Rascal
Lore Committee
Posts: 120
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Post by Rascal on Mar 20, 2017 20:15:26 GMT
Marcus Trevanion Lieutenant
Current assignment: TAC, USS Chiron Previous position: TAC, USS Bremen
Male Human Caucasian
Born May 1st, 2344 height 1m88 99 kilos body weight Black hair turning white light blue eyes Wears a neatly trimmed two centimeter beard Has two circular Tattoos of his '61 and '62 sector champion titles in Formula A (for asteroid) sublight racing, one on each shoulder. Had any accident or war scars removed by dermal specialists.
Personal history
- Born 2344 in orbit above Aldebaran from human parents, who served as science officers on the USS Port of Cornwall (Miranda class). - Spent the boring first twelve years of his life on board the PoC with his parents, until they retired to Coridan III. Marcus was sent off to the Starfleet backed schools on Aldebaran. - Built himself a reputation in several racing sports, with wins in ground, air and space speed runs. Formula A (for asteroid) Sector Champion, '61 and '62. Took full advantage of his popularity, in multiple ways. - At nineteen, upon completion of his civil classes, he was transferred to The Academy on Earth. This was the first time he saw the SOL system. Pleasantly surprised by "the view", he felt motivated enough to stay. - Majored in Navigation, Minored in Tactical. Held the SFA record marks in advanced small craft flight training for eleven years afterwards, and in classical astronavigation for nine. - Graduated in '68, assigned to the Nebula class USS Sutherland after its refit, as second helmsman. - Got himself reprimanded for the first time in service after just one year, was reassigned to the mobile backup force, filling numerous temporary NAV slots over the next three years. - Returned to the Sutherland in '72 and as its full NAV officer, which carried on to the beginning year of the Dominion War. - Flew six different ship assignments in the war, got a field promotion to LtJG on the second, to Lt. on the fifth. Earned several awards, but also as many reprimands for questioning orders. - During the war, Coridan III got overrun by the Jem Hadar, parents missing since. Took four days of leave to attend the wake in their honour, then resumed his efforts in the fighting. - Post war, late 2376, he was pulled out of active service, promoted to LtCmdr and assigned to the New Aberdeen fleetyards, R&D, as a test pilot. Mostly because of his skills, but likely for suspected emotional instabilty as well. He felt indifferent, just happy to be able to keep flying and have plenty of spare time for more racing and women. Spent eleven years there. - Transferred to NAV school as an instructor in '88. Was at odds with the Nav training facility's strictly conservative overseer, Admiral Warren Brooks, from day one. - Insulted and headbutted Brooks over a dispute in teaching methods in early '91. Suspended from duty until his court martial in '92, where he refused to adhere to procedures and insulted the sitting court. Had his rank stripped back to Ensign, his wings revoked and was placed under planetary arrest, confining him to Aldebaran and its moons for a year. - Recieved a letter from HQ, instructing him to travel to Starbase 212 and report there, to await his new assignment. - Is stuck at the starbase for several weeks, as his new post, USS Bremen, is still away on a classified mission to the Noÿs/Twissel system. - Gets his assignments documents, being posted to the USS Bremen as TAC on sd 11603.26 - He's feeling pretty upset with his wings not getting reinstated, as he expected to get NAV. - Witnesses the intentional destruction of the Delta Leonis star and it's M-class planet III. Contrary to the reports, the planet was inhabited by a primitive people, 150.000 were killed in the event. - A few months later, he lands a detention after the Starbase 16 terrorist attack, for stunning a nosy FNN reporter. Further hearing was cancelled by personal order of Admiral Elsbeth Bantree. - Approached by a Vulcan S31 agent at that time, he accepts undercover work for her. Upon reading the Alexandra Lincoln article about section 31's involvement in Twissel and Delta Leonis III, he chooses his side and reports to Captain Sumner. He is ordered to proceed with caution, assuming a double role to see where the trail leads. - Promoted to LtJG on sd 11609.29 for dedication to service, although he has no clue how he'd possibly earned that. Happy to get rid of that Ensign stamp though. - Leads a TAC crew of six down to a stranded ship on a Gamma Quadrant asteroid shortly after. Subsequent events cause him to find renewed respect for lower-tiered personnel. - Late in 2295, he nearly engages in arranged marriage to the Princess Ria, monarch of the female dominated Riani people, who chose him as her