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Post by pscotty90 on May 22, 2020 0:22:20 GMT
Commodore Truman was pleased to be spending some time on the bridge of the Storm for a change. He was so often below decks doing paperwork in his office and leaving the ship to his XO, Captain Nevlar, that it was a welcome change of pace to be in the big chair. It was a frequent complaint from most flag officers that they felt detached from the day to day goings on aboard their ships, and for Truman especially given his continued resistance towards his rank. Sometimes he felt like he’d be much happier with a demotion…
He was shaken out of his train of thought as the deck vibrated through his chair. It’d been a long time since the Storm had need to travel for so long at high warp and she was beginning to show her age as one of the only Ambassador class vessels still in service. She shook and groaned periodically whenever she went past Warp eight, but Engineering had been working hard over the last few weeks to whip her back into shape. Although several crewmembers had been suffering space sickness in the meantime.
“Can’t the we adjust the inertial dampers? I don’t know how much more I can take,” Lieutenant Kelly, Storm’s very pale looking science officer said through gritted teeth.
“The dampers can only do so much, Lieutenant,” Truman replied in his usual brusque manner, “I’ve already told you that you may be excused if you need to take the rest of your shift off.”
“Not necessary, sir. At least at my post I can try to focus on something else. Besides we’re almost there.”
“Just don’t puke on the console, Kelly,” Nevlar piped up as the Andorian stood alongside the Captain’s chair. “Consider that an order.”
“Aye, sir.”
A titter of light-hearted ribbing went around the bridge from Commander Gallagher and Lieutenants V’Loc and Fowl, Storm’s Tactical, Helm and Operations officers respectively. Truman didn’t mind a little familiarity around his bridge when it came to his senior staff as long as they all knew when to cut it out which was always by the next time he spoke. It was a good crew and they knew how far they could take things before needing to shut up and do their damn jobs, even though they weren’t quite as accustomed to having him in the centre chair as much as he would like.
The chatter died down after a few minutes and for the next hour the crew returned to their usual professionalism. Helm and Ops discussed a few operational details with each other, while science and tactical shared responsibilities to get a few sensor re-calibrations arranged. Nevlar patrolled the bridge with his characteristic straight-backed stern presence, and Truman allowed himself to quietly sit in his chair and soak up the hum of the engines and the steady rhythm of the navigation array pulsating.
He was doing his best to relax before they reached Cestus III.
Soon enough he’d be in a dress uniform schmoozing with politicians and diplomats and attending mind numbing conferences… It was his own version of hell, and the only comfort he gained is that this was all in aid of continued peace with the Gorn, a not insubstantial Galactic power. Though in the back of his mind still rested a strong feeling of unease over the whole arrangement. In his experience Gorn do not make an effort to play nice and in this case playing nice was their idea.
“Approaching the Cestus system, Commodore,” Lieutenant V’Loc announced after a time, “Dropping out of warp and entering local sub-light traffic lanes.”
“Understood, helm,” Truman responded, “Ops, notify the Cestus Administrator of our arrival. Then get me updated ETA’s on the arrival of the conference delegates.”
Lieutenant Fowl responded and made the necessary calls over the comm. It only took her a matter of minutes while Storm meanwhile slipped into orbit of Cestus III, passing by various other ships from various origins on her way.
“The Administrator reports that all the non-Federation delegations have arrived except for the Talarians. They’ll likely be here by the end of the day.” Fowl reported back.
It only left the Zorya to arrive. Truman silently reminded himself that it wasn’t Marsland’s fault that they had been delayed by a few days, although he was loathe to give him even that much credit.
“Administrator Fontana also invites you to a reception dinner this evening,” Fowl added cautiously.
Truman allowed an audible groan and forced himself out of his chair.
“Tell the Administrator that I will be in attendance.”
He felt a certain tension return to his shoulders as he headed towards the turbolift. He hated the thought of forcing himself back into his dress uniform.
Still, he took a certain comfort from the idea that he’d be able to make Marsland suffer through more of these meet-and-greets in a few days’ time.
He ordered the lift back to his quarters, and as the doors closed he allowed himself to slump against the back wall… It was going to be a long few days.
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Post by pscotty90 on May 25, 2020 2:17:19 GMT
INCOMING MISSION ORDERS
CO: Marsland, stuff yourself into a dress uniform and beam down to the conference as soon as you arrive. You’ll be allowed an entourage at your discretion but report to me as soon as you make it down. I shall introduce you to the key players here.
XO/CTO: Jo, Douglas, your job is to handle security for the conference. Arrange it at your discretion but remember that we’re going to have a lot of races in close proximity on the surface as well as a good number of ships in orbit. Cover all possibilities as best you can between you.
CEO/OPS/CMO: I’m sure you all have duties to perform but all senior staff have a standing invitation to attend the conference and the rest of the planet at their discretion.
Special Notes In Zorya’s absence a few preliminary meetings have already taken place. The Gorn continue to be apologetic for what they say were a group of rogue privateers during the Talarian event.
