Shattered Mirror Pt. 3

Tom O'Flagherty Shattered Mirror Pt.3 Ready Room “Captain I find it absolutely irresponsible that you would put yourself in such a situation. Regulations clearly state that a senior officer is not supposed to place themselves into a knowingly dangerous situation.” Commander Robin Ellison’s face was a deep shade of crimson that was almost a perfect match to her uniform. To her credit, she was controlling the majority of her emotions, though she was entitled to her anger. Since O’Flagherty and Commander Vaughn had returned from their meeting with the Lord Paramount, the task force had been traveling as fast as possible, with one ship still damaged, the Defiant-class USS Surabaya. The captain had ordered radio silence for a good 5 hours. He had used that time to get situation reports, grab some time in his rack while the crew got back on a regular rotation. Now, it was back to the work of administering to the task group. “As well, sir, I don’t believe enough attention has been given to the damage of the Beijing. We are still being towed along while the rest of you had ample time to deal with all of your battle damage. There is only so much we can repair with our limited resources and industrial replicators.” Commander Clayton Bishop, commanding officer of the Surabaya, was taking her opportunity to pile it on. “I understand your objections, Commanders.” O’Flagherty started in order to cut them off. “However, we are in a pretty unique situation. There is someone who is hell-bent on destroying us all, we are blind as to how we got here, or how we are going to get home. In such circumstances, the captain’s prerogative on how they keep their people safe gets a lot of leeway.” Both of the women quieted quickly at those words allowing the captain to look to his other commanders. “Commander Sonnek, how is the Hardagee holding up?” “As of 2230, our energy stores are down 12% more than the rest of the task force.” Sonnek paused for a moment as he looked hard at the screen. “It would seem, Fleet Captain, that towing the Surabaya has taken a greater toll than we had expected.” “Fleet Captain? Are you giving me a promotion, Commander?” O’Flagherty hiked an amused eyebrow at his Vulcan friend. “Not at all, sir. Regulations state that any command rank officer placed over a group of ships in a flag position should be given a brevet flag rank.” Sonnek took another of those pauses, which he knew irritated the human captain. “Is there some reason I should disregard standing regulations about the Fleet?” “Not a all, but considering I already out-rank all of you, I don’t think I need the added promotion. ‘Captain’ will do.” “Aye, Captain.” “Thank you.” O’Flagherty repositioned himself in the chair to find some comfort as he looked at the quadrants on the screen, each holding the face of a CO who had needs. “We are still eighteen hours from Sector 001, or whatever it is called in this dimension. Once there, we will begin coordinated repairs on the Surabaya and a redistribution of supplies to even out the needs of the ships. Have the different department heads begin coordinating their efforts as soon as the lists are compiled so we can get this done as quickly as possible.” “Captain, I do have an issue that has gone unaddressed.” Commander Randal Ramirez of the USS Beijing had been silent for most of the meeting. He wasn’t a timid commander, but he was more apt to follow orders than make a stink. It seemed that his personality was more subdued than his Defiant-class colleagues. “Our Security/Tactical chief was badly injured during the confrontation with the Klingon ships. He died in our sickbay of his wounds. I would just promote the next most senior officer, but we are very short-handed with other losses. I don’t have an experienced officer to take his place, and given our current circumstances, I think it would be better served that someone from another ship be temporarily reassigned to help fill that need.” “I’ll have to take that under advisement, unless I get a volunteer.” The captain responded. His jaw set as he thought hard about such a situation. “Everyone has lost people, and it could be difficult to send you someone. I’ll look at some of our non-coms and junior officers. As well, I would like you, Commander Ellison, to do the same. We have the biggest crews, even after casualties, and so it looks like the burden will fall to us. Begin speaking with your people in the departments and see what we can do.” “Aye, sir,” Commander Ellison responded. “If there is nothing else, I need to get back to meeting with my people. I suggest you try to get your crews as rested as possible in the short amount of time we have.” A