breeder and with whom he negotiates firm conditions. The liason is prevented by order of Captain Sumner. - Survives the last stand of USS Bremen during the turmoil at the onset of the UFP/TF schism.Takes a year off after this event. - Recieves reassignment orders to become Tactical department head on the USS Chiron, which needs an entirely new crew after relaunch. Fills in his resignation form instead, yet reconsiders after learning the Chiron is to be captained by Sara Sumner. Spends considerable effort in convincing former Bremen TAC team one to apply for service with Chiron. The team joins Chiron together. - At a high risk operation, USS Chiron and USS Zorya succeed in neutralising the hijacked Enhanced Sovereign class vessel Voltaire. During the operation, Marcus' second in command, Anne Colchester is fatally injured and perishes in battle. - His failure in finding a stowaway saboteur over the course of the Voltaire mission, whom can be deemed at least partially responsible for Colchester's death, affects Trevanion gravely. Upon return to base, he considers resigning over this. A critical conversation with Sara Sumner prevents him from doing so, but not after a two week's selfreflective trip to his homeworld of Aldebaran. - Awarded Admiral's Letter of Commendation for for exemplary heroism in neutralizing USS Voltaire, recieved sd11808.02 - Awarded Starfleet Medal of Commendation for exemplary performance despite indigent circumstances in neutralizing the USS Voltaire, recieved sd11808.02 - Promoted to the rank of Lieutenant for continued outstanding performance as Chief Tactical Officer, recieved sd11808.02 - During the same ceremony, for her exemplary dedication to duty, and for her noble sacrifice in defense of the Federation and her citizens, and the galaxy at large, Anne Colchester was posthumously awarded the Starfleet Medal of Valor. As department head, and her friend, Marcus accepts this honour in her stead, vowing to personally deliver it to Anne's family.
Educational History:
- Recieved general schooling on board the USS Port Of Cornwall until the age of twelve. - Took civil education on Aldebaran, at the prime Starfleet sponsored boarding school. - After graduation at the age of nineteen, moved to Earth to attend Starfleet Academy. - Major in Navigation, minor in Tactical, graduated with top marks, class of '68. - Never failed a final exam in his life, but had a tendency to be late for morning classes.
Medical History:
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Return to service assessment Stardate 11601.05 By Lieutenant Mara Telari CNS, SFC personnel div.
- Physically in very decent shape, mentally deemed barely fit for duty. - Stubborn to the point of having people present proof of their expert opinions at times. - Does not reject his career history of regular verbal and sporadical physical violence. - Will disobey orders when he doesn't feel they're right or efficient, or after he's had a bad night. - Has a fierce aversion to anything Dominion/Cardassian, except for the recreational facilities on DS9. - Believes love and marriage to be for the weak, and children to have no business aboard starships.
* NOTE TO FUTURE SENIORS: Advised to keep mister Trevanion under passive surveillance at all times while on duty or acting in official matters.
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Rascal
Lore Committee
Posts: 120
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Post by Rascal on Apr 6, 2017 18:05:50 GMT
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The Bay quickly receeded behind his back, melting into the gradient line of fog between pale blue ocean and dark vacuum.
Westbound takeoffs to orbit weren't against regulations, but still frowned upon by the beach folk nonetheless, even with their numbers progressively dwindling. Since the split, most of those young and able sunbathers had gotten lured into the 'fleet, fast tracked to frontline service. Those who remained, usually stuck to the usual 'Frisco' diet of surf and sand, added a few anti-war songs to the nights' bonfires and complained about intrusive thruster noise.
Trev, on the other hand, couldn't care less about the audible impact of his power setting.
Considering his (as of yet still revoked) Starship Navigator status remained a shameful red mark on Marcus' otherwise perfectly fine return-to-service assessment report, the fiftysomething former racing pilot felt relatively happy, steering this here little shuttlepod up towards good old Spacedock, towards a new ship, towards a familiar crew. Mostly familiar that is, which is surprising in itself. His last vista of the Bremen, post search-and-rescue, looking out through the med-evac barge's rear mess hall windows, had suggested much, much worse. That depressive picture will stick to Trevanion's retina for life, though.
