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Post by aoibheni on May 3, 2018 15:46:47 GMT
Never have I been so glad I wrote a temporal paradox baby into a mission.
That was astounding.
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Post by Shawna on May 3, 2018 18:16:22 GMT
Sometimes you just gotta yell at people and let it all out!
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Post by aoibheni on May 3, 2018 19:52:22 GMT
Sometimes you just gotta yell at people and let it all out! Something tells me it's not "all" out yet, though.
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Post by CO_Capt_Savage on May 4, 2018 2:30:33 GMT
Wow, that was some pretty great stuff. Felt like I was on a bit of a roller coaster. Very nice!
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Post by Nola on May 26, 2018 8:16:41 GMT
Five Minutes (With Aoibhe as Niamh Danann)
It was all Sara could do to avoid raiding her liquor cabinet. She did in fact try to avoid drinking while on duty, but some days were harder than others. Like today, for example, with Nia stuck down in the brig while a rogue battle cruiser terrorized the Federation. With Sara apparently willing to throw her career away in a clear breach of protocol. With the Zorya staring over her shoulder as her personal and professional lives collided in a brilliant explosion.
Still, she managed not to drink, a decision aided by the report sitting on her desk that tied her stomach in knots. The Voltaire had struck again, killed again, and her ability to play it soft with Nia was gone. Staring at nothing in particular, Sara tapped her combadge.
"Sumner to the Brig," she directed. "Please escort Captain Danann to my ready room."
Minutes ticked by, and eventually came the blessed chime on the Ready Room door. Stone faced and steel-eyed after walking through a bridge filled with judgmental glances and starfleet uniforms, Danann was escorted through the opening doors.
She looked around the room. "Nice digs", she commented, her voice sounding strained. Her shoulders sagged when she finally let her eyes fall on Sumner's expression.
Sara spared Nia a brief glance before wordlessly motioning for her to sit.
"Just got a new report," she said, turning the PADD around and sliding it across the desk.
Danann frowned, then stepped towards the chair, her now empty disruptor holster jingling a little louder. Glancing over her shoulder, she made sure they were alone.
She reached out and plucked the PADD from the surface of the desk and sat with a weary sigh.
"Look, I'm sorry about earlier, Sara. I didn't mean what I said. This crew barely trust me as it is withou-" She activated the PADD with her thumb and read. "-Oh, god."
Sara's brow furrowed as she considered Nia's words. Maybe it was true. Maybe she needed to put on a front for her crew, and maybe Sara might have done the same in her shoes, but with lives on the line?
"Give me something, Nia," she said, a slight tremor in her voice. "A name. A comm frequency. A rumor. Literally anything, so I can let you go and put a stop to this."
Danann tossed the PADD back where she found it, watching it skitter to a halt on the edge of the broad desk. She leaned back in her seat and considered Sumner's plea. Pinching her bottom lip between her teeth, she closed her eyes and grimaced. It was true that she had needed to put on an act in front of her crew, but it was equally true that her trust in Starfleet had been irreparably damaged during her time serving in the uniform. This wasn't easy for her.
Eventually, she stood, rounded the desk, and leaned a hand softly on the back of Sara's chair. "Lemme see all you have on both attacks."
Sara paused, unable to help a small glance Nia's way as she approached. She wanted to say something, to feel Nia's touch despite her merciless anxiety. Everything about this had become insane, and it could only get worse from there.
Taking a deep breath, Sara brought up what little she had on the attacks.
"The Zorya was essentially ambushed," she explained. "And the Voltaire wasn't alone, either. There were drones with her. The Zorya's Chief Tactical Officer, Douglas, noted similarities to the drones used by Adria."
"Adria..." The redhead repeated softly, her right hand moving reflexively to her abdomen. The Orion had abducted her as a way of luring Captain Rome into a trap. But on discovering her intended bait was carrying a baby girl, she became almost kind.
Danann had mixed feelings about the green skinned anarchist.
"I thought she was well dead..." Danann leaned in with a shaking hand, tapping the screen to replay a set of sensor readings. Something to focus on. Dammit, hold it together.
She pulled up telemetry, comparing flight paths, attack formations. Eventually she let go of Sara's chair and straightened.
"I know who did this."
Sara turned slightly and looked at Nia expectantly. Danann sighed and threw Sara an awkward glance. “I'm gonna need something first.”
Sara scoffed and tiredly ran her hands over her face.
“You’re really not getting this, are you?” she asked, getting to her feet. She looked like she wanted to yell, or cry, or throw something, or all three at once, but she just closed her eyes and took a deep, centering breath.
“What is it?”
“Immunity, in writing, for my crew.” She replied immediately, holding up an index finger. “Tony can promise we’ll be well treated all he likes, but I want to hear that from the Admiralty.” She lifted a second finger “Winston’s dishonourable discharge is to be wiped from his record. Official documents will say he resigned honourably.”
She looked past Sara at the screen once more, confirming her suspicions, “Leeson is to be handed a full acknowledgement and apology for the unlawful murder of his family members… Zoy’s medical licence is to be reinstated…” she blinked and sighed, “and I want Richley to have access to an education, Sara. Do with me what you will, but they… they get out of this unscathed.”
Sara stared blankly before pushing past her, stalking near her various displays and shaking her head.
“Jesus Christ, Nia,” she muttered. “Even if that were all possible, do you have any idea how long that would take? Do you have any fucking clue what it will take to get that many guarantees signed off, officially, in writing? How many more people have to die before you’ll do the right fucking thing here, huh!? How many more convoys need to be hit? How many more crews need to be murdered? How many more of your supposed friends do you need to see fucked over for you to give a shit!?”