chorus of “Aye, sir” came from each of the COs before the screen went blank. Wasting no time, O’Flagherty opened the comm and spoke with his yeoman, Ensign Ibrahim, “Please send in the CoB.” As the channel closed, the door to the Ready Room swished open and Master Chief Petty Officer Jason Brockman marched into the room. His back was ramrod straight, the old Fleeter always looked as if he was about to be inspected. “CoB, reporting as ordered, Captain.” “Have a seat, master chief.” As the eldest human member of the crew sat in the chair, his back did not relax at all. His bearing was all professional, and the captain was reminded of those days int he Academy when he had been put through some serious physical paces by a NCO just like Brockman. “I won’t beat around the bush, how is the crew holding up?” “Not well, sir. Morale on the lower decks is pretty low. People are talking about how long this might last, comparing us to Voyager. A small group is wondering if we are going to consolidate all of the personnel of four ships onto one in order to maximize resources.” The master chief had a voice that was given a growl after years of serving in the Engineering departments of numerous starships and space stations across who knew how many different regions of space. Approaching his centennial, the chief was as hard and straightforward as any NCO in the Fleet. “That kind of consolidation, master chief, is difficult, if not impossible.” O’Flagherty rose from his seat and turned toward the replicator set into the wall to his right. As he motioned to the CoB, the older man signaled he would have whatever the captain was having. “Two hot coffees, Kenya AA blend.” The machine whirled, leaving to mugs behind. The irishman grabbed them and turned back to his guest. “We will remain with our current state because I believe it allows us a greater tactical advantage. In the meantime, do whatever you can to boost morale.” “Do I look like a cruise director, captain?” The master chief petty officer took a long draw from his coffee before continuing. “This ship needs something I can’t offer. We need a good victory to change the course of events. We need to get on top of our repair schedules and we need to give the people hope. The captain is the one who makes that happen, sir.” “Well, don’t mince words with me, CoB.” “I’m too old to be wasting my words, captain.” Without another word the old human stood and started for the door. “Remember, you officers may make all the decisions and get all the glory, but it's the crew that makes things go.” “What’s your meaning, master chief?” “My meaning, sir, is focus on your crew in all your decisions. Don’t for one second think of your career, or what other officers think of how you do things. You do that, you will never have to worry about morale again.” Master Chief Brockman walked out the door without another word.*09-20-2013, 04:06 PMTom O'Flagherty Bridge Lt. Eduardo Solari continued to peck at the data at his science station while Ensigns Jarro Lea and Virgina Hallet explained what he was looking at. Once, they were finished, which had taken them almost forty-five minutes to explain, he was finally able to ask a question. “So, what you’re both saying is that there is a great amount of sub-space pollution here?” “Yes, sir,” Ensign Jarro jumped in. “However, it’s not just from the usual implementation of warp travel that we are used to. It seems that incredible amounts of matter-antimatter detonations have aided in the development.” “Well, we better get this passed up the chain.” Solari tapped his commbadge and called for the captain to join him at his station. As soon as the channel was closed, and the captain on his way, he turned to his junior officers. “This is your show, and so you get to explain all of this.” As the blast doors at the back of the bridge opened for the captain to walk from his ready room, both women took on a stricken look. Neither had ever really conversed with the CO before and felt themselves in an uncomfortable position. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” “Sir, Ensigns Jarro and Hallet have something they have found with our restored long-range sensors, and would like to explain it to you.” “Well, we are minutes from Sector 001, so let’s have it.” Each woman looked to the other puzzled. This was more responsibility than they had carried before. It took a good fifteen seconds before the Bajoran, Jarro, finally spoke up. “Sir, our long-range sensors have discovered that they barrier between normal space and sub-space is extremely thin here, wherever that is.” “Are we talking about something that could impeded our ability to use warp drive?” O’Flagherty let the delay pass as he pursued the point. “Our design of ships, sir, are much less hazardous to the environment that what has, and most likely is going on already,” Ensign Hallet added. “We should see no problems, but it Ensign Jarro has found something else as well.” “Yes, sir,” the Bajoran began. “There is a high level of anti-protons from what seems to be several matter-antimatter detonations. Evidence shows that most of this took place almost 100 years ago, but there is another layer that is very recent. Apparently, there was a high amount of “conflict followed by something like detente before another escalation. Sector 001, though, seems to be home to a much older battlefield. At least, that’s what we can tell from this distance.” “Then, what do you, two, recommend?” The captain crossed his left arm over his chest, and rested his chin on his right thumb as he attempted to keep up.“When we enter the system,” Ensign Hallet responded. “I would recommend using impulse power. Just to offset any further damage.” “Alright, I agree.” O’Flagherty turned towards the command chair and left the science officers to their work. “See,” Lt. Solari began. “The man doesn’t bite. You both did a good job. Now see if you can spare people to help sensor division go through all that data we removed from the computer buffer.” Both women nodded and left the bridge at an extremely brisk pace, most likely feeling they were out from under the guillotine. “I need to do a better job of inspiring confidence in my junior officers.” “Lieutenant P’Rim,” Captain O’Flagherty called out. “How much longer until we reach Sector 001?” “One minute to the system cloud, captain.” “Reduce speed to three-quarters impulse,” the captain responded. “Once the task force confirms, take us in.” “Aye, sir.” “Lieutenant Jojo, how has your group done in getting us an ear to the ground?” “We have decoded a lot of the traffic sir and run it through the translator.” Lt. Jojo, his dark dreadlocks waving as he turned to look up at the captain. “We are getting a lot of information about movements different groups. One called ‘The Alliance,’ ‘The New Empire,’ and various others. There are some high-level codes that seem military we have yet to crack. The best part is, we have the ship that has been following us zeroed. She’s sent one transmission since we had our first encounter that we have decoded as a call for reinforcements. Responses have put all of those ships well out of any effective range. Since then, though, she has remained radio silent.” “Is there anything else coming out of that part of space where we first met them?” O’Flagherty sat on the edge of his seat, eager to get more information. “No, sir. It’s almost as if that part of space doesn’t exist. There is not traffic, coded or otherwise, in or out of that area.” “We are passing the dwarf planet Pluto, sir,” Lt. P’Rim’s voice cut-off the conversation with the communications officer, Jojo. O’Flagherty looked up at the screen, and had to work hard to keep his jaw from dropping. There was debris all across the screen for kilometers. Much of it had signs of impact from other space objects, and all of it had scorch marks from weapons fire. Pieces of hull, nacelles, and other objects drifted hazily in front of the ship. As they collided with the Atlas’ shields, the pieces made a short flare before vaporizing or careening off in other directions. “Get Commander Vaughn up here, on the double.” Just minutes later, the XO strode onto the bridge with his typical casualness. “So, what have I missed?” The room was silent as Vaughn took a look at the screen, and like everyone else, went silent. His jaw didn’t drop, but O’Flagherty could tell he was a little shocked. “It seems we were a little late to the party.” “Yes, sir,” Lt. Solari responded from the science stations. “We seem to have missed it by about a century or so. Many of these designs are equivalent to what we would call a Constitution-class, or other contemporary designs. Judging by the scoring on the debris and the readings of the metals, this happened somewhere in the late decades of the 23rd century.” Lt. Mari interrupted the science officer with news of her own. “Sir, I’m picking up a comm beacon playing a repeating message.” “Go ahead, Lieutenant.” Tapping the icon on her console, the message began to play over the speakers of the bridge. =/\=You are entering a controlled area. Adjust your course.... This is the Terran Imperial penal system. You are entering a controlled area. Adjust your course.