aboard your pod, Sir?” Abe queried as one of the medical staff stood near MacTavish and activated a couple of different scans on his medical tridcorder. At the same time, the blue-skinned Benzite, Crewman Morga, took the data and cross-referenced it with Starfleet records verifying MacTavish’s identity. When Morga gave the slightest of nods, Abe motioned Mac to the side of the desk while Lyvette moved in for her turn.
(OOC: again, assuming something about Ensign Lyvette’s being sick…)
Abe glanced at the pale-looking science officer and gave a nod of affirmation. Turning to one of the medical staff who were standing by uninvolved with the scans, he motioned the man over. “Please see Ensign Lyvette to sickbay. Ensign, Doctor Hamilton will be more than happy to offer you whatever assistance you need. The sickbay is located on Deck Four.
“Now, Sir,” Kennedy returned his attention to Captain MacTavish as Rrowl and Duncan joined them, Rrowl having been processed by a pale, platinum blonde young woman of very petite build, and Cameron having been processed by Seward. “I’ve made arrangements for you in the Diplomatic Guest Quarters on Deck Two. Lt. Cmdr. Rrowl and Lt. Cmdr. Duncan have been assigned personal quarters as well, also found on Deck Two.
“Lt. Hash and Lt. Dixon have also been assigned personal quarters on Deck Two, but I’m afraid your other officers will have to double up. It is fortuitous that Captain Gavison insists on operating this vessel with a skeleton crew as it affords us enough room to accommodate the majority of your crew with general quarters on Decks Three and Four. About fifty of your personnel, and the Romulans, will be quartered here. Fortunately, it is but a two day trip back to DS9 at cruising speed, and my staff will do everything in our power to make sure that all of your crew are comfortable.”
Lt. Kennedy motioned towards the door and began walking alongside Mac as he continued to explain the accommodations. “We’ll establish a class three force field around that section of the shuttle bay for the Romulan delegation’s safety, and I’ve seen to it that those reported injured, or otherwise ill, have been transported directly to sick bay and Doctor Hamilton’s immediate care.”
Abe walked the Cerberus’ senior staff through the door and into the hall beyond. “Captain Gavison has informed me that he would like to meet with you, and your senior staff as soon as you are ready. He’s been sorely pressed for a report by Starfleet, and is eager to get to the bottom of this disaster, as I’m sure you are as well. I feel it appropriate to inform you that our science and engineering teams have begun collecting what information they can on the incident, and should be able to provide at least something determinate before shift change.”
(OOC: Abe will happily answer any questions that the group asks, and will escort them to Deck 2 as efficiently as possible to provide them with time for a sonic shower, etc. before the meeting with Kel).
Returning to shuttle bay two, Lt. Kennedy straightened his uniform and stepped inside. The room was already filling with Starfleet personnel. Ensign Seward and Crewmen Morga and Pontsmere were very busy processing a new batch while another stood by, waiting patiently, but wearily, for their turn. Glancing to the corner he’d delegated for the Romulan contingent, Abe took a deep breath and tapped his commbadge.
“Lt. Kennedy to Transporter Room One.”
/--\ Transporter Room One here, Lieutenant. /--\
“Proceed with the transportation of the Romulans according to plan.” Kennedy had already discussed the cloaking device with Lt. Cmdr. Jones, and they’d developed a plan for transporting the device directly to the Chief Engineer’s Office where it would be placed in a level four force field for protective custody. The Romulan Centurion had been reported as injured, so Abe had already arranged for her direct transport to sick bay. That meant that he’d be dealing with Lieutenant S’Talon I’Iuruth D’Mora, or Lieutenant Rhiana I’Ramnau Khellian. He didn’t really know for sure which of the two were in command in the centurion’s absence, but he was confident he’d find out soon enough.
When the Romulans appeared within the cluster of four cots, Lt. Kennedy was standing just outside of the force field with his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands folded neatly behind his back.
“Welcome aboard the Charon,” Kennedy’s face was non-threatening, but all business. “I apologize for the necessity of this force field, but Captain Gavison worried after your well-being, considering the circumstances. I obviously haven’t the need to elaborate upon the tenuous relations between the Federation and the Romulan Empire, but it is for the continuance of this relation that Captain Gavison asks your indulgence. With the destruction of the Cerberus while you were on board, he is concerned that some of the surviving crew may have jumped to conclusions concerning your involvement, and feels it most prudent to protect you from any imagined affronts.
“Your centurion has been transported directly to sick bay, and will be returned to you once her injuries have been treated. I assure you that our chief medical officer is extremely capable, and your centurion is in the best of care.
“The cloaking device is in the protective custody of our chief of engineering, and again, I assure you that it rests behind a protective force field as well, and will not be tampered with unless it is by your team’s hands, or under your team’s direction.
“Should you need anything, I will be your liaison. My name is Lieutenant Abe Kennedy.”
(OOC: response, if any…)
Stardate: 2374.09.06
USS Charon – Bridge – 14:25 hours
/--\ Lt. Kennedy? Lt. Myers here in the shuttle bay…the Romulans don’t have a table or chairs, may I have permission to replicate a simple table and four chairs and have it placed in their secure area? I think they would be more comfortable than just laying on their bunks.” /--\
Abe paused in reviewing the reports on energy drain the additional replication had caused from his seat back on the bridge. The Ops console was to the front-right of the captain’s seat, just to the fore of the Mission Operations Console, and with all of the recent activity of the rescue, reports were being registered every fifteen minutes, or so, since the meeting with the Cerberus’ officers had ended.
There’d been information shared in that meeting pertaining to the findings of the Cerberus’ crew in the aftermath of the ship’s destruction that had been confirmed by the Charon’s science and engineering teams: nanites had been responsible for the warp core’s overload, adjusting the flow and containment to cause the rupture while key safety systems had been sabotaged. Lt. Commander Cameron had been absolutely certain of his findings. Lt. Commanders Jones and Kato III had been instructed to work towards confirming Cameron’s assessment. The meeting had continued to progress as the officers discussed possibilities until Captain MacTavish made mention of the conversation between him and the Romulan centurion as the ASRVs were reporting in concerning the Tal Shiar. In the end, there hadn’t been any conclusive findings, and Captains MacTavish and Gavison had been forced to wait on Lt. Commanders Cameron and Kato III’s findings. Lt. Cmdr. Cameron had offered his assistance in the investigation, and Capt. Gavison had readily accepted it…after the man had a chance to rest. That being said, Lt. Cameron wouldn’t be joining his counterpart in engineering until first shift tomorrow.
With the inconclusive results of the meeting still fresh on his mind, Lt. Kennedy had to swallow back an impulsive answer to let them endure the cots. Despite his earlier diplomacy, with the revelation that the Tal Shiar may have had some involvement, and the deaths of two Romulans last seen in engineering aboard the Cerberus, Abe was less inclined to believe that the four survivors had nothing to do with the ship’s death than he’d been before.
“Lt. Myers,” Abe sighed, the nintey-two percent energy drain on the replicators being displayed on the black screen before him. “Be my guest, but I’m afraid that’s the last major replication we’ll be doing until we’ve had a chance to replenish the energy stores.”
/--\ Very well, Sir. /--\
Stardate: 2374.09.06
USS Charon – Captain’s Ready Room – 18:10 hours
The meeting had been less than Kel had hoped for, and more than he’d wanted. The whole of the picture was still unfinished, but portions of it were coming to fruition in full color, especially after he’d received the report on that whole mess between Fletcher and Talon from the XO.