“I give a shit!” Danann growled, her shoulders squared and her feet firm. “I give a shit, Sara…” she thumped her chest and set her jaw. “Who listened when Zeta Nine was crying out for help? Who put their neck on the line to save those lives, huh?” She took an aggressive step forward. “Who, Sara? Starfleet dropped that ball, and innocent people suffered. Children, Sara! Infants!”
Her voice cracked.
“You wanna spare Starfleet lives? Pull back. Do what those people were forced to do when Starfleet poisoned them all. Pull up your skirts and run...”
“No,” huffed Sara, shaking her head rapidly. “You don’t get to cherry-pick the bad shit to throw at me. Does Starfleet fuck up? Of course they do, it’s fucking massive, and I don’t know if you watch the news at all, but we’re very much paying for our fuck-ups as we speak. But what about all the good we do? Does that not get to be considered? Does the 12 billion people my crew saved not count? Does the Hyperion sacrificing itself to save Free Haven not mean anything? You’re gonna use one captain’s blatant disregard for civilians to justify letting more people die through inaction? You’re gonna hold their lives hostage for personal favors!?”
Danann took in a long, shuddering breath. Her voice, when she spoke was heavy with grief. “Don’t you dare… use the Hyperion against me…” her right hand lifted and cupped the left side of her neck, a defensive motion. Stroking the scar she had there, a leftover from the time she’d been attacked and sedated by Kette, she stared across at Sumner. Her eyes filled with tears. “Can we just…” she said, her lips barely forming the words, “have like… five minutes... where the universe doesn’t need us to solve its problems?”
The tears took the wind from Sara’s sails, which still managed to frustrate her. She wanted to be angry, damn it! She wanted to be righteous! She wanted to ask what Jonathan would think of her, but knew that would also cross a line. Mostly, she wanted to stay on the attack so she could ignore how solid Nia’s blows had really been.
She was right about most of it. Starfleet had brought the Maquis upon themselves, at least somewhat. Maybe keeping all of its commitments was too much to ask, but they were still commitments they failed to keep, and that translated to real-world suffering. Then again, maybe that wasn’t Sara’s job to litigate. Maybe hers was to do whatever it took to stop the Voltaire.
On the debate went, and Nia’s suggestion became rather appealing. Sara’s expression softened, hints of apology laced into her visage as she slowly stepped towards Nia. She slipped her arms around the redhead’s waist and held her close, burying her face in her wild mane.
For several heartbeats, Niamh remained still, her arms dangling uselessly at her sides as Sara embraced her. Her head swam and her knees weakened, and almost without thinking she leaned against the taller woman for support. Niamh’s leather clad arms snaked around Sara’s uniformed shoulders and she clung tightly, squeezing against the rise of emotion. But still it came in deep, gulping sobs, her pale, freckled face hidden against Sara’s neck, her tears darkening the command red fabric that rested heavily on the Starfleet Captain’s shoulders.
It was all too much. She wanted more than anything to disappear, to ride off into the black of space, never to be seen again. But she couldn’t. She’d seen in Tony’s eyes what running away could do to a person, how little he’d dealt with his grief, and she knew that wasn’t a path she wanted to follow.
“Oh Sara…” she sighed, lifting her head a little, her nose tipping lightly off Sumner’s. An Eskimo kiss. A quiet moment while all around them howled.
Sara kept her eyes closed, a steady stream of tears spilling from her lids as she gently pressed her forehead to Nia’s.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This is hell. We’ve been in hell for months, and it just doesn’t stop. And now they sent me out here to hunt you down, and I’m surrounded by people who want to put you away.”
She opened her eyes and looked into Nia’s, her jaw clenching to steady her gaze.
“I won’t do it,” she declared. “I won’t do it.”
For the second time that day, Danann found herself repeating the same phrase to someone she loved; “Don't make promises you can't keep.” She spoke softly, her voice, barely a whisper and containing no judgement.
She ran her fingertips across the side of Sara's head, enjoying the feel of her velvet soft stubble and breathing in her characteristic floral perfume. She leaned in and pressed her shaking lips on Sara's cheek, kissing away her tears.
Sara blinked and pressed her lips to Nia’s forehead before pulling away. She retrieved the PADD from the desk, cleared it, and handed it to Nia.
“Write down your terms,” she instructed. “I’ll get them to Starfleet, and I’ll raise hell with Walker to get them done. It’ll be easier if I have something to give them, even just a general area to look, if my word isn’t good enough to get a name.”
After wiping her eyes, her gaze had become businesslike once again.
Niamh coughed and took the PADD. She started to make her list, wording it carefully. Her demands, such as they were, were meager. She was positive they'd not be refused. She paused, considering adding an additional item to the list, but thought better of it for now.
“Here,” she said, offering the PADD back. “I added a uh, comm scrambler frequency to the end. It’ll let you listen in to, um, certain transmissions.” Her hand wavered. “Don't make me regret this, ok?” She was handing over evidence of her contact with the Maquis and she knew it.
Sara took the PADD, looking over the contents. She had expected an external comm frequency, but this… this was far more valuable. She locked her eyes on Nia’s, thinking of all the things she wanted to say but couldn’t. Not now, anyway.
“Likewise,” she offered instead.
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Post by Deleted on May 26, 2018 8:24:52 GMT
Another amazing log. This is going to be interesting.