The first major meeting is set to take place the day you arrive with an introductory dinner followed by a presentation from the Gorn representative detailing the current issues they are having with these privateers.
The following day will see the discussion of reparations for Federation and Talarian losses and additional discussions with the Klingon and Romulan delegates in regard to where the privateers may have obtained their cloaking tech…
Something about this still doesn’t sit right with me. The first meet and greet was almost creepy with how accommodating the Gorn were attempting to be. The local Administrator says that this is the experience he usually has with Gorn but I’m not sure I believe him. But as long as they are playing nice we have to play nice. Sooner or later we’ll figure out what is actually going on here.
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Post by Tom Marsland on May 25, 2020 15:19:20 GMT
Mission Briefing, Stardate 12005.25
“That sonofa…”
The sounds of yelling came from the Ready Room.
“Who the hell does he think he is…”
Marsland quieted down at this point, and began recording. As he spoke, the words appeared on the screen, sent to all senior staff.
Mission Briefing, Stardate 12005.25.
ALL: We are headed to the Cestus System to take part in continued peace talks with the Gorn. I’m appending Commodore Truman’s orders to these. The uniform for being down on the planet in the conference is, of course, our Dress Uniform.
CMO: Doctor, all senior staff have a standing invitation to join the conference, however, per the Commodore’s direction, also have security to deal with. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate your accompanying me to the conference when the XO is unable.
Crew, let’s get to the bottom of this conference. The last thing the Federation needs to find itself in is another shooting war.
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Post by pscotty90 on May 31, 2020 23:39:10 GMT
Meanwhile...
The conference hall was a pleasant environment but it was by no means grand. It had a look of a lot of generic Federation function rooms. The walls were a light beige with tritanium supports breaking up the wall panels here and there. It was sizeable; accommodating well over a hundred delegates in attendance and serving staff but with still more than enough room left over to walk around. At a guess the room was probably not even at half capacity, but the empty space was filled with buffet tables and an assortment of seating. Towards the far end of the hall was a hallway that led to a number of smaller meeting rooms.
The only real indicators of not being aboard a ship or space station were at the front of the room where a set of glass double doors, inlaid with the Federation seal, merged with a large bay window that looked out onto the modest, yet still impressive colony of Pike City. Looking out revealed a set of steps leading down a steep, rocky hill leading into an urban centre which had the appearance of an old fort with a series of newer looking skyscrapers growing out of it.
This was standard procedure for a lot of colonies which were set up in the mid-23rd Century. Start with a solid, defensible base which sheltered the whole colony and build upwards before growing outwards. Sure enough, it appeared that some residential buildings and industrialised farmland were beginning to dot themselves around the original confines of the old outpost as well.
Ensign Volkova had made all of these observations almost as soon as she, Marsland and Rousseau had beamed in.
She had also noticed the five Klingons boisterously laughing as one of them forced a bottle of bloodwine into the hands of an Andorian diplomat and cheered with delight as he chugged down the entire contents. There were the Romulan envoys, looking sadly dishevelled compared with the other diplomats in the room who none the less still carried a sense of superiority about them as they gathered with a group of Federation ambassadors and a pair of Cardassians quietly observed from just outside the conversation. And all the while there were various representatives from dozens of species all mingling with each other all around the room.
Then there were the Gorn.
Volkova had spotted at least eight of them. A relatively large contingent compared with all the others. But while the other various races seemed to gather in groups of their organisation or species, the Gorn had spread out all around the room. The only exception were a pair over by a makeshift bar area, the larger of which was wearing a flowing robe over their otherwise bare, scaly chest speaking to the much shorter Commodore Truman. Volkova supposed that they were the lead representative at the conference and it seemed that they were at least attempting to be cordial. The other standing next to them meanwhile appeared stern, with the kind of talent of observation that Volkova shared as it stared around the room. A bodyguard, most likely.
Volkova thought briefly about following Marsland as he was led through the crowd by the Cestus Administrator toward Truman, but decided against it. Instead she located the various Starfleet Security guards that were spaced out around the perimeter of the hall, and took up her own position over at a relatively uncovered area by the back wall where she could keep a close eye on the proceedings.
“Volkova to Zorya,” she said as she tapped her commbadge, “I’ll be keeping this channel open… Something doesn’t feel right…”
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Post by pscotty90 on Jun 15, 2020 17:26:12 GMT
Boozed Bolian Bothers
The stretched out smile may have been forced on the Bolian's face but it couldn't cover up the look of fear in his eyes. Cordan couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before when the man had first approached him. Still, for all of the play-acting he did seem genuinely drunk as he swayed from side to side, a glass of some liquor or another still clutched in his hand.
"My friend," he said with a slur, "Whaddya say we go back to that bar again, eh?"
“If you insist, we can go aboard the Zorya. We have a lovely bar in the mess hall.” He says trying his best to comfort the Bolian and help him get to the bottom of all this.
He could see Volkova still observing from the sidelines, poised to step in whenever he needed her too.
