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Post by aoibheni on Jan 31, 2018 16:05:17 GMT
So, I threw this together a while ago and thought you folks would like to see it for reference. It's how I see Danann's tattoo. It is worked in small circles (about an inch and a half in diameter) and travels most of the way down her spine from the base of her neck. She's been building on it since The Academy, and she adds a new circle with every significant positive or negative event in her life. The spirals alter direction to signifiy if the event was a good one or a bad one. There will be several anti-clockwise spirals clustered around the Tzenkethi war, etc. So... yea.
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Post by aoibheni on Feb 21, 2018 18:21:29 GMT
She climbed through the hatch into the small galley and deposited the bottle of rum in the centre of the table. In several quick strides she’d made it to one of the wall units and pulled out a selection of drinking vessels; a few mis-matched mugs, a ceramic Andorian flute, two old, clouded glass tumblers. You didn’t worry all that much about matching kitchen goods when you were in the Maquis.
Transferring them all to the table she sat with a groan and waited for her crew. She was early, she knew.
Reaching forward, she lifted the bottle and removed the cork, pouring a generous measure into one of the tumblers. She returned the cork and lifted the glass, staring into the dark, amber liquid.
"Your credentials are good... Your previous Captains have nothing but praise for you, so I think we won't have a problem here either, Commander." "I eh, bribe them to say nice things, Captain." "Rum." “Hm?” “Rum.” "Oh! uh...White, dark or spiced, sir?" "That's for you to find out, Commander"
“What would Rome do...?” she asked herself quietly. It was a question that had been on her mind frequently recently, and it was one she didn’t anticipate resolving any time soon. The fact was, as her final, her most influential (and dare she say, her favourite?) Captain, he held a place of importance in her mind, and here, as Captain of her own vessel - however humble it may seem - she found it impossible not to draw comparisons. She pursed her lips and sipped at her drink, swallowing it after a few moments burning on her tongue. She felt constantly on edge in this position and often wondered if he had, too. If his aloof nature had been real, or if it had been a way to hide his own discomfort.
The truth was, she had yet to find her place on this ship, she struggled to fit in like she’d never struggled before. Being the Captain, it seemed, was more than just giving orders. “I dunno how you did it…” she mumbled to herself as she poured another measure.
“In the end the decisions lie with me, Commander Danann. Or Lyon...sometimes even you. Are you strong enough to make your own decisions, even if they might draw ire?" "For better or worse, sir, I think I've already proven that in the past." "So you have. Alright Commander, just remember that the Captain’s seat requires you to put aside your own beliefs, but not at the expense of your morals. Usually"
“Usually…” she sighed. “Seems closer to ‘always’ these days...” “What does…?” Winston asked as he ducked into the galley like a mobile mountain. Danann blinked. “Nothing,” she dismissed nodding to the rum. “Help yourself.” “Holdin’ out on us, Cap’?” he chided as his thick fingers took hold of the bottle and poured. She smiled briefly. “T’others will be along now,” he mumbled, slurping on his drink with as much relish as possible. He smacked his lips. “That’s some good juice.” “Doctor, Richley…” Danann greeted, waving them to the bottle. “Leeson…” she watched her crew file in, Leeson’s scowl radiating thunder. “All right sit down,” she ordered, her own rum sharpening her shoulders and lending her an air of confidence she didn’t feel. Maybe that’s how he did it… she mused briefly.
“OK, we got a new mission. We have three things we need to accomplish here, preferably in order... We’ve to cross the border into Federation space, we’ve got to locate and relieve science station Aceso of its medical supplies, and we’ve to get back out of Fed space without being fingered.”
There was silence. “Thoughts…?”
“This feels like a trap” Zoy observed, as she reached for the bottle. “Everything feels like a trap to you,” Winston replied, sipping the last of his rum. “Maybe everything IS a trap.” Zoy shot back.
In the silence, every set of eyes were on Zoy. “OK…” Danann pressed on. “Getting in won’t be too big a problem. Standard procedure.” Winston rested his slab of a hand on the table. “I’ll contact my old crew. They will have cargo they don’t mind us taking for a round trip. That will cover us both in and out. There’s a Bajoran festival-” “Mara-shan,” Richley provided helpfully. “Yea, that… that’s coming up soon. They’ll need plenty of those little red bells for it.” Danann nodded. “Great, so we’ll be jingling all the way there and back. Not stealthy, but it’ll seem innocuous enough, good.”