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Post by Einar on May 26, 2018 8:41:02 GMT
wow
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Post by Nola on May 30, 2018 17:31:29 GMT
Good Faith (With Aoibhe as Winston)
Sara waited for the doors to the interrogation room to close before making her way around the table. She sat down in a sturdy chair, which was welded to the deck to prevent it from being used as a projectile, before taking a deep breath and looking to Winston across the way.
“How much do you know about Nia’s time in Starfleet?” she asked, following a long pause.
Winston crossed his massive arms and looked at Sumner with mild curiosity. “I know exactly what's tattooed on your behind, for starters,” he said, his voice betraying a slight belligerence that his face kept hidden.
Sara couldn't help but chuckle.
“Mom warned me about sending pictures of myself to people,” she recounted. She shifted to a more casual sitting position.
“I'm not gonna pretend to know what kind of crew structure you guys have, or whatever kind of code the Maquis have. So I figure I'll just be straight with you: I spoke to Nia about helping us track down the Voltaire. I leveraged our relationship and her prior service to try to coerce her into giving me a name. She wouldn't, and still hasn't, until immunity is granted, along with additional guarantees for each of you.”
“That… sounds like her.” He took a heavy step towards the table and lowered his considerable frame into the available seat. “Why are you telling me this?” He placed his hands, palms down on the table’s cool, smooth surface and intently examined Sara's face.
Sara sighed and ran a hand through her mohawk, scratching idly at her scalp.
“I heard the warning in your voice,” she said. “‘Not another word.’ I want to make sure you have all the facts before any attempt is made to brand her as a snitch. She has put her crew, you, first. She has put the lives of Starfleet personnel and even civilians second. I don't even want to guess where she ranks me or Starfleet, but it's nowhere near the top. Understand?”
“Crystal clear”, he said, leaning back, pulling his hands across the table and folding his arms. “I guess, now that we're bonding over our mutual ah, respect for the Cap, this is where you start trying to tap me for the information she wouldn't give.”
Sara shook her head, a knowing smirk curling her lips.
“That would be what the handbook says,” she admits. “I've never been one for the handbook. No, I'm not gonna ply you for information. I have questions about some of your crew, their stories, but I'm not gonna force you to answer any.”
He let his grey eyes drift to her unusual hair, and the juxtaposition that her uniform represented. The two seemed to be at severe odds with each other. He scratched his greying, stubbled cheek in thought.
“Well, they’re all well able to talk, but I can assure you you ain’t gonna get much from them direct. Ask your questions.” He cleared his throat with a rumbling cough.
Sara thought for a moment. In truth, there was only one thing she wanted to know, but she felt obligated to ask about smaller things first. She had told him, though, that she'd be straight with him. So, taking a deep breath and lifting her gaze, she asked her question:
“What happened to Leeson’s family?”
Winston remained close-mouthed for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, when he spoke, his gruff voice had softened somewhat.
“Leeson is one of seven kids. Was… one of seven.” He cleared his throat once more. “When Starfleet attacked Solosos III, his family was caught up in the evacuation. He woulda been a baby, barely a toddler. He got out in one the early waves with his mother, but his father, his siblings… well, they hung on.” Winson shook his head. “Leeson doesn’t talk about ‘em much, but his mother does. Can’t imagine the loss that woman has suffered. She was never the same, I hear. All those stories of his dead brothers and sisters, the loss of his father… that lies heavy on the kid’s shoulders.” He held Sara’s gaze with a stern, unwavering stare. “He’s caught in the past, re-living a tragedy he barely remembers… Starfleet murdered the family he hardly recalls and broke his mother’s spirit… That’s not a thing that’s easily forgiven.”
Sara gazed ahead, listening intently to the story while she idly dug at an imperfection in the table. The facts of Solosos III had hung in the back of her mind throughout this ordeal. It was one of the things that made her sympathetic to the Maquis. Yes, a Maquis leader had been doing the same thing to Cardassian worlds, and it was much easier to judge with hindsight, but the fact remained that a Starfleet officer was responsible for the suffering of thousands. Leeson’s hatred of Starfleet was as justified as hatred could be.
“I wouldn’t expect forgiveness,” she finally admitted. “There’s not way around it - that was a crime. However I feel about Starfleet or the Federation, it is true that we have committed numerous crimes over the years, of varying severity.”
She refocused her attention on Winston.
“Will he listen to you?” she asked. “Will you be able to convince him that Nia’s not turning on him?”
“He wasn’t all that sure about her before. Now…?” he tutted softly. “That kid’s got more pull than he knows. He’s got a Maquis legacy that stretches back, y’know? The Cap hasn’t got the pull or power to convince him cause she’s got that Starfleet stench and he can’t bare it. I pass because I, uh, left... before things got rough. But you manage to convince him that the ‘fleet isn’t something to fear, then I think he’ll settle.”
Sara sighed softly, tapping her nail on the table, gazing at nothing in particular as she considered the task.
“I’ll do my best,” she offered.