Always an impressive sight, today, the rising of that magnificent duranium mushroom on the nighttime horizon as if being lifted out of those black ocean waves below, symbolised a lot more than step two on the road to fleet life. Beyond it's bays, no certainty remained. Ever since the Section was exposed, and Karn ousted, no single spot in known space could be regarded as entirely safe. With unmarked ships full of Teffies having popped up throughout every UFP inhabited sector, fear of attack had quickly become a constant nagging feeling, always present in the back of all 'fleet staff's minds, cautioning, alerting.
A cough behind his back pulled Marcus out of his reverie, prompting him to engage approach lock to bay B-6. Coasting on towards the tractoring point, Trev shot a quick glace over his left shoulder and smiled a wry smile at his team. Krull, something of a surrogate dad to Davis now, nodded back. The rest of this hardy SEC unit kept staring beyond the pilot seat, at the awesome scale of the century old station. Save for Chokra Mahassiné, who was smiling at her husband's picture. Morello something. Arm shot off by Miss Pointy, punctured lung, stasis, memory loss, pretty sad for both of them. Luckily, he did remember their engagement, just in time to tie the proverbial knot before getting separated for a while by the call to duty.
Trevanion took a deep breath and turned back to look outside, too, as base operations took control of the approach path. He folded his muscular arms across his broad chest, a thumb stroking the golden band on his tunic vest. Tactical it is, then. Chief, even, with Jameson's whereabouts unknown to him, but not on the Chiron's drafting list in any case.
Very present on that same list, at the very top, was one name he needed to be there. Had the ship gotten a different commanding officer, Marcus would've declined, honestly. There were but few people whom Marcus Trevanion had considered answering to, even less whom he might have considered following, anywhere.
After three years of hard fleet service as his Captain, making some damn hard choices along the way, Sara Sumner, however, had become one of those.
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Rascal
Lore Committee
Posts: 120
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Post by Rascal on Apr 13, 2017 13:14:59 GMT
11704.06
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"Seriously? Right now?"
Having heard the shipwide communication about the Chiron's early departure, Trevanion scratched his scalp and glanced across his living room at the large and very empty square of stoneware tiling on the floor where his kitchen unit was sheduled to be installed that very afternoon. Base OPS had reluctantly agreed to Marcus' whish for such a unit, going against the general consensus about conserving materials and energy for more essential projects. Recognising this inarguable point pretty clearly, he had been close to giving up on this personal request of his. Luckily, the Operation clerk's Chief stepped in and greenlighted the file with a curt nod and a wry smile. Given the Bremen's matchstick-like involvement in the current fissure conflict, its former crew seemed to have gained some sort of legacy marker, seemingly suspended above their heads when dealing with any type of external paperwork. Reactions to the ship's mention ranged from applause, over doubt, to deep, accusatory frowning. It added up to a polarising fifty-fifty split between blamers and approvers. Here he'd faced one of each, the pro bloke outranking the sceptic, apparently.
Trev turned to stand and stared out of the window at other docking ports of Starbase 331. Just one other ship was visible from his window - much farther from readiness than the Chiron - undergoing a complicated Bussard scoop replacement operation. Chiron was far from being completely outfitted itself, but it could fly and shoot, at least.
"Right now, yeh..."
The graying guy let out a deep sigh and shrugged. Luxuries, however sparse, could wait until those people on Cestus were safe. Or made to feel like they were safe, at least. He turned away and walked towards the door, grabbing the PADD from his coffee table as he passed it. With as of yet no proper department commander in sight, he also knew he'd have to fill in as Chief of Tactical for the foreseeable future. Good thing they'd gotten another Intrepid, then. No crew of hundreds, just one-fifty or so. His PADD stopped counting at about seventy, indicting half the ship's incoming transfers were still to arrive here.
As he walked out the room and headed for the deck fifteen TAC office, Marcus checked and updated the crew profiles of the people that ware actually here. Good people, one by one, and Trev knew them all. Easy, as none of the new folks had arrived yet.
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Tactical and Security personnel overview, USS Chiron In order of assignment:
ENSIGN Anne Colchester, 24, Terran female. Tactical Strategist CPO3 Ado Krull, 44, J'naii. Chief data Specialist CPO1 Mark Martin, 26, Terran male. Reconnaissance Technician CPO1 Turimi'n, 26, Bolian male. Reconnaissance Technician CRM3 Chokra Mahassiné, 22, Terran female. Logistics Technician CRM2 Nathaniël Davis, 27, Terran male. Handheld arm specialist CDT Seli... XXX XXX XXX
BEEP!