"Ahh, you're too kind," the Bolian said, exaggerating the words as though he'd not be able to say them otherwise, "But if I left, what would happen to all these other people? Hmm? So many people that would suffer for my absence." He broke down into a fit of chuckling and he wobbled so much it seemed like he would fall over, yet he shook off Cordan's attempt to steady him. Nearby, a pair of Tandaran guests threw him a look of contempt before walking further away from the scene.
Cordan smiles at the Bolian, “I understand sir, we would only be gone for a few minutes and then we will be back, no-one will miss you I promise. Besides, I think I have a full case of bloodwine 2309. I keep it for special occasions.” He says not saying anything about the 5 other cases he has stowed in the cargo bay..
The Bolian stopped and considered for a moment. His eyes displayed none of the apparent jovialness he was trying to convey. He stared at Cordan for a long moment. "I'm afraid not, my good man," he said at last, "I simply must stay. There are protocols after all."
His eyes shifted around the crowd, and as Cordan looked with him he saw the Administrator, happily mingling with the other guests but staring right at them.
Cordan ponders and checks to see if Volkova is still around, “Of course. Protocols, the bain of a diplomats existence.” He walks the Bolian over to the bar, “Are you, alright sir?”
Volkova subtly followed them, moving around the outskirts of the crowd to give the appearance of patrolling before moving closer to the bar. The Bolian seemed to watch her warily but didn't seem as concerned by her as he did the Administrator.
"Fine, just fine," he laughed, but with a growing weariness to his voice. It seemed as though his constant drinking was bringing him towards exhaustion. "I think bloodwine sounded like a fine idea though. The Klingons brought their own barrels. We should indulge in a flagon or two."
“Don’t let it be heard that Cordan turns down Klingon Bloodwine.” He nodded to the bartender, he leans in closer to the Bolian to try and be a bit quieter, “Sir, if you need help just say I am here to assist you if you need it.”
"Hmm? Oh no, I'm fine, my good man, just fine!" he said again. He was repeating the words over and over. They didn't exactly sound convincing. He took a tankard of bloodwine that the bartender quickly returned with a tipped it back with apparent relish, but it was hard for Cordan not to spot his hand shaking as it reached his lips, so much so that a generous measure spilled out and stained the front of the ornate suit he was wearing. If he noticed it didn't seem to bother him.
“Sir. Trust me, you can tell me what is wrong everything you say I will take in confidence and not reveal unless you require me to.” He says trying to dig deeper.
The Bolian stared at him. There was worry etched all over his brow. His hands continued to shake even as he put his tankard back down on the bar. It was clear that he wanted to reach out to Cordan, just as much as when he first asked for help but something was holding him back. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak when he was suddenly interrupted by the sound of Administrator Fontana using his champagne glass as a crystal ball to get the room's attention. "If I might have everyone's attention, please," he said as gazes turned towards him. The gathered species quickly fell to a hushed murmur and Cordan could just see past the various heads in front of him to see the Administrator stood in the centre of the room, the the Gorn War Leader stood close by.
He turned back, hoping to perhaps take the opportunity to lead the Bolian away while everyone's attention was elsewhere only to find that he had once again disappeared. He threw a questioning look over to Volkova only to find that she was focussed on the Administrator and did her own double take of where the Bolian had left an empty space. Her head swiveled about as she looked about the room for him, as did Cordan, but to no avail until their eyes fell on each other again. "What the f-?" she soundlessly mouthed over to him.
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Post by pscotty90 on Jun 22, 2020 14:17:19 GMT
Boozed Bolian Bothers - Pt. 2
In a dark, out of the way and out of sight corner of the conference hall Administrator Fontana slammed a very drunk Bolian against the wall, pinning him by his throat with his arm.
“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?!” he spat, “Do you want to die?! If you’re so eager then I’m happy to do it myself!”
The other man was so drunk that a string of drool fell from his lips and onto the Administrator’s sleeve, much to his revulsion. He released his hold and the Bolian slid down the wall, crumpling to the floor. There was a quiet moment, and then he began to openly weep. Fontana stood back and looked down on him with pure distaste.
The Administrator had known Coordinator Lixx for many years. Unlike Fontana, Lixx hadn’t grown up on Cestus. He had arrived as part of a Federation led expansion project back in the 2380’s, but he had instantly thrown himself into the growing Cestus culture. They had met a few years later, once Fontana had joined the then-Administrator’s staff, and though they had never really been friends Fontana had always respected Lixx’s rational and calm demeanor and enjoyed his occasional fun-loving flights of enthusiasm. Which is why when Fontana rose to be Administrator, Lixx had been near top of his list to be on his staff. He was regretting that today.
“Get the fuck up!” he commanded after a moment of leaving Lixx in a heap, “Pull it together!”
Lixx sniveled and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his suit. He slowly pulled himself back onto his feet. Fontana grabbed a napkin from a nearby serving trolley and threw it to him. He rubbed his eyes and blew his nose into and stuffed the rag into his pocket. He didn’t look at Fontana, his eyes fixed to the floor, but the Administrator could tell that he still looked like hell. Lixx sniffed back a few more tears and steadied himself, leaning heavily against the wall still.