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Post by Deleted on May 30, 2018 18:02:49 GMT
I love it! Nice log guys
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Post by Nola on Jun 5, 2018 9:52:42 GMT
Reckoning (With Aoibhe as Leeson and Niamh Danann) Note: This log occurs during the in-mission lapse on SD 11806.04
The doors to the brig opened once more, a tired-looking Sara stepping through. She’d just gotten off the line with Admiral Rice, and preparations were underway to hunt down the Voltaire. In a matter of hours, there would likely be a battle, and a fierce one at that. Her mind should have been on that, on preparing her crew, but try as she might, it had kept wandering down to the brig. Sara slowly approached Nia’s cell, looking at her through the forcefield, her expression some mixture of frustration and heartache. There were so many things she wanted to say, but they couldn’t be said here, and she didn’t have the time to take her elsewhere. She also hadn’t been the reason Sara had come down. Instead, she turned to the one called Leeson, carefully stepping towards his cell. She kept her hands in plain view, and did her best to keep her expression relaxed. “Leeson, right?” she asked. Leeson looked up from his examination of his own hands. Sara could see, even from her vantage, that he'd been biting at his nail beds. Several fingers looked raw and painful. His brown eyes were rimmed with dark circles and his mouth was set in a thin grimace. “Fuck you.” Sara sighed softly, assessing the damage from afar. The names of various disorders flitted about her thoughts, accompanied by treatment options and counseling techniques that she was honestly too tired to put into action. “I’m good, thanks,” she replied. She put a hand on the divider between his cell and the next, taking a moment to stretch out her tired back. “If I come in there, what’s going to happen?” she asked. His nostrils flared as his breathing became rapid and shallow. His thin shoulders grew tense as if he was bracing himself for a physical blow. “Why don't you find out?” This wasn’t smart. Not at all, but Sara wasn’t really in a position to go against her instinct. That took more effort than she had to spare. She looked over to Krull, giving him a nod despite his vaguely questioning gaze. She stood before the cell as the forcefield dropped, watching him closely. Leeson watched her closely, his attention trained on her face intensely. He was sitting hunched and agitated on his tiny bunk. “Whatever the fuck you want from me, you're not getting it,” he warned her, his voice strained and weak. Sara gave a slightly strained smile as she stepped into the cell. The forcefield shimmered back into place. “Works for me,” she said. “You don’t really have anything I want.” She moved over towards the wall and sat on the floor, groaning a bit as made herself as comfortable as she could before simply staring at the opposite wall, her jaw shifting in apparent thought. Leeson’s tense expression faltered, replaced for a second by a flash of confusion. This wasn't the kind of behavior he'd been expecting from Starfleet scum. He shifted on his cot, briefly considered the idea of standing up and all but followed through before he lost his nerve. “What the… ” he sounded young, “... what are you doing?” “Contemplating,” she said cryptically. She hugged her knees to her chest, still staring across the cell. “Been in a fair number of battles, Leeson,” she explained. “Some as a crewmen, some as Captain. Used to be a fighter pilot, actually. I always get nervous before a fight. Always think about the people I might lose. Got worse after I made CO, right? I decided early that I would treat my crew like my family, and while that might help cohesion and all that, it makes the nerves far, far worse.” She planted her chin atop her folded arms, finally glancing his way. “A Sovvie’s no joke,” she observed. “This is gonna be a bad one.” “Yea, we finally have a shot at fighting back,” he declared, some of the fire returning to his eyes. “Now we're even. You can't just beat us down.” Sara gave a soft chuckle, tilting her head as she looked to the kid. “I can see why you’d think so,” she offered. “It’s a serious piece of hardware - one of our most advanced ships. We have four out looking for her, though, including another Sovvie and a Prometheus. You know, the one that splits into three small ships? The Voltaire might get lucky. Might destroy one of our ships. Might kill a lot of my family.” Sara stared at him for a moment, her look a sympathetic one. He shifted uncomfortably. “Last count I saw, Starfleet has nearly 30,000 ships,” she said. “We’re almost back to our pre-war count, which is kind of a big deal in logistics circles. Once this offensive is over, Starfleet will send as many ships as it needs to the Badlands. It’ll hunt down the Voltaire, destroy it, and kill more of your family.” Leeson’s jaw tensed. “Then there’ll be retaliations, and then Starfleet will crack down and actively hunt the Maquis, and on it’ll go.” She carefully massaged her temples, brow furrowed, letting her bone-deep weariness show through. “That’s a lot of blood spilled between people who’re on the same side,” she lamented. “We're not on your side!” he spat. “That's bullshit! You assholes keep taking stuff from us!” He glared at her, his entire body shaking with a heady mix of adrenaline and self righteousness. “You took our homes, our… our families… our chance to live a normal life, my freedom! Starfleet scum just take and, and, take and the one time we take something back… the one time we take from you, you're gonna murder even more of us?!?” His fingers gripped the edge of his cot in furied agitation and his young face blazed with the pain of his mother's many losses. “That's bullshit!” he repeated, unsure of what to do. Sara frowned a bit, leaning her head back to rest against the bulkhead. “It is bullshit,” she agreed, perhaps surprisingly. “What happened to your family was bullshit. What happened to those officers on the Voltaire was bullshit. Those civilians they just killed? That was bullshit. This fight we’re about to have? The people that’ll be lost on either side? That’s bullshit, too. I get your hate, but the fact of the matter is that all of us, every sapient being in the galaxy, is on the same side. We’re just tryin’ to live, and it’s the bullshit that gets in the way and makes us hate each other. It’s the bullshit that we’re dyin’ for.” She got to her feet, looking to Leeson with a sorrowful gaze. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry that officer hurt you and your family. I’m sorry that bullshit put that hate in your heart.” Lesson stared up at her from his position on the cot, small and tired and afraid. His eyes were wet, his face contorted with fear and anger. “I hate you,” he told her, but he didn't sound as sure about that as he once had. Sara blinked back a few tears as she nodded, examining the boy’s face closely. He was far too young for that hate. At least, he should’ve been. “That’s okay,” she replied. “I don’t hate you. You may not believe that, but it’s true. You deserve better than you got, and I hope you get it.” She didn’t wait for a reply before turning to face the forcefield. “Krull,” she called. The forcefield dissipated for a moment, allowing her to step out before returning. Sara hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at Leeson and giving him as best a smile as she could muster. Then she turned her attention towards Nia, stepping slowly towards her cell. As Sara came into view, Niamh rose to her booted feet, her expression mirroring that of her captor. She waited for the forcefield to drop at Sumner's gesture, then, she raised her arms, and offered Sara the comfort of an embrace. She'd heard everything. The pain in Leeson’s words, Sara's lament, the void between them. It was something she struggled with daily. Sara hesitated only briefly before stepping into the embrace, holding Nia close, forgetting just for a moment that she was a Starfleet officer. Let people see - it didn’t really matter, now. “I missed you,” she whispered. “I missed you so much.” “Me too…” Niamh whispered back, her hands balling into fists in Sara's uniform fabric as she hid her face in the Starfleet captain's shoulder. She inhaled, detecting a delicate floral fragrance from Sara's skin that reminded her of better times. “It's not easy…” she tightened her grip a little, her voice barely audible, “... is it? Seeing that much hate aimed squarely at the thing you love, and knowing it's entirely justified… “ “It’s not,” Sara replied. She kept her face buried in Nia’s flaming red curls, remembering how they’d once framed her face like a sunburst. She tangled her fingers in them, cradling the woman’s head to her shoulder. “That’s the whole world, love,” she continued softly. “Everyone does what they think is right in the moment. Everyone.” “And someone always gets hurt along the way…” Danann interjected sadly. Reluctantly, Sara forced herself to pull back, just enough to look into Nia’s eyes. “That’s why everything’s so damned messy, y’know? Everyone has a different idea of what ‘right’ means, and it just…” She took a deep breath, pressing her forehead to Nia’s as she closed her eyes. “But the mess brought me you,” she finished. After her conversation with Ishihara, Danann no longer felt there was any reason to keep up her facade, so with very little thought, she allowed herself be lead by her feelings and pressed her lips gently against Sara's. She heard Winston cough uncomfortably, but she didn't give a shit anymore. Sara let herself get lost, if only for a few moments. Here, now, she could see a light in the darkness, a break in the fog that had consumed her for months. All of her loved ones were safe. Sort of. At the very least, she knew where they all were. She wanted to say more, to invite Nia to her quarters to meet her daughter, to catch up, but, regrettably, it would all have to wait. “Admiral Rice has agreed to your terms,” she said. Despite the need for business, she still brushed a knuckle against Nia’s cheek. “All of them. Immunity, the other considerations - all of it. If… if you know anything else that will help us find the Voltaire, please…” The look of pure relief in the Maquis Captain’s face was obvious. “Thank you, Sara…” she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. “Thank you…” She stepped back a little and looked over Sara's shoulder at Winston, smiling broadly. She turned back to Sara and composed herself. “Get me a PADD and let's go get those fuckers.”
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Post by Deleted on Jun 5, 2018 10:01:12 GMT
I don't know how you both keep churning out such top quality writing. Brilliant.
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Post by Nola on Jun 6, 2018 17:27:02 GMT
Sidebar (With Einar as Tony and Shawna as Raqiin)
Sara took exactly two seconds to breathe after the viewscreen switched off before getting to her feet. She looked to Tony and Raq, and nodded towards her Ready Room. Leading them inside, she then stepped around and flopped into the chair at her desk.
"What did you find?" she asked.
Tony walked over to the desk calmly, his hands behind his back "It's not....great". He glanced over at Raq who stood at attention behind him, sheepish and terrified at the same time. "We located the signal in the comm relay behind her quarters, accessed remotely...however, it is not clear how or when it was accessed or by whom."
"We already know--" Raqiin cleared her throat and started again, slower, calmer. "We already know that...whoever is behind all of this, they're good enough to out-think an Intelligence officer. No offense. We're finding the aftermath of everything they do, but not the when, the how, the who."
"None taken," he interjected calmly before continuing "But she's right, whoever this is, is one step ahead of my every move....Captain I wish to say that I have full faith in the integrity and character of Commander sh'Hruvek, however given the fact that there is no concrete evidence to clear her of having used that frequency, I must refer to you as the higher authority."
Sara nodded and rubbed her eyes, fighting another urge for a stiff drink.
"How long would it take to find out for sure?" she asked, looking back to Tony.
"I.....I honestly don't know sir. I think a day or two at most" He looked over at Raq before continuing "But I think I know by now that she's not capable of this.....I once called her an idiolistic fool," he said, wondering if she ever did get his message.
"She's too innocent to play this game, Captain. I suggest we turn our eye to the Engineering and Tactical officers instead. Someone with considerable knowledge of how to influence ship's systems."
"No offense," he said, glancing at Raq.
"Still none taken," Raqiin acknowledged in return. "And besides...yes, I think we all well know that while I'm smart, I'm not tactical smart. I'm not running circles around Intelligence. And if I was going to hide crucial evidence about being involved in something like this, does anyone think I'd really just keep it in my room? That seems sloppy."
She paused for a moment, then rubbed the back of her neck. "I probably shouldn't speculate on how I would do it, if I had done it. But, if you need me to sit this out, ma'am, I won't take any offense."
Sara glanced between the two, her shoulders tense despite being slumped in the chair. She briefly drummed her fingers on the desk before rising to her feet.