“Load it up, lads!” Winston shouted over the echoing din of the Granuaile’s cargohold. The boxes his former crew were loading were chiming and bingling so much it sounded like they had a hold full of very angry, high-pitched bees. “Damn!” Leeson yelled, his hands over his ears, “You couldn’t have come up with anything quieter?! Why can’t we supply the Vulcan Festival of quiet thinking instead?!”
Winston sat back on his bench, making it creak loudly. “Aceso… that’s one of those old Omicron class stations, right?” Danann nodded “Far as we know.” “I was stationed on one of those for a while. They’re a bitch to keep running. We’re talking turn of the century core, wired into an old ODN system, patchworked with gelpacks, if it’s as bad as I remember, they’ll be doing system resets every few days to keep everything humming. They’ll be shutting down whole systems at a time for a cold reboot.” “Can we tell when?” Zoy asked, genuinely curious. “Well, they don’t advertise it, but we could… encourage one along?” “A virus!” Richley piped up. Danann tilted her head with interest. Winston leaned forward, cupping his empty glass, “Assuming we can get in, we could force a reset pretty easily.” “It worked for Eddington,” Zoy remarked. “But how do we get that close…?” Richley frowned. “They ain’t gunna put down the red carpet…” Leeson threw his gaze in an arc around the table from one person to the next. “Are you fucking kidding me…?” Danann looked at him suspiciously. “You got something to add?” “I’ve been saying it for months, assholes, you two are literally Starfleet…” Winston and Danann’s eyes met.
”God, this feels too weird…” she reached up and settled his collar, making sure Winston’s two pips were secure. “This neck feels tighter than I remember,” he grumbled, tugging at it uncomfortably. “Were they always this restrictive?” Danann shrugged “Maybe? I guess it’s whatever you’re used to.” She stood back and surveyed her own frame in the shining mirror, two pips resting innocently at her neck. “Red suits you, Lieutenant” Winston observed, “matches your hair.” “Never thought I’d be wearing this uniform for any reason ever again…” “Never say never, right?” Winston added, pulling on his uniform jacket like a shroud “Well, you two give me the heebies…” Leeson offered helpfully as he leaned on the bulkhead with clear destain. “Let’s get this over with…” Danann added, “...we missed our transport off Risa, too drunk, and now we’re trying to get back to our ship...” “Got it.”
“OK, so once we’re in, we’ll need to find a chip monkey and somehow get them to grant us access,” Winston added. “Get someone drunk or horny, they’ll probably do whatever we need. Or both...” He directed a shoulder in Danann’s direction.
Danann smiled at the man sitting alone at the bar on Aceso station. “Hi,” she greeted “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Probably easiest if we just knock him out and use his fingerprint…” she replied with visible unease. “I have just the thing,” Zoy offered.
Danann passed her target a scotch, dropping a small capsule into it as she moved. It dissolved instantly. They drank, they smiled, she twirled her hair. He passed out. “Too much to drink,” she told the barman causally. “Frenchmen… can’t hold their liquor…”. Winston stepped in. “C’mon buddy, let’s get you back to your quarters…” Danann paid no attention to the two men as they lumbered off.
“Once the system comes down, Rich and I can EVA to the outer hull and blow a hole” Leeson suggested. “In, out, job done.” Danann gave him a stern nu-uh. “Even with the system partially down, they’ll probably notice the hole, Leeson. We need to get away clean, remember.” “Oh! Ooh!” Richley hopped on his seat. “I have a focused transporter beam unit I’ve been tinkering with, we could use that!” “Perfect.” “Have you tried it in zero-G? What if it doesn’t work?” Zoy cut in. “It’ll work.” Richley beamed. “It’s purring like a baby.”
”It’s not working!” Richley exclaimed in a panic, his muffled voice echoing around his restrictive helmet. Leeson, tethered beside him on the outer hull of the station made a grab for the transporter unit. “Give it here!” “What are you gonna do? Yell at it?! Call it names? It’s not working!” Leeson gave the unit a thump. It slipped from his grasp, bounced sickeningly off the hull and lit up.
“OK! Focus, people…” Danann ordered. “Once we get our meds, we go.”