“I’ll… I’ll grab a raktajino before going back to the party… Sober up some,” he said at last.
“You’re not going anywhere near there,” Fontana retorted, the harshness still putting an edge to his words, “Get yourself cleaned up and beam over to the Site. Relax, all I want is a report,” he added when he saw the look of horror on Lixx’s face, “I want you to make sure things are running… Smoothly. I’ll finish things here. It should be all on me anyway.”
Lixx nodded, though he didn’t look any happier. He began to slump away, heading for the Administrative quarters where he could sober up and get into some more comfortable clothes.
“Lixx,” Fontana said, getting Lixx to turn around and look him in the eye for the first time in weeks, “If you speak to Starfleet again you will be killed.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he said with a hardness that was not there before.
“Good. Because it won’t be just you.”
Lixx nodded again and then turned back, disappearing around a corner and down the hallway.
Fontana let out a long sigh of tension and grabbed another napkin, dapping it across his forehead. From his tuxedo pocket he pulled out a small PADD and took a moment to check through his messages and log reports as he composed himself before returning it. He tugged down on his shirt cuffs, squared his shoulders and flattened the front of his jacket before heading back towards the doorway leading to the party. He took one final deep breathe as he reached the doors, and as they slid open he forced the broad, welcoming smile that he had been wearing all week.
His face was aching so much. But he knew it would only be for a little while longer.
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Post by pscotty90 on Jul 6, 2020 10:06:27 GMT
Brace, Brace, Brace
Zorya
"Listen very carefully," Gutey said with a serious tone, looking at the whole audience on the Bridge. The situation was indeed tense, and while Geoffrey had his fair share of leadership experience, it wasn't often that he was in command of the entire ship and crew. With the communications down and the rest of the senior staff on the planet's surface, all the attention and pressure was put on him. There was no other choice but to stay calm and think carefully. Fortunately, his years spent on Vulcan gave him the focus he needed.
"We can't use transporters, so we can't recover anyone from the surface yet...except Saleen and Emeric, provided they got our message. And we need to assume they have." Gutey gave a general look to everyone before proceeding to illustrate his plan.
"Helm, I want you to get us as close to the planet as possible, and make contact with the shuttle. Tactical, once we're within range, lock on to it with a tractor beam. Once we have them," he proceeded looking at the crewman at the helm, "turn the ship about and go to Warp One. Once our communications system is free from the jamming, we can contact Starfleet and ask for reinforcements. Questions?"
Lieutenant Bleet kept his eyes on his controls at the helm but listened in as Gutey gave the commands behind him.
"Sir, we have three of those Gorn Warbirds coming up from the surface. They're blocking our path," he said while simultaneously following orders regardless and bringing the ship about towards the planet.
"With respect, sir. We can't just leave the Captain and the rest of the staff to fend for themselves on the surface." Ensign Reynolds spoke, barely before Bleet could finish his sentence.
"There is nothing we can do for them at present. The logical course of action is to withdraw and request further aid from Starfleet." Ensign T'Pann suggested rationally from her station at Operations.
Gutey nodded and took a breath, relieved to know that at least one of the crewmen aboard the ship agreed with him and he wasn't completely losing his edge.
"That's exactly right, Ensign T'Pann. Mr. Reynolds," he added moving closer to the man's station, "believe me when I say that leaving our people behind is the last thing I want to do. But we're outnumbered, with no way of communicating. In order to mount a rescue operation, we need to remain in one piece."
The Lieutenant Commander stopped, took another breath, then returned to the chair that held the most value, but also the most responsibility. "Signal Engineering to prioritize the engines, shields and tractor beam. Carry out my orders, Lieutenant."
Bleet looked visibly a little shaken as the GornBirds came into view. "Aye, sir," he forced himself to say dutifully.
Just like the ship Zorya had previously gone up against at the Talarian border a couple of months ago, the three ships had the same curved, double wing design as a Romulan Warbird and were clearly canibalised versions of the ships but with stocky, heavily reinforced hulls in the centre where the neck and head used to be and bristling with heavy-duty disruptor cannons. Along the underside of each of the four arching wings was another one of the smaller raiders, docked and apparently on standby to launch.
"Shields at maximum, all weapons hot and standing by, Reynolds reported, wisely choosing not to say anything further, though clearly discontented with the situation.
"The Storm is moving towards our aft," T'Pann added, "It appears as though they are preparing to cover us against the raiders."
"They wouldn't stand a chance against those Battleships anyway," Bleet said under his breath.
Meanwhile, aboard the shuttle Ensign Saleen and Lieutenant Emeric were desperately trying to get out of the planet as soon as possible. The human Ensign was at the helm of the shuttle and she was bent on jumping to warp once they were in space, as ordered by Inala. A new blip on the radar changed the plan.
“Lieutenant, I’m detecting numerous ships on an intercept course…plus the Zorya! They are moving…towards us!”
On the Bridge of the Akira class ship, Geoffrey Gutey caught a glimpse of the shuttle after ordering OPS to magnify the screen.