"We don't have a day or two," she explained, looking to Raqiin.. "And I would trust you with my life in a heartbeat. We might get in trouble later for procedural reasons, but given the situation, I need you on the bridge. I'm sure Mr. Hamlet has the reflexes, but he doesn't know the departments as well as you do."
Her stare lingered for a moment before looking to Tony.
"Continue your investigation when possible, Tony, but she gets her badge back now."
Tony produced the badge out from his pocket and held it between his index finger and thumb. "What do we tell the crew?"
"The truth, I imagine. If anything at all." Raqiin glanced at her badge before righting her gaze again. "You're not under any obligation to say anything at all, but the investigation is ongoing, and if anyone has a problem with my being on the bridge, they can voice their concerns to their captain."
She certainly didn't think anyone was going to have a problem with it.
Tony nodded at that and turned to face Raq before the Captain could interject. "You have my support, always" he said as he raised the commbadge to her heart and stuck it on the red fabric gently.
Sara stared at Tony for a moment, her expression unreadable, save for a subtle weariness that had suffused her very being. She got to her feet with a soft sigh, turning her gaze to Raqiin.
"Nobody will have a problem with it," she promised. "If they do, too fuckin' bad - there's no one else I'd rather have next to me in that chair."
She managed a small smile before she rounded back around the desk, heading for the door.
"If there's nothing else?"
Tony nodded and smiled confidently, despite the whirlwind of worry and fear coursing through him at this very moment. Starfleet had approved Nia's requests, but Intelligence was so far eerily silent. Which did not bode well for him. Would they consider this a failure on his part? Were the other occupants of this room going to suffer for that? "No Captain."
Raqiin gave Tony a shy smile, glad to know for certain that he was on her side--pointing a weapon at her notwithstanding. "No, Captain." She followed suit after. "And thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Sara warned. "We're about to go hunting for a Sovvie in the Badlands. Might come to find you'd have preferred the leave."
Even so, she smiled warmly at her first officer before directing the two of them back to the bridge.
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Post by aoibheni on Jun 6, 2018 18:18:33 GMT
I love everything about this, you three. Three way logs are tough to pull off, but this seems flawless.
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Post by spacedaisy on Jun 6, 2018 22:18:15 GMT
All the logs coming out of this arc have been so fantastic to read, and this one is no different! So good!
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Post by Nola on Jul 8, 2018 10:12:11 GMT
Grief
Sara was up at 0600 sharp, far too early to wake during leave, but today was too important to sleep in. She stumbled, half-conscious, into the bathroom to shower, trim her hair, and apply a minimal amount of makeup - eyes, lashes, lips - before quietly stepping out into the living area. She ordered a coffee, a rare choice of chemical assistance.
She ate a light breakfast as her family slept, and then slowly proceeded to her wardrobe. After spending a good deal of time agonizing over what would work best, she went with the safe choice: her typical uniform.
Every step through the Chiron's walls seemed to echo between her ears. She nodded to those few she passed, themselves looking far too sleepy for this hour. As she strode onto the station, the pit began to form in her stomach.
Today had taken a week to organize and plan. She'd been rehearsing her remarks in her mind for the last three days, but her preparation didn't seem to be dulling the edge at all.
The turbolift ride to Station Ops took much longer than expected, or at least felt like it did. By the time she stepped off, the pit had become a gaping maw. She had wisely used the waterproof mascara.
"Captain Sumner," greeted Commander Rinku, 41's XO. "You're a bit early."
"Yeah, I just, uh," she stammered. Rinku wore a sympathetic expression as Sara took a moment to compose herself.
"I just wanted to get a head start on the tech side of things, make sure everything works."
Rinku smiled.
"Of course."
Sara didn't understand all that much of what Rinku and Inzi, the Station's ops chief, explained to her about the holocommunicator setup. They sounded fairly assured it would work, and Sara trusted that it would - the technology was 20 years old. Surely they'd worked the kinks out by now.
The important thing was that the explanation took time, which Sara used to shore up her tattered emotional innards. Writing the letters had been difficult enough. She knew exactly what had prompted the wild hare that made her think of this idea, but some part of her wished she didn't.
She wondered if this wasn't some form of self-flagellation, and not for the first time. Maybe this was about punishing herself for trying to be close to her crew. Maybe this was intended to try and change her mind about doing so. Then again, maybe it was what it seemed like on the surface: the right thing to do.
Rinky and Inzi gave her some privacy in the ward room after the explanation and signal testing. The comm wasn't for another hour, which left her to sit and stew.
Twenty one souls has been lost aboard the Chiron in the battle with the Voltaire. Nineteen Starfleet officers and crewmen, and a pair of civilians, the husband and daughter of Ensign Ila in bioscience.
Sara's still-young career had seen its fair share of heartbreak, but that meeting with V'ruuk and the Ensign might have been the worst. She couldn't recall half the things that had been said for the sheer volume of tears and muffled, anguished screams. Sara had held her for a solid hour, jaw clenched and eyes streaming.
She had to stop thinking about it, if only for now. It wouldn't do to be bawling already when the comm started. The memory would stick with her for the rest of her life, so there was plenty of time to let it wait. She spent the rest of the time trying to recall the things she'd planned to say, with middling success. It looked like she'd be winging it. It was only fitting.
About five minutes prior, Inzi came back in to activate the holocomm unit, and she and half a dozen other tech-savvy types in distant locations checked and double-checked the connection. Sara wasn't sure how necessary it was, but if it was just for her benefit, she was extremely grateful.