One Crewman Stan Stowbriesky had apparently caught the attention of the MACOs when he had tried to close the door to an escape pod as the MACO team was en route. This Stowbriesky fellow had fallen seriously ill aboard the ASRV, apparently a by-product of stress, a bumpy ride, and the grief he’d felt at the loss of his crewmates—at least Hamilton’s initial medical report stated as much, though the doctor had amended the report with the statement that he’d be under further observation, just in case. Kato III had apparently served with this Stowbriesky before, and when put to the question shortly after Kel had received Fletcher’s report (the XO had delivered the report much earlier than requested), had admitted that though the man apparently had little concern for hygienic matters, he was competent and probably the least likely subject for any sort of investigation. In the end, Kelsey’s interest in the man had shifted entirely to Talon’s apparent determined interest in interrogating the poor engineer…enough so that it had led to his blatant insubordination.
Kel and Mac had come to the conclusion that there wasn’t much more they could do in their investigation without more conclusive information, and they’d set the proper teams on just such a venture before dissolving the meeting and allowing those late of the Cerberus to retire and get some much-needed rest. Kelsey had stopped Jack just before he’d made his way out the mess hall door and asked after Ensign Lyvette.
“She was mistakenly assigned to your boat, Jack,” Kel had said in a low tone. “Her transfer will be waiting for her once we reach DS9. At least I can report her safety.”
And that’s exactly what he’d done as he’d returned to the bridge to finish first shift. He’d composed the response to the missive he’d received in written word, having found his scarred face a little less than calming when dealing with sensitive matters. Even throughout the composition of the good news, he couldn’t help but replay the words Mac had relayed over and over in his head. The centurion had readily admitted the possible involvement of the Tal Shiar in the Cerberus’ destruction. That hideous face of the Romulan Empire definitely had the technology to construct nanite saboteurs, and it was fully plausible that the two Romulans who’d died could have been Tal Shiar agents. It was the most feasible conclusion to the disaster, and it made Kelsey Gavison want to storm down to the shuttle bay and put the survivors to the test.
This was why Lt. Kennedy was the liaison. Kel knew he’d just as soon break a Romulan’s neck right now as talk to them!
Coughing slightly, Captain Gavison brought himself back to the matter at hand: Talon. He’d fought alongside the Lyran for some time, and though the creature had a temper that put Rrowl’s to shame, he’d never stepped out of line so dramatically. The stress of the Cerberus’ loss, the sudden involvement of their pending mission, the state of readiness (or lack thereof) of the Charon, the side mission Kelsey had announced…they could all have been contributing factors to his stress level, and they could have clouded his vision.
It was a delicate matter now. If he were too light on Talon, he’d be dismissing the seriousness of the matter, and possibly adversely affecting Commander Fletcher. If he were too harsh on the Lyran he could potentially damage the relationship with a valuable asset. Kelsey knew full well that had they been Lyrans, Talon would be dead by now, and he was confident that this was the fate the security officer longed for—to be allowed the honorable death of falling on his own blade similarly to the ancient samurai of Earth. Kelsey had never really subscribed to that logic, and he wasn’t about to allow a capable officer to throw away his life in such a manner. However, that particular line of thought gave birth to a more interesting punishment…a punishment that caused a slow smile—an evil smile—to twist Gavison’s lips.
He was not a vindictive man, nor was he a cruel man, but Kelsey Gavison knew without a shadow of a doubt what the most impactful punishment for his security officer could possibly be, and he was a man of conviction. Insubordination was not to be tolerated aboard his vessel; no matter how valuable the offending individual.
Stardate: 2374.09.07
USS Charon – Talon’s Quarters, Deck Two – 06:00 hours
Captain Gavison stood outside the door to Lt. Commander Talon’s quarters, the pale illumination of the hall painting the slate gray door before him in a calming light. He’d activated the chirping request to enter, and had received the request for patience as—most likely—Talon dressed himself, and readied himself for a visitor. Gavison wore his phaser, but otherwise came alone, and the phaser wasn’t for Talon. He knew Talon would rather kill himself than put Gavison in harm. The phaser was set to stun nonetheless.
“Come,” Talon’s voice came through the overhead speakers as the door slid open, admitting the captain into the barely lit chambers of the Chief Tactical/Sec Officer. All of the furnishings had been specially replicated to meet Talon’s specific requirements, but the Lyran kept at least one chair in the state necessary for a human’s comfort, but Kel didn’t approach it. Instead, he stepped just inside the door as it closed behind him, standing cold and rigid before the Lyran insubordinate.
“Lieutenant Commander Talon,” Kel’s voice was crisp and low, and his lowered brow was accented by the lighting magnifying his dissatisfaction with the officer. “You’ve been charged with insubordination. Do you understand the severity of these charges?”
(OOC: assuming something akin to a, “Yes, Sir.”)
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
(OOC: answer…)
“I’d like to believe that I’ve given you every opportunity under my command, Mister Talon. I’d like to believe that I’ve honored your customs, educated you in mine, and given you nothing but the opportunity to do damage to the Dominion, and serve in an honorable manner. I’ve been open to your suggestions, respected your opinions, and given you leniency in how you handle your departments. It is apparent to me that I’ve been less than the appropriate mentor, as your actions yesterday not only disgraced you, but me as well.
“There’s only one consequence suitable such behavior, Mister Talon. You are hereby reduced to the rank of Lieutenant. Your behavior, and these consequences, will be recorded on your permanent record with Starfleet. Do you understand these consequences, Mister Talon?”
(OOC: answer…)
Turning, Kelsey paused as the door slid open, his hand on the frame as though it alone kept him from making his way into the hall. Twisting his torso slightly, he looked back over his shoulder, eyeing the Lyran from the corner of his eye, the scarring about it stretching taut.
“One last thing, Lieutenant Talon,” Kel’s voice was as cold as a moon on the dark side of a planet. “While the crew of the Cerberus are on board my vessel, you will report to Lt. Commander Rrowl. As of today, he’ll be taking over the duties of chief officer over TAC and security until we officially deliver the survivors to DS9.”
The full punishment in place, Captain Kelsey Gavison boldly turned his back on Talon and exited the room. He was going to make good on his word, and at the first opportunity, he would discuss his decision with Mac and Rrowl. He had a feeling Mac would be insistent on either being present on the bridge during first shift, or being present in engineering for the investigations taking place there. That was, of course, after breakfast, which the captains would share in the captain’s dining hall. Rrowl would be invited, of course.
Stardate: 2374.09.06
USS Charon – Captain’s Dining Hall – 06:30 hours
The mug clunked against the table’s surface just after Kelsey finished draining the coffee. Sitting back in his chair he raised his eyebrows to Jack.
“I’ve a request to make, Mac,” he said in his usual low volume. He found that when he spoke quietly, people were forced to pay closer attention—not that he was trying to force MacTavish to do so, he was acting out of habit. Not waiting for a reply, Kel continued. “Due to Mister Talon’s actions yesterday, I’ve busted him to the rank of lieutenant. It is an unfortunate circumstance, but my hands were tied. I’m sure you understand. We’ve a senior officer aboard now who is more than capable of running that department, and I’d like your permission for a temporary transfer. I’d like Rrowl to take over TAC and security, at least until we return to DS9.
“Rrowl, should Mac be OK with this, Lt. Talon would be reporting directly to you…as part of his punishment. You’ve learned how to react in our society, apparently better than my officer has, and I’d like for your instruction to be memorable. Should we leave for DS9 today, we’ll be arriving in a little under two days at warp five. That should be sufficient time for a lesson to take place, don’t you think?”
Posted on 2008-07-27 at 06:03:37.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: You know...
Asher reminds me of Kevin Costner's character in Silverado, Jake. Awesome job, Blammm.
Posted on 2008-07-25 at 23:53:30.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: I'll second the motion.
Blammm's always welcome as far as I'm concerned. I like his writing, and the depth of his characters.
