Topic: Second Chances  (Read 19865 times)

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Offline Czar Mohab

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Second Chances
« on: July 15, 2007, 08:10:16 pm »
New ship, new toons, new epic! And even a frankenship for you all too!

Proud to present:

   SECOND CHANCES

   “Cerberus, arriving.” came the magical voice from the ships announcing system. He was glad to be on board, glad to be on a new ship, and mostly, glad that they called him Cerberus. It was an ancient tradition; dating back to the old wet navies on earth, when the captain arrived on his ship they sounded the ships’ name as him, as they were, more or less, one and the same. The ship’s bell tolled behind him as he passed through the airlock from the shuttle pod that had deposited him on board.
   He was greeted by what he recalled was his executive officer, but with so many new faces and names to learn, it could have easily been the engineer or some other officer. Eventually, he would get things right, remember faces and names and duty assignments, just as he had done before on the cruiser Apollo, his first and almost last command. The two of them walked around the ship for what seemed like an eternity, she was, after all, giving him the grand tour. He did make note of how everything was smaller, more compact, than on the cruisers. Less recreational facilities, and much smaller bunks.
   “Why were you posted here again?” she asked him as they entered the turbo lift for the bridge. “I read the Star Fleet reports, but they seem to have left out a lot.”
   “I know, Miss Jones,” he commented dryly. It wasn’t a subject he preferred to talk about. “I’ll tell you all about it some other time, alright?” Lucky guess on the name, he thought.
   Before she could respond, the door to the turbo lift opened, allowing them entry to the bridge. His first sight was the view screen, directly in front of the lift door. Between him and the screed were his command chair and the helm. He silently noticed that the bridge lacked a proper navigation or communications station. To the left and right of the view screen were two auxiliary consoles, currently set up for sciences. On either side of the lift door were two alcove stations, the left was tactical and weapons control station, and the right was the engineering station. Behind each of the two were computer monitors and touch screens relating to each specific station. He liked the layout of the bridge, but didn’t like the missing navigator or comms stations. He walked through the empty bridge, running his hand along the rail behind his chair, and took the two steps down to the lower portion of the bridge, and went straight to the helm. He pulled the seat and realized as it moved that it was on a quarter circle track similar to the helm’s layout. He sat down and quickly analyzed the console. There were considerably less buttons and more labels for everything, and it appeared to be a mostly touch screen panel.
   He stood up silently and walked to the tactical station, then the engineering station, and found them to be much of the same technology. “Impressive,” he said quietly as he walked over to the auxiliary control panels. “When does the rest of the crew arrive?” he asked his exec. He noticed that she hadn’t moved from the lift doorway yet.
   “We’ll be fully manned in sixteen hours and ready for underway in twenty.”
   “Very well, have someone deliver all my gear to my quarters, I’ll retire there shortly.”
   “Yes sir.” She paused for a moment before heading out.
   “Anything else I can do for you, Miss Jones?”
   “No sir…”
   “Then you are dismissed, Miss Jones.” He watched her exit through the lift’s single door. They’ll be young and inexperienced, he thought, but together we’ll be the best. He walked to his command chair and sat down in it for the first time. He searched for a moment and found the hidden compartment in the left armrest. It was a design feature of every command chair ever made in Star Fleet, a ‘secret’ pocket for things like command codes or important data chips. He opened the compartment and checked the size of the puka, and determined it was sufficient. He unclasped the button holding his uniform jacket closed and pulled the flap downward. He reached inside and withdrew eleven glass test-tube like items, each contained a single cigar and match, and were corked on the open end. Six of them, labeled ‘VICTORY’, smelled and tasted sweet, and gave off a pleasant aroma when lit; the other five, labeled ‘DEFEAT’, smelled and tasted very bitter, and gave off a foul odor when lit. The eleven items were placed neatly inside the puka, and he closed the compartment door. They were a gift from an old friend from the academy, given to him when he first took command of Apollo, with a simple message, “Smoke them at the right time, and remember victory is always sweet, defeat is always bitter.” The sixth ‘DEFEAT’ was smoked in the life pod that saved his life.
   “Computer,” he started, shaking off the bitter memory, “recognize Lieutenant Commander Shawn Patrick McDougal, commanding officer.”
   “Recognized,” the computer chirped in its very pleasant feminine voice.
   “Verify all command codes transferred form Shipyard command to my command authorization.”
   “Working… Confirmed. All command functions have been transferred from Shipyard command.”
   “Does all the command staff have codes stored in the computer?”
   “Confirmed.”
   “Thank you, computer,” he said while standing up. He walked silently to the lift door and stopped at the ship’s commissioning plaque, and noticed how his name was hastily added to the ‘commissioning crew’ line. Without any further thought, he stepped into the waiting turbo car and the door shut behind him.