Chief stopped walking, halfway the bend between the TL exit and TAC HQ, and frowned at the blinking message on his PADD. "What do you mean, no signal??"
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Post by Nola on Apr 13, 2017 18:10:06 GMT
The Wi-Fi repeater doesn't arrive until Tuesday. Nice log, G
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Rascal
Lore Committee
Posts: 120
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Post by Rascal on Jun 29, 2017 13:24:01 GMT
11706.22
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"Warning. Expiration of allotted time imminent. Automatic termination of program in six minutes."
Lieutenant Trevanion, resting on his back, half covered underneath the lightest of satin sheets, sighed, barely awoken by the computer's sudden vocal incursion. Pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers from his right hand, his left stretched out over the soft bedding, in search of equally tactile skin to lightly carress.
Wrinkled. Cold. Empty.
Marcus' hand stopped searching and just lay flat on the canvass.
He must have slept for several hours. Well, at least longer than one, as that happened to be the time he and his beautiful, curvy and dark haried, yet virtual late afternoon companion had agreed upon spending in this very comfortable second floor room, attentively adorned in lush materials of blacks and deep reds.
"Warning. Expiration of allotted time imminent. Automatic ter..." "Alright! Alright... I heard you the first time."
With a groan, the Chiron's recently appointed Chief of Tactical rolled sideways and twisted around slowly, getting up after a few moments of slow breathing while sat on the bed's edge.
"Warning. Ex..." "Shut it! Computer, deactivate warning message, please." "Bleep." "Thanks..."
Four and a half minutes later, while lacing his boots, Trev heard the bleep that indicited the end of his holodeck time for all week. The Red Club's forcefield-and-replicator generated wooden constuction didn't give way to the empty grid of the simulation hardware, though. A faint smile formed as he tied those last loops, realising the next folks on the roster must have liked this one remnant of Bremen-native leasure nearly as much as himself.
Marcus tipped the rim of his Brixton Messer hat at the joint's personell as he walked the central staircase down into the bar and restaurant below. Only the robotic bartender had stayed, the others he had had to replace.
He'd had to recreate this period locale from scratch, ofcourse. Not only because of the frowns he'd have gotten from Starfleet Tech for inquiring about recovery chances for such a dodgy program, but also because of the disconnection and isolation protocols he'd want to re-implement here.
"What happens in Red, stays in Red." That was the credo.
Entirely against SFI regulations, ofcourse, but that's what you get upon discovering Section 31 bugs in every nook and cranny of one's previous starship posting.
"Computer, the door, please."
Without audio confirmation (good job, computer), the 'deck exit appeared and swished open at once. With that, his neatly designed 2080's period attire had also reverted to present day officer's trousers and tunic. He stroked his gray-and-white hair, trying to make it behave after having sat underneath that black hat of his. Or such he was trying to make himself believe had caused his currently tousled manes.
Outside, in Chiron's deck six corridor, Recon Technicians Martin and Turimi'n snapped to attention, cutting short their complaining rant about people disrespecting regulations on free time. As their direct superior, Marcus couldn't help but smile as he passed them with a nod and a wink.
"Sorry 'bout that, guys. Put them shots on my tab."
-
Early that morning, he'd left Colchester in charge of the paperwork. She was far better at it and even claimed to enjoy the sense of detachment that came with such monotonous a task, so Marcus was all too happy to have his first assitant and second in charge indulge herself.
Ofcourse, even top notch assistant Tactical officers need some amount of sleep from time to time, so deck fourteen was Marcus' next stop. The Turbolift exited conveniently right outside the door to TAC HQ (custom labelled as such), so the guy could step right in.
"Hey, Anne." "Sir," she spoke without interrupting her attentive screen reading. "Come on, shift's over, my turn at the fun buttons." "Right. Just this one review, won't take a minute..." "Now, Ensign. Get some rest. That's an order."
She halted, leaned back in the chair and rubbed her eyes. She got up eventually, looked at her boss with bloodshot eyes and smiled a little. "Thanks, sir. Good night."