We could certainly use more healing magic. I may be wrong, but isn't Kilgim a dual-class? If not, I don't mean to offend, Pekka, but a more powerful cleric would be really handy, and worshipping a human god might be nice as well.
Posted on 2008-07-25 at 04:56:58.
Edited on 2008-08-08 at 20:37:12 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Amendment to Tann's question...
Is the mule capable of being driven back? Safely, I mean. It's the ride I'm thinking we'll have to load Sam up on, and take the whole of the crew back through the city to the ship. Wyatt won't proceed with that line of thinking if Wolf says that the brakes are out of juice.
Posted on 2008-07-25 at 04:54:03.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Post in place.
In answer to your question Tann:
Croaker carries:
- Armalite 44 Heavy Pistol (Box 46 12mm rounds)
- H&K MPK-11 (3 magazines of AP rounds)
- M-205 Underbarrel Grenade Launcher (attached to the MPK; 2 concussion grenades)
- Constitution Arms MAP Very Heavy Pistol (3 cylinders, AP rounds)
- Gerber Mark III double bladed combat knife
Bull's Eye carries:
- Constitution Hurricane Shotgun (saddledrum magazine: now anyway since Croaker handed it off to him).
- Llama Comanche Revolver (45 .44 DP rounds)
Firewind carries:
- Baretta M20-F Heavy Pistol (100 DP .454 rounds)
Croaker would know that Peacekeeper carries:
- .44 Automag Very Heavy Pistol
- H&K MPK-11 (3 magazines of AP rounds)
- M-205 Underbarrel Grenade Launcher (attached to the MPK; 3 concussion grenades)
You don't have any idea what MDK carries.
-------------------------------------------------
OK, so there's been some real helpful skill-use in a life or death situation. As such, IP are in order:
Raven, Guardian is definitely earning his pay, and living up to his name. He has earned 1 IP in Combat Sense and 1 IP in Fencing. Unfortunately, he also used up 5 LUCK. His luck will replenish at the rate of 1 point/your posts. 
I look forward to where this is taking you all, and to see your reactive posts. Sui, you'll need to get a bit more descriptive of how you're going to spend your time.
Freeway, sorry for the continued delay. Things just aren't getting to your introduction as soon as I'd have liked. We can chat about a different intro if you'd like...
Posted on 2008-07-25 at 04:51:24.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: A Long Time Coming (Now You'll See Why It Took Me So Long To Post!)
Sunshine Cottages – Heywood – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 1:30pm
"Find out what you can--and I'd like to know how the bust went with the Wild Things too. I'm just about out of cash which means we'll have to be marking a location with another ATM tomorrow. Think about a good location for that tonight, and that'll be my first task." Spiff answered as he turned the phone about in his hand.
With Spiff’s instructions to dig into what he could of the events that transpired freshly hanging in the air, Preacher snatched the remote from the top of the television set and dropped onto the bed a few feet away, gingerly removing his hat and setting it next to him. The bandage about his temple had been made dingy by the headband of the old hat, and there was a slight bloodstain developing on it from where the solo’s scalp had been cut open by the bullet.
“You want to touch that bank account, I’d suggest you do so as far from where you’re actually operating as possible,” Preacher answered as the screen flickered on presenting him with a menu for movie selection, Internet access, video games, or television. Though his face remained impassive, he was wondering how this man had managed to get into the position he was in; it didn’t seem to the solo that he maintained one lick of common sense, let alone street smarts. Of course, Preacher had to admit that it could all be a ploy…
"They can track you through your phone. Get a pay-per-use and call me at this one." Preacher glanced over at his new employer as the man momentarily confused him with this random statement, but seeing him on the disposable phone, he returned to his Internet perusal. The Internet was a slow and painful process compared to Netrunning, and the remote control for the television made it even more cumbersome, but seeing as how this was all they had for the moment, Preacher was forced to grit his teeth and press on.
The news reports were chalk full of stories on less than pleasant activities—this was, after all, Night City. Within the North American continent, Chicago was, perhaps, the only city warranting a worse reputation. Preacher wasn’t having much luck tracking down any information pertaining directly to the Wild Things for the time being, another blur caught in the corner of his eye drew his attention away from the screen, and back to where Spiff stood near the curtained windows that rattled with the force of the wind and rain.
The fixer was holding his personal phone open with his eyebrows raised as though asking a question. Preacher’s own brow furrowed in momentary confusion.
“Can I turn it on for a minute to get a number?” An exasperated Spiff asked.
“Sure,” Preacher turned back to the Internet. “Jus’ don’t be calling no one from it lest you wanna face some Boys in Black.”
"It's Spiff,” the fixer said into the pre-paid phone once the deep-voiced Guardian said hello. “Since you're the only one I can possibly see as trustworthy who claimed skill with a rifle, I want an honest answer. Can you use that thing to back them up if I buy it? In other words, is it really worth the effort?"
“I can use it,” Guardian responded. “But whether or not it can be used to cover them depends on the surrounding terrain. All we got is satellite imagery, and while I can guess at elevation, it isn’t conclusive without the recon.”
"Ok. By the way, they can track you boys by your phones. Next time don't ditch the lunch meeting early." Spiff ended the call, and turned to Preacher once more. “You think I should destroy this, and purchase another?”
“Who’d you call?”
“Reverend and Guardian.”
“Yup.”
Sunshine Cottages – Heywood – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 1:45pm
The City Inn – South Night City – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:28pm
Guardian had put a lot of thought into Spiff’s warning about the phones, and had determined that they weren’t in any kind of trouble. DigitalScribe hadn’t used his phone in some time, and it had been even longer for Guardian. When the pair of black-garbed corporate hit team entered the courtyard, he was momentarily set back. Had he been wrong in his assessment? How had they known his and Scribe’s location? Were they there for them? Could it be that there was someone else in this dive that warranted a lot of money’s attention? All of these thoughts passed through the large man’s head in the span of a breath, followed by the conclusion that it didn’t matter one way or another. His job was to protect Scribe at all cost, and the presence of these two was just too much of a coincidence.
“Pack it up, Scribe,” Guardian said quietly as he moved fluidly from the window to the door.
“Wha—?”
“We’re leaving. Now.”
Peering out through the peep hole, Guardian frowned at the limited range of his vision. He could hear the click of Scribe’s equipment being closed and the rustling of his bag as the media began to hurriedly pack things up. Thunder seemed to warn Guardian of the impending doom they faced as he cracked the door, peering out into the hall. It was his honed reflexes that allowed him to close the door quick enough to hopefully avoid notice as the shadowy black form of another ops agent rounded the corner some fifty feet down the hall.
“You ready?” Guardian slid the door lock into place while he turned about to survey the scene.
“Yup,” DigitalScribe stood near the desk, his bag slung over his shoulder, his trench coat back on, weapon in hand.
“We’re going that way,” the large man pointed out the sliding doors. “On my mark. So, stay behind me, and give me enough room to maneuver.”
Taking four long steps with the grace of a samurai warrior, Guardian positioned himself near the door while unsheathing his monokatana. Frankie took a couple of steps back and placed himself on the other side of the bathroom wall, dropping to a crouch, his Sternmeyer held up near his head, a grim expression on his handsome face. He was, no doubt, wondering how they’d been tagged, the same as Guardian was.
Guardian thought it would be a coordinated effort. The men in the hall (he was certain there’d be at least two, maybe more) would expect the door to be secured. Unless one of them was a ‘borg, it would likely take a couple of seconds longer for them to enter the room than those coming through the courtyard. Glass was all that separated them from their quarry, and that was real easy to break through should a person be determined. There were any number of coordinated attacks that could take place when one was well-funded: flash-bangs, smoke, nauseaters—they were all fairly discreet, and he was fairly certain that this crew wasn’t packing frags, launchers, or anything along those lines. They’d be dead already if that were the case. No, these sardines were looking to keep the hit out of the headlines, and that meant that Guardian had an advantage.