"Thirty seconds," said Inzi, and Sara closed her eyes, taking slow, measured breaths.
"Five, four," and so on, and Sara opened her eyes.
Six families appeared in the empty ward room, all huddled inside holocomm rings. Sara forgot to breathe for a moment, her eyes traversing the faces of those surviving her lost crew. Two human families, the Docics and Hensons; one Tellarite family, the Raags, whose lack of instant complaint spoke to the gravity of the occasion; one Betazoid family, the Aelas; one Bolian family, the Kahts; and, heartrendingly, a solitary young Bajoran woman named Olara.
Sara quickly realized that she had no idea how long she'd been staring, and finally took a deep, somewhat-steady breath. It was time.
"Hello," she said softly. Another breath, a brief closing of her eyes, and she put on the appropriate face.
"My name is Sara Sumner. I'm Captain of the USS Chiron, the ship your loved ones served on, and I want to thank you for agreeing to let me speak to you today, as you remember them."
A swallow, and a realization she should have gotten some water at some point.
"I, um, I wish that I could be there in person. I really do, for each and every family of those who gave their lives under my watch. The nature of Starfleet makes that impossible, of course. We are a varied collection of individuals from worlds spread over two quadrants of space, and, um..."
Here came the tears, despite a rapid series of blinks. This was starting to sound as rehearsed as it was, and she knew immediately that wouldn't do. She wiped her eyes, and relaxed her shoulders, looking to each holographic visage.
"Sorry," she murmured, running a hand through her hair.
"Part of me wants to tell you all about how your loved ones represented everything good about Starfleet, you know? That they were exemplary officers and crewmen, that th-they died... in service to the ideals of Starfleet, to keep Federation citizens safe, which is true, but I know that doesn't make it any easier. Nothing I say can make it any easier."
This was a dangerous line, she knew, but she pressed on before silence could fully set in.
"I pride myself on knowing my crew. Not just their names, but who they are. It goes against all conventional wisdom, but that doesn't mean a whole lot to me. What means something to me is that I knew each and every one of your children, spouses, and parents who served under me."
She turned to the Docic family.
"Vitaly was a football fanatic," she recalled. "He would go on and on about FC Axanar, and his friends would just wail each time he got started on a rant, and I mean wail - they were very dramatic about it. Security would get noise complaints."
A few of the Docic clan smiled. One, Vitaly's father, managed a laugh, and it cut through Sara's tension like a knife. This was the right track.
"I watched a few Beta Cup matches with the lot. It always, always brightened my day, you know?"
The Aelas were next.
"Nineveh was an empathic prodigy. She made a game of guessing the sources of an emotion in detail - how old the feeling was, what kind of relationship it was based on, that kind of thing. And when I say she made a game of it, I mean she made a substantial amount of latinum whenever we were on shore leave."
Nineveh's mother shook her head, tears spilling from her eyes even as she broke into a grin.
"She was so gifted," she said.
"She was," Sara agreed. "She even made off with a bottle of my favorite bourbon, which I had literally just managed to get shipped to the right starbase after a month of trying. She offered me double or nothin' to try and get it back, and she made off with a bottle of my second favorite bourbon. It completely ruined my weekend."
Nineveh's younger brother snorted and covered his mouth with his fist to stifle a laugh. Onto the Hensons.
"Stanley was the most laid back engineer I've ever met," said Sara. "When we were in the Delta, the ship was just full of holes. The QSD was fused, we had blown junctions throughout, and Mac would have him running all over the place to keep the ship from falling apart, and every time I saw him jog by, he was singing a song, or whistling, or joking with people he ran past."
Stanley's mother sobbed quietly despite a warm smile.
"Mac actually got complaints about him," Sara added. "But she ignored 'em, because Stan was keeping the morale of the entire department up. And... I mean, I don't know if we'd've made it back without him."
"He was always like that," Stanley's father said, his eyes shining. "Ever since he was a kid, he always wanted to make everyone around him smile."
"My sweet boy," his mother whispered, before hiding her face in her hands. Sara had to resist the urge to step forward and put her arms around her, as it would have taken her out of her holocomm unit. She shifted uncomfortably on the spot, taking a few moments to shed her tears before looking to the Raags.
"Goro didn't take shit from anyone," she said after a slight pause. "Anyone. We were doing a survey of a stellar nursery a little over a year ago, and I don't know how much he told you about life in Starfleet, but you generally don't remember stellar nursery surveys, you know? But I remember this one because we were just about to start our scans on the last sector when our starboard scanner array just dies. The bridge crew was scrambling to try and figure out what caused it, I was telling everyone to prepare for some kind of attack - it was just chaos."
The Raags stared quietly, and Sara had to push on before the wind left her sails.
"Turns out Goro had taken the whole array offline. He was asked very bluntly why he would do such a thing at that exact moment, and he says 'scheduled maintenance every six weeks.' You could hear a pin drop on the bridge, and I'm livid, so I jump on the comm and very sardonically start grilling him on why he couldn't wait another two hours so we could finish our survey, and he cuts the comm. On his Captain."
The continued to stare for a moment longer before Goro's father loosed exactly one bark of laughter. That started the cascade of giggles and snorts.
"I was pissed," Sara continued. "After the shift was over, I go down to sort it out with him, and he just stares at me as I'm telling him why it's unacceptable to just hang up on his CO. After I'm done, he looks up at me and he goes 'I'll take it under advisement.'"
