test content
What is the Arc Client?
Install Arc

Reprise (fanfic)

timeladykatietimeladykatie Member Posts: 86 Arc User
edited March 2014 in Ten Forward
"Does anyone remember when we used to be explorers?"
Jean-Luc Picard



To Boldly Go
Part One


Stardate 58526.7
City of Evastre, Celes II.

"It must be morning on your station, huh?" Nyssa greeted the minute her dearest answered her call. Outside her apartment it was mid-day. Little things like waking Meria up at ungodly hours of the morning amused her. Really, it was what she got for going off to study with the Federation; Alvane (Celes II as far as Earth knew it) prided itself on independence, and yet it seemed emigration was a growing problem for their lovely little world.

Meria, for her part, looked grouchy as all hell. "Yes. It's morning." Her violet hair hung in a remarkably unimpressive way, her eyes looked cloudy and barely awake, and this only fed into the amusement gained by the caller. "These twenty-four hour days are dreadful." And so was Nyssa for waking her up at three in the morning. Still, the blue-white light of Celes' star made the lilac skin of her darling seem to glow. How could the budding scientist not appreciate that at any time of day?

Of course, it wasn't like such a warm feeling could be read on Meria's exhausted expression. "I'll let you sleep in all day when you visit me on your next vacation," she said with a warm and affectionate smirk. Despite being a truly wicked person and waking her far-flung darling, Nyssa was still kind. "Speaking of, when can I expect you?"

"The trip's about a week and my leave starts tomorrow, so?" the feed went dark.

This caused Nyssa to scowl, but she could easily figure out the anticipated arrival date from that. And all joking aside, Meria really did need her sleep. Running a hand through her pale bluish hair, the relatively young Saffi stood up from her terminal, "Send a work order to Intendant Cil: Looks like my subspace com relay's busted ag-"

There was a horrible sound as the various panels and screens in Nyssa's apartment went black.

"Computer?"

The screams outside on the Capitol's streets made this little power outage seem a lot more concerning. Nyssa rushed across her living quarters to look outside and immediately wished she hadn't. Hanging in the ice-blue sky over her homeworld was a perfectly round ball of metal and sickly green light that made her begin to cry.

And then came the words. From every interface and every terminal in every home, office, restaurant or starship on, around, near Celes II. Everywhere was filled with a chorus of voices, heralding the end of the world.

"We are the Borg. Life as it has been is over: you will be assimilated. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own. You will be adapted to service us. Resistance is futile."


Stardate 88418.0 (Thirty Years Later)
Starfleet Command, City of San Francisco, Sol III.
The Andorian man wore a long black coat from collar to ankle, a single band of red across his chest and a bit of gold lining declaring him a member of the Federation's Admiralty, and doing so at least as well as the uniform he wore below the jacket. "Commander Farron," he waved as the purple-skinned woman entered the headquarters of Starfleet Command, "How is life on the Janeway?" Small talk was more than a courtesy, it had been Admiral Keval who convinced Meria Farron to take post-graduate courses at the Academy's Command School. Theirs was a relationship more of friendly banter than Admiral and Commander.

Meria passed through one of the several security scanners and winced. She knew it was never going to happen, but she was always paranoid she was going to set off a false positive on one of those checkpoints and wind up being put into a wall by one of Starfleet's finest. "I'm still just waiting to have her taken away from me, sir. It's all very surreal. And has been for three years." The comments sounded humorous, but she honestly meant them, "How is her namesake?"

"Well, I hear," Keval motioned for the Commander to follow him. "She's been guest lecturing in the Borg Studies courses at the Academy, which is by far where she is most useful."

Farron decided to not linger on the topic, "To what do I owe the summons?"

"Actually, you know how you've been paranoid that I was taking the Janeway away from you?" One of his antennae twitched, "I'm taking the Janeway away from you."

That stung. She was low-ranked for a Commanding Officer but the Janeway hadn't ever really had any noteworthy assignments. Hell, her service record was often given to other Captains as a prescription sleep aid. She understood, but it still was unpleasant. "Admiral?" she couldn't get the words out. She didn't even know what to say.

"In a few hours I'll be giving you a classified security briefing, but you have a meeting with Admiral Riker at 1400. You're not going to be late to it." He led her around a corner and up a flight of stairs toward a large room with glass walls. A number of people in the same red-hued uniform Farron wore were gathered around a large table already.

"Sir?"

He did a somewhat decent job of pretending to not notice her concerns and half-hearted protests, simply moving on. "You've got a new assignment, one that I selected you for personally. Look at that room, Meria, I mean just look. Some of those people went through hell the last couple years. The Borg, the Tholians, the Hirogen. The Federation's enemies all massing at the gates and some of those people went through nightmares." Of course, Farron hadn't.

Her ship and crew were outfitted for short-term scientific missions. The closest she had gotten to a combat zone since Vega was the ruins of Romulus. The more Keval talked, the less she felt comfortable with this new assignment. The closest thing she had to harrowing was a couple run-ins with the Borg, and if this was a Borg taskforce of some kind, she was certain it would've involved someone more experienced. Maybe her first officer, but surely not her.

"You're going to give 'em hell."

This she doubted sincerely.

"One last thing, Meria," Keval stopped walking rather abruptly and fished something out of his overcoat's pocket, "I went out on a limb for you with Riker. Don't make me look bad." With that, he took the small pin from his pocket and affixed it next to the other three gold pips on the Saffi's chest. He was having way too much fun throwing her into the deep end without preparation to see if his favorite girl from Celes II could swim.

She sputtered a few words that were utterly unintelligible and watched the Admiral wander away.

Though she didn't feel like she had particularly solid footing, she took a few deep breaths and walked into the room. Sitting around the table were a half dozen humans of various shapes and sizes, a Vulcan man sitting uncomfortably beside an Andorian woman, a rather jolly-looking Ktarian, a Trill male who looked rather serious and rather upbeat-looking Benzite woman. Sitting at the head of the conference table was a graying human with a bushy beard. His uniform had accents of gold and seemed more 'desk work' than the starship-focused and tighter uniforms the Captains wore, and his three gold pips were sitting on a framed black bar.

Admiral William Riker didn't seem amused with her barely-on-time arrival, either not aware that it was largely Admiral Keval's fault or not caring. "Glad you decided to join us, Captain. Heave a seat."

Weakly, Farron waved to the room and found her way to the last available seat, trying to hide the feeling of utter humiliation she felt at the moment; both at being 'late', though technically she had another minute or so, and of being the newest Captain at the table. She wasn't the youngest, but if adjusting for life span, she might've been second to the Vulcan for that title.

"Good," the Admiral continued. He shot a quick and stern glance to the very purple Captain and then moved that hard glance around the table. "Let's get started." He hit a few keystrokes on the table and the briefing began in earnest.

While Farron was in her meeting, Keval had some other business to attend to. He collected a few PADDs from his office and checked the time. The few hours his student was busy he had planned out like clockwork, and the next step was in place. The chevron on his chest chirped and he tapped it, "Yes, this is Keval. Energize." Light swam in his field of vision and the office he stood in was replaced by the transporter room of the USS Janeway. A wide smile played on his face. "Thank you."

With a calm but quick pace he made his way through the corridors. The Janeway wasn't a young ship, it might as well have been a contemporary of the Admiral; Keval was thrilled to see Farron react to the bells and whistles of a 25th century ship. When he finally made it to the bridge of the little research vessel, he made note of several bridge officers he had read about in reports. They all stood at attention, and he conveniently ignored them. "Commander 'of Twelve', can I speak with you in Farron's office?" He didn't wait for a response from the liberated drone, he just helped himself. It probably came off remarkably inconsiderate, but he considered himself cavalier.

The woman sitting in the central chair on the bridge lowered her head, snow-white hair tumbling down. A few implants made her past apparent, but most irritatingly, her pigment never quite returned. Several doctors promised it could with genetic resequencing, but she held out hope it would correct itself with time. Two years hadn't proved enough, apparently.

She obeyed the order she was given, she always did. She did so begrudgingly, however. "At ease," she dryly instructed the other officers once the Admiral was no longer on deck. She didn't like being called by her Borg designation, but since she didn't retain any memory of her human name, she couldn't really complain. The discomfort on her face looked apparent though.

She entered the ready room and grew notably more irritated. The Admiral was sitting in her Captain's chair. She kept her annoyance in check, however; "Reporting," she tried to purge the hostility from her tone.

"You're quite territorial, aren't you?" the Andorian Admiral asked. He took a moment to appraise the room he was in ? a few standard trinkets sat around the room: a beautiful painting of the Janeway, a painting of Farron's first command (the Minerva), some plants from Celes II she had obtained from the Federation interstellar gardens ? and then he looked back at the ex-Borg in front of him. "Meria's life has a uniquely Borg flavor to it, doesn't it? What do the Borg call her species?"

The first officer was getting more upset by the second at this point, "Species 5660, sir."

"And the Borg wiped out Celes II?"