“There they are! Maximum thrust. Lock onto them with the tractor beam as soon as they are within range.”
“Aye aye,” Bleet said as he ordered for Full Impulse power together with continual thrust from the aft thrusters with his console. His eyes were set on his instruments and he was just hoping he would be good enough to get the Zorya through the blockade of Warbirds ahead of them.
The three battleships stared them down as Zorya raced towards the planet. Bleet hoped that he could close the distance before they could open fire. Maybe do a high-speed turn to starboard to go around them should they move to intercept. He was confident he could get by them, just as long as they didn’t launch those raiders under their wings.
On his sensors he saw the first flicker of weapons fire between the raiders behind them and the Storm covering their backs, but he didn’t have time to think about that. He just focussed on getting the Zorya through the ships in front of them, and braced himself as he stared down the cannons all pointed in their direction.
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Post by pscotty90 on Jul 11, 2020 15:18:56 GMT
Snakes in the Grass
Cestus III, Pike City, Colonial Administration Headquarters, Conference Wing
As the Starfleet personnel were escorted away, a few of the serving staff slipped the phaser rifles back onto their shoulders and began picking up the various chairs and tables that had been thrown about in the chaos. Their Gorn masters kept a close eye on the other guests that had joined the Federation in fighting back, most notably the Talarians and certain members of the Klingon delegation. The guests from the various Federation worlds were quiet and stayed out of the way, many clearly in shock, even those who were from Cestus and were aware what was going to happen. The other non-Federation delegates merely stood back and observed. The Cardassians and Romulans found their quiet corners to watch and spoke amongst themselves.
War Leader S'Tlath stood in the centre of the room with Co-ordinator Lixx and Administrator Fontana nervously staying by her. She watched the room carefully, observing everyone's reactions. She had no doubt that there would be many others in the room that would have to be removed but that could come later. Starfleet was the obstacle and that had now been taken care of.
She turned her attention back to the viewscreen above them and saw her fleet still surrounding the USS Zorya. She had been as good as her word and ceased the assault on her as soon as Commander Douglas had relented. The Federation ship appeared a blackened hulk now. Drifting aimlessly. Given enough time it would undoubtedly slip out of orbit and burn up in the atmosphere but she had no intention of allowing that. Starfleet would get her back in due course and just as soon as she was sure the current prisoners were secure she would order Zorya to be taken under tow and her crew transferred to the surface as well. So far everything had gone almost without complication, though she admitted that she did not expect the USS Storm to have been quite so fragile. Nor did she expect to be primarily dealing with an upstart Lieutenant Commander rather than Commander Marsland or Commodore Truman. In the end though it was no matter.
"The Tholians observed the demonstration?" She asked Fontana.
"Yes," he replied grimly, "Their transport kept to a safe distance but they were in visual range of the battle the whole time."
"Excellent. I'm sure the Cardassians will make arrangements for the Tzenkethi and Breen to see their logs but do please send our records to them directly. And the Sheliak as well."
Fontana nodded and made some notations on a PADD, not daring to look up at the screen. Lixx couldn't look up either. It was all he could do to keep from being sick.
"You dishonour us all!" Came a voice from the back of the room, as the Talarian, Captain Xolon marched forward towards the War Leader. He grabbed the ceremonial dagger she had presented to him only minutes before and threw at her. The flat of the sheathed blade hit her hard in the face before clattering to the ground and the whole room, as quiet as it was already, took on a sinister edge.
The War Leader however seemed to take it in stride and waved off a guard who approached Xolon with the intent of ripping him in two.
"I admit my methods are extreme, Captain, but I remind you that this conference was held for the benefit of the Talarian people." She turned away from him, "And as I understand it, Talarians know the value of surprise. Not to mention that we, like you, also have worlds that are ours by right which are in Federation hands, or did. Before we retook this planet and its system. We have much in common with your…" she trailed off as she turned her head to look back at Xolon, examining his smooth human head, "With the Talarian people." His mind may be Talarian by indoctrination but his DNA was all Terran, and he understood the meaning of her correction instantly.
"My people; my brothers and sisters trust that I will serve Talar and our Empire. And they trust me to uphold our honour. We may use a ruse in battle to gain the upper hand but we do not offer a bond of brotherhood while clutching a blade behind our backs!" he spat.
"I understand," S'Tlath said, "If you wish to leave this hall then we will make arrangements for you and your party to be returned to your ship. But given that you do represent the best interests of your people then I urge you to stay and listen to what the Gorn Hegemony has to offer your people."
"How can we trust a single thing you say?" he snorted with a mock laugh.
"You can't," she retorted, now addressing the rest of the room as much as him, "But this entire room is filled with species who only have their own interests to keep. Who will seize opportunities if it will give them an edge, even the Klingons for all their talk of honour. The Talarians are part of a wider galaxy now. Your neighbours aren't just the Federation but all of us, and unlike Starfleet the rest of us are far more willing to spill blood to get what we want. No it is not honourable, but if Talarians wish to survive the next century then you are going to have to learn, as a people, that sacrificing honour for the sake of staying ahead in this Galactic game is necessary. And, it is best if you don't trust anyone."