As she herself rounded the corner, out the door and into the 'lift, Marcus Trevanion sat down in the warm chair and took a long and deep breath. He immediately noticed the hugely impressive list of things-marked-in-green on the terminal's viewer and spoke, too soft for Colchester to pick up on her way out.
"Good job, kid. Good job."
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Rascal
Lore Committee
Posts: 120
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Post by Rascal on Sept 6, 2017 23:21:27 GMT
Joint log with Annie.
Starring: Ship's Doctor Ensign Penelope Evans Chief of Tactical LtJG Marcus Trevanion
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Blurry? Light? Blinking? Headache!
Even though sickbay biobed illumination had pretty much been turned all the way down, Marcus' eyes still stung as if hit by a Class Six shuttle's search beams. He brought up his left hand to try and rub them, yet, muscles still quite sedate, missed and so had his knuckles knock his already throbbing forehead. Subsequent grumbling alerted Trev of this incredible dryness of the tongue, and the rest of sickbay of his apparent waking.
Nurse Madeleine Spencer heard some inarticulate noise coming from the bed behind her and she looked back to note that their lone patient was finally awake. She glanced across the room where Dr. Evans was seated at a console. Technically her shift had ended an hour and a half ago, but she had sat down and started doing some kind of research, though Madeleine wasn't sure what she was researching. For a moment the middle age nurse contemplated whether to bother Dr. Evans or to take care of Marcus herself. Finally she decided she had better tell the doctor so she could attend to him herself. She crossed the room to the console where Penny sat and said softly, "Dr. Evans?"
She didn't respond, apparently so engrossed in her reading that she was oblivious to everything else going on around her.
"Dr. Evans?" Madeleine gave her a gentle tap on the shoulder as she said it this time.
Penny was so startled by this that she nearly jumped out of her chair, then looked at Nurse Spencer in surprise. She tried not to look as embarrassed as she felt by being caught so off guard as she asked, "Yes?"
The nurse tilted her head in the direction of the occupied biobed and said, "He is awake."
"Oh!" She gave a quick glance at the time and realized she should have been out of here ages ago, but apparently it worked out well since he finally was coherent it seemed. Madeleine went back to her previous task and Penny crossed the sickbay and stopped next to the biobed where they had a monitor keeping track of his condition. She took a look at the vitals scrolling across the display as she said to Marcus, "Nice to see you awake again, how are you feeling?"
Squinting hard, trying to avoid the inpour of light and attempting to make something of the vague blob of shadow that had just appeared and apparently spoke in a voice remarkably female and somehow vaguely familiar, the lieutenant rasped his dry vocal chords in trying to respond.
"Hhhhrgh!"
Some more rasping ensued, concluded by a hard swallow and a hoarse attempt at speech.
"H... HRM! Hi there. Doc, I arrghsume. Been better. Less thirsty..." He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, follow by some sort of blinking war between his vision and the ambient illumination. "Urgh, damn those lights... What happened? Them Cardies sprung a trap?"
Penelope retrieved a glass of water from the replicator and held it out to him. "I can't do much more about the lights, they're on the lowest setting already. As far as how your injury occurred, it's nothing nearly so exciting as that. From what I gather, you tripped and hit your head. It was pretty bad too," as she said this she loaded a hypo with a mild pain killer then leaned over him to administer the hypo at the neck. She decided to tell him about all that had happened on the ship while he was unconscious after she had made sure he was 100%.
"That should help with your headache." He hadn't mentioned it, but she recognized he was dehydrated and between that and the knock on the head that put him here in the first place, she was sure he must have a doozy.
He grimaced as the hypo left his skin, indicating he wasn't just sensitive to the lighting. Rubbing the spot of entry, his vision slowly clearing up, he blinked another few times at the doctor and only then noticed the glass she held. "Thanks," he mumbled and happily accepted the water, glugging it down as if it were a pitcher of Rom'ale during a stag night.
"I... sort of remember walking up to the Captain's chair, then it got dark." He rubbed his eyes and face absentmindedly while trying to think. "How long was I out?"