Back on the ship, Leeson and Richley pulled off their helmets and smiled. “Better get all this out of the buffer before I have to hit it again” Leeson suggested. Richley, ever willing to please, obliged, tapping the small unit and aiming it at the corner of the cargo hold not filled with containers full of bells. Unit after unit of medical supplies materialised in a haze of blue. “Think we overdid it?” he asked, as he cast his gaze around at the suddenly packed cargohold floor. “Nah…”
“Once we undock, it’s straight to Zeta Nine… everyone clear?” “Yes ma’am” Winston replied as the others around the galley table nodded in unison.
“Engage warp…” she ordered over the comm unit, as she surveyed the mountain of medical riches now stacked neatly in her freighter’s hold.
She pulled off her Starfleet uniform jacket and tossed it in a corner, peeling the pips off her collar and flinging them to rattle harmlessly somewhere among the mound of boxes. It felt wrong to wear her former colours after what she’d done. Tthe uniform of her past now felt impossibly heavy on her slight shoulders.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here….”
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Post by Nola on Feb 21, 2018 18:41:55 GMT
Those scoundrels! Something will have to be done about them...
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Post by Einar on Feb 22, 2018 10:31:35 GMT
that was so cool to read! So Badda bing!
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Post by aoibheni on Mar 22, 2018 17:45:39 GMT
Part One.
The Granuaile added a barely visible point of light in Zeta Nine's dazzling night sky. It was hardly noticeable, really, its position all but drowned out in the blast of starlight and space dust that laced the darkness thanks to its proximity to the Badlands. Despite this, the locals noticed. Of course they did, they spent much of their time memorising the constellations, eyeing up the horizon for adverse weather, casting a glance higher for Federation ships come to finish the job.
“I think I see it!”
“You can't know that's it...”
“Well, I see something...!”
The Gran slipped silently into lower orbit and news of its arrival rippled across the colony.
--
“You coming, Cap?”
Niamh had been reclining in her Captain's chair in the cockpit, deep in thought, but now she sat up and turned to find her Ex-Oh leaning in the door. He smiled “I think they're organising some sort of fuckin' parade down there...”
She returned his smile. “Nah... I'll uh... you know.” she offered with a lame shrug.
“The planet thing?” he asked half in jest.
“The planet thing,” she confirmed. “I feel better with a roof, is all.”
Winston rolled his eyes.
“I have no idea how you managed four years at the Academy.”
“Lots of indoor sports and simulator time.”
“All right, if yer sure?”
“Someone should stay up here.” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn't push it.
“Right, so. I'll save you some cake.”
She smiled her thanks and watched him leave.
Then she sighed and leant back into her seat again, its familiar shape and the smell of ancient, worn leather comforting to her tired body. As the beautiful, arable planet spun steadily and silently below, her attention returned to her lap, her hand resting there, balled into a gentle fist. Opening it, she brushed a thumb slowly across the golden face of the object within. The Starfleet insignia shone in the dusk of the cockpit, the lights on the consoles around her reflecting off it softly as she turned it over to look at the back once more.
If it had been her real one, she'd have seen her name, her serial number, her assignment. But that one had been tossed on an Admiral's desk a long, long time ago; this one was blank. This one hadn't taken years of hard work and graft and dedication to earn. Nonetheless, she was finding it just as difficult to let go.
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Post by aoibheni on Mar 22, 2018 21:33:51 GMT
Part Two, with Einar as a special guest.
"It´s never easy letting go of what we have trained ourselves to believe, Commander."
She keep her eyes firmly focussed on the chevron in her grasp, afraid that turning her attention elsewhere would break the spell.
"Don't call me that," she rasped.
"To be fair, you called yourself that. I´m not really here."
She pursed her lips. Well, she thought, he had a point...
"Touché, sir," she responded, "But, you have to admit, it doesn't sound right anymore. Maybe it never did, I dunno."
"You deserved that rank. You didn´t earn it on the right grounds, but you made it yours."
"On the right grounds?" she closed her eyes and squeezed the comm badge. "I risked more than most for my place on that bridge, I worked harder, flew faster, travelled further, gave up far more..." but his words had cut her deeply. She'd always felt like an imposter.
"You did all that for a Federation that never existed....not for the one we have."
"At least I got out alive!" she spat into the solitary silence of her tiny, cramped cockpit, fury guiding her words. "At least I-" she threw a desperate look at the empty, worn out copilot chair to her right, imagining her captain, her mentor, her last connection to the life she'd tried to live, sitting there.
"At least I'm still here."