Several of the families joined in the laughter, and, somewhere in the back of her mind, Sara felt a sense of relief. Whatever part of her was aware of whatever good she was doing was also aware, however, that the tears would come.
Next were the Kahts. Leaving Olara for last was intentional.
"There's no easy way to say this," began Sara, her tone somber. "Nylas was a hustler."
Nylas' parents furrowed their brows in confusion, but his wife and kids just wore knowing grins.
"And I mean a long-con hustler. We have a weekly poker night in the lounge, and for the first six months he was on our ship, he lost every game he played in. Every. Single. One. People started taking it easy on him out of pity, and still he would lose. Seemed like he couldn't bluff to save his life. Then the annual tournament rolls around, and I have never seen a more thorough, cold-blooded fleecing in my life. He had zero tells. His face was basically paralyzed - I played him in the first round, and he just stared at me the whole time. He cleaned me out in five hands, including another bottle of bourbon!"
"Oh, Mother," muttered Nylas' father, facepalming gently.
"You really like bourbon," observed his son. Sara raised her brows and gave a quick nod. She let the laughter die down a bit before turning to Olara. Tears spilled from her eyes as she stared at the beautiful, dark-skinned daughter of Elan Roin. Olara returned the tear-filled gaze.
This was not the first time Sara had spoken to Olara. Roin had been seriously injured when the Bremen was crippled, and Sara had taken it upon herself to keep Olara up to date on his treatment and recovery. She had seen a fair bit of Ulani in the girl. She was almost too smart, and deeply inquisitive. And she dearly loved her father.
Sara wouldn't get any laughter from this one. The buoyancy of the previous recollections faded, and her heart sank. She followed suit, carefully settling down on her knees as she kept her eyes locked on Olara's.
"Your father loved you with everything he had," said Sara, her voice trembling and breaking at the end. Tears splashed down her cheeks as the weight that had been looming over her the last two weeks crashed down upon her shoulders.
"Every time we talked, he ended up talking about you. He talked about your studies. He showed me your drawings and sculptures. He would find any excuse to show me your baby pictures."
Olara broke down, similarly slumping to the floor. Sara didn't have to look to know they weren't he only ones crying.
"He was so proud of every little thing that you do, and, uh..."
She didn't want to say it, but she knew she had to.
"He told me that, after your mother died, he poured everything good he had left into you, and-"
A few desperate sobs from multiple directions, enough to cover the sound of Sara's breaking heart.
"And that your mother had done the same, and that whatever happened, he knew he'd live on in you, so he could be with both of you forever."
Sara was fairly certain she'd gotten that last word out before hiding her face in her hand, unable to stifle the tears or the sobs, or keep the crushing weight at bay. She grieved as she needed to in the station's ward room, transmitted holographically into six broken homes in six of the infinite corners of the universe.
She didn't know how this looked. She didn't know if this had been the right decision in the end. This hurt far, far more than writing letters or recording messages of condolence, and she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to do this again, but somewhere beneath the churn, she felt what she'd been looking for in the first place: connection.
Telling these stories, sharing these experiences, connected her to these families. How many times had she said or written that she would always consider those families part of her own? How many of those families was she still in touch with? As the years went by, it became easier to consign those lost crewmen to a hidden compartment in her heart, something that would ache once in a while, but that she could brush off and ignore. She wouldn't be able to brush off these six families. She wouldn't be able to erase this scene from her thoughts.
Whether that was good was debatable, but it was exactly what Sara wanted.
Slowly, but surely, the sobbing died down, and Sara found herself sitting more fully on the floor, looking up at each teary visage. After a few steadying breaths, she stood back up and idly brushed herself off.
"I, uh... I say this to every family, of every person under my command I've ever lost, and I'm gonna say it to you. I love my crew. I love my crew every bit as much as I love my family, and as far as I'm concerned, they're one and the same. And that includes you, okay? If you... if you ever need to talk, any time, I will talk to you if I'm physically able. If you ever need something, if you need any help with red tape, or if you need to know where you can get some good booze, or a... or anything at all, you let me know."
She turned to Olara, taking a few shaky breaths.
"I'm gonna move heaven and earth to come see you on Bajor, if you'll have me, okay? I'm gonna come see you so I can hug you, and we can do what we just did for as long as we need. Is that alright with you?"
Olara wiped her eyes with a trembling hand before giving a silent nod, which Sara returned before addressing the whole gathering.
"I'm, uh," she stammered, unsure how to close. She wiped her eyes heavily on her sleeve, taking a moment to try and gather her wind-torn thoughts.
"I'll never forget Vitaly, Stanley, Nineveh, Goro, Nylas, or Roin. I'll never forget their names. I'll never forget their faces. I won't forget yours, either. I won't forget how much this hurts because I'm sure it's a fraction of how much this hurts for you, and I want to know that weight. Whenever I need to make a hard decision, I want those names in my head. I want these faces, these tears, because that's what'll keep me honest. That's... that's what'll keep Starfleet honest."
That was the balm. That was the novocaine, the shot of clarity that rose above the din to make sense of whatever this had been. Her eyes lingered on each face, her composure returning with each passing moment.
"Thank you," she murmured, "for letting me talk to you today. Thank you for sharing your grief with me, and for letting me share mine. Please, don't ever hesitate to let me know if you need anything, even if it's just to yell at me, or share more stories, or just cry for a while, okay?"
Several of her bereaved family gave silent nods, and a few flashed sad smiles. Sara looked to Inzi and gave a nod to end the comm. Once the unit was off, she sat in the nearest chair and cried once more.
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