"Not for too long, half a day or so. We kept you sedated just to be on the safe side." Penny had been studying him as they talked, trying to determine if she saw any lingering effects from the head trauma that might indicate an underlying complication. It was more difficult for her to judge on just physical behavior. Usually in cases like this, having a more familiar knowledge of someone's personality or their mannerisms was the real giveaway. Unfortunately Penny hadn't spent enough time getting to know Lt. Trevanion to tell if anything was amiss. One of the downsides of being an introvert. She thought to herself it seemed a shame she didn't yet because he seemed like an interesting person to know, going only from appearances and the few interactions they had already had.
"Nurse Spencer, could you get me a neurocortical monitor please?" The other woman departed to retrieve the device without a word and Penny turned back to Marcus, "I want to fit you with a monitor just to be safe, for the next two days. If we don't detect any problems I can clear you for duty again at that time."
Trev nodded and felt his headache quickly melting away, his vision sharpening with every blink, too. Finally able to get a decent look at the good doctor poised above his downstricken self. Very fair, fairylike even. Interesting... oh, is that a scar? He wanted to reach up and ask her, but thought better of it, for now. He couldn't help but think his future checkups would be far more agreeable than he'd been used to.
The nurse returned and handed a device to Penny. As Penny took it, Madeleine asked Lt. Trevanion, "So do you remember the Hirogen trying to interrogate you?"
Penny shot the nurse an annoyed look, "We hadn't got around to discussing our current situation or the inspection yet. Thank you Madeleine." Her voice conveyed she was not at all thankful for the nurse’s contribution to the conversation. Penny gave Marcus an apologetic look.
Alarmed, his expression alternated between wide-eyedness and uncomfortable frowning, staring a few times back and forth between the nurse and the doctor, before blinking back into somewhat of a normal, albeit confused look. "Who? Hirogen? How the hell did they get here? And, why?"
Penny watched the confusion cross over his face, wishing it had come about more naturally in conversation than that, but clearly it couldn't be helped. She placed her hand on his arm reassuringly and then helped him to sit up. "After you were injured the Cardassians and the Vaadwaur pushed us out into the Delta Quadrant."
She affixed the neurocortical monitor on his temple as she continued, "Borg space to be specific. We are in Hirogen space now, with their uneasy approval." Penny thought about the research she had been working on and realized she was still wearing her reading glasses. She removed them and slid them into her pocket, suddenly feeling self conscious without being able to put her finger on the exact reason why. Pushing it aside she said, "We have to deal with inspections at their whim it seems. Everyone is a little..." she searched for the best way to phrase it, "...on edge at the moment." She offered a weak smile, hoping she hadn't overwhelmed him with too much information in one go.
Staring at a nondescript point across the ward, he breathed in slowly and let out a long, pondering sigh. Borg, Hirogen, Delta quadrant... what's all this, a seventies revival tour? Al least the Cardies were off the ship, or so he assumed, felt, hoped.
"They better not bust my training regime," he muttered, then shook his head, expecting a sharp pang between the ears, which there wasn't. Good stuff in that hypo. Trev turned his face sideways, back to meet Evans' eyes, pausing a few seconds for none or some reason, before speaking. "So, when are we going back?"
Penny assumed he was referring to the Alpha Quadrant, and as she looked back into his ice blue eyes she wished she had a better answer. "That's the million dollar question..."
This was no surprise, of course. Having served on the Bremen before, Marcus knew easy solutions belonged to the realm of fables, not this cosy galaxy here. He shrugged and relaxed his shoulders, accepting the situation as it presented itself. Not like he had places to be, anyway. That slight inquisitive look remained on his face, though.
"Dollar?" Never had those on Aldebaran, or the P of Cornwall, or anywhere... "Oh, right. Earth girl, I'm guessing, somewhere un-citylike perhaps?"
He had her number and Penny couldn't help but laugh. The nurse, who had already gone back to her other duties, glanced over in surprise. She had never heard the doctor laugh before, Penny always just seemed so tense or something.
"Indeed, Indiana in fact. I guess it's one of those colloquialisms that hung on. At least it did in a backwards place like I'm from. Even though the literal meaning has long since faded into history."
As she thought about this, she switched off the biobed vital display they had been using on him and then she finally said with a wry smile, "I guess I'm more of an open book than I realized. Or you are just particularly observant."
"Perhaps I am. Or it just stuck from reading all those crew profiles. They call me chief these days, so I sort of have to." He smiled, too, more genuine than polite, and observed a moment longer.