She stared into the emptiness to her side, across the central console as it blinked and glowed gently with a stream of data, across the minuscule width of her freighter's cockpit, reminding herself she was alone up here. She turned back to gaze out at the planet below, the greens and blues of its surface blending with a heliotrope hue in the upper atmosphere that crested the curve of the planet like a ethereal tiara. She took a deep breath and pulled her leather jacket tighter.
"And I'm immensely grateful I got to give you that," the voice responded calmly.
She stared ahead, struck with the realization that Rome, in death, as in life was continuing to teach her. Even in her own head, he had the uncanny set of skills necessary to make her feel inadequate. She'd always felt reduced to an inexperienced child by his side, and that trend seemed set to continue.
She allowed her mind's eye to set Captain Rome back, whole and alive to her right, to where he had been in life. She forced her last sight of him out of her head, replacing it with a pristine, untroubled face and immaculate uniform.
"Yea, nice one," she replied, "cause I'm doing a bang up job here. Totally worth it."
She threw her booted feet up onto the console in front of her and slouched back. "And you can cut out that martyr shit, too,” she added, her voice becoming increasingly animated. “You and I both know, no one who accepts the big chair expects to get out of it alive. 'The captain goes down with the ship'?!... hah! Bollocks to that! You weren't even a fucking pilot! You should have let me, or, or... even Ethan handle the ship. Jesus, even Feyna would have been a better choice than you... you know she'd not even hesitate."
She crossed her arms and squeezed. "You wanted to go, sir. You wanted to be a legend, you wanted to leave us all."
She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and laughed mirthlessly as something occurred to her. "'The Captain goes down with the ship', "she repeated. "The one time you actually decide to obey the rules, and look what happens..."
"Correct. I wanted it to end....all those months sleeping in my Ready room, fixated on the job alone and nothing else..."
Danann remembered seeing this, and not knowing how to address it, how to help. She had felt it wasn't her place to say anything, that they weren't close enough, that given her checkered relationship history, an offer of help might be misconstrued or angrily rejected She'd been scared to offer any help. In retrospect, she wished beyond anything that she'd had the courage to ask him what he needed.
Rome voice persisted in her head "... there was nothing left for me anymore. But at least I saved my family so they could do the good that I was unable to do, unwilling to do."
Family...
"You know, I wonder what you'd think of my latest little escapade... I'd love to be able to ask you that. I wonder if you'd even recognise me." She wiggled her heavily booted feet, imagining how different she'd look to him, or to any of her former colleagues for that matter. For a brief second, the thought of walking among them head-to-toe in lived-in brown leather, tight pants, her roaring red curls gathered into a nest at the top of her scalp, and a dual holster slung low and bristling with disruptors, amused her. She wouldn't get three feet before the intruder alert klaxon was blaring.
"If you´re asking me, I´d say something like ´you did what you always did, placing your morals above your duty´ and if you are asking yourself, which you are, you´d say ´disappointing to say the least´"
"Thankfully, for some reason, you still value my advise above your own, even in death...so I´ll say this. I´m proud that you did what you think was right...and if I taught you anything, I hope I taught you that"
She nodded in thought, uncomfortable. She let herself relive the one, prolonged disagreement they had shared; He had saved some Romulan Republic colonists on Vintaki from an attack by Empire forces, against the Admiral's orders. She was upset that he refused to see the bigger picture, that he was single-handedly destabilising the relationship between the Federation and the paranoid, insular, Romulan Empire.
His reasoning had left her doubting him for the first time. “I did what I thought was right. It was worth it, those lives were worth it.” It struck her as strange that now, Captain of her own ship, responsible for her own section of the quadrant, she was using the exact same reasoning.
Yes, she'd broken onto a Starfleet station, yes, she'd pilfered more medication than they needed, and yes, she had definitely now cut ties with the world she'd once idolised, but it was worth it, she realised, as Zeta Nine continued in its unending twirl through space, those lives were worth it...
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Post by Nola on Mar 22, 2018 21:42:52 GMT
Lovely
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Post by aoibheni on Apr 17, 2018 18:11:37 GMT
“How's Leeson?” she asked as Winston groaned his way into a seat to her right. The heavy, rough hewn barewood table wobbled on the uneven ground of the local bar. Danann's beer threatened to topple but the generous foam top held the amber liquid in place. “Well, put it this way... I don't think you have to worry about a sudden sharp pain between the shoulder blades so much any more.” “That's a relief,” she said with a deliberate smirk. “Don't misapprehend... he still hates you, but, more in a friendly, cuddly way.” “Is it weird that that makes sense to me?” she asked, leaning back and listening to the now familiar creak of the shabby hand-made benches and surveying the occupants of the dimly lit establishment.