Activating his speedware, Guardian made sure that his interface plug was connected to his Armalite, just in case. Then the world erupted with as much violence as a primeval force as a shadow passed before the glass door on the other side of the curtain, momentarily silhouetted by a flash of lightning. The glimpse into the future was accented by the inward explosion of the glass. Even while the glass shards were caught up by the curtain, Guardian was registering the use of a one-shot glass breaker; a device similar to those used to break the window of a car during an accident by someone trapped inside, but on a much more powerful scale.
The curtains fled the combined onslaught of the raging storm and the intruder that raised his submachine gun towards the sword-wielding bodyguard, but Guardian’s speedware had given him the edge…dramatically so, and the bald, black man was already stepping in with a wicked slicing move. The monoblade’s orbital-crystaline blade sliced through the tendons, veins, and organs of the man’s throat, just below his battle mask’s protective plating, and just above the armored vest. Guardian’s stroke had been near perfect. Blood sprayed from the severed arteries, painting the ceiling with its vivid color, and the man staggered back a couple of steps, dropping his weapon so that he could grasp his throat with both hands just before he tumbled over the low, iron gate separating the pool from the yard. A breath later and he’d stumbled into the pool, kicking and thrashing about as his fluids dyed the chlorinated waters.
Guardian was moving very quickly, already reversing his first stroke to mimic the cut almost exactly in the other direction across the throat of the second would be assassin. This one dropped like a stone, the blade cutting so deeply that it severed the spine, nearly decapitating the head from the shoulders.
Turning about, his dark skin painted with his victim’s arterial blood, Guardian stepped backward through the broken door and into the rain, spinning his sword about in preparation to sheathe it with his left hand while his right reached inside his jacket to produce his Armalite. DigitalScribe acted on the man’s brief nod, darting from the wall, rolling across the foot of the bed, taking one bounce on his left foot before rolling across the other, and tumbling out the door. He wasn’t an acrobat by any means, but he wasn’t about to present his back as a target to whomever Guardian had turned to face, and he wasn’t about to block the big man’s line of fire either.
Rain pelted the media’s face, water from the grass danced about his form in motion, his trench coat splaying open. He’d missed the dead man by a mere couple of inches, but he was up now, and running full-tilt towards the gate. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of wood cracking, and the expert boom of the Armalite as Guardian answered. Eyes wide, the media hit the gate with the ferocity of a man running for his life causing it to swing back on its hinges and bounce against the resistance of its position. But DigitalScribe was already through it and the rebound missed striking him.
Back at the room, water mixing with the fresh war paint he’d just applied, Guardian watched as though in slow motion as the area surrounding the lock blew apart from semi-automatic weapons fire, damaging the integrity of the bar lock. He had no intention to remain behind and do battle with the assassins, but he did intend to buy them some time in their retreat, so he leveled his handgun and fired once at the estimated position of the enemy, then he turned and hauled ass after his charge. As he turned, he saw that door jam inward, caught up momentarily on a stubborn hinge.
He didn’t need to call out to DigitalScribe to run, the media was doing a fine job of it, and had disappeared from Guardian’s view, though the swinging gate was a testament to his flight. The bodyguard knew from experience that Frankie could run faster than he could, all he could hope for was that the man wouldn’t extend himself beyond Guardian’s protective range. Reaching the gate, Guardian turned and, still hopped up on his speedware boost, leveled his Armalite at the first black uniform that popped out of the doorway in pursuit. The shot ripped into the upper thigh of the man, causing him to stagger, but keep on. Rolling on his booted heel, Guardian continued on his way through the gate and past the hedge.
Gunfire sounded from behind Guardian as he rounded the edge of the hedge. Bullets whipped through the bush tossing leaves into the air like the debris of a bombed building. Impacts staggered Guardian, slamming into his back armor, tearing into his armored arms and legs, bruising and biting, but achieving penetration only as deep as the muscle of his right leg about center on his calf. Guardian winced with the pain, but retained his feet. It was always those flesh wounds that hurt like hell.
Scribe was now pounding down the sidewalk, weapon in hand as he cast his eyes about in the hopes of finding some solace, some refuge, from their attackers. He wasn’t necessarily thinking about Guardian, though he liked the big man, he had hired him to protect his skin, and that’s just what he was doing. Still, if Guardian died that’d leave Scribe without protection, and in their current position he wasn’t keen on that idea.
“Damn it!” Frankie growled to himself as he darted behind a parked car and dropped out of sight. He was breathing heavy from the effort of sprinting, and the adrenaline that was coursing through his system. “Damn it!” He was a combat reporter, used to being in the thick of things in order to get the story, but he’d rarely been in a situation where he was involved in the story such as this, and it always pissed him off when he couldn’t take a more distant approach to the action. He’d practiced with his handgun, and could do a decent Dirty Harry, but he wasn’t confident enough in his skills to want to take on trained corporate assassins. “DAMN IT!”
With the last yell, Frankie Tordesky popped up from behind the relative safety of the car’s trunk and dropped his chest and right arm across the slick metal surface, weapon aimed back down the hazy street. Guardian was the first thing he saw. The immense, black-garbed man was hot-footing it a few meters away, his own weapon coming to bear on the media the instant he exposed himself. Good judgment kept DigitalScribe alive as he quickly raised his Sternmeyer in a non-threatening way. Further down the road, however, Frankie caught sight of a black sedan speeding around the corner with almost reckless haste.
“Car!” he called out and pointed his pistol in that direction as Guardian turned and followed suite.
Guardian’s handgun barked and the windshield of the approaching vehicle bounced with the impact, a single hole at about the driver’s location appearing with a network of cracked glass splaying out from as though it had blossomed.
The car kept on, and four black-garbed men rounded the corner, hitting the street in hot pursuit. The traffic on the street was swerving and fast-breaking to avoid the conflict, and Frankie couldn’t blame them. He wished he was one of them right then.
DigitalScribe squeezed the trigger twice, feeling the weapon jump in his hand in response. The window smeared with a white indicator that one round had struck and been rejected, but the other went through the already damaged glass respectively close to where Guardian had put a bullet. This time the car swerved in response, striking another vehicle that had slammed on its breaks as the black sedan had entered its lane. The impact caused the back end of the sedan to lift from the ground, spraying rainwater over the cabin and hood in a rather dramatic arch before it settled again, skidding slightly to the right. The smaller towncar that it struck slid backward due to the impact, glass shattering out across the hood of the sedan, the driver roiling backward from the jarring force of the blow before striking his face on the steering wheel and lying still.
What little relief Scribe felt at the results was shattered as the vehicle’s front wheels spun into reverse, driving the sedan backward through the weather and slamming into the nose of a Chevy that had slid to a hasty stop. It was still a viable threat.
The men who’d followed leveled their weapons as well, and Guardian breathed, “Down!” in response. Bullets peppered the vehicle behind which they’d both taken refuge causing the tires to spew forth their innards, the metal to shriek, and the glass to scream as it blew apart, but it spared the two edgerunners a rather nasty death. The bodyguard knew weapons, and those submachine guns had to have at least thirty round magazines, if not more. These boys were unloading on full auto, blanketing the area with hot lead in the number of a hundred to a hundred and fifty rounds! He had to find a way to get them out of there, and quick too! They couldn’t withstand that kind of firepower with their arsenal, and their limited cover. The problem being that they were on a street in the old part of town, away from the hustle and bustle, the powerful support of the cops, and the ready access of the buildings. They were surrounded by housing, open parks, and open streets. Not many options.