"Species 5660 proved to have greater reaction times than typical drones. Despite average technological sophistication and physical weakness, the Collective found this a desirable trait." Each word she said she practically spat. "Much of the population was assimilated or killed and the world was decimated from orbit in the Borg incursion of 2381."

Keval nodded, "And she rescued you?"

"Admiral, I object to this line of questioning," responded the former Borg. After a long moment of unimpressed silence, she answered anyway: "I was damaged in the Borg attempt to assimilate the USS Minerva in orbit of Vega Colony. I would have been deactivated, but Commander Farron confined me in a force field using a frequency modulator from her phaser. It was a clever prison. When the other Borg were beamed off the Minerva, I remained. I later was extracted from the Collective. Federation records indicated I was an officer prior to assimilation, after several months of adjustment therapy, I was offered my commission again. I asked to serve on the Janeway."

"And have refused officers of your own command?" prodded the Admiral.

She scowled, "I am first officer to Commander Meria Farron. She not only extracted me from the Collective, she saved my life. It wouldn't have mattered at the time, but individuality makes mortality a far more pressing concern. I will gladly serve in my position until such time as my services are no longer required."

"Good,' Keval tossed one of the PADDs he held on Farron's desk. "Here are your transfer orders. Meria will be assigned a new command by day's end. You're transferred with her. And here are the dossiers on your new department heads, and your new posting." He dropped the rest of the stack on the desk beside her orders.

She looked down at the files, and the top one caught her eye, "Species 7923?"

"Yeah, the Stradivarius is going to be a pretty exciting ship," was the reply to her concern and shock. Satisfied with himself, he stood up. "Go over those dossiers. Tonight you and Farron should meet with them and explain your new mission. They're going to love it."

The first officer picked up the top file, prominently picturing a Jem'Hadar soldier, and looked up at the Admiral. "What is this mission, sir?"

Again, with more satisfaction with himself than he could bear, Keval responded with ample evasion, "It's hardly an original, but I'm partial to it. I think you'll enjoy yourself, Three." He enjoyed seeing her wince at that name. With a warm smile, he made his way to the door, "Time to transfer some command codes, a new CO should be here shortly."

Caught with little time and almost nothing that resembled an answer to her question, the first officer asked the only thing she could think. "If my history, or Commander Farron's history, with the Borg is at all relevant to our mission?"

That prompted a warm smile from the otherwise intentionally abrasive Admiral. "Oh, One-Fourth, for the first time in a long time, I actually believe it doesn't." And with that, and a small wave, he left the pale officer with the mountain of reading material.
Vice Admiral Meria Farron
USS Stradivarius
NX-163292

Author of Reprise
Post edited by timeladykatie on

Comments

  • superhombre777superhombre777 Member Posts: 147 Arc User
    edited February 2014
    When is part 2 coming?

    One suggestion - in the first section, it's hard to tell whose point of view we are seeing. It sounded like it was Meria's point of view until the screen went blank and Nyssa scowled. I suggest adding Nyssa's name to the first paragraph or a sentence explaining the situation in some more detail.
  • timeladykatietimeladykatie Member Posts: 86 Arc User
    edited February 2014
    When is part 2 coming?

    One suggestion - in the first section, it's hard to tell whose point of view we are seeing. It sounded like it was Meria's point of view until the screen went blank and Nyssa scowled. I suggest adding Nyssa's name to the first paragraph or a sentence explaining the situation in some more detail.
    Thanks. I'm trying to be third-person omniscent so I can adequately develop the entire crew. I'll have part two, and hopefully the second 'episode' started by this week's end, after I find out what the next LC is. I'd have done it already, but one of my RP projects has me grading people's writing and doing other staffly duties on weekends.

    I want this first two-part "Boldly Go" to introduce us to the crew and mission, setting up a slightly-out-of-her-depth Captain and crew who don't mesh well just yet to have some quality growing-pains subplots. Using the recent Borg problems just makes a neat thing to tie people together. I plan to take on the Dyson Sphere and New Romulus from STO as story topics, and am willing to take any other suggestions.
    Vice Admiral Meria Farron
    USS Stradivarius
    NX-163292

    Author of Reprise
  • ironphoenix113ironphoenix113 Member Posts: 0 Arc User
    edited February 2014
    Very well done! I certainly enjoyed reading your story. I personally prefer to use a third-person limited view when writing my stories, but yours was very well done.

    Side note: I have a suspicion about Three(?) of Twelve. I won't say more than I believe Meria and Three knew each other before she was assimilated.

    Also, if you haven't done so I already, I would like to encourage you to post about your entry on @ambassadormolari's Ten Forward fanfic page here to make sure your entry is easily accessable :)
    Vice Admiral Bryan Mitchel Valot
    Commanding officer: Odyssey class U.S.S. Athena
    Admiral of the 1st Assault Fleet
    Join date: Some time in Closed Beta
  • timeladykatietimeladykatie Member Posts: 86 Arc User
    edited February 2014
    To Boldly Go
    Part Two

    Stardate 88418.3
    Chevron Pub, San Francisco, Earth


    "So basically," Meria picked up a glass that had some green drink in it. She, one of the male humans and the Benzite woman sat at a bar in San Francisco after their meeting with Admiral Riker. And she was pretty sure at this point she had more drinks than a Captain should. "Basically, it's on us to remind the entire Federation that Starfleet isn't some standing army. Us. A dozen Captains. I… I just got my fourth pip today, you know."

    The man flagged the bartender. "Was that synthohol?" the human asked, more than a little concerned over his colleague's demeanor. It apparently had not been.

    "I can't say Captain T'chen seemed impressed with the assignment," the Benzite commented, "but I like it. There's something inspirational about it. When Admiral Riker said 'boldly go where no one has gone before' it was something."

    The human wondered a moment if he was the only sober one of the three, but he had to admit he liked the idea of the mission too. "T'chen has never been impressed with an assignment. You could put her in charge of the Risa defense patrol and she'd make it rain. The important thing is that the brass thinks we're suited for this mission. And why not?" Deciding it wasn’t appealing letting the two women in his company drink without him, the man picked up a glass. "Gari, Farron, we have orders. We can begrudgingly accept them like T'chen or we can go out there and take with us the soul of Starfleet."

    Farron smiled, looking down at her drink as she gently swirled it, "You know, why not? Starfleet used to be all about exploration and understanding and science. To hell with the Borg and the Klingons and the Breen and whatever else is going to try and rattle Earth's sabers. Is that the phrase? Rattle your - oh, never mind. The point is, even if no one else believes, the three of us can. Farron, Gari and Avery! And maybe some of the others too."

    "Bartender," the Benzite, Gari, waved the man down, "Can we get her some water? She probably shouldn't talk to her crew like this, don't want her accounting to be off."

    Avery, who was wearing his uniform's jacket open revealing the white, high-collared shirt beneath, looked down at a PADD. "There were three new classes, the Laurel, the Resolute and the Clarion. Looks like Farron and I have Laurel-classes and you have a Clarion-class?"

    Gari nodded, "I have the Clarion herself, actually."

    "The Discovery is a Laurel-class exploration vessel based on late 23rd century designs, specifically the Bellerophon-class and Intrepid-class," read Farron, looking over Avery's shoulder. What she saw was, to her, beyond beautiful. Elements of classic Starfleet design met with small 'fins' on the pylons housing maneuvering thrusters, a secondary deflector array, and more elements of the modern Federation cruiser. "So that's more or less what Stradivarius will look like..."


    Stardate 88418.9
    Earth Spacedock


    "Commander," a Bajoran man looked up from his meal in the station's commissary. "Can I help you?"

    Hesitant at first, she sat down at the table with the man. He wore the blue of a medical officer and was apparently posted to the ship she was being transferred to. "Lieutenant Sen, you may call me Miranda."

    He quirked a brow, "Miranda?"

    "The ship that liberated me from the collective was Miranda-class. From my research, that is a suitable feminine name. Minerva, the ship's designation, was considered but… I suppose this is unimportant."

    "Yeah." Sen nodded before shoving a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

    "You are assigned as Chief Medical Officer of the USS Stradivarius correct?" Miranda, as she apparently liked to be called, asked the doctor.

    Now he was piecing together where this was going. "I've treated liberated drones before. The protocols Starfleet Medical has are fairly precise." Though this was going to be his first time providing medical care for a liberated drone long-term. "Looks like there's a little skin irritation around your ocular implant, actually." Another forkful of pasta entered his mouth.

    "Actually," she frowned, "I was curious as to your experiences administering a drug called Kertacel-White." She had some theories about using nanoprobes to remove the Jem'Hadar dependence on the drug, but assumed Starfleet Medical would object.

    Sen couldn't help but smile. "A former-Borg first officer and some Jem'Hadar crew? Such an interesting 'mission of peaceful exploration' you have here, Commander Miranda." His cynicism aside, he did answer her question in more detail than necessary. "The dosage of White varies, frustratingly. Some Jem'Hadar have been engineered to function on lower dosages in the hope of eventually removing the dependency altogether, but the Dominion-controlled squads haven't. Which has created wild disparity in the treatment of individuals. Shouldn't be too hard to calibrate the proper dose, though, it's bound to exist in some file somewhere."