The entire bar smelt like dry earth and old sweat and life; a surprisingly pleasant change from months in the parched, sterile, recycled air of space stations and the ancient leathern sapidity of her own cockpit.
“Glad I convinced you to come planetside?” Winston ventured, folding his oaklike arms with a self-satisfied smirk. “The beer's better down here...” she conceded, “...and the roof helps, with the, you know...” she confessed as she reached forward and grasped her glass. “And it does feel good to see everyone down here more cheerful, y'know?” she parted her lips and poured a copious quantity of her drink down her throat, wiping her wet mouth on her loose, tawny linen shirt sleeve. Winston eyed a barmaid approaching them with a second glass of beer, her smile brightening as she came closer. “And the rewards ain't half bad, either...” he remarked with a broad, garrulous grin. Danann rolled her eyes and stood. “Yep... you enjoy yourself. Just remember...” she leant in, slapping a heavy hand on his massive shoulder as she lifted her booted feet over the back of the bench, “the only thing we leave behind with these people are those meds, got it?”
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Post by Einar on Apr 17, 2018 18:27:07 GMT
you paint a perfect picture A! I loved it
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Post by aoibheni on Apr 18, 2018 14:54:50 GMT
With beer and what passed for local cuisine in her belly, satisfaction in her heart, and the muffled, cheerful sounds of the bar behind her, Niamh made the short journey back to her freighter's small, battered-up old shuttle pod that had been parked with some precision at the edge of the colony's small green. The thick soles of her peat-coloured boots crunched on the hoarfrost that crusted the frozen grass, the leather wrapped tight around her calves, loosening as the laces relaxed close to her knees. The leather protested in rhythm with her footsteps, accompanied on percussion by a loose buckle on the strap that fastened her low-slung holster securely around her smooth, tight-clad upper thigh.
She could feel the encroaching night's cold and pulled her targ-leather jacket closer around her neck. Linen and leather didn't hold in body heat, and things were just going to get colder as the Zetan night worn on, so she pressed on, ignoring the vast, yawning expanse of space directly overhead.
She threw the blazing scattering of stars, planets and the far off vibrancy of the Badlands a resentful look as she pulled on the pod's hatch release. She breathed out a lungful of relief as it slowly, clunkily descended. Her breath was visible in the frigid air and she spent a moment watching it slowly dissipate around her, mirroring the swirls and eddies she knew all too well existed inside that colourful flash of sky overhead. She'd be aiming her crew there next and she didn't relish the journey. But, they had the rest of these pilfered medical supplies to unload, and a Maquis depot inside the Badlands was the best place for it.
“Shuttle pod Tib en route” she transmitted up to her freighter in orbit, her voice all business. “ETA, five minutes, give or take... prep docking hatch 2.” The pod lifted softly off the frozen ground and glided elegantly into the sky. “Acknowledged” came the cracking, curt reply over the comm system. Leeson. She pursed her lips. “Leeson, I'll want you down here next, your Mom is expecting you. Y'have six hours tops, and do me a favour and make sure you come back with Winston?” The comm clicked in reply and cut off. Danann rolled her eyes. “Friendly and cuddly, eh?”
The pod broke through the atmosphere giving Niamh the same, familiar view of the curve of the planet below. All its history and hardships and its people reduced to a space she could cover with a single, out stretched hand.
“ETA, two minutes,” she announced, releasing her thumb's pressure on the comm control and sitting back, hoping that now, at least for a while, life would deal her a better hand.
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Post by Einar on Apr 18, 2018 14:58:17 GMT
“ETA, two minutes,” she announced, releasing her thumb's pressure on the comm control and sitting back, hoping that now, at least for a while, life would deal her a better hand. bwahah
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Post by aoibheni on Apr 18, 2018 15:03:55 GMT
How could I not?