Then he spotted a possible escape route. “I’ll cover you,” he barked as he slapped Scribe in the shoulder with the back of his hand to draw his attention, pointing across the street to a storefront. It was a small furniture shop, mostly synth-fabric and foam, but it had a nice brick wall, one picture window on the left side of the door, and more importantly, the attendants hadn’t reacted to the firefight on the street yet by lowering the metal store face. The problem was that it was a good twenty-five meters away, through an obstacle course of cars people were still frantically trying to move away from the danger, or had abandoned in preference of getting down, and out of the line of fire.
“Go!” Guardian ordered, rising up slightly on his left leg and rolling so that he could fire down the street at the approaching danger. He felt, more than saw, DigitalScribe following orders as his targeting scope secured a victim.
BOOM! The Armalite bucked as it spat the round. The facemask of one of the assailants bowed inward and was suddenly smeared red. The man nearly performed a full backflip in response, but only ended up making it halfway, landing heavily on his face, neck, and upper chest in a manner that most assuredly broke his neck. It likely would have been very painful had he survived the bullet to the face.
Scribe, for his part, leapt immediate from his crouch at Guardian’s command and began to run while popping off a couple of shots. He didn’t even really notice that he completely lucked out and struck one of the pursuers dead in the chest as the man turned. The media’s dual-purpose round penetrated the armor and tore through the assassin’s heart, stopping it instantly. Frankie didn’t even get a chance to watch as the forward momentum of the corporate tool carried the body face first across the hood of a parked car where it stopped, spread eagle. Frankie Tordesky was sliding across the hood of another, light gray colored sedan in a near perfect imitation of the Dukes of Hazard fully intent on pursuing his “get the hell outta there” mentality.
With the success of his shot, and seeing that Scribe had miraculously dropped another of the enemy, Guardian rose up to follow his charge just in time to see the car peel out and dart forward once again, moving to cut off their retreat. Meanwhile, the air about him was filled with more automatic gunfire, a couple of slugs slamming into his armored body and causing him to wince in pain as he staggered after Scribe. Again, fate was smiling on him as none penetrated.
The bodyguard fired again as he ran, registering the spray of water from the armored chest of one of the assassins, but not receiving the satisfaction of seeing him go down. A heartbeat later, he was racing the nose of the black sedan as it jumped the curb and barreled down on him just feet from the storefront—where the metal shield was slowly cutting off his escape. Scribe had already slid inside and was temporarily out of sight in what Guardian was sure was a continuation of his escape, but the media surprised him when he reappeared on his belly, handgun blazing. He was even more surprised when the sedan cut a sharp right, driving its nose into the concrete and brick wall of the store, bouncing, and…Guardian made a great imitator of a baseball player stealing second as he slid underneath the barricade, slick with rainwater.
There were screams. People darting for cover behind counters and items of furniture—people from the street who’d run inside for the same reason Frankie and Frank had. But this didn’t matter to Guardian. Gaining his feet with an agility that belied the minor injury he’d sustained, the bodyguard was moving quickly towards the back of the store.
“Won’t they be expecting us to go out the back?” Scribe asked as he jogged alongside.
“Check your magazine,” was the reply. Guardian was reloading his cannon as he went in a rhythmic manner born of habit while his eyes took notice of each recess, each individual they passed, and each piece of furniture as well.
“Won’t they be expecting us to go out the back?” Scribe asked again as he fumbled with a new magazine, dropping the old one in his trench coat’s pocket as it still held a couple of rounds, and dual-purpose were expensive.
“Yup.”
“OK,” Frankie took a deep breath as he finalized the reload. “So, why the hell are we parading ourselves out the back then?”
The City Inn – South Night City – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:30pm
Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:03pm
“New to me,” MDK whispered back to her, his voice barely audible above the sounds of the storm, “could be a sensor, or some kind of sentry turret… could be anything, but it has a good field of view or fire…whichever the case may be.”
Peacekeeper frowned. It was never easy…
“We could try going around the clearing,” MDK whispered again, “or … how do you like water?”
“You’re fraggin’ insane,” the bounty hunter hissed as she took in the distance from their location to the water flow. “If that thing is a sentry, or a turret, it’d cut us down before we ever reached the stream. I say we go around.”
She didn’t wait for him to confirm her decision, but slowly crept backwards until she was sure she was out of the thing’s line of sight. Turning uphill, she began the slow ascent through the seeping foliage and slippery mud. She hated this kind of terrain, the combination of the storm and the wilderness. She was an urban hunter, and this was a sour patch of sh*t that she’d managed to find herself rolling in. It was quickly fouling her mood the longer she remained out there. Only she didn’t have long to wait for something else to take her mind off the conditions.
A short while later, having moved uphill and across the water (which turned out to be about a foot deep) they’d progressed deeper into the wilderness when MDK put a stop to their forward momentum by dropping to a crouch some five meters ahead of her, dead still but for his raised fist. Jaimy quickly scanned the area ahead, but it wasn’t until she’d been still for a good thirty seconds before she saw the camouflaged soldier moving slowly through the undergrowth about twenty meters ahead of MDK.
Peacekeeper’s breath caught in her throat as she registered the man’s armored jacket, Biotechnica emblems on the sleeves. He wore armored fatigues as well, and a nylon helmet with a facemask that was most certainly armored. He carried a heavy submachine gun, had a handgun strapped to a utility belt about his waist, and a fighting knife in his boot. His camo was digital woodland allowing him to blend in nicely with the terrain, and he was in the company of five additional corporate soldiers.
This isn’t an ordinary patrol, she thought as she fought to remain completely still in her shadowy cover. It can’t be. We’re still too far from the facility…
Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:21pm
Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 6:40pm
Croaker had made good on his word, ordering Bull’s Eye to move the RV further down the road as soon as Peacekeeper and MDK were out of sight. The other nomad had complied readily enough, though turning around on that road was no easy task. After some slippage, more than a little swearing, and determination that would have made a bull dog proud, Bull’s Eye managed to do as he’d been asked, and the RV wound up about a mile west of where they’d dropped the two scouts off.
“Ok Bulls Eye, Firewind lets do weapon check, ammo count and a good cleaning while we wait for the others.” Croaker had suggested once Bull’s Eye had turned the engine off. “Firewind you help me while you, Bulls Eye, keep a watch out for MDK and Peacekeeper and any unknowns. Ok my medic friend let’s get started.”
While Croaker dumped their ammo bag on the RV’s table, Bull’s Eye moved to the back of the vehicle and settled himself across the bed so that he could peer out through the curtained back window. Firewind gave the nomad a nod as he passed and then focused his attention on the murderous selection of weapons Croaker had presented.
The two wiled away the hours cleaning and arming the weapons. Once they were finished, and everything was put back in its place (the whole while, Bull’s Eye making periodic sweeps from the back to the front, and back again), Croaker addressed his tribesman.
“Bulls Eye how many rounds you have left for your Comanche?”
“About forty, or fifty.”
“Ok here” Croaker said to the other Nomad handing him the Constitution. ”Shotgun’s all yours then. Firewind is this the only hardware you’re carrying or do you have other weapons on you?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s the only thing I pack,” Keahi cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “You try packing around all the medical gear I carry and see if you want to add a couple of additional kilos.”
“Ok then better the Doctor then a fighter. We get into the s*** keep your head down and keep us patched up and alive.”
“You can count on it,” Firewind said in a tone that was meant to instill confidence.
The interior of the RV fell silent for some time after that. Croaker had moved back to the shotgun position once they’d finished up while Bull’s Eye remained at the rear. Around when the pale green LED display of the clock radio mounted to the underside of the kitchen cabinet flashed 10:45pm, Bull’s Eye swore.
“We got company,” he said, rolling from the bed and rushing towards the front, barely managing to avoid stepping on Firewind’s outstretched legs in the process. “There’s headlights coming down the road!”