=/\= O’Flagherty gave the “cut” signal, and the message was, gratefully, silenced. “Well, it seems we are not in Kansas anymore.” “Good,” Commander Vaughn added. “Kansas is ugly and flat. I prefer places with character.” “Sir, there is another communication. Audio only.” Lt. Mari added quickly. “Is it another beacon?” Mari punched more commands into the console before responding. “No, sir. This signal looks to be coming from Earth. They are asking for, ‘the leader of the ships from the other universe.’” Looking at his friend, O’Flagherty added a short aside. “It seems our coming was not unexpected.” Turning back to his Operations officer, the captain gave her a response. “Put them through.” The overhead crackled before a heavily accented voice came through. For O’Flagherty, it sounded familiar...more than familiar. =/\=Ahoy ship from anudder ‘verse. This is The Kirk, leader o’ da Free Resistance.=/\= =/\=This is Captain O’Flagherty of the Federation Starship Atlas. You seem to have me at a disadvantage, sir. You knew we were coming.=/\= The captain avoided eye contact, as he tried to sort out what he thought was happening. Questions rolled through his head like rocks during a slide, too many for him to process them all. Who was this person? Was he going mad? =/\=Not a’ tall, captain,=/\= the strangely familiar voice, with its thick Irish brogue continued. =/\=I’m as surprised by your arrival as you are. We were told o’ yer coming to our humble system, though, by some o’ mutual friends. Namely, a Mr. Demetri Shaw.=/\= O’Flagherty’s head spun for a second. The longer they spoke, the more he knew what was going on, or at least, the more he dreaded what was going on. He struggled to keep himself speaking, knowing that he was the only one struggling with this particular realization. =/\=Commander Shaw is there?=/\= =/\=Nah, he lef wiff his friend, and some of your kind, to return home.=/\= The Kirk had changed to a flippant, almost care-free tone. The captain could feel his hope drain, knowing that another avenue home was closed. When the voice spoke again, the words kit him like a hammer. =/\=Is yer home, where ye were born that is, as green as dey used to say it was here.=/\= =/\=Why do you ask?=/\= =/\=Well,...O’Flagherty sounds like a name from what was called Ireland, is it naw?=/\= =/\=Yes, sir. I am from Ireland,=/\= the captain responded. =/\=Where I come from it is called ‘The Emerald Isle.’ I take it that is not the same here.=/\= =/\=Naw, cap’n. It hadn’t been called such in many years.=/\= A new note of sadness took over the disembodied voice of the Kirk. It seemed to O’Flagherty as if there was a change in character at such discussions of home. =/\=I would love to see this Emerald Isle...someday. We should speak o’ such tings when you arrive.=/\= =/\=Where are you transmitting from, sir.=/\= As much as O’Flagherty wanted to know where he could locate someone who seemed more inclined to aiding the misplaced ships, he wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible. =/\=We are on an island called Alcatraz. Have heard of it?=/\= =/\=Yes, sir. In the bay of San Francisco.=/\= The captain turned to his helm officer in order to direct the order. “Make your course for Earth. Best possible speed.” Returning his attention to the voice on the speaker, he added. =/\=Would you care to visit our ship?=/\= =/\=I think it better that you come to our small island, captain,=/\= The Kirk said without hesitation. =/\=We are prisoners after all. I do nah believe our captors would appreciate anudder person leaving their jail.=/\= =/\=As you wish, sir. However, I will not be coming alone.=/\= =/\=We are prepared to greet any of yer friends you wish ta bring. They will be treated with all our courtesy.=/\= =/\=That will do, sir. Atlas out.=/\= The normal background of beeps and flashes of light, as well as the constant hum of the engines returned to envelope the bridge again. Many of the officers looked, one to another, while O’Flagherty looked over at his XO. It was Vaughn who spoke first. “You really think of going in there yourself? I know the other COs were not happy with what happened with the ‘Lord Paramount.’ This won’t make them happy.” “Hang them,” O’Flagherty responded. “We are in some very uncharacteristic circumstances. If they don’t like the way I do things. They can go and find another CO.” A post featuring Chris Vaughn, "The Kirk", and the rest of the bridge crew. '''Deck 8 Shuttle Maintenance and Storage''' Tom and Chris stood looking at the Argo-class runabout nestled amongst all of the other repair parts for the various auxiliary craft. The crew was removing the ground vehicle that was part of all other runabouts of the class. For this mission, the spaceframe was much more important than the ATV inside. In the small area, it was a tight fit getting everything moved to its proper place off the elevator for the runabout. “I still think this is a bad idea.” It was Vaughn’s voice that broke the silence. They had already had this conversation at least three times since making orbit a couple of hours ago. Repairs were already underway on the Surabaya, and the redistribution of personnel and supplies was also taking place. Luckily, the Broadhurst’s chief security/tactical officer survived the destruction of the Nebula-class ship that had come with them, and moved over to the Beijing to fill their need. “We’ve talked about this, Chris. I’m the one who needs to talk with our friend ‘The Kirk.’” The captain had been keeping it under wraps the real reason why, though he knew his friend understood. “This isn’t a time to be looking in the mirror,” Vaughn snapped. It was the first time he had made clear that he understood the captain’s real reason what he was doing. Ignoring his friend’s remark, the captain, dressed in a full tactical vest with a carbine slung over his shoulder, stepped toward the runabout. The team, including Dr. Cooper, Lt. Colok, and Warrant Officer Pellew, as well as six security officers, waiting for him near the starboard hatch. “Well, all aboard that’s going aboard.” The captain settled in behind the pilot chair, running through the pre-flight checks as the doors opened at the rear of the ship. As the elevator lifted the runabout up to it’s take-off position, it was a sight many of them had not seen. The Atlas was laid out in front of the crew with the image a radiated Earth off to the left. It was chilling and awe-inspiring at the same time, and something O’Flagherty didn’t want to get caught up on. The Argo, called Aeschylus, lifted off gracefully and banked to Port, passing between the warp strut and the secondary hull before making its arc towards the surface. The radiated condition of the atmosphere made transport impossible, but that was OK with the captain as the ship hit the atmosphere under his control, baking through S-turns to bleed off speed and heat. The friction flare on the front of the auxiliary craft dissipated just before they broke through the high cloud layer over what used to be northern California. Below them stretched out a sad tableau of broken land and parched soil, definitely the victim of an orbital bombardment. “Try to focus people. Don’t let this image of Earth get to you. It won’t be your last...if your from Earth that is.” The cabin remained mostly silent as they zoomed over the shore, approaching the bay from over the city. Most of it looked broken and distorted. Rubble and broken buildings littered streets they were used to seeing full of life, and as they passed the Presidio, the devastation was even worse. Where an ancient military outpost had sat, there was a flat plain next to the Golden Gate bridge. The captain turned east, banking the ship over the crippled bridge, and headed straight for the small Alcatraz island. With his left hand, he activated the preprogrammed code that would flash from the runabout’s running lights, identifying them as a friendly. He could just make out a place that had been cleared in the prison yard for them, and started the landing sequence. Once the ship had gracefully set down, he secured the systems, adding a special code on top of the DNA recognition normally used, and rose from his chair. “This is a diplomatic mission, first of all. I’ll take the lead down the ramp. Unsling your rifles, but keep them at a low-ready position.” As he passed the last crewman, a young Edosian security enlisted, he looked into the young man’s eyes and gave a slight smile. “We aren’t looking for a fight.” As they stepped from the runabout, a rag-tag looking group of equally rag-tag looking individuals stepped forward. In the lead was a small, Tellarite, with a scar over a ruined left eye. He didn’t bother with the normal niceties of his race, but instead looked directly into the captain’s eyes. For a moment, he, and his detail, froze, but it was just an instant. “He’s in there.” The Tellarite said as he raised one cloven hand and pointed through a portal into the administration building. “Thank you,” O’Flagherty responded. As he started for the door, he looked at Lt. Colok. “Have your people spread out here. I’ve been told that you are welcome to ‘mingle’ should you feel so inclined.” The captain stepped through the door and started down a long hallway toward the two guards who stood at the last door. Up on his approach, the tensed in the low light. “You will have to leave your weapons here.” The captain stepped forward, the men jumped slightly at the man before them. “I’ll give you one,” he said as he propped his Scorpion carbine on the wall before