She left Xolon to ponder her words for a moment as one of the Cardassian diplomats inserted himself into the conversation.
"Pardon my interruption," the Cardassian said, with an eerily smooth voice, "But may I ask what is to become of the Starfleet and Federation members that have been escorted away from here?"
"They will be taken away. We have a facility on the planet to deal with them," S'Tlath responded, causing Fontana to tense up next to her.
"I would ask on behalf of my government that they not be harmed."
"They won't be, provided they remain obedient. Though may I ask why a Cardassian would care about Starfleet lives in the first place?"
"I have merely found over the years that blood spilled needlessly rarely comes without a cost… They may prove useful." The Cardassian held her gaze and she got the distinct impression that he was holding something back, but she had no intention of harming anyone regardless. She smiled at her guest.
"You needn't concern yourself. They will be taken to a labor camp on the Eastern continent where they, like most of the Colonists of this world, will be put to work. They will be safe and secure."
The Cardassian bowed his head graciously and moved back into the crowd with the rest of his delegation. They watched him warily with a mixture of fear and loathing that she found curious. Meanwhile, Xolon appeared at least temporarily placated, though one of the other Gorn stood close by the Talarians.
There was a pause as the staff continued to put the room into some semblance of order, and after disappearing into the back for some time the bartenders returned without weaponry and took up their posts behind the bar. While the atmosphere had no doubt changed from before it was as otherwise as though nothing had taken place. S'Tlath had intentionally allowed somehow the Federation diplomats to remain in the room and they were keeping a quiet, huddled distance away from everywhere else. They looked to her like pathetic, caged animals. It was pointless making any overtures to the likes of Vulcans or Andorians or Betazoids, but not all Federation races were as indoctrinated to the cause. The Zakdorn, Tellarites and Bajorans all had a slim but solid chance of being receptive. Up to a point anyway.
With a hum of activity returning to the room as the various guests began to risk talking amongst themselves, One other Honour Guard approached and nodded, telling her that all of the removed parties were secure and would not pose any further obstacle. The next phase could begin.
She threw a look at Fontana who stepped forward.
"Honoured friends, now that the demonstration has concluded I hereby must announce that Cestus is now officially in the servitude of the Gorn Hegemony," he said with a tremble in his voice. It occurred to S'Tlath that Fontana just have still had some hope that Starfleet would somehow win. He was now broken. "As previously mentioned by War Leader S'Tlath, any delegation that has seen enough or is opposed to our actions is welcome to return to their vessels and depart with the Hegemony's blessings. Otherwise, the planned negotiations will continue to take place over the next two days."
Fontana used his PADD and the display that had previously shown the events of the battle in orbit switched to a list of talks and events, all scheduled at various times during the day and in a number of assigned rooms in the conference hall.
"You are welcome to enjoy the continued hospitality we have to offer here, and War Leader S'Tlath is open to any immediate questions you may have." The Administrator once again bowed and backed away, grabbing Lixx by the arm and the pair of them exited the hall, with the intent to make arrangements to have the prisoners transferred to the Labour Camp.
It was a gamble for the Gorn, to carry out S'Tlath's plan. The Imperator required much convincing on her part but ultimately this had proven fruitful. The prototype Carrier Warbirds, despite the destruction of one of them by Starfleet, had proven themselves in combat, both covert and overt, and had proven a technology and level of power that was largely beyond many of the assembled worlds. Jamming technology that could flummox even Starfleet's advanced comms and sensors. Raiders that could out manoeuvre their vessels in combat. Battleships that could punch through their shields with comparative ease. Her original plan of covertly destabilising the Federation's borders with their lesser neighbours sadly did not pan out. But the Federation was still weak. The True Federation and Bok'Nor pact showed that, and taking advantage of the situation the Gorn could finally become a major power in the Quadrant. With their new ships. All they needed were greater resources and an economy to drive production. Providing other races with these new and advanced technologies was an obvious step towards that.
It was not the traditional Gorn way, but societies need to evolve if they are to progress. And despite the many death threats to her and the Imperator by rival houses, they were yet to succeed.
"How will you stop Starfleet from coming to retake the colony?" one of the Klingons asked gruffly, "You may have taken it through subterfuge but we saw the battle. A Starfleet shuttle escaped. They will no doubt inform their superiors. Will you run away with your Warbirds at the first sign of a Federation fleet?"
"Starfleet was no doubt going to discover our occupation of Cestus sooner or later. We would have preferred it to have been after the conference, but we are prepared to deal with it no matter when it comes. We do not expect it to come down to strength of arms."
"That would be where the colonists and Starfleet prisoners come in, yes?" the smooth talking Cardassian once again interjected.
"Precisely…" S'Tlath admitted.
"We… Will listen to what you have to say," Captain Xolon said grudgingly at last, having stayed silent since his original outburst. His assembled retinue looked equally as unhappy over the decision but said nothing.