    Miranda nodded, "Familiarize yourself with proper dosages before launch in the morning."

    "Aye, sir." Sen took another bite of his food.


    Stardate 88420.0
    Bridge of the USS Stradivarius, Earth Spacedock


    Crew milled about the brownish-colored bridge. Light poured in from pale-blue lights above as the crews worked to put the final touches on the ship. Some wore a slightly different uniform and gathered tools, planning to return to the station. Things around the ship had a newly-finished quality, to such a dramatic extent that it was being finished just under the wire. The panels shimmered with modern bluish LCARS displays, and the layout of the bridge harkened back to Intrepid-classes, much like the rest of the ship, but crossed elegantly with the Galaxy-style ships.

    A brown-haired woman stood at the operations going over various functions on her terminal. A human walked by and dropped three data devices on the terminal without looking at her, and it earned her ire. She looked up to glare at the man who walked behind her station and noticed the large, rather imposing Jem'Hadar man walking on to the bridge. He didn't wear a Starfleet uniform, instead wearing the dull gray of the normal Jem'Hadar outfits. She gave him a weak wave and looked back at her console, having utterly forgotten what she was doing.

    One of the two chairs in the middle of the bridge was already occupied by the first officer, who looked up to see the head of the ship's security detail. "Lieutenant Commander Lamak'tax, you are not wearing your assigned uniform."

    The man stopped walking on his way to his station and looked long and hard at the first officer. "I am First Lamak'tax, and my clothing is not your concern, drone." He lifted his head defiantly and looked away from Miranda to his station, giving her no further mind.

    "Obedience brings victory, First Lamak'tax," the purple-skinned Captain walked out on to the bridge. In response, the handful of people sitting on the bridge stood up.

    He flared his nostrils, "And victory is life."

    "Wear what you want, but disrespect your superior officers again and I'll be calling you 'Third Lamak'tax', understood?" She motioned for people to have their seats and return to their business.

    The woman at the operations station couldn't not smirk at the Captain putting the Jem'Hadar in his place. She had to say something to break the silence for fear of enjoying the moment too much; "Sir, Spacedock personnel are disembarking now."

    "Thank you, Lieutenant…?"

    "Emoni Romana, sir."

    A smile crossed the Captain's face; the Romana symbiont was in her life again? How interesting. "Romana, ship-wide?" Three long notes signaled the compliance with this request. Farron took a breath. Not like there was a ton of pressure on her or anything. "In just a few minutes we'll be leaving the Sol system. After a short shakedown cruise, the Stradivarius will be ordered on the most ambitious mission since the Solanae Joint Command. We carry with us the mandate of Starfleet itself: to seek out new life and new civilizations. In an age of war, politics and dissent, it is the job of the Stradivarius' crew and eleven more like us are charged with bringing hope to a galaxy where it is in short supply. It isn't just exploring, it's giving the Federation something to believe in again. And I'm sure some of you don't think this is a good use of our time, some of you might see it as Starfleet's shamefully using us as morale for the soldiers it presses into service. Honestly, some of the other Captains on this mission think the same. But I promise you this: on this ship, we are dedicated to one cause. Not morale, or politics, or war; we are here to be the bold explorers, to go forth an discover the undiscovered." She felt comfortable with that little speech, despite being more than a little hung over when she wrote it the night before. She sat down beside the first officer and looked toward her operations officer, who gave a slight nod. She nodded in return and turned her attention to the large blue-lit doors on the viewscreen slowly opening to the blackness of space.

    "You believe in this mission." It was more an observation than a question from 'Three of Twelve'.

    Farron nodded, "Someone has to," she responded under her breath. "Earth Spacedock, this is the Stradivarius, permission to depart?"

    "Granted, Stradivarius. Godspeed."

    "Romana, retract all moorings and release docking clamps. Ensign Eris, the honor is yours: take us out." Sitting back in her chair, Farron watched the crew around her shuffle to life, beginning to work slowly and surely as a cohesive unit. From a familiar first officer and an Ops specialist she sort of knew to an abrasive Jem'Hadar, she watched the first few moments of them being a crew. And it was lovely. Slowly, the ship left the relative safety of the spacedock and entered the unsure universe it was assigned to explore.

    It was kind of fun.



    Captain's log, stardate 88420.0. Inaugural entry.
    I've been toying with a dozen ways to say it, but I think there's only one real option, isn't there? Only one proper way to say 'hello'. So here goes nothing.
    Space; the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship
    Stradivarius. Her ongoing mssion? To explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, and to boldly go where no one has gone before.
    Vice Admiral Meria Farron
    USS Stradivarius
    NX-163292

    Author of Reprise
  • timeladykatietimeladykatie Member Posts: 86 Arc User
    edited February 2014
    Very well done! I certainly enjoyed reading your story. I personally prefer to use a third-person limited view when writing my stories, but yours was very well done.

    Side note: I have a suspicion about Three(?) of Twelve. I won't say more than I believe Meria and Three knew each other before she was assimilated.

    Also, if you haven't done so I already, I would like to encourage you to post about your entry on @ambassadormolari's Ten Forward fanfic page here to make sure your entry is easily accessable :)

    Thanks! I got myself on the list, yeah. And there is some pretty good evidence to support your theory, but saying anything, well... spoilers.
    Vice Admiral Meria Farron
    USS Stradivarius
    NX-163292

    Author of Reprise
  • timeladykatietimeladykatie Member Posts: 86 Arc User
    edited March 2014
    Dreams of Flight
    Part One

    Stardate 88488.8
    Bridge, USS Stradivarius


    The path to the Azure Nebula was long. As she sat on the bridge sipping a teacup, the Borg-enhanced mind of the ship’s First Officer calculated how behind schedule they still were. There was a lot of flexibility from Starfleet in the ‘explore strange new worlds’ mission, but deviation from flight plans wasn’t something Miranda enjoyed. Her tea was also a little too bitter this morning, not that it was at all important.

    Large displays charted their progress toward their destination behind the bridge’s central chair, charting distant anomalies and changes as the Stradivarius passed through, while in front of the liberated drone she watched an Andorian operate the helm controls. Normally, the First Officer would be conducting efficiency studies or some other task suited to her skills, but today the ship passed near the Celes system, an event that Miranda decided might be 'emotionally turbulent' passing near her decimated homeworld.

    BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.

    Miranda could measure her anxiety spike. It was a gift and a curse. "Report."

    The bespotted woman at the Operations console quickly pressed a few keys, "Warp signature detected, Commander. The warp field profile doesn't match anything in the database." Her hands danced on the panel with an expertise far beyond her apparent years. "It looks like they're exiting warp."

    A human from a science station chimed in, "The nebula seems to have masked it from sensors, I can only track its warp trail to the nebula's edge."

    This was problematic. She didn't have a lot of time to make a decision, but was massively uncomfortable entering the system of the Captain's devastated home. Then again, they had a mission… "Miss Zidas, alter course to intercept, maximum warp. Yellow alert." It might have been premature, but in this cosmic neighborhood, and given personal connections to the area, it was a precaution she determined necessary.

    It was only a few moments to get to the nebula just beyond the Celes system. The feeling of a ship dropping out of warp was something that was unmistakable, even with years in Starfleet. It was amazing timing that Captain Farron arrived when she did; though she was called to the bridge by the heightened alert, it had taken her several minutes. And she looked unprepared for service – her uniform jacket was worn open, revealing the white high-collared shirt beneath the dark gray, black and red of her uniform. In addition to wearing her jacket unzipped, her hair hung rather lifelessly.

    "Report," the Captain asked as she entered the bridge.

    Miranda immediately stood, giving the Captain her chair, and moved to an open console not far away, "An unidentified ship, not responding to hails. It dropped out of warp outside the Celes system seven minutes ago. We were close enough to intercept." At her new station, a few quick keystrokes put the vessel on the viewscreen. It was wide and thin, somewhat resembling a Federation Escort-style ship mixed with a manta ray. Its dark blue metal hull was accented with reds and blues and it carried a large blue 'mouth' at the front of its body. The wings held small nacelles poking out from the back and a long, thin 'tail' tapered off the back of the body of the craft. It looked more like an ancient stealth bomber than a starship.

    Romana, from Operations, added in, "I'm not detecting any subspace signals from the ship. It might not be responding because it isn't capable." A few beeps came from her terminal and she took a moment to look her display over before deciding it made no sense. "Ensign Lansing, this isn't making a whole lot of sense to me. Can you run it through pattern-recognition?" The console beeped again; they were transmitting the strange signal a second time. And a third.

    The Captain sat down in her chair, looking over the vessel on the screen with bewilderment. "Mer, have you seen anything like this before?" It paid to have a friend who had all the knowledge of the Borg at her disposal.

    Well, it didn't pay today, but it usually did. Today, what she got from Miranda was; "The Borg have not assimilated any vessels of this design. The hull geometry is unknown to me, Captain." She made a few quick keystrokes and a number of the large displays around the bridge altered to show scans of the other ship. "The large recess on the bow of the other vessel appears to act as a high-energy deflector array. I'm reading several very small craft orbiting it with maneuvering thrusters as well; they seem to be emitting a sensor field."