looking back up at the two guards. Neither of them moved under his gaze. It was a bit disconcerting. “Well, I believe The Kirk is waiting for me.” Finally, they opened the door, letting it creak slowly as it revealed a room that was moderately lit for the encroaching darkness. On the far wall, a large chair, seemingly a throne, sat with a figure who was slumping with steepled hands in front of his face. An aide stood to the mans left, but there was no one else O’Flagherty could see as he walked in. The figure on the chair had his face covered, obscuring his identity from the captain, but it wasn’t much of a stretch. The Starfleet captain stayed in the shadows while The Kirk waved his aide out of the room. Once the door closed behind the man, O’Flagherty waited in silence before he finally couldn’t hold off any longer. “Now that it is just us...can we cut through the crap to the real meat of this meeting....Tom.” The Kirk sprang from his chair and rushed into the well of light in the center of the room, his face, though bearded and aged through hard living, exactly the same as Captain O’Flagherty. “Why, sure, Tom.” '''A post featuring The Kirk...or better known as "Alt-Tom."  :::The Bridge::: :::USS Atlas::: :::near Earth orbit:::''' Chris watched the shuttle depart for ‘earth.’ A part of him wondered if he should have tried to be more forceful with Tom about not going down to the surface. He had gone to see the mirror version of himself so he supposed he could hardly stop Tom from taking a look. Did that make him a better friend, or worse? He allowed himself a slight frown as he turn and made his way through the busy corridors to the bridge of their ship. The sense of anticipation among the crew hung in the air like a humid cloud. Everyone seemed nervous and certainly they had every right to be. None knew what the future held. Would they ever see their homes again? Would they find a way back to the right dimension even? Or would the lunatic version of Chris, the Lord Paramount, kill them all. He didn’t need a mirror to predict how a mirrored version of him would have turned out. What a miserable place this universe is. The doors to the bridge slid open, a few of the crew shifted uncomfortably as he stepped up to the captains chair and placed a hand across the top of it. “Status report on the shuttle?” “The shuttle is down on Alcatraz Island, sir.” An operations officer replied. Chris looked at the image of the dead world hanging in in the viewscreen. A small fleet of damaged Federation ships hung like flies over a corpse. He quickly tried to dispel the though from his head. “Sir, we have a long range contact. Extreme edge of sensors.” A science officer nearly shouted from the far side of the bridge. “Engine signatures match the Lord Paramount’s battleship.” ‘Have they spotted us?” “Doesn’t look like it.” Chris nodded. “Send a tight beam transmission to the fleet. Tell them to tuck in close to earth’s southern pole and try to hide in the magnetics. If things don’t go well they are ordered to run like hell.” “Aye sir.” The comms specialist said as he started to key the message. “Ops.” Chris ordered. “Patch me through to the Atlas only, shipwide.” A shrill whistle sounding across the Atlas a moment later told him he could speak. “Attention crew of the Atlas. This is your executive officer.” He paused for a moment searching for something to say. “As most of you know the captain has gone to the surface in search of additional information about our predicament. The…lord paramount’s ship has entered system. I intend to engage their vessel in a delaying action until such time as the captain and the fleet are ready to move.” He let out a sigh. “Obviously the outcome…isn’t clear. Our ah…first scuffle didn’t exactly go well.” The words stuck in this throat. He wished he had answers for each of the asking faces watching him across the bridge, the crew’s eyes mirroring his own obvious worries. He cleared his throat sharply. “You know what? Fuck it. If the lord paramount wants a piece he can come get it. We are going to kick their ass, we are going home and when we get there I’ll buy a gallon of Blue Label for each of you.” Chris took a seat in the captain’s chair. “Red Alert, all hands to battlestations!” Draka nodded to O’Flagherty, answering as he walked past,"I think we'll forgoe mingling in lieu of keeping you safe Sir.", he said. Once the Captain entered the building Draka directed the security officers to take up positions along the front of the building, before speaking to the doctor and Pellew,"Keep scanning the building interior for energy spikes that would indicate weapons fire. If the Captain has to defend himself we need to