There was a murmur of agreement from other races around the room, including one of the Bajoran guests which S'Tlath found quite pleasing but was obviously looked upon with distaste by his remaining Federation comrades. Only the Klingons showed a distinct level of discord, with the members of various houses disagreeing on how they viewed the Federation. That was fine though. She was not concerned with disagreements. This was, after all, diplomacy at work.
“Shall we begin?” she asked.
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Post by pscotty90 on Jul 20, 2020 1:51:42 GMT
Snakes in the Grass - Part 2
Cestus III, Pike City, Colonial Administration Headquarters, Conference Wing
“Missing?” Fontana cringed as the War Leader asked the question.
“Yes Ma’am. Commodore Truman, Commanders Feyna and Douglas, and Dr. Rousseau. Two of your security detail were too but we found their… Their remains.”
“They were overpowered?” she asked.
“We’re unsure what happened. All we know is that they were vaporised by a disruptor.”
His legs shook and he felt like running away as he looked up at the great madam Gorn. She had never once been violent towards him but she didn’t have to be to get across how incredibly dangerous she was. In many ways she was far more terrifying than the typical savage Gorn. Her savagery was considered and thought out. Planned to the tiniest detail to inflict maximum harm. It reminded him of visiting a zoo once when he was a boy and seeing a Boa Constrictor feeding. First it would slowly, almost tenderly wrap itself around its prey and squeeze the life out of it before it swallows it whole. He had always felt like prey around the War Leader. Even before all this...
“How long ago?”
“Twenty minutes. Perhaps a little more,” Fontana said shakily, “Our security has been moving back and forth to take groups to the excavation site. We hadn’t noticed anyone was missing right away.”
“It’s fine, Administrator,” she said, allowing him a brief sigh of relief, “My soldiers were responsible for the prisoners. I suspect that I may have under estimated Mr. Douglas’ tenacity. I am disappointed that I could not count on his word though.” She was speaking in relatively hushed tones by the entrance to the conference hall while the other races now sat gathered around a hastily constructed negotiation table, albeit still happily drinking from the bar. Mostly the Klingons.
“Should we… Resume the attack on the Zorya.” Fontana asked tentatively.
“Not at all. I keep my promises,” she replied.
“We are continuing to search for them. But the Administration complex is large. They could be hiding anyway and we only have so many people.”
“I will arrange for a scanning team from one of my vessels to assist you. But I would not be too overly concerned. Their disappearance may be meddlesome but it likely won’t interfere. Lockdown the conference and the transporter.”
He sent a message on his PADD to his own teams which was simultaneously copied over to the Gorn commanders elsewhere around the planet and in orbit.
The War Leader looked through the windows of the conference hall towards the sprawling Pike City and remained still as she thought. Fontana knew to stay by her side and he saw Lixx out of the corner of his eye checking his own PADD and exiting the room per his instructions.
“I think… one last thing, Administrator,” she said after a moment, “Tell all of our teams that if they find the missing prisoners, put Commander Douglas to death. I think we can spare one of them.”
“Understood,” he replied obediently, yet grimly. Once again he sent a message out on the his PADD as she turned back toward the conference taking place behind them. Fontana followed close behind as he still tapped out commands when a message came through with a chime. He opened it, read it and the fear he was feeling increased.
“Something more, Ma’am. It… It seems Lieutenant Cordan has gone missing at the site. The security officer who was with him apparently created a diversion and he may have found a way into the launch bay with Warbird 4.”
She turned around quickly, causing Fontana to freeze as she looked right at him coldly.
“Could they have received any further help from the workers?” she asked.
“I...I don’t know Ma’am… B...But my people know the consequences. I am sure they did not.”
“Very good. I will handle this myself. We can use this as an opportunity to show our guests too. I will go immediately. Arrange for the delegates to follow.”
He nodded subserviently and moved towards the conference table as she marched out of the room. Some of the guests began to question this, but Fontana played the good host straight away and assured them that everything was in order and invited them to finish their drinks and follow him to the transporter.
War Leader S’Tlath made her way through the conference building. She considered for a moment the possible risk to herself with the thought of Douglas and the others somewhere roaming the halls but as she moved further away from the conference, through the spralling mass of corridors and lobbies, she began to detect the distant smell of ozone and burned flesh that gave away the disruptor fire that Fontana mentioned. For most races it would be barely noticeable but Gorn sense of smell was almost second to none. There was something else in the air too. Human blood. At least one of them was injured and that meant that they would likely be tending to themselves for now.
She reached the transporter where there were already a team of Gorn and human guards waiting as per Fontana’s orders. They said nothing as she stepped up onto the pad and she tapped a control pad on her wrist. The transporter immediately whirred into life and began to rush her away in a beam of light.
Everything else could wait. This Lieutenant Cordan was now the only thing on her mind...
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Post by pscotty90 on Sept 20, 2020 10:30:09 GMT
Attention All Hands…
The tumbling hulk of the Zorya had been on a degrading orbitI for several hours now. With main power offline it appeared as little more than a shadow in the sky, but any minute now it’s mass would start skimming against the atmosphere of Cestus III and a deadly orange hue would begin to illuminate the dead ship. Without shields or engines the Zorya had no chance of surviving.