Firewind sat bolt upright. If Bull’s Eye was the one seeing the headlights that meant that they were coming from the road leading to the Biotechnica facility, not the city!
Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:45pm
Posted on 2008-07-25 at 04:23:12.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Yes! Level advancement!
Woot! *Does the Dance*
I posted...what about the rest o' you lay-abouts? Huh?
Posted on 2008-07-25 at 00:55:42.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: My apologies.
I guess we should have outlined how the survivors were being serviced in more detail, and since Lt. Kennedy would have been primarily responsible for the operation, I'll have to elaborate. Department heads can add their two bits, but please keep in mind that though Kelsey doesn't like it, he was planning on remaining at least diplomatic where the Romulans are concerned, and treating the SF personnel like the victims of a disaster...oh, wait! That's what they are! 
So, the shuttle bay is pretty much a trapezoid with the wide end containing the shuttle bay doors, and a single door in the narrow end providing access to the ship's interior. Bunks will be set up lining the walls, up to two deep if necessary, and there will be tables and chairs set up in the middle of the room. Security personnel will be on hand outside the doors (two: one on either side of the door). Though, in this case, the four from the Cerberus will have been replaced by four from the Charon so that the Cerberus' crew can get some much needed rest. The one department that Gavison has not skimped on as far as personnel are concerned would be the medical department, so there are blue shirt crewmen moving about taking care of the recovery effort and acting as psychiatric caregivers. Red shirt Ops personnel are also hovering around the survivors making sure they've what they need.
Near the door will be a processing desk ran by a staff of three Ops personnel, for quicker processing. One medical ensign will be present to perform full bioscans, and two security crewmen will be standing by on either side of the desk. The primary function of this station is to register all survivors, verify Starfleet records, and determine the health of the survivor. Once they've determined the condition and identity of the survivor, and should the survivor be an officer, they'll group the individual with others who've been processed and an Ops ensign will show the officers to their temporary quarters. Should they not be officers, they'll be processed and allowed to return to their bunks.
The Romulans will have their own sequestered set of bunks in one of the far corners of the room. There will be four Charon security personnel stationed about the Romulan's bunks, and a level three force field will be in place around the Romulan's section as well. As Kennedy will have no doubt informed the Romulan in charge in the Centurion's absence, "A Starfleet vessel has been destroyed while Romulans were on board. I know that I don't need to elaborate upon the past between our two governments. There will no doubt be those among the surviving crew who will place the blame squarely on your shoulders. Captain Gavison is concerned with any further harm coming to your delegation, and so long as there's a chance that you may be harmed by any misplaced anger, he is insisting on you accepting his protective measures. If there is anything you need, feel free to contact me."
The Centurion will have been escorted from sick bay directly to this "protective" section of the shuttle bay as soon as she is through being tended by Lt. Hash. Unlike the Cerberus' security detail, the Charon's will be under strict orders from Talon not to engage in conversation with the Romulans; they are to remain completely engrossed in their duties. Should the Romulans need something that they don't have, Lt. Kennedy is their only liaison with any of the crew aboard the Charon, unless, of course, Mac chooses to give his crew different orders.
I'm glad you chose to stick around, YeOlde!
Posted on 2008-07-25 at 00:53:29.
Edited on 2008-07-25 at 00:53:59 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: By the by
I've posted the first of a couple of posts, but my next is dependent on whether you decide to stick with us, YeOlde.
Duncan, I'm glad you're enjoying your job. Nothing quite like working those long hours and still getting satisfaction out of it. We are, of course, looking forward to your posts as you find the time.
Posted on 2008-07-24 at 05:49:51.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation Persephone
Subject: So nice not to have to post for multiple ships...
Stardate: 2374.09.06
USS Charon – Mess Hall – 13:32 hours
Starship captains were constantly burdened. What made the individual captain material was their ability to shoulder each and every one of those burdens in such a manner as to make it look easy, as to diminish the appearance of the number of visible burdens to their subordinates, and to stand tall under the strain of it all. At least, that’s what Kelsey Gavison had originally thought when he went through the officer courses in Starfleet Academy. Since then, facilitated by his various roles aboard starships, serving under varying styles of leadership, Kel had determined that his initial assessment was only a small portion of the overall picture. A Starfleet captain had to not only where his stress well, but had to accommodate the needs of his many charges, learn to interact on the level needed by his officers so as to facilitate their success, and become a mentor for his officers so that they’d not only learn to act as he needed them to, but so that they could excel.
As he watched the events unfold in the mess hall anger boiled up inside him. Only, this anger wasn’t necessarily all directed at Talon—though the Lyran was certainly the catalyst of at least a small portion of it—but rather, it was directed at himself. Oh, Kel was more than ready to put his nose to Talon’s and dress the Chief down for his obvious insubordination concerning Jonathan’s directives (and his own), but he blamed himself for the obvious departure from Starfleet regulation just as much as he blamed Talon for falling back on instinct instead of using his head.
There were few still aboard the Charon who had endured as many missions following Kelsey Gavison’s less than orthodox methods of carrying out orders: Fletcher, Talon, Jones, and Kennedy were the only officers who could make such a boast. Each had internalized Gavison’s methods in their own way, something Kel was more than aware of, though he’d never said as much to anyone, never documented it in any report, log, or journal, and had never before made excuses for the way he behaved to any of them. Now, in the confines of a memorial mess hall, his mixed signals were evident under the extreme duress of the situation.
Commander Fletcher’s eyes met his, and Kel knew he was seeking permission to handle the Lyran, to reinforce his rank, something that Captain Gavison knew only too well was sometimes necessary with Talon’s people. Hell! Had they been on a Lyran vessel, Talon’s insubordination would likely have led to an immediate dual resulting in either Fletcher’s, or Talon’s, death before being resolved. As Kel met his XO’s gaze, he knew there was nothing for it: Talon had to be reminded of his place within the hierarchy, and it had to be done quickly. There were two such creatures on board his ship at the moment that would view a delayed response as a sign of weakness. Decidedly, Kel presented Jonathan with a slight nod of his head, his face flushing further with anger at the necessity of the maneuver.
"Fletcher to security,” Jonathan tapped his badge. “Send a team to the officer's mess immediately."
Gavison kept his hands at his side, fists clenched, wondering if he’d remembered to turn his phaser settings to stun, or not just in case Talon really took offense. Kel didn’t know to what extent Jonathan would take the reprimand, but he knew, according to Starfleet Regulation, what was possible, and though he’d had to reprimand Talon many times before for his impulsive behavior, he’d never once had to do so for insubordination. This was new ground, and that meant that the Lyran officer could go any which way, but that which was expected.
"Mister Talon, you are a disgrace to the uniform. Bad enough that you stand here growling at another Starfleet vessel's second officer like some sort of base animal..." Fletcher’s tone was harsh.
“Actually, mester Rrowl's me actin' XO," Captain MacTavish interjected in a dry tone that told Gavison he wasn’t happy without the captain even having to look at his old friend.
"...make that another Starfleet vessel's executive officer," Fletcher ammended. "You disregard a direct order given to you not even an hour ago, and you treat your fellow officer with disrespect when he attempts to ensure that my order is carried out!
"Lieutenant Commander Talon, on the grounds of insubordination and disobeying a direct order, I hereby relieve you of your post as chief tactical officer of the USS Charon. Surrender your weapon and commbadge at once."
It wasn’t a struggle for Kelsey to remain the visage of disappointed rage, for he was surely feeling every bit of that very emotional cocktail as Talon stood there in shock, his golden eyes darting from Commander Fletcher to meet with Kel’s unwavering gaze. Kelsey had been in enough heated situation to have learned how to keep a clear head despite the emotional fire that burned within, and at that moment he resolved to pay a private visit to the Lyran to find out what was going through his head. The punishment Jonathan was doling out had to be enforced, but the duration was dependant on the validity of Talon’s vindication according to the judge in the matter, and that judge was Captain Gavison. Kel knew that there were things underfoot that he wasn’t aware of, details that needed to be painted out, but he trusted his XO’s judgment, and knew the spirit of the orders he’d given earlier, so while he would have liked the opportunity to question Talon’s reasoning, this was neither the time, nor the place.