    Of all the things to pop up so close to some hard memories, this was certainly an interesting one. "Romana, that signals they're sending, can we transmit a standard greeting on the same frequency?"

    "They're using slower-than-light communications, Captain." Romana shrugged, "If we can close to one hundred thousand kilometers, I might be able to swing nearly real-time communications, but at this range I can't promise much."

    "Closing without responding to their signal might seem aggressive," Miranda felt a need to point out, "and we presently cannot decipher their signal."

    First contact was a precarious position in the best situations, antiquated communication methods weren't unheard of. But if the universal translator couldn't come up with an answer to what their hail had been… "Zidas, bring us into real-time communications range, nice and slow. Romana, transmit standard greeting on their frequency. Mer, hail Starbase 114 and advise them of the situation. Mister Lansing, I need to be able to talk to these people."

    The thin human male looked up from his display, distraught. "The signal's wave-form seems to be a highly-compressed set of isometric functions. Based on their technology level, my guess is it's a rudimentary identify friend-foe system."

    "Look out a window," remarked the Andorian pilot, sharing her fair bit of snark.

    Farron folded her hands, resting her chin on them and in turn resting her elbows on her armrests. All they could do now was wait. As the ship grew nearer, the Captain stood and zipped her uniform jacket. The tension was mounting as seconds ticked on and turned to minutes. The other ship didn't move, and ceased their unusual hail after the first minute. The only sound in Farron's ears was the gentle hum of the ship's systems.

    "We're within one light-second," announced the pilot.

    Discontent with the continued wait, Farron gave the order. "That's close enough. Open a channel." She took a few steps to stand in the middle of her bridge. She hated the slow speed of this encounter, but she had to deal with what she had at hand. First contact was an honor, even if it was a frustrating honor.

    It took what felt minutes, maybe hours. Realistically, it was a couple seconds. When the image on the viewscreen changed, it took the air from Farron's lungs. Her legs felt weak and all the confidence she had was instantly evaporated. Still, she said what she had prepared to say; "I am Captain Meria Farron of the starship Stradivarius, representing… representing the United Federation of Planets."

    Her unease was clear, and the reason was a good one. Of the five people she could see on the dimly lit bridge of the other vessel, what stood out was the distinctive purple skin that Captain Farron shared. From the small edge along their jawlines to their hair, their eyes… the crew of the vessel was decidedly Saffi.

    They looked equally confused, and the fact that it took nearly a full second for them to respond made things even more uncomfortable. There were men and women on the other ship's bridge who exchanged glances and finally, one spoke; "This is the Saffi vessel Norende."


    Stardate 88489.0
    Transporter Room, USS Stradivarius


    A white uniform coat with gold trim was worn over a red blouse in Farron's dress uniform. Romana stood beside her, and a human male completed the team. The Trill's blouse was tallow and the man's was black, indicating her department and his civilian status. His jacket also had a diplomatic insignia instead of rank pips and was worn open, unlike the officer's uniforms.

    "Any idea what we're facing, sir?" the Operations chief asked. Farron had asked Romana to join them because she had received their signal, but moreover it was because Farron knew her. Well, Farron had served with Serazia Romana, Emoni Romana was a different host of the same symbiont. There was a lot of comfort there, and Emoni was less… intimidating than a liberated Borg.

    Romana's question was more than fair, considering these were ostensibly her people. "Our schools tested us on all early warp ships. The Iadena, the Piripsen, our first ship's name was Conisbra. Our early ships had a curved frame, and it used retracting 'wings' instead of traditional warp nacelles. This looks nothing like Saffi technology. The name sounds like gibberish." In short, she had no idea who she was dealing with.

    Special Attache Romero Smith was the diplomatic corps liaison stationed on Straivarius, and so his involvement in first contact was immediately apparent. "They said this was their first warp flight?" He didn't like being suspicious of a First Contact, but this one put him on edge. When Romana nodded confirmation, he frowned. "Most first flights are small craft, the Norende is fairly large by comparison." It only had fifty crew members, but in terms of size it could compare to a small Starfleet vessel.

    "Conisbra was a little larger than a Delta Flyer-class runabout," Farron agreed.

    The transporter chief looked up from his controls; "Norende ready to transport guests."

    "Energize," Farron's heart leapt into her throat. There were only a smattering of surviving Saffi scattered throughout the Beta Quadrant. It didn't make much sense, but these were still her people. For whatever reason, they were survivors of the Borg incursion of 2381. It was like seeing family.

    Three lights coalesced into people in front of Stradivarius' three delegates. That much was right to Farron – one Captain and two security personnel. Their uniforms also resembled what officials of Celes II wore; a black jacket with ornamented gray lapels that draped over the shoulders in a short blue cape, lined with gold. Around each sleeve was a red band, also framed in gold, and those red bands bore large rank and division insignias. The jackets were closed with what essentially amounted to a black zipper. The Captain was female, reasonable given Celes II had a matriarchal history, and the male security officers wore a chain connecting their lapels, gloves of black leather and a black leather belt with a silver clasp emblazoned with a sigil Farron recognized and representing the ancient Saffi Air and Space Command. The Captain wore something that vaguely resembled a tie of red, also lined with ornamental gold and with a gold metallic clasp near her neck bearing the symbol on her attendant's belts. The tie was, based on its apparent luxury, likely a symbol of command. Everything was fairly consistent with historical dress and practices of Celes II.

    "Captain Farron," the Norende's commander addressed her host with a left-handed salute.

    Farron mirrored the gesture by rote, "Captain Ranem, it's a pleasure. This is Attache Smith and Lieutenant Romana. Mister Smith is a diplomatic envoy and it was Romana who received your signal."

    One of Ranem's security attendants stepped forward and handed Farron a bundle of cloth. The colors gave it away – it was a uniform like Ranem's, and a bottle of an alcohol the Starfleet Captain recognized from her homeworld. Gifts, ones that she immediately treasured despite her doubts.

    Ranem appraised the pair with her counterpart and looked back to Farron, "Would your associates be so kind as to offer my attendants a tour of your vessel?" One of the men in her company started to speak, presumably in protest, but she cut him off. "I have a fair number of questions for you."

    Farron could see the same discomfort in Romana that Ranem's detail was showing, but she decided she'd let Miranda and Lamak'tax scold her later. "We can speak one of our observation lounges." She made a broad gesture to indicate that she'd follow the party out. As the visitors left, Smith and Romana followed. The Captain hesitated, however.

    The transporter chief gave his Captain a sympathetic look, "I checked, sir. Transporter trace records say they really are Saffi." It was expected, but it was something it was nice to confirm.

    "I suppose I have a lot of questions for her, too, then," Farron responded, "Thanks."
    Vice Admiral Meria Farron
    USS Stradivarius
    NX-163292

    Author of Reprise
  • timeladykatietimeladykatie Member Posts: 86 Arc User
    edited March 2014
    Dreams of Flight
    Part Two

    Stardate 88489.1
    Bridge, USS Stradivarius


    The bald man at a science station looked up toward the First Officer, a bit of alarm on his face. "Commander, scans detected something unusual," which was honestly a relief considering how unusual the situation was. Lansing continued explaining once he had Miranda's attention; "Their deflector array is rigged to handle massive amounts of energy, even by deflector standards. I'm not sure, but I think it's designed to channel output directly from their warp core."

    "For what purpose?" The pale-skinned woman had a guess or two as to the answer, but didn't want to say without some confirmation.

    Lansing shrugged, "I think it might be a directed energy weapon. They wouldn't be able to use it while generating a warp field, but it would pack one hell of a punch." It was low-tech and dangerous, but a fist still hurt even when the hit party held a phaser.

    But the question of how this channeled energy array worked piqued Miranda's curiosity; "Mister Lansing, please run simulations on that array's efficacy and stability." It was more than knowing what might come to bite them; it was a matter of trying to understand just how sophisticated this 'first flight' was. It didn't sit right with her.


    Stardate 88489.1
    Primary Observation Lounge, USS Stradivarius


    "I admit I am disappointed, Meria. Can I call you Meria?" Ranem stood at one end of the long table, looking at information displayed on a wall about what the Federation was, and what they represented. "I saw you; I heard my language being spoken. I don't know what I hoped…"

    "Ecrin," Farron tried to sound as comforting as possible, "Alvane's first faster-than-light flight was the Conisbra, commanded by Raas Aldon five centuries ago. This might be hard to accept, but the current year is 6247." It was hard for the Starfleet Captain to accept, she had to assume it would be hard for Ranem. Farron sat on the edge of the table and looked out the window at Ranem's ship and the bluish nebula beyond.

    "6247… my science officer told me something was wrong. I didn't want to listen." Ranem let out a slow, controlled breath. "We launched in 5590. I know – knew – Raas…" She was quiet a long moment, letting a mournful silence fall over the observation lounge. "Here you are, though. Commanding a ship full of aliens… a daughter of Alvane representing a great Federation." She slowly sat on the table beside Farron and looked out, seeing her ship against the blue mists of the Celes nebula.