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Post by aoibheni on May 6, 2018 11:30:25 GMT
“Thrusters at nominal. Standing ready” “Acknowledged, countdown to starboard burn commencing… ten...nine...” “Compensating for lateral drift of point three two…” “eight ...seven… keep an eye on the ball” “Aye. Drift stabilised at point oh six” “Engineering…” “Engineering here, Captain... standing ready” “Ready acknowledged, Engineering. Stand by… six...five…” “Polarizing forward hull,” “Four...three… forward deflectors set,” “We’re on the line,” “Two… one… Hit it!” The Granuaile groaned and shook as it was pushed, sidelong into a tumbling, howling tumult. The entire cockpit filled with an unsettling rattling and a high pitched whine that reverberated off every surface. The freighter was being pushed to its limit and beyond. Danann yelled to be heard. “Adjusting yaw!” She prodded her console, forcing it to respond to her commands. Thrusters at the battered ship’s starboard bow and port quarter howled into service, correcting their angle. For a brief moment, the racket quieted and she could hear her own belaboured breathing. Leeson, in the pilot seat to her right, kept his eyes peeled on the maelstrom outside the viewscreen, his hand gripping his joystick control as if his life depended on it, as well it did. “Shit, we’re rolling… compensating.” Winston’s booming baritone could just be heard on the comm unit over the thunderous din. “Deflectors at 55%... rerouting power. Hull integrity holding steady.” Leeson sat up, his eyes trained on the swirls of energy outside, his console and the readings flashing uselessly there all but forgotten. He was second generation Maquis. He knew these skies better than anyone, he had an instinct for them that Danann, or any other pilot not born to it simply could never match. “I see a lead!” he shouted, slamming his joystick to port and forcing the freighter into a tightly pitched roll. It was a hell of a maneuver. In another life, Steven Leeson woul dhave been a hit with Red Squad for sure. Danann scrambled to adjust their shielding and deflectors, trusting that he saw something in the chaos she didn’t.
“All stop!” Leeson suddenly barked, slamming a fist onto his console and shutting down propulsion. Seconds later, all was still and silent, eerily so. The swirls and eddies and twisters continued all around them, but Leeson had deposited them in a gentler stream of particles that pushed them along like a leaf in a stream. The two pilots looked at each other. “Nice flying,” Niamh panted, as she forced her jaw to relax. “Think that was bad? Wait til we have to go back out.” The ship shuddered as if reacting to his words, then settled once more. “One death-defying feat at a time, yea?” Danann suggested, pulling herself out of her seat and patting Leeson in the shoulder. He didn’t scowl at her quite a fiercely as before. Progress, Danann thought as she left the cockpit on shaky legs. “When we reach the clearing, locate the beacon, plant our flag and upload whatever’s there.” “Aye, Cap’,” he replied simply.
The Granuaile was carried along a path that would eventually lead them to the eye of a storm so massive it defied imagining. It had been given many names, none of which really embodied the sheer violence, inhospitality or unpredictability of it. But one, 'Stalingrad', seemed to get pretty close. Impossible to get into, they said, even harder to escape.
Much like the eye of Jupiter, it was the one constant in an otherwise continually shifting landscape. At its centre lay an area of pure, blissful calm, blessed relief from the fury of all that surrounded it. In this calm floated a large beacon, which, much like the cairns of ancient arctic expeditions, served as a rudimentary means of communication, and a safe, remote supply drop. It had also, once or twice, been used as a prison.
---
Danann leaned in through Sickbay’s narrow entranceway, her attention immediately snagged by the sight of her younger engineer, Evan Richley, sitting on one of the two biobeds, his chest and face covered in blood. “I git ngy tonn,” he explained helpfully, before sticking his tongue out and showing her the damage his teeth had inflicted. Blood merged freely with spit and oozed down his chin. Zoy scowled at him. “Back in your mouth.” she ordered. “Gut id kas’s funny” he complained. “If you ever want to taste anything again, you will stop flapping it around like that,” she warned, “now, hold still.” Danann waited and watched while Zoy affected a deft repair job, knitting muscle and nerves and blood vessels together along the line where Richley’s teeth had far less delicately severed them.
“We’re almost as the beacon, doc” she said once Richley was out of the woods. “Get the last of those meds together will you? I wanna see them off this ship asap.” “The bio memetic gel?” “That too.” Zoy nodded without saying a word. “All of it, doc, is that clear?” Richley swallowed a mouthful of blood and belched.
Over the comm, Leeson’s voice rang out clearly. “Beacon data downloaded… it’s picked up a distress call, Cap’. Federation ship.”
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Post by Einar on May 6, 2018 11:35:31 GMT
AND THEN WHAT??
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Post by aoibheni on May 6, 2018 11:53:41 GMT
And then Einar had to wait patiently for Part Two !
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