“I'm glad to know I haven't lost my air of mystery," she joked. It was about then that she became acutely aware that Madeleine was watching them, and another medical officer had joined her. Penny grabbed a padd and pulled up his medical file so she could input the treatment. "Well Lt. Trevanion, I think I can release you for now with the stipulation you keep the monitor on for two days. If all goes well we can remove it at that time. So I suppose that means I'll see you in a couple days."
She glanced up at him again from the padd and asked, "Any questions?"
Marcus blinked a few times and carefully touched that monitor Penny had stuck on his temple with a gentle finger, it's smoothness and small, comfortable size much to his liking. Threw a look at their onlookers, triggering them to diverge and get on with any tasks Evans had assigned them.
"No. Not right now. I might have a few, later, in, say, a few days."
Turning back towards her, he smiled ever so slightly and spoke with calm intent.
"Thank you, good doctor, for your care."
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Sept 7, 2017 10:53:01 GMT
Very nice log, well done!
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Post by Einar on Sept 7, 2017 14:46:37 GMT
ooooooOOOOOOoooohhhhhh
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Post by spacedaisy on Sept 7, 2017 23:24:05 GMT
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Rascal
Lore Committee
Posts: 120
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Post by Rascal on Jun 6, 2018 18:11:20 GMT
11806.04
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"I KNOW that you're capable, alright!? I wasn't even doubting you in the first place!"
With a deep sigh, Trev dropped his head and leaned forward, hands resting heavily on the deck fourteen TAC HQ office table, and remained like this for a few long moments before briefly glancing up again. Suddenly looking tired, as if there hadn't been much sleep for weeks, and maybe there hadn't, the Aldebaran borne Chief of Tactical seemed to radiate an air of defeatism, of uncertainty, of... age? Quite uncharacteristical for the guy. He kept looking at his desk, nowhere in particular, all over it really, as if searching for something that wasn't there in the first place.
"We've got saboteurs wandering about our ships and it's a fucking walk in the park for them. This thing here...", loosely gesturing at the multi-screened computer console, "...can see and track every single living organism on the ship, be it in rooms, corridors, 'tubes, as small as a damned rat. But it can't find shit if we don't tell it what exactly to look for. And, frankly, I have NO clue WHAT to tell it, at all!" Another sigh. "Chief of Security with no idea how to secure his own ship, on the inside, even. What a joke."
A fist banged the table and a grin flashed.
"See? This ONE person could beam us out into cold space without us even noticing, or worse!" Two second pause" And. We. Can't. Find them. Pathetic." He tilted his head up, so he could look his ever trustworthy second-in-command Ensign Colchester in the eyes, however incapable he might've looked.
"Tell me, Anne, have we overestimated our capabili... no... Have I been too complacent in taking on this job? I'm a fucking pilot, for crying out loud. A flyboy, not a triggerhead, let alone a department chief."
"Sir..." "It's Marcus, I told you." "S... Tr... Marcus? This sucker has all of us in the dark, even mister bigshot intelligence can't find 'em. This is way above our heads, all of ours. Davis, Mahassiné, Martin and Turimi'n, even that nerd Krull can't come up with some... magical... algorithym... thing. But WE have got to deal with it anyway, alright? All of us!" "Yeah, obviously... I wasn't asking about that, Anne."
A female sigh. "I know. And I don't know. Sir... Marcus. A lot of things aren't supposed to be the way they are these days."
No reply, just long, deep breaths.
She inhaled sharply, nodded and turned around towards the door, to get on with her long list of stuff to try and handle. Before walking out of this depressing room, she spoke over her shoulder. "It's just... if even you can't keep it together, then none of us can. Sir."
The doors swished closed behind Anne Colchester, and inside the room a monitoring screen experienced a less than gentle encounter with the opposing blueish grey duranium bulkhead.
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Post by Einar on Jun 6, 2018 18:50:20 GMT
oohh I love that! nice log G
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Post by aoibheni on Jun 6, 2018 20:16:01 GMT
Love that line. The whole log is great, but that made me laugh despite the grim situation.
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Post by spacedaisy on Jun 6, 2018 22:16:28 GMT
That was an excellent log!
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Post by Nola on Jun 6, 2018 23:55:51 GMT
Monitors and bulkheads: natural enemies. Nicely done, G
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2018 14:29:16 GMT
What a great log!
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