    Farron didn't respond for a long moment, not sure of what to say. But she had curiosities she couldn't simply leave alone. "That's fifty years before the Conisbra. I never learned about you."

    Ranem wasn't really comfortable hearing that for any number of reasons, but she decided to share the story regardless. "Six years ago we discovered an alien ship in the Chiladao Sea. We harvested the propulsion system and power source and built the Norende around them."

    "You… found what?" That hurt. Inventing faster-than-light engines was a rite of passage in the galaxy. It was a point of pride. Not everyone celebrated the anniversary of their first warp flight like Earth – Farron never did – but it was so meaningful to societies that Cardassia and Bajor argued over who conducted faster-than-light flights first. A fundamental part of her cultural history was, rather devastatingly, a lie.

    Ranem felt the judgment of her fellow Captain. "The Air and Space Command was our first attempt at world governance and cooperation. We created space stations, we explored our solar system. We saw the blue cloud just beyond our reach and we saw a way to reach it." She was defensive, more so than she meant to be, and she took a breath to steady herself. "I want to speak to the Air and Space Command. You're telling me it's been hundreds of years and we, my crew… our voyage was forgotten? That's… that's wrong, Meria. I don't care if you're not proud of us, I am."

    And that stung worse. She didn't know how to handle this; it was unburying a part of her world, and doing so over its ashes. Her initial reaction was too harsh, and she knew it. "I'm sorry, Ecrin. I honestly am proud of you. It's just…" her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Lately the things I remember about home are more important to me. I miss it." It wasn't Ranem, or her ship, or the Air and Space Command from centuries ago that she was angry with. Her anger was with her culture, her history being taken away from her. Thiers was one more piece of home that she could never go back to.

    Ranem nodded, "You must not get back often, traveling a whole Federation."

    "No, that's…" God, this was one of the most difficult conversations she had ever experienced, "Not everything in the stars is like the Federation. There was an attack by a cybernetic species called the Borg. Their ships attacked from orbit. The Home Guard, what the Air and Space Command became, had their ships and crews assimilated into the Borg collective consciousness. Everyone on the planet or in orbit was killed or converted into a Borg drone. The whole process took only days." She wasn't comfortable sitting anymore, so she stood up and took a step toward the window, not wanting to look at Ranem, to see her space. "I think there are a few million Saffi left, those of us who were off-world. A few million from a population of ten billion. I'm so sorry, Ecrin."

    For a long time, Ranem didn't speak. She looked down at her hands, which folded nervously on her lap. "This can't be real. None of this."

    "Computer, Borg incursion of 2381. Celes II." The display screen on the wall began describing information about the invasion into the Beta quadrant and reciting details about the attack on Celes.

    Ranem watched the display in horror for a moment, only a moment, before getting up and starting to walk out of the room. "I'm going back to my ship. To Alvane or Celes II or whatever you call it. And if this isn't some cruel joke, we'll go back to our own time, we'll warn the people, we'll change this! Help us get back, Meria!"

    It hurt more than anything else to have to say it, but Farron shook her head, "I can't help you do something like that. We have a concept called the 'temporal prime directive'. Even if we knew how to send you back, we can't let the timeline be altered." She wanted to see her world alive again, though. It was seriously tempting. But she was a Starfleet officer, and time travel was not something to meddle with.

    "Now I know you're not really Saffi," Ranem turned angrily to Farron, "how else could you sentence your own people to death?"

    It took a lot to keep calm, to not snap at Ranem despite emotional and visceral agreement. "Can you account for every change you'll make to the timeline? What if we abandon warp flight? Or become militaristic? What if we become a brutal empire under the fear of a fate you don't even know you can change? Go ahead; accuse me of not being Saffi, because if you go back I might not know what the word means anymore."

    "It's worth it to make sure you have a home to go to!" responded Ranem with more than a little aggression. Farron was used to this, it was her reality, but Ranem was new to this harsh truth. "Maybe this is written in stone for you, but I shape my own destiny, Captain Farron!"

    She tried to have as much patience as she could. "I understand. I really do. But even if you could get back, how could you change things? How could you be sure history goes as you intend?" She was echoing her previous point, noticing Ranem didn't engage with it. "We don't have a lot of our home left. A handful of ships, a couple cultural touchstones… you, your crew, the Norende can make a real impact here, now. We're lost, scattered in the endless night. You can give us a reason to remember where we came from again. It hurts, Ecrin. It's fresh still for us. Give us something to celebrate."

    Farron's speech made Ranem stop. Temporal mechanics were frustrating and the Starfleet 'temporal prime directive' seemed silly, but she took slow breaths and let her anger settle. "I need to tell my crew."

    Admittedly, Farron didn't entirely trust Ranem not to do something foolish, but she wanted to trust her fellow Captain, the person who pioneered the final frontier for her people. So she nodded. She let Ranem leave.


    Stardate 88489.3
    Bridge, USS Stradivarius


    Her normal dark uniform jacket graced Farron's shoulders as she walked on to the bridge. She felt horrible, worse than she expected today to feel and that was pretty terrible. Lansing waved her over to his station when she walked out of the turbolift and a part of her wanted to keep walking, to sulk in her ready room. But as she had once today already, her duty triumphed over her sense of despair.

    "Captain, I think I know what happened to the Norende," Lansing ran his hands along his terminal and an image of the scans of the Saffi ship was displayed. "Their ship's primary weapon channels warp energy into a burst from their deflector array. That's hugely dangerous. The way it influences the warp field is really, really problematic. I think when the Norende passed through the Celes Nebula the main weapon went off. Maybe someone fired it, maybe it was a misfire, but the effect was the same. The warp field got wildly unstable. Wildly. I'm also detecting chronoton particles in their warp field."

    "So you're telling me they accidentally invented a temporal engine?" Farron couldn't hide her skepticism.

    "A really terrible one, maybe," responded the science officer. "I think the unstable warp field excited the exotic particles in the nebula Starbase 114 has been studying. The warp field would have to collapse in just the right way, at the right speed, at the right point of the nebula. I doubt it can be repeated intentionally."

    Satisfied with this, the Captain offered an affirming nod to the science officer, "Notify Starbase 117 just the same." Mystery solved, she supposed, not that it made her feel better.

    "There's something else, sir."

    She looked quizzically at the human.

    "This is the Norende's warp profile," a waveform appeared on the screen in front of him. "Captain Ranem said she salvaged the warp core, so I decided to account for the affect their weapon has on their warp field, and some leeway for modifications to match their systems, and Lieutenant Romana ran it through the database again. We have a match." The waveform shifted and an image of a ship appeared on the screen. The ship was Starfleet – Dervish Class. "Which explains the size of the ship, and the hull geometry has some slight overtones of the Dervish as well."

    She gave him her best glower. He raised about a thousand more questions than he answered. "Could this have to do with the nebula?"

    "Doubtful," the First Officer approached her Captain and Science Officer, "the chronoton traces in the nebula are positively charged. I do not believe evidence supports a capability of traveling back in time without significant effort."

    That was concerning. At some point, a Federation ship would slip through time possibly due to a fault in the warp core, and because of that Farron's people would discover warp drive, and their first warp flight would end six hundred years late. "DTI is going to be furious…" This was a horrible day.

    So from here on it was a matter of small mercies. A new piece of her history revealed after the desolation of her home, a Captain's uniform from that history, and a delightful bottle she planned to save for the most special occasion she could. The Dervish mystery could be DTI's problem, and the heartache was something she learned to live with.
    Vice Admiral Meria Farron
    USS Stradivarius
    NX-163292

    Author of Reprise
  • timeladykatietimeladykatie Member Posts: 86 Arc User
    edited March 2014
    Icarus
    Part One


    Stardate 88505.4
    Bridge, USS Stradivarius


    It had taken a month, but the first objective set by Captain Meria Farron, reaching the Azure Nebula, had been successful. She wanted to be on the bridge when it came into visual range, so she sat in her chair, watching as the blue cloud came into view. It felt good to complete even such a small objective with such a new ship and crew. After three days surveying the nebula, Starfleet Command ordered them to New Romulus for a diplomatic summit, but for now, at least, the ship and crew could chart the cloud and attempt to broaden the understanding of the universe.

    Farron's moment of self-congratulation was interrupted, however. "Captain," the Jem'hadar tactical officer's gruff voice addressed the bridge. "I am detecting a ship in the nebula. The transponder is Starfleet, USS Icarus. Its shields are raised."

    "Open a channel," Farron stood up and stepped forward expecting to see a person appear on the viewer. No one did.

    From Operation, Romana reported the obvious. "No response."

    "Captain," the first officer stood at a station in front of the commanding officer, "I am not reading any life signs aboard the Icarus. It is Solanae-class, standard crew compliment four hundred."

    "There are no signs of battle," contributed Lamak'tax. Which made the raised shields and lack of life signs particularly concerning.

    Farron took a few steps to look over Miranda's shoulder. "Eris, move us to within transporter range. Miranda, lead an away team. Find out what's going on over there." She reached forward and hit a few keys on the Commander's display. "I'll use Icarus' prefix code to drop shields so you can beam over," which was about the only way she was going to get any answers.

    "First Lamak'tax, you are with me," Miranda nodded to her Captain and made swiftly for the turbolift.

    Fingers dancing over the newly-vacated console, Farron transmitted the code to Icarus' main computer. The console's display changed, taking on the appearance of Dyson-influenced controls. She hesitated a moment, trying to get the hang of the different interface, but quickly adapted.


    Stardate 88505.5
    Deck One, USS Icarus


    Five pillars of light coalesced into humanoid forms. Miranda was the center figure with an Andorian in an amber-shouldered uniform sporting a white beard and a case in one hand on her left. On her right was a bald-headed human with blue shoulders. The figures at their flanks were both Jem'hadar holding phaser rifles in their hands. They materialized in a mostly-round corridor lit with blue-white lights; circular 'doors' existed both ahead of and behind the away team, lit with similar lights.

    Miranda held a tricorder in a gloved hand, glancing down at its small readout. "Main power is online and Stradivarius appears to hold most command functions, but the bridge, main engineering and other sensitive areas remain shielded. Mister Hyhr, can you override and get us access to the bridge?"

    The Andorian approached one of the doors and knelt down. "I can certainly try," he remarked as he opened his tool kit. He removed a panel from the wall beside the door and frowned rather intently at it for a moment before grabbing a tool. "I'm not exactly versed in Dyson technology; this could take a few minutes, Commander." He did, to his credit, set to it immediately. Overloading the field generator seemed like his best plan.

    Miranda looked to the bald human. "Mister Lansing, First Lamak'tax, please search the ship. Attempt to discern the status of the crew." It wasn't entirely evident what had happened on the ship, and Miranda was determined to have the ship searched. The problem was, the Icarus was massive, and the Stradivarius' crew was relatively small. Until she knew how the ship wound up as it was, she wasn't prepared to commit additional resources to the search. "Third Avat'iklan, you will provide tactical support for Mister Hyhr and myself."

    "Anyone who attempts to bring harm to our crew will be eliminated," Lamak'tax responded, and Avat'iklan saluted. With that out of the way, the First turned and marched for the turbolift, followed by a very intimidated science officer.

    Hyhr looked up from the controls he was working on, "Isn't our security team remarkably charming, Commander?" He put the tool he had back in his case and grabbed another.

    Choosing to ignore his humor, Miranda decided to inquire instead about his status. "How long, Lieutenant?"

    "Sheesh, sir, no love of small talk?" he shook his head and activated the tool in his hand, "Is it some ex-Borg efficiency thing? Because I assure you, I'm working at peak effectiveness. A little chat isn't going to distract me. I'm abso–" he was interrupted by the controls he was manipulating exploding and showering him with sparks. "Ow, ow, ow! Try it now."

    Miranda approached the door and, with her free hand, pressed a panel next to the door, causing it to open. "You are efficient, Lieutenant Hyhr." She stepped over him and walked on to the bridge. Avat'iklan followed, similarly stepping over the Andorian.

    "Thanks," he muttered, putting his tools in his case and following them onto the bridge.

    The bridge was surprisingly small and it had few interfaces and no viewscreen. There were two chairs with controls around them near the front of the room and another near the back, presumably the Captain's, with some controls around and behind it. For a ship with such a high crew compliment, it could clearly be operated by a skeleton crew. But the thing that immediately concerned Miranda was the lack of bodies. The crew wasn't dead, they were missing. If no one was on the heavily-secured bridge it would be unlikely that Lansing was going to find them in crew quarters. The second most striking feature was a holographic projection of the Icarus at the center of the bridge.

    "Well, this is interesting bridge design. Any idea how these systems work?" Hyhr approached the hologram and frowned at the image, as if he hoped it would be more helpful.

    "Unfortunately, I was not part of the Collective when any Solanae-class vessels were assimilated," Miranda remarked with a smirk. It was her attempt at a joke, though it wasn't a particularly funny one. Catching Hyhr's glare, she responded succinctly: "Banter, Lieutenant." She triumphantly, though undeservedly so, walked over to the Captain's chair.

    Hyhr hit a few controls on the projector terminal, not that any of them seemed to do anything. "Not one of your strong suits, sir." He glanced up from the controls to see Avat'iklan standing, stoic and rigid, at the door they came through.

    Tapping the displays seemed similarly ineffective for Miranda. "It appears to be another security lockout. Curious…" If the ex-Borg believed in 'hunches' she would be certain she had one. She stepped aside and took a seat in the command chair. The instant she sat down, a holographic panorama shimmered to life in front of her, displaying the blue clouds of the nebula and the profile of the Stradivarius against them in a translucent, semi-present state.

    Hyhr was captivated, able to utter little more than, "Woah," in his momentary awe.

    "Woah indeed," Miranda responded. She reached out and physically manipulated the display to zoom in on the ship. It was impressive, if inefficient. Clearly it was more to immerse and impress than to be practical. Still, the impressive viewscreen-replacement wasn't really their purpose. "Lieutenant, please determine which terminal controls the security subsystems and lower the fields still in place throughout the vessel."

    "The command lockout?" he pointed out the obvious.

    The Commander sat back in the chair, "I will attempt to use my command code. Computer, recognize Three of Twelve, First officer of USS Stradivarius. Authorization code five-two-two-seven-eight-alpha-seven-seven-one. Release command controls."

    A buzz rang on the bridge: "Unable to comply. Sigma nine security clearance required." The voice was male, unlike the standard feminine voice of Starfleet computer interfaces.

    "Any other ideas, Commander?" Hyhr eyed the first officer skeptically.

    "One," she responded flatly and removed the glove covering her right hand. She held her exposed fist up to the interface in front of her. She steadied her fist and launched two dark gray metal tubes from her knuckles, piercing into the terminal. Lights flickered around the bridge and the holographic projections flicked off and on a few times before a few tones came from the computer and the displays returned to normal. "You should be able to access security systems now, Mister Hyhr," she retracted the tubes back into her hand and calmly put the black glove back on.

    This clearly amused Avat'iklan. "Impressive, sir."

    "You couldn't have done that out in the corridor?" the engineer tried to sound exasperated. He had access to everything now; it was just a matter of learning the interface. The low number of LCARS terminals was more than slightly bothersome.

    "No," she responded abruptly before moving on to something else entirely. "Our time is limited; I simply routed command functions through a system Stradivarius is controlling with Icarus' prefix code. When that connection ends, the lockouts will resume."

    "Be efficient, got it," the Andorian retorted.

    This brought a smile to her face, but she opted not to remark on it. "Computer, display last log entry."

    The hologram of the ship at the center of the bridge took the shape of a man. He was young, human with light-colored hair and a youthful collection of features. "Captain's log," he began reciting, "stardate 88495.4."

    "There have been no log entries in three days?" Avat'iklan wasn't too familiar with Starfleet protocols, but that was certainly a red flag.

    The holographic Captain continued with his log entry. "We've just departed Vigila Confido spire and are approaching the gateway back to the Beta Quadrant. Starfleet Command has ordered us to the Hromi Cluster. I'm not entirely comfortable taking discoveries from Solanae Joint Command and using them on Starfleet projects, particularly ones so close to Romulan and Klingon space, but Starfleet Intelligence assures me our 'allies' are doing the same. I'm not excited about what we're enabling, but orders are orders." The image of the man vanished, replaced again by the blue-light frame of the Icarus.

    The First Officer tapped the badge on her chest, "Away team to Stradivarius, .I am forwarding the ship's logs, but it seems the Captain was concerned about a cargo run to a Federation outpost in the Hromi Cluster. Sections of the ship's database are also sealed with a high-level Starfleet Intelligence encryption. At present we do not know the crew's status, but it can be safely said ample motive existed for Icarus to be attacked."

    "Yet still we have no evidence of an attack," remarked Avat'iklan. It was more like the crew just vanished, and that was unnerving. An enemy could be killed, mysteries weren't so simple.

    The voice of Farron came through the badge. "I'll contact Starfleet Intelligence. I'm also sending over additional away teams to explore the ship. You should also know that Icarus' computer will lock out our remote functions in ten minutes."

    "I'll get as many systems working as I can before that happens, sir," Hyhr knelt down and took a tool from his case again before affixing it to the terminal he was at.

    "Icarus out." Miranda closed the channel. There was a lot left to do, and ten minutes before it all got significantly harder. She didn't want to inject the terminal again, but she was willing to if it became necessary.
    Vice Admiral Meria Farron
    USS Stradivarius
    NX-163292

    Author of Reprise
  • timeladykatietimeladykatie Member Posts: 86 Arc User
    edited March 2014
    Icarus
    Part Two


    Stardate 88505.7
    Ready Room, USS Stradivarius


    The man on the screen had an amber-lined uniform and a deceptively kind smile. He was a Lieutenant Commander and a human. And too damned happy. "I sympathize, Captain. I'm also curious about what happened to the Icarus. We've pulled the Lakota and Calypso from the Romulan border and have them searching the area for any distress calls or anomalies. But understand our position: Icarus' mission was sensitive. Leave this one for us to handle, sir."