Her crew had been frantically cutting through bulkheads, stabilizing structural containment fields and keeping life support functioning as best they could to ensure that they could get all the survivors, a little more than half of the original complement, to the escape pods. Damage control teams had been working non-stop as they broke through to areas of the ship that had been cut off to rescue civilians and other members of the crew, some of whom had been trapped in compartments that had lost power completely. Many had been simply waiting for death in the pitch black cold, and yet they had still been the lucky ones. Many more had met their end vented into space or engulfed in the explosions that had ripped through the ship during the attack.
Commander Gutey had placed Lieutenant Bleet in charge of the final arrangements to abandon ship. In the hours since the attack everyone had been running on adrenaline and fear and even once everyone was in the lifeboats that wasnæt going to go away any time soon. But they needed a moment to take stock and plan their next moves. There was just enough time for him to brief the surviving officers on the evacuation plan before going forward.
They had assembled in sickbay, an area still maintained as one of the safest on the ship. The wards were full of injured so Bleet ushered the officers into the relatively empty waiting area. All of them pilots to man the thirty six escape pods needed for the evacuation. It was a tight fit, but it was just enough room for all of them to cram in as Bleet stood on top of a waiting chair to get a good look at everyone. As they shuffled in he had everyone grab a ration pack and water bottle too. He figured that if they were going to listen to him they might as well get a bite to eat at the same time.
They looked like a bedraggled bunch. Everyone’s uniform was creased and dirtied with various tears, stains or burns all over. All of them had given up trying to look neat and tidy a long time ago with some having given up wearing their jackets. Their faces all looked exhausted and desperate.
“Ok, this will only take a minute,” Bleet began, taking in a deep breath as he looked down from his position on top of the chair, “Our final checks have been completed and pods eleven through forty seven are good to go. As we speak the rest of the crew are gathering at their designated pods. Do you all know your assignments?”
There was a tired nod of heads from everyone and a quiet murmur of affirmation.
“Good. Pods eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen and fifteen have been outfitted for the medical patients,” he said, referring to the pods closest to sickbay that would carry the most critically injured, “Sixteen, seventeen and eighteen are reserved for civilian personnel who do not have Starfleet family members.” He felt a twinge as he thought about how that included people whose family had died in the attack at their posts.
“The rest of the pods are assigned in accordance to usual regs. Where possible families have been kept together and each pod has a mix of skill sets to maximise your chances of survival when you reach the planet’s surface. We will begin boarding operations as soon as we leave here.”
“What about the Gorn?” a young looking Ensign asked from the rear of the group, “They could just come after us again. Pick us off one by one. Aren’t we still safer aboard the ship?”
“Zorya’s dead stick. Shy of a miracle if we stay here we’re going to burn up in the atmosphere. There is a risk the Gorn will pick us off but if they wanted us dead they would have finished off the ship already.”
The soft and logical voice of Lieutenant T’Pann spoke amidst the crowd. “Additionally there is a possibility that the growing ionisation from the atmosphere will mask our escape to a degree.”
“Exactly,” Bleet continued, “But we aren’t banking entirely on that. We have a number of escape courses mapped out and we’ll be launching in stages so that we can keep an eye on what the Gorn are doing and we’ve made arrangements to remotely launch a number of dummy pods to throw them off if they decide to come after us.”
He stopped to take a breath and took a swig of his water ration. Bleet wasn’t used to talking this much and he definitely wasn’t used to taking charge in any situation.
“Your pods have all been given set coordinates on the planet surface. They’ll be spread out, away from settlements and in areas of good cover like mountain ranges or forests. When you land, grab your gear and move out as far as you can. Find a place to dig in and wait until rescue. Don’t forget to have your emergency transponders set for Federation encryption only. We know that it’ll be only a matter of time until Starfleet comes out here.”
He looked at their faces. All scared, or at least concerned in the case of the Vulcans in the room. Some of them were only a year or two out of the Academy yet they were given the responsibility to take command of their lifeboat and save the lives put into their care. Bleet knew he needed to offer something more than just the facts of the plan.
“Look, we know that this isn’t exactly a foolproof plan. We don’t know what the Gorn will do when we start launching those pods. But we’re all trained to handle the unexpected. We’re Starfleet. And when something goes wrong we work the problem until it’s solved and then we move on to the next one. And the next. And the next, until we’re safe and back together again.”
“We’ve lost a lot of good people today. I can’t promise we’re not gonna lose any more. But we’re not going to give up. That’s not what we do. So let’s do our jobs and save whoever we can. Because at the end of the day, we’re the fucking heroes on this ship!”
A ripple of ‘fuck yeah’ went through the crowd. Bleet briefly thought of adding ‘Lower Decks for life’ at the end of his speech but thought better of it just in case anyone ever quoted him for his biography or something.
“Dismissed people, let’s save some lives!”
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