be ready to get in there and pull his butt out of the fire. Sound off if you see anything unusual or suspicious. As the security team sounded off in the affirmative Draka moved to take a position behind a small pile of rubble, kneeling easily there, rifle across his right leg as he visually scanned the area, vowing that if these people turned out to be foes, they'd pay for their betrayal. Alcatraz Island Admin Building The duplicate O’Flaghertys circled each other, one curious, the other defensive. It was apparent that their similarities were only skin deep just from the posture that each held. The starfleet captain was straight in composure, and sure in his bearing, while the rebel Terran was slightly hunched forward, like a taut spring ready to release at any moment. The yin to the others yang. Finally, it was The Kirk who broke the silence, when in his flaunting tone he looked to his counterpart, “Ta yeers seem to treat yer kind better, dan I.” “Circumstances are what mark the passage of time,” the captain replied. Neither stopped their anti-clockwise circling. “Did ye come to invade as well? Are ye the representative of anudder Terran Empire?” “The Federation does not want to expand an empire. We are here by accident, and we just want to go home.” The captain stopped and squared to his mirror self. Steely gazes passed between them. It seemed as if The Kirk was trying to stare into the soul of the captain to see if he was lying. “If ye come for yer friends...they’ve already gone.” Captain O’Flagherty faltered for a moment. He tried to keep the expression of surprise from reaching his features, but it was too late. The Kirk saw it immediately and a wicked smile spread across his face. “Ye didn know they here? Then you mus really be lost.” “Like I said,” the captain responded. “We are just trying to find a way home. Getting here was an accident.” “So, ye didn know about the kidnappins.” “What do you mean ‘kidnappings?’” “Why the New Terran Empire, my friend.” The Kirk went back to his “throne,” seating himself with an air of superiority. “Come now....I’ll tell ye all about it, and how you can get home.” '''San Francisco The Presidio''' Crouched in the fading light of a setting sun, a group of hard looking humanoids were huddled together. The ruin of a building they were in had been a military compound for much of the continents history. Now, it was the base of two walls. Perched on the edge of the bay, Alcatraz could be seen glowing with some of the only lights left in the whole city. That was their target. “I saw that Terran officer going to the island, but I never saw him leave,” one Tellarite said under hushed tones to the leader of the group, a bald Andorian. “Either he’s there, or his ship left him when it departed,” the Andorian replied. “Who got a look at the ship?” “I did, and I saw those other troops in uniforms that you were fighting with get on board.” It was a Vulcan woman who spoke next. “I believe it is safe to say that The Kirk has sided with the Empire for protection. That is most likely where he gets his weapons.” “Then that settles it,” the Andorian declared, with anger on his voice. “We get rid of The Kirk tonight. I’m not living under his ‘protection’ anymore. We leave as soon as the sun sets.” Alacatraz The sun had long since set as their conversation continued on. From inside the room, neither knew how long they had been their. The tone had changed since moving from what was going on to how the Starfleet ships could get home. At first, it had been more than civil, mostly storytelling from The Kirk, now it was an argument. “There is no way I am taking you with us!” Captain O’Flagherty declared. He was standing resolutely in the center of the room, defiant in his bearing. “Then, I guess ye will be stuck here with us,” The Kirk responded lazily from his chair. “Unless, ye feel ye and yer crew are up ta stealing the necessary equipment from da Alliance. They can send ships back and forth at will. However, dey will kill ye if dey catch ye. Travelin between universes is closely guarded tech.” “You don’t need us to get off this planet. When we were coming in, we picked up energy signatures on the planet. You have tech, and you had to have gotten it from somewhere.” Captain O’Flagherty’s mind raced as he tried to think of something that could be used as a bargaining chip. Anything to change the course of the negotiation. It was then that he wished he had brought Christ with him. “We could give you medical supplies and more power generating equipment. With that you could start to rebuild San Francisco into a real city, greatly increasing the quality of living for everyone here.” “Ye don understand.” The Kirk