   They sat in the captain’s quarters, silently for the moment. They didn’t share quarters like the rest of the crew, but they did have a shared bathroom, and now a story that needed to be shared, too.
   “So is now a good time, sir?” Jones asked him. She quietly sipped the cup of tea that she brought with her.
   “Well,” he began his tale, “We were on patrol on the Klingon Neutral Zone. We were three months out and we were almost ready to turn for home. We had known that the former CO would take shots at ships and stations across the Zone, using long lance drones…”
   “How did he get away with that?” Jones asked. “Wouldn’t that have shown up in the supply logs?”
   “He would have them added in secret, and logs altered. He was caught when one of our survey cruisers, the Gypsy I believe, followed them and watched the drone launch. Needless to say, he was forced to retire, and I was available to relieve him.
   “What we didn’t know, however, was that one of his drone volleys destroyed a civilian colony ship. While we were passing near the same location where the ship was destroyed, we were ambushed by Klingons bent on revenge. Six Klingon ships came out of nowhere and attacked us.”

   “Increasing speed to warp two!” the helmsman shouted as the ship shuddered again.
   “Divert all available power to shield four!” McDougal ordered.
   “Shield four buckling!” the tactical officer reported. “Hull breaches on decks five and six! I am reading three more ships approaching, dead ahead!”
   “Helm?”
   “They are outflanking us, there’s nowhere to go but straight!”
   “Best speed then. Maintain phasers on self defense only, and see if you can’t raise them.”
   “Shield four collapsed! Direct hit port nacelle!” the tactical officer shouted as the ship shuddered yet again, and again. Sparks blew from several consoles and fires erupted from the bulkheads. Debris and dust fell freely from the overheads and a support beam bulged through the deck, taking out the helm. “Starboard nacelle destroyed, warp drive off line, impulse engines off line, emergency power available but failing. Multiple hull breaches across all decks… Sir, we’re done.”
   “Damn. All hands, abandon ship!” Another blast destroyed what was left of the bridge, knocking the captain to the deck. He stood and looked around at the bodies of his former bridge officers scattering the deck, severed limbs resting far from their bodies. He took the moment to check for pulses where he could, but no one lived. In a frantic furry, he searched the command chair puka and withdrew his twelve cigars. During the last blasts he found the bridge’s emergency escape pod and entered it, waited as long as he could before shutting the seal, and pushed the jettison button. He found himself alone in a pod made for ten, and his only hope now was for the Klingons not to shoot the pods.

   “…and eventually we were rescued, all nine of us.” He concluded his story with a sigh, “They demoted me and gave me command of this beast.”
   “Did you notice the irony here, sir?”
   “How’s that?”
   “Well, Apollo was a god of light, Cerberus was, well, the original dog from hell…”
   “They have sent me from Olympus to Hades, you say?”
   “Perhaps, but we can show them what this hell hound can do.”



Czar "Doin it right this time" Mohab, Who is now free for questions and/or comments.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #1 on: July 16, 2007, 01:18:23 am »
I'm liking the added level of detail in this one. Your previous story/stories used dialogue for most, if not all, of the delivery on what was going on. This one has amped up the naration, especially in the scene where McDougal surveys his bridge.

Can we have some info on the Cerberus? Pics also if you have some to post...*pleading tones as asker is very interested*

I'm anxiously waiting for more as I have the feeling this one is going to be truely epic.