    A very frustrated Farron held up a PADD, "How is a supply run, even from Solanae, a sensitive mission?" She sat back in her chair, fairly confident she wasn't going to get anywhere. She'd been at it for twenty minutes by this point. "Captain Anton Nechayev, log entry dated three days ago. Transporting Dyson-based technology to a Federation outpost in the Hromi cluster. I know Icarus' mission already."

    "You're not supposed to," was the befuddled and unhelpful response from Starfleet intelligence.

    "Commander, if you and I are going to have the same conversation I had with the last three Intelligence officers, can you at least get the notes from the last person. You shouldn't be so surprised when I say something I've told three other people in your office," she got as snarky as she possibly could, "I mean, you are Starfleet Intelligence, right?" The person on the screen opened his mouth to speak, and no words came out. Farron put a hand to her forehead. "Just put me through to Admiral Keval at Starfleet Command."

    "I'm afraid I can't, Captain."

    "Then what the hell can you do?" she had passed the point of exasperation.

    Meekly, the man on the screen offered the response that Farron entirely anticipated he would. "I can tell you the Lakota and Calypso will be looking for the crew of the Icarus. And that you're asked to delay your survey and leave the nebula."

    She dropped the PADD on her desk, "You're asking me to abandon one of our most advanced vessels in open space, and leave it for at least a day waiting for the Lakota to collect it?"

    "Or the Calypso."

    "And that's ridiculous." Farron's hands ran through her hair. She couldn't refuse the order, but she had the right to make it a little harder for SI to issue. "If Starfleet Intelligence wants me to leave the Icarus adrift, I want the order in writing from Admiral Chakotay. And I'll be filing a protest in my log." Sometimes bureaucracy was magical. Before the man could object, she added a curt "Stradivarius out."

    The Captain sat back in her chair and dropped her head backward, turning her gaze to the ceiling. Sometimes the command structure for Starfleet was too cumbersome for her taste, but it was the cumbersome command structure that welcomed her when she suddenly found herself homeless and essentially alone in the universe, so she was more comfortable using the system to her advantage than shirking it. And then the idea came to her. She was all but shocked she hadn't thought of it immediately. She hopped to her feet and walked out on to the bridge.

    "Romana, advise the teams on Icarus to check Engineering, the cargo bays, and sick bay one last time. I want to beam almost everyone back in twenty minutes," she figured she had at least that long before the orders were transmitted. Once they were, it all depended on how specific those orders were. She was betting there wasn't going to even be a mention of the other ship in those orders; SI seemed adamant about that mission being secret. "Eris, bring us around, positioned directly above Icarus' saucer. Engineering, I want auxiliary power dedicated to maintaining tractor beam integrity at warp, and prepare the Icarus for towing."


    Stardate 88505.7
    Cargo Bay Three, USS Icarus


    "Empty, just as the scans suggested," Lamak'tax chided with an indignant humph. The room was large and lined with blue-white lights, and a large round door was set into a wall on the far end, likely for loading and unloading cargo. One of the only things in the room was a transporter pad and transporter controls. Other than that, the large room was empty.

    Lansing didn't buy that, though. "Over there," he gestured with his tricorder, "I'm reading a graviton field localized over there. It's faint, but the dispersal field looks like your Shroud."

    "I do not feel the di'teh," he pointed his rifle in the direction the scientist indicated anyway.

    Lansing took a few hesitant steps toward the graviton field, "The room was sealed with one of their security fields. What if that protected their cargo, and the reason the cargo bay looks empty is…"

    "A cloaking device," Lamak'tax agreed.

    "A cloaking device," nodded Lansing. He tapped the badge on his chest. "Lansing to Miranda." His com badge responded with an impotent buzz. He hit it again; "Lansing to Stradivarius." Another impotent buzz.

    Lamak'tax snarled. "Communications are impaired." They hadn't been before the pair entered the cargo bay, meaning something in the room, probably beyond the cloak. He positioned himself between Lansing and the cloaking field and leveled his weapon, firing it into the cloak.

    "What the hell are you doing?" shouted a very startled Lansing.

    "I will destroy the cloaking device," the gruff security officer replied before firing again.

    After the second shot, a few beeps came from the area he was firing into and several large crates, two with phaser burns on them, came into vision. The area had barrels and some machinery in it as well, including a long, glowing cylinder held between two pillars. The cylinder flicked dark and powered down with the dropped cloak. Something was still beeping, however. And Lamak'tax was certain he heard breathing as well.

    "Good shot," complimented Lansing.

    Lamak'tax didn't hit the cloaking device. The person he heard had turned it off. "Reveal yourself or be destroyed," he commanded, in the charming way Jem'Hadar did.

    Slowly, arms in the air, a human girl wearing a scientist's uniform stood up. She had red hair tied back in two short tails and held a tricorder in one hand. Her rank insignia indicated she was an ensign. "I surrender."


    Stardate 88505.8
    Bridge, USS Icarus


    Lamak'tax held a tight grip on the young officer's shoulders as she was escorted on ot the bridge He shoved her and she stumbled and fell on her knees, where he pointed the phaser rifle at her back. This bothered Miranda, who lifted a hand to motion for the security chief to stop. Reluctantly, he did. He lowered his weapon and took a step back.

    The ex-Borg wanted to apologize for the treatment, but decided the tough approach might elicit more cooperation than the archaic 'good cop, bad cop' routine. "I am Commander Miranda of the starship Stradivarius. We found your vessel adrift. Please explain."

    She stumbled to her feet again and shot the Jem'Hadar a glare before looking back to the liberated first officer. "We had just barely made it back from the Sphere when an unidentified vessel dropped out of warp. They sent a text-only message demanding our cargo and Captain Nechayev told them we'd defend ourselves. The other ship used some kind of… subspace pulse transporter. It beamed everything out of Cargo Bay One." She walked over to the holographic display of the ship, remembering the conversation on the bridge. "I figured we could at least slow them down by generating subspace interference. The Captain ordered me to use the time this gave us to gather the most sensitive cargo from Solanae and cloak it in Cargo Bay Three. The interference meant they had to narrow their confinement beam, transport less things at once. The Captain's plan worked, they missed me."

    "But took the rest of the crew," Miranda filled in the logical next step.

    After a few seconds interacting with the holographic display, a ship Miranda didn't recognize appeared. "I've been studying the ship that attacked us. I was going to report to Starfleet when I detected your vessel exiting warp," and instead she decided to protect the cargo again. "It was outfitted with a series of exterior emitters. What we recorded was a holographic projection. I decided to do what I could to identify the real ship. I didn't get much, but it used Federation transporter protocols."

    This concerned Miranda. "Mister Hyhr, transmit all relevant data on this attack to the Captain. The attacking vessel was using something Starfleet Intelligence calls 'incursion technology', notify her of that as well." She took a step closer to the hologram the ensign had called up. "The Borg have assimilated this system before, I believe I can prepare a countermeasure."

    Miranda's badge chirped; "Time's up, Commander. Orders to withdraw from the nebula just came through. We'll be towing Icarus back to Solanae Joint Command."

    "That may not be necessary. Stand by," responded the first officer. "Ensign, can you program the Icarus to follow Stradivarius, and beam over to report to my Captain?" The ensign nodded and walked over to one of the seats at the front of the room. Miranda didn't have to wait long for her to enter the commands, and once the ensign's work was complete, the first officer tapped her badge. "Six to transport."


    Stardate 88506.0
    Observation Lounge, USS Stradivarius


    Miranda stood at the head of the table, while the ensign from Icarus, Lansing, Romana, Sen, Hyhr, the Vorta pilot Eris, Lamak'tax and Captain Farron sat around the table. The image of the ship that 'attacked' Icarus appeared on the screen. The story of the attack had been told, now it was Miranda, explaining the attacker.

    "The 'incursion technology' is Starfleet adaptation of a Romulan technique from the year 2154. It uses high-power exterior holo-emitters and a footprint magnification system to project another vessel's hull geometry both for optical and sensor display. The system projects false transponder signals, an artificial warp field, the footprint magnifier even scales up the power signature and warp profile accordingly. At high warp the holographic masking system is only marginally effective, but at sublight speeds it has proven remarkably impressive," the first officer explained. "It, however, is not an energy-efficient masking protocol. Compared to cloaking devices, it is not considered sophisticated, however it has been used to great effect by Starfleet Intelligence."

    "And the transporter protocols were Federation, if a little unusual," added the ensign.

    Farron did not at all like what she was hearing. "You're saying Starfleet is behind this? That a Starfleet vessel stole cargo from another, abducted the crew of another, and leaft another adrift?"

    "Not exactly," theorized Romana, "it might've been more stolen technology. This clearly wasn't their first heist. Ferengi? It'd take quite the lobes to try, but the market for stolen Dyson technology is remarkably."