Apparently realizing that his captain backed the XO’s move, Talon’s combative demeanor flattened as though the very wind was taken from his sails. With a submissive gesture, the Lyran security officer removed said items and offered them to the steadfast executive officer.
“Yes Sir!” and Talon took a step back, again, in what Kelsey interpreted to be a sign of stepping down.
Fletcher sighed. "We are at war, mister Talon. There is no room for such blatant disregard for the chain of command on this vessel. The security team will escort you to your quarters, where you will remain confined until otherwise ordered. If you slip so much as a whisker out of that cabin, mister Talon, you will be relocated to the brig for as long as is deemed necessary. Do you understand?"
“Understood Sir!”
Kelsey watched in silence as the creature who’d fought at his side through so many life and death situations recently was escorted from the room, leaving the mess hall in a moment of awkward silence the likes of which can only be found on the tail feathers of surprise confrontation between allies.
“I’ll want to know every damn detail concerning this matter, Jonathan,” Kel said in a low tone, his eyes darting momentarily to Kato III’s as he reflexively tried to glean some moment of clarity from the science officer. “A report on my desk by eighteen hundred hours should be sufficient.” What had been said between the MACO sergeant and Talon had been unheard by Captain Gavison as he’d been greeting Mac and his officers. But, again, there was a time and a place for this inquiry to take place, and this was neither.
“I apologize for the theatrics,” Kel said in a voice as tight as the scarred skin that covered the left side of his face. “Emotions have been running high, and there’s been little sleep over the past few days as we’ve been preparing the Charon for our mission, and then rushing to pick the lot of you up.”
Captain Gavison motioned for the table, upon which were fluted glasses and bottles of Teluvian Brandy, scotch, water, and rummilk. Kennedy had also arranged for a series of fruits to be available, though he hadn’t gone overboard, much to Kel’s appreciation.
“There’s a lot to discuss,” Kelsey said as he took a seat at the head of the table. “So, we’ll get the formalities out of the way forthwith.” The captain proceeded to introduce each of those officers who’d arrived with him, Lt. Kennedy having already made his introduction to Mac’s team when they’d beamed aboard. Once Jack had endured the same formality, Kel settled back in his chair, his brows coming together causing his haggard visage to take on a very foreboding look.
“What happened, Mac? Was it the Romulans like so many of us already believe? Mr. Kato and Chief Talon have been working hard to put the Charon’s equipment to use in order to help with the investigation, but I’ve already received missives from Headquarters wondering after our findings, and at the risk of sounding treasonous, what I want to report back to Starfleet is that the bastards that did this are cold, and dead.” Kelsey’s tone was wicked enough to send shivers up and down Lt. Kennedy’s spine. “There’ll be no tribunal, no Starfleet justice, here, Mac. This is Frontier Justice that we’re going to enact—“ The captain eyed each of those at the table in turn. “—and I defy anyone at this table to argue that particular with me.”
Posted on 2008-07-24 at 05:45:06.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: I thought Char had healed himself already. Correct me if I'm wrong...
As the last arrow struck home, Char furthered the creature's demise by shooting daggers from his eyes at its falling corpse. Only when Adrian fell as well did Char instinctively start forward, Arien's warning to stay close by echoing in his ears. There was sound logic in that warning, but Char wasn't used to leaving comrades-in-arms alone to face dangers when he had the where-with-all to do something about it.
Knocking another arrow, the ranger padded along in a jog beside the dwarven war-priest, his eyes surveying the land about for signs of any trouble, his ears seemingly reaching out and snatching every sound. He remained ever alert as he stood over his friend in his administering to the ex-Imperial, particularly eyeballing the fallen thri-kreen and dragonfly mount. Only upon witnessing the fluttering eyelids of the recovering wizard did Char cautiously approach the dead enemy, searching them over for any indication of where they came from, and what their alliances were.
Spitting on the corpse of the thri-kreen, Char completed his search and returned to Kilgrim and Adrian's side, and in due order, Arien, Alloryn, and Dapple where he placed the arrow back in the quiver, slung his bow, and separated himself from the sibling's reunion by searching the ground where the green-armed man had fallen for any sign of tracks.
(OOC: should there be time, he'll also help search through the rubble, the surrounding area for additional tracks, indications of what the story was there, and anything of import to place back in the king's hands at Freegate. As far as Jal's funeral preparations/resolution, Char will remain aloof. He won't disrespect the man's sacrifice, but he wasn't exactly fond of him, and will leave the body's fate to Arien's discretion.)
Posted on 2008-07-24 at 04:43:51.
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Topic: Back
Subject: Welcome!
I was missing the sheer brilliance of Grugg...
Posted on 2008-07-24 at 04:33:17.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Another late night...
OK, so I find myself enduring another late night that won't allow me to post a continuance to this game. I apologize, but assure you that the post will happen no later than this weekend.
Posted on 2008-07-24 at 04:30:59.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: LOL at the Double Sedation
I'm just hoping we can get the mule back to the ship and hidden away at the same time as getting our people out of sight before the Alliance arrive.
Posted on 2008-07-24 at 04:29:21.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: If it makes you feel any better...
I've only ever had one wizard character survive, Robert. His name was Bromern Sal, and I didn't "go wizard" with that character until I had already established his prowess as an assassin and a fighter class in order keep his sorry butt out of a sling!
Low level wizards are not an easy class to play. Of course, there's the other end of the spectrum as high level wizards are friggin' ridiculous!
*Goes off to fume some more about Systems.*
Posted on 2008-07-24 at 04:28:05.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: Um...
YeOlde: Hey man, we don't want you to quit playing. I'll second Olan's sentiment in that you're a player I'll allow in any of my games. I, too, urge you to reconsider. The idea that this could result in an epiphany for Talon is great, or you could use the opportunity in another fashion, but it would be a loss for everyone playing if you walked away.
Everyone: So we had a few "off" posts. It isn't anything that can't be fixed, nothing that was causing serious problems we couldn't work out of, and so there's no need for anyone to feel like they were ruining the game. This sort of thing happens to everyone at one point or another, and the best thing for it is to just continue to have fun, redirect a few things, and BOOM! Everything falls into place.
In my opinion, free form role-play is extremely difficult. The GM tries not to give so much direction so as to limit your character development and storytelling (your total contribution), but at the same time we've got to have a plot or else the whole thing just falls apart. We're all going to find challenges within the role-playing aspect of this game, but that's part of the fun of it. Rest assured that Eol and I will share pertinent information with those who need to know that information to help shape the story. Some things we obviously cannot share because they are major plot points that we want you to find out to enrich your experience. This means that we're faced with the challenge of making sure that ingenious actions on the part of your individual story development don't derail the main storyline.
Think of it this way: The overall game "Operation: Persephone" is a few "seasons" worth of a television series. within those seasons there are progressing story lines for each major contributing character. Some of these stories can be resolved, or come to fruition, in a single "episode" while others will take many "episodes" to develop. We're still in the first season of this series: characters are being introduced, fleshed out, and established. Relationships are being built that will carry through future seasons and develop, or digress, as the writers see fit. Multiple plots will unfold, but overall there is that one, on-going theme of "Operation: Persephone" just like in Voyager they had a lot of adventures (episodes), some drawn out over the course of many shows (seasons), but overall, their theme was that they were trying to get back to Earth.