stood and paced towards the door that the captain had come in through. “My leadership is only because we have scrounged from smugglers who have tried to make a base here. Da people in da city are bloodthirsty criminals who would steal anythin we tried to use fer a better city.” “If they are bloodthirsty criminals, then what are you? This is a prison planet, if I’m not mistaken.” “I’m here because I opposed da Empire. I killed people, but I was seekin a better way. I had an entire fleet willin to fight for a future without all of the violence.” The Kirk spun back towards his mirror, all tones of reflection lost from his voice. “Dey killed most o’ my crews and trew me onto dis rock. No one here is willin ta make da sacrifices for a better tomorrow. All of ‘em would kill me if I gave ‘em a reason.” “So, it’s either take you and the device with us, or try to steal one from another ship?” Captain O’Flagherty looked at his double with some pity, but mostly disappointment. It was unfathomable that such things could happen with humans. He knew the history of his own planet, but didn’t believe that such tales of conquest could continue unabated. “Those are da choices,” The Kirk responded. “Ye can take da time ya need to make yer decision, but da Empire should be sendin a patrol through here in da next few days to check on dis planet. Wit all da alarms people have been trippin, it may come sooner.” The captain was about to respond when the sound of an explosion met his ears. Both heads turned towards the door down the long corridor to the courtyard. It had come from that direction, but the captain had no clue what would have caused it. The shockwave was not as strong as if the runabout had been destroyed, and it wasn’t a torpedo fired from orbit. It was smaller, like someone took down a section of the prison wall. “Dammit! I new lettin so many people in here would be trouble,” The Kirk said as he bolted for the door. '''U.S.S. Atlas Deck 11 Main Sickbay''' Medical Cadet Virginia Joyce Ward was not enjoying her time on the Atlas. The problem wasn't her boss, Doctor Cooper was nice and genuinely cared about her staff. It wasn't the rest of the crew, they'd tired to make her feel at home and she'd even made a few good friends, but since coming aboard she's nearly been killed when the ship was fired on by planet based cannons, seen her friend lying in post op. Accidentally been whisked away into an alternate dimension where she barely survived an attack on Sickbay where she was forced to watch Klingons murder patients and her medical colleagues she didn't think she could take much more.Then the Red Alert sounded and she had to force herself not to run to her quarters, lock the door, jump in to bed and pull the bedclothes over her head. But she had a duty, so instead she got to work helping prep the Sickbay for the probable wounded. --- Elsewhere She walked though the cemetery that was dark, despite the sun being high in the sky. A sense of foreboding pervaded this place and the wind had a chill.She looked at the grave stones, which bore the names of people she knew. Konstantin Ivanov Chernov, her father's name was on one. Constantine Walker and T'Vara, her son and daughter-in-law on another. Still another bore the name of her beloved husband, Robert and next to that one for Jol Tela, the woman who had brought love and light back into her life, only for the Cardassians to take it away again.Looking around, the grave stones seemed to stretch out into distance in all directions. The names were of men and women of Romulus, Qo'noS and Cardassia Prime among others. As Ana made her way among these plots, she realised that every grave stone and monument bore the name of someone who's life had ended early, many at her own hand or because of her. Realising this, she expected ANAHERA CHERNOVA MEMORIAL CEMETERY to be written on the gates.Something made her look down at her hands and she found that they were stained with blood of several different species as were her clothes, the green, red, orange and pink soaking into the gold of her uniform jacket. Then there was a movement from the corner of her eye.Turning she came face to face with a feral looking woman, one that looked a lot like her.The feral Ana growled at her, baring its teeth ready to strike.Ana braced herself for the assault. Then a klaxon sounded. The Security Officer opened her eyes to find herself on the Atlas during a Red Alert.She shook the dream from her mind and made her way to the Security Office.
 * 09-24-2013, 10:52 PMTom O'Flagherty
 * 09-25-2013, 10:20 PMChristopher Vaughn
 * 10-02-2013, 05:34 PMDraka
 * 10-02-2013, 10:47 PMTom O'Flagherty
 * 10-04-2013, 07:15 AMAnahera Chernova