    Hyhr sat back in his chair, "We don't have to guess. Between Ensign Pierce's scans and Commander Miranda's knowledge of the camouflage system, we were able to come up with a countermeasure. I've already made the modifications to the main deflector."

    "The conflicting warp fields should be easy to track now that we know what we're looking for. I will configure the Astrometrics lab to scan for an active incursion array." Miranda suggested.

    Lansing spoke up; "I'll help you."

    "Good," Farron stood up, and everyone else stood with her. "Ensign Pierce, beam back to Icarus. I want you to take the ship back to Solanae and wait for the Lakota. Miranda, Lansing, begin long-range scans for the thieves or a distress call from Captain Nechayev, whichever you find first. Hyhr, implement Ensign Pierce's subspace transporter jamming. Lamak'tax, I want security teams on standby: if we get boarded or your teams are beamed off the ship, I want them to have a fight on their hands."

    There was a round of 'Aye, sir'.

    "Dismissed."

    People filed out of the room, except for Miranda. She stood in front of the display, waiting for others to leave. When she was alone with her Captain, she bit her lower lip. It was a rare insight past her cool ex-Borg demeanor, a fragile gesture that lacked certainty or conviction. "Captain, you should know there are several inconsistencies with the theory Miss Pierce and I developed, but none of which is the moral purity of Starfleet Intelligence."

    Slowly, deeply, Farron exhaled. "I know, Mer."


    Stardate 88506.2
    Bridge, USS Stradivarius


    "On screen," Farron stood up the moment someone reported identifying the Incursion array. The image that appeared before her was a Sovereign-class starship identified as the Aventine. Farron knew it wasn't. She turned her glance back to her operations officer.

    Romana nodded, "I'm picking up exactly what Commander Miranda said we would. Heavy photonic emissions, trace warp field instability. It's an Incursion system."

    Miranda knew what Farron planned to ask before she had to ask it. "Modification to the deflector is complete. We should be able to initiate the pulse and destabilize their holographic matrix on your order." It was actually not an uncommon tactic for Federation ships to use external holographic emitters for tactics like photonic displacement, and the pulse Miranda had designed would work on all those as well, so long as the user knew they were happening.

    "Hail them," the Captain ordered, resolute. "This is Captain Meria Farron of the Federation starship Stradivarius to unidentified vessel impersonating the Aventine. You have stolen Federation property and abducted Starfleet officers. Deactivate your external emitters and lower your shields or we will do it for you."

    Romana almost laughed aloud when she patched through the image of a short-haired, short-statured Trill in a Starfleet uniform, standing on a Soveriegn-class bridge. The woman on the screen looked incredulous. "This is Captain Dax of the Aventine, stand down Meria…"

    Farron stared for what seemed like several tense minutes, before looking over to her first officer and nodding. A bright pulse of light shined from the deflector of the Stradivarius, causing the hologram to destabilize and as sure as it had been a Sovereign-class a moment before, it now was a completely unmarked ship of Starfleet design. It was a strange hybrid of the Ushaan- and Gladius-classes and was so tiny in comparison to the ship that had been present before.

    "Oh," the Dax-facsimile on the screen furrowed her brow, "Can we speak privately, Captain? In your ready room?"

    It took all her self-control not to smile. She nodded instead and motioned to Romana to route the transmission. "Let's see what 'Ezri' has to say for herself."

    When Farron walked into her ready room, she was more than a little puzzled to see a man, dressed entirely in black, sitting behind her desk. He leaned forward, elbows on the table with fingers interlocked, staring intensely at the Saffi captain. "You're cleverer than I gave you credit for, Captain."

    "Who are you," responded Farron, "and what the hell are you doing in my chair?"

    "Call me Cameron," he smiled a bit too slyly for Farron's taste, "and I'm with the Federation, in a manner of speaking. You played your role a bit too well, Captain; I assume that's due to certain… unforeseen variables." He uncrossed his fingers and instead leaned back in her chair, resting his hands in his lap.

    She scowled. "You stole Starfleet goods and technology and abducted nearly four hundred officers and you expect me to believe you did it on behalf of the Federation? And how do I fit in to your grand scheme?"

    "Oh, Captain, you can figure this one out without Borg ingenuity, can't you?"

    She didn't like the way he said that, as if he was accusing either her or Miranda of something unspecified. So, she let out a heavy breath and looked down at her desk, not at the man behind it. "Starfleet knew we were arriving at the nebula today. If you really are somehow connected to Starfleet, it stands to reason you'd know too, so why park Icarus where you knew we'd find it?" Why indeed. Unless the plan was for her to find it. "So, a ship carrying Dyson technology gets raided right on the Joint Command's doorstep. There's been distrust on the part of the Alliance members for years, since Jenolan was discovered there's been infighting and backstabbing, and a Solanae-class ship getting stripped of its cargo and crew and left adrift would make waves."

    "But it's more than that, isn't it, Captain?" pressed Cameron.

    Of course it was. It wasn't just that this man knew that Icarus would be found, he was banking on her returning it to Dyson Joint Command. Why? So the entire Alliance knew about the incident? "I couldn't stay to survey the ship, SI saw to that, but I wasn't about to just let it sit there and wait for someone else to discover it. So I was going to tow it out of the nebula… where the Aventine was going to discover us towing the ship. We used its prefix code, we overrode its security systems, we accessed its logs. Starfleet's new beacon of hope and exploration is suddenly a threat to Dyson Joint Command? Why?"

    "That's plan B," Cameron leaned forward again, "What's plan A?"

    Plan A? There was an outcome more desirable than that? She played her role too well… unforeseen variables… was Ensign Pierce unforeseen? Or the Borg assimilating Incursion technology? No, this level of planning and resources meant that investigations of Farron's crew were a must, and Ensign Pierce's plan was clever, but it relied on a lot from Captain Nechayev. "Why didn't Nechayev fire on you?" He said he would use force, and hologram or not, that little escort couldn't take a Dyson destroyer.

    Of course. Nechayev had to be in on the plan. No distress call, no confrontation, no sign of a fight. So Cameron knew about Pierce and left her, a puzzle piece for Farron to find.

    "You knew we'd discover Ensign Pierce. You knew we'd identify your subspace pulse transporters and your Incursion array. The technology's been around hundreds of years! Of course the Borg knew about it, and any knowledge the Collective had my first officer retains. From there it was a small bridge to cross to get me to draw the conclusion you wanted me to." And she had a feeling she knew what it was. "The ships in the Romulan flotilla are centuries old, and the Republic's made the least advances from the gateway they discovered. It isn't a secret that they are discontent with the status quo, and suddenly an antiquated but clever piece of Romulan technology raids a Federation Solanae-class ship and steals cargo bays full of Dyson technology. You didn't expect us to know that SI has been using Incursion systems for the last twenty years. Certainly, if the Collective had that knowledge they'd have gotten it at Vega, after Miranda was liberated." Farron stood for a few seconds in silence, realizing the enormity of the plot she had stumbled into. "Your ship can't carry that kind of cargo and crew. And you may have beamed through my shields, but I'm guessing this subspace transporter of yours is a power hog. You needed inside help and Anton Nechayev gave it to you. Together, you and Nechayev were going to create the illusion of a Romulan Republic attack on a Federation vessel, part of the Joint Command."

    She only had one question, one Cameron had been evading: "Why?"

    He answered her question with another question. "Can you tell when we're in peace time and war time, anymore, Captain?"

    "I can tell we have an alliance with the Republic!" she responded incredulously.

    "And with the Klingon Empire. How many ships have they destroyed since your mission started? Their border skirmishes get dismissed by apologists; we're allies! But what does that alliance mean?" Cameron stood up, and for a moment Farron was just glad he wasn't in her chair. "Can you tell the difference between peace time and war time, Captain? Because I've been watching, one of the Federation's silent guardians, for twenty years! And let me tell you this: your Admirals can't, your President and Council can't, and I can't."

    "So you, alone and unchecked, would throw the alliance away?"

    Cameron's momentary anger went from a fire's heat to the cold, brutal rage of true hatred. "We are Section 31, Captain. We have that right." He lifted a hand as if idly scratching the side of his face, next to his eye, and he suddenly was bathed in particles of orange and yellow light before vanishing from the Captain's ready room.

    "Bridge to Captain Farron," chirped the badge on the Captain's chest. There was some symbolism in her chevron springing to life when the black-clad man beamed away, but she didn't dwell on it. She hit the badge to allow whoever was summoning her to continue speaking. "The ship transmitted coordinates of an M-Class planet and just… disappeared. We tried another deflector pulse, sir, but nothing."

    Farron stood in the silence before collecting herself and stepping out on to the bridge. "Ensign Eris, set a course; warp six. Miranda, have all log entries about this mission encrypted. I want to limit exposure here." The fewer people this 'Cameron' had issues with, the better. "And call a meeting of senior staff for 0800 tomorrow."
    Vice Admiral Meria Farron
    USS Stradivarius
    NX-163292

    Author of Reprise
Sign In or Register to comment.