Each and every one of you contribute to the overall enjoyment of the game, and the challenge of character relationships is part of the fun. We just can't let everyone run free, or the theme is lost.
Anyway, you've heard it from Eol, Olan, and now me so I'll shut up about it...
I lied: One last reiteration. We really did not mean to hurt anyone's feelings, cause anyone to feel like they were ruining the game for others, or drive anyone away. We are thoroughly enjoying the players involved in this game, and I know I speak for all three of us (Eol, Olan, and myself) when I say that the loss of any player is not something we want to facilitate right now.
Posted on 2008-07-24 at 04:20:30.
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Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: A sheriff? Uh-uh! Them folk die...a lot!
The sounds of the crowd gathering around filled Wyatt’s ears, and his senses, as had the sounds of the ship breaking atmo.
“Damn it! I knew it!” JW drew the captain’s attention back to him from the sky where Sung used his torn up hat to block the sun enough that he could make out the pinpoint ship descending upon the scene. “They probably detected the explosion. Captain, I would rather that them boys had no reasons to be asking you questions, or even attaching your ship to the scene of the crime, if you catch my drift.”
“You an’ me,” Wyatt tossed his hat into the mule. “We’re singin’ the same song. Wolf, can you get that mule goin’ again? Will the brakes work, or is it a useless effort?”
“Doctor!” Willow’s cry turned Wyatt on his boot heel. “Come quick!”
“Gorram excitement,” the captain muttered under his breath as he followed the doctor into the bank.
He’d registered the interaction between the doctor and the banker’s wife, but had stored it away for scrutiny another time as there were more immediate concerns to be had. He’d even stored away the intense feeling of impending…well, just impending, that Ludlow’s single uttered dyin’ word brought to his innards accompanyin’ the chill such statements from the crowd as, “…We got a sheriff?” and, “It’s good to have a sheriff” had already bestowed upon him. Blinking into the shadowed, rubble-filled interior, Wyatt frowned at the still chaos that presented itself before him. The banker now lay crumpled in the middle of the floor as well.
“What needs doin’, Willow?” Wyatt demanded. “We got Nien Mohn breathin’ down our backsides, an’ I don’ much feel like Gen Ho Tze Bi Dio se, if’n you catch my meanin’.”
Posted on 2008-07-23 at 05:26:59.
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Topic: A Cold Day in Hell
Subject: Paddles anyone? Anyone?
It had been a tense and trying journey from the comm. center to the hallway outside of the observatory. Lt. Kernan had led the way, his M6 leveled in standard offensive positioning as he scoured the open corridors, and braced at the corners. He led them through the epicenter of the facility at a quick pace, hardly pausing at the rounds before hot-steppin’ to the next position. The whole maneuver was done while considering the possibilities.
There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it at this point. Monty had to believe that they were caught up in some science-fiction the likes of which standard Ranger training didn’t cover. As the soft patting sounds of their footfalls fluffed the air he set his jaw in grim determination: two of his team were missing, the whole of the facility personnel appeared to be missing, everyone on his team was either near frost-bitten, or wounded in some fashion (including himself), and some were critically injured. It was truly a distressing situation to be in, and it was only his training as a Ranger that kept him from throwing his hands in the air in despair. He was a U.S. Army Ranger, and he’d be damned if he was going to leave his men behind.
He’d said very little when arriving on the scene where Sgt. Kane was standing over the stabilized men’s positions, Corporal Inga Joannsen sitting near them just as badly beat up. It was a mess, but they hadn’t the time to discuss it. Quickly formulating the best strategy for a tactical retreat from the observatory hall, the team did the best they could to reduce the amount of time they spent in the open, less defensible location, eventually bursting through the comm. room door and moving the wounded to secure positions out of the way of any intruding enemy’s immediate line of sight. Once those three were secured, Monty ordered Kane to close up and secure the door that they’d just come through.
“Blake,” Monty caught the attache’s attention once more. “I need your assessment. We’re in a tight situation here, and it don’t look to be getting any better any time soon. With three wounded as they are, and another two MIA, we have a desperate need to get in touch with headquarters, but the lot of us nearly got turned into snowmen even in full gear just hikin’ into this hell hole. What’re the odds of getting our sat-radio outside of that blue field and getting off a message to HQ for reinforcements? Hell! What’re our odds of anyone stepping outside of that blue field and returnin’ to this same situation?” Another sick thought occurred to him at that moment, and he couldn’t help but ask after it with a lowered, dread-filled tone, “If that…cave just swallowed the observatory, can you speculate on whether what happened there will happen elsewhere in the facility? Can you speculate with any accuracy on what happened to Hatherford, Hart, and those two G.I.s?”
Science wasn’t Kernan’s strong suite, and he had no idea what stepping outside of that field would do—he couldn’t even fathom what kind of ramifications it might incur. For all he knew they were stuck in some Time-Space Continuum, or something like that; maybe a dimensional rift—he’d heard some sci-fi geeks jabbering away about some such nonsense while bivouacked with a regiment in northern African a few summers back. At the time, he’d laughed and poked fun, and now he wished like Hell he’d asked them some questions that would have provided the answers to this mess they were in!
(OOC: will back-post in response to Charlie’s answers. Depending on the answer Monty is likely to request that Blake get back to her computer hacking.)
Turning to look at Joannsen, Monty took a deep breath, quietly taking in the paleness of the already pale woman’s skin, the sunken appearance of her eyes, and the pastel wash of her lips. Their medic had been hit hard, and while a soldier’s condition when injured was always of a concern, when a unit lost their medic they were up Sh*t Creek without a paddle.
“What do you need, Doc?” Monty asked in a quieter voice. “I need the three of you functional as soon as possible, so tell me what I can do, and we’ll get it done.” He didn’t know if there was anything to do except get an evac, but he had to try something, and she was the best suited to answer. He had some major decisions to make in the next little while, and he wished to God that they had some way to communicate with HQ in order to get some reinforcements in, and his team out, but it wasn’t looking like that was going to be an option.
Posted on 2008-07-23 at 05:06:56.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: The Brigs
The brigs on this size ship aren't very comfortable...Poor Talon, just trying to do his job. Too bad Gavison has never been able to stomach direct insubordination.
It looks like Rrowl might be acting security lead in a bit. Oh, won't that get Talon's goat! Hee hee.
Posted on 2008-07-23 at 03:58:12.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Party members?!
Try players!
Of course I'm up for part three. Roberts coming back? Awesome!
Posted on 2008-07-23 at 03:28:45.
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Topic: The Brom be out, yo!
Subject: I'm Ba-ack.
Conference went well. Met some awesome people, and they helped us take my son to Six Flags and the Statue of Liberty! Something I don't know that we'd have been able to do otherwise.
Give me a bit to get back into the swing of things, and I'll be posting to all my games shortly.
Posted on 2008-07-22 at 14:15:18.
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Topic: The Brom be out, yo!
Subject: The Brom be out, yo!
OK, so I'm out for about five to six days. I may be able to check in here and there, but I doubt I'll be able to do any serious posting during this absence as all of my reference material will be here at home, and I will not be.
In any case, heads up, for there is no wrath like that of Jersey! Or is that smell (no offense if anyone is from New Jersey, but I've been before, and I gotta say... whew wee!)
Posted on 2008-07-17 at 06:11:04.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Holidays are a necessary evil...um, good?
No problem. Well, Raven actually left me a PM that describes some actions for Guardian, but I didn't get to the post like I'd hoped to tonight, so it will have to wait until I get back from Jersey. Sorry Choombas, but it is late and I'm going to sleep.
Posted on 2008-07-17 at 06:07:35.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: Done!
OK, so Kennedy didn't get his own post, but I did manage Hash and Gavison. Now all y'all have some time frames to work with. I look forward to seeing the results.
Posted on 2008-07-17 at 06:05:52.
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