--thu guv!
'It's a lot of hard work being a mean bastard...' --Captain Eric Finlander, CO USS Bedford (The Bedford Incident)

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Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #2 on: July 16, 2007, 01:20:25 pm »
Likin' it so far.  As the Guv said, I like the added detail, etc.  Particularly fond of the Captain's little problem with remembering names.
"Dialogue from a play, Hamlet to Horatio: 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Dialogue from a play written long before men took to the sky. There are more things in heaven and earth, and in the sky, than perhaps can be dreamt of. And somewhere in between heaven, the sky, the earth, lies the Twilight Zone."
                                                                 ---------Rod Serling, The Last Flight

Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #3 on: July 17, 2007, 11:18:51 pm »

Can we have some info on the Cerberus? Pics also if you have some to post...*pleading tones as asker is very interested*


As for shape, size, color, basic specs, think Okinawa class. But, not *quite* the same. If I had to use a model in SFC1/2/3, I'd go with that one as "close enough".

I haven't found one Oki model good enough to be exact for what i see in my mind. maybe because its not quite one... you'll all see soon...

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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #4 on: July 18, 2007, 01:28:57 am »
Per all your requests, stories and story segments will no longer occur in green. Everything else, however, still will. Enjoy!

   "Lieutenant Commander Olivia Janice McCloud, chief engineer, sir."
   "Senior Chief Corpsman Jeremiah Johnson, ship's doc, sir."
   "Lieutenant T'Sala, Tactical, weapons and communications officer, sir"
   "Lieutenant junior grade George Eugene Michaels, Navigator and chief helmsman, sir"
   "Lieutenant Samuel Peter O'Kelly, chief of security, sir."
   McDougal continued his walk through of his department heads. They were all younger than him, except for Doc, as he'd suspected. No matter, they'd learn and grow, with him and the tiny ship. "Dismissed," he said dryly and walked away from the gathering, his exec hot on his heels. He was hoping that she wouldn't always follow him so closely. "I have absolutely no intention of micromanaging everything," he said to her, never pausing as he continued down the narrow corridor towards the nearest lift. "I will hold you responsible if we are delayed at anything during this cruise because of them."
   "Understood sir," she replied, slightly confused. "Sir," she started again as they entered the waiting lift. She paused her ingress and held the door so that the rest of the bridge crew could join them in the turbo car, cramping them in the already confined space. "Do you not trust your crew?"
   "I trust them." He waited for the others to enter the car. "Bridge!" he ordered the machine, and it silently obeyed and began its short journey to its destination. He looked at his exec, giving her the "we will continue this later" glance.
   The lift's door opened before she could protest further, and the group walked onto the bridge and took quickly to their posts. "Contact dock master," McDougal ordered without missing a beat. "Get us clearance for undocking."
   T'Sala pressed a few buttons on her panel. "We have clearance to undock," she told her captain as he took his center seat.
   He pressed a button on his command chair's right armrest, clearly labeled '1MC', and began to speak over the ship's announcing circuit. "All personnel not wishing to go underway, please disembark at this time." He felt the reaction of the crew the same way he felt it when he first heard that announcement on his first tour. Well, I'd better get off then! he mentally echoed his crew's thoughts. They knew it was meant for the yard workers that might still be on board and not for them, but who really wanted to get underway?
   He pressed another button on his armrest, this one labeled '7MC', and spoke, "Engine room, begin warming up the mains." He didn't wait for a reply before closing the channel. He turned around and faced the engineer. "Have we divorced from shore power?"
   "Affirmative, sir," she replied.
   "Good." He turned slightly to face the Vulcan to the engineer's left. "Clear all service umbilicals and all access brows." Outside the tiny ship, several service hoses began to retract into the space dock, as did the two pressurized crew tunnels that allowed access to docked ships. "All standard running lights and markers to full illumination." Green lights on the starboard side of the saucer and on the end of the starboard nacelle, white for the center, and red on the port side began to flash; bright white floodlights illuminated the ship's name, registry, and Star Fleet insignias, U.S.S. Cerberus, NX-12093. "Cast off all lines." Automated systems pulled free the mechanical tethers that held the ship in place.
   "Ship is underway, sir," T'Sala reported.
   The captain pressed the '1MC' button again, "Ship is underway!" Closing the line, he added, "Helm, thrusters ahead, half thrust." The ship moved forward from its berth slowly, belying its sleek design. Its saucer and engineering section arrangement was common among the Okinawa classes, but the radical addition of a third warp engine on the ship's dorsal and the zero degree plane of the two 'normal' nacelles gave the first hints that this was no ordinary frigate. As she cleared the dock on her first official underway, what was the Federation's biggest snafu began to make history. Cerberus was constructed as a test for the Federation's new automated construction facility, and was eighty percent complete when the caught the mix-up.
   "Clear of space dock," Michaels reported.
   "All ahead flank!" Cerberus didn't make a sound as she accelerated, much to the delight of her captain and crew, nor did she lurch forward like so many of her older stable mates. It was a factor of the new technology, additions destined for another vessel. The computer mind that constructed Cerberus mixed two plans into one, fusing forever battle frigate and advanced frigate. When the yardmaster discovered the design malfunction, she was too far along to scrap, and instead was modified to fully utilize everything she was given. "Pocket Cruiser" some had called her. Silently and elegantly, she sped away from her former home and into the freedom of space. "Set course for way point one, warp seven."
   "Way point one, warp seven, helm, aye."
   McDougal didn't care what anyone else called her. She was Cerberus, the original dog from hell, and she was going to prove it.


Czar "On a roll" Mohab
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Offline Commander Maxillius

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #5 on: July 18, 2007, 05:10:15 am »
Very nice!  Now I'm gonna have to search for the Okinawa class to get the image in mind

*edit*  Oh, that...   Very odd looking indeed, suppose she'll have something to prove being so small.  Very interesting :)
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #6 on: July 18, 2007, 10:06:00 pm »
Holy crap! Jerimiah Johnson is the CMO?!!

Is his handle 'Liver-Eatin' Johnson' by any chance?

I liked the launch. Especially the references to '1MC' and '7MC'. Very US Navy of you. Though after that...I kept imagining him pulling a microphone to his lips when he used them... [an idea I like very much in BSG]

Bravo! Now...back to writing!

--thu guv!
'It's a lot of hard work being a mean bastard...' --Captain Eric Finlander, CO USS Bedford (The Bedford Incident)

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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #7 on: July 19, 2007, 10:49:10 pm »
Holy crap! Jerimiah Johnson is the CMO?!!

Is his handle 'Liver-Eatin' Johnson' by any chance?

I think I have no clue what you mean here. I just pull random names outta thin air sometimes. Sometimes other places.

For now, I think small tidbits are working the best, so I'll keep to that.


   “Secure the maneuvering watch, Miss T’Sala,” said the captain smartly. “Station underway watch section three.”
   “Aye, sir,” the tall and slender Vulcan replied. She made the required announcement, and in short order the bridge’s relief crew stepped silently onto the bridge to assume their postings. Her relief, a small human male, studied her panel quickly, and after a brief exchange of words, she simply said, “I stand relieved.” She walked from her panel and towards her captain in the center seat. “I am ready to relieve you, sir,” she said calmly.
   “Your first time in the big chair?” the captain asked her.
   “Yes, sir, it will be.”
   “Then we’ll go gentle on you. I stand relieved, you have the bridge.” He stood up and quickly made way for the waiting turbo car. He watched her try to ask him what he meant as the door closed. He sighed, letting the weight of the day fall from him. “Deck two,” he ordered the car, and it promptly sent him on his way. As the car traveled, he felt eyes on him; somehow he’d missed that someone was in the car with him. He studied the individual for a moment without turning to see who was there. “XO,” he said, still not turning to face his guest, “we begin drills in one hour. Be in the observation lounge in ten with all off watch department heads.” The door to the lift opened and he strode out, down the narrow passage towards the observation lounge.
   Startled with the new order, his exec paused in the car and before she could follow him the door shut. “Destination?” the computerized voice rudely asked her. She paused, forgetting where she was actually going. “Destination?” the car demanded of her again.
   “Hold,” she simply said. She moved over to the wall communications panel and opened a line to the bridge.
   “Bridge,” the male voice on the other side of the line responded.
   “Bridge, XO, contact all off watch department heads and have them meet me in the observation lounge in five minutes.”
   “XO, bridge, aye,” the young officer simply replied.
   “Computer, here is fine, open the door please.” The car’s single door slid open, and she made her way to the lounge.

   “Fire in the galley was a drill for training, secure from drill,” Lieutenant Perkins said over the 1MC. “Restow all damage control equipment.” T’Sala looked over at the JG who had relieved her. “Next one’s warp core breach in progress with auto-jettison failure,” he informed the bridge. “Simulation ends when either the core is dumped or breach is averted; and it should be the last one.” Six drills in four hours, and he had known correctly the first five. It was a fair bet that the sixth would be accurate as well. She was unwilling to pry into details of how he knew, but she did know that it put others more at ease knowing what was next, and that generally improved reaction times and performance. It wasn’t an accurate assessment of how the crew would honestly react if the same situations happened unsimulated, but even with that flaw, it was good practice.
   His com panel beeped, demanding his attention. “Bridge,” he said calmly. The voice on the other side of the line was indistinct even with her Vulcan hearing. “Acknowledged,” Perkins said to the mystery voice. He pursed his lips before making his announcement, “Secure from ship’s drills. Damage control petty officers take inventory and make report to the DCPO by twenty-three hundred. All drill monitors muster on the mess decks for debriefing. All hands, turn-to, clean up ship.” T’Sala looked at him with a raised eyebrow; her head slightly tilted and allowed some of her long, dark hair to fall over her left shoulder. “Guess I was wrong.”
   “Indeed. Helm, resume course and speed for way point one.” There was but the slightest pause before she could relax her posture from rigid to Vulcan relaxed before an alarm went off. "Report!" she ordered.
   "Klingon cruiser has just been detected on long range scans, bearing three-one five," Perkins reported to her. "At present speed and course, we will cross their line of travel in two minutes. They appear to be heading towards the main shipping lanes off of New Alexandria."
   "Have they detected us?"
   "Unable to determine at this range, however not very likely."
   "Helm, match speed to target, plot a shadowing course. Mister Perkins, yellow alert." The ship decelerated without much hassle, no one really noticed anything was amiss until yellow lights started flashing from everywhere. There was a momentary hum as the phaser capacitors began their warm up routine, but this too went largely unnoticed.
   "Course plotted and laid in, sir," Michaels reported from the helm. "We should be maintaining range outside of their sensors."
   "Very good; Mister Perkins..." She was interrupted as McDougal entered the bridge.
   "T'Sala, if you please, continue," the tall man said. Ever present at his heels was the XO, nearly a head shorter than he, and her flame red locks a sharp contrast to his short, dark hair. She's like a lost puppy with no self esteem, always seeking approval both the captain and the tactical officer shared the same thought.
   "Mister Perkins, rig ship for silent running, and reduced electrical. Captain, we have detected a Klingon warship on long range scanners, his course indicates a possible convoy or supply point raid. We are shadowing him to verify."
   "Very good, T'Sala, I relieve you. Take your post and see what you can learn about our friend."
   "Aye, sir," she said as unemotionally as any Vulcan would have. Despite her emotional repression skills, she still felt depressed deep down about not finishing her first watch. She stood and walked away from the command chair towards her station where Perkins stepped back and allowed her access. Having no where else to go for the moment, he stayed by her side to assist if needed. "Our range is closing, staying outside assumed sensor range of Klingon vessel. Hull class is Delta-six or seven battle cruiser, unable to verify more specifics at this range."
   "Very well," the captain said, taking his seat. His exec stood beside his chair, watching the screen. "Miss Jones, man the aux panel, set it for sciences and aid tactical in identifying that ship." She looked at him, disappointed, silently nodded and took a seat at the port station and began to run a parrallel scan with tactical.
   "Sir, target has accelerated," T'Sala reported.
   "Compensating," Michaels said.
   "Picking up a priority one distress signal from U.S.S. Pensacola and several freighters. They are under attack by a Klingon drone cruiser, type seven hull, messages repeat."
   McDougal pressed his 1MC button, "Red Alert, all hands to battle stations, this is not a drill." He paused a moment after closing the line. "Helm, best speed to target, try to keep us on his six when we arrive in weapons range. T'Sala, set phasers four and six through eight to defensive, proximity load photons one and three, full overload tube two, drain the batteries if you have too. Coordinate high warp kick down to occur at best range for proxies and keep us going at best combat speed."
   He didn't wait for a response from his crew, nor did he hear it. The words rang in his ears as did the bitter taste of 'DEFEAT' had hung on his tongue. It was a Drell-seven drone ship that had fired the last salvo that destroyed Apollo, one that had a notorious history of attacking trade convoys on this side of the neutral zone. McDougal didn't seek revenge, just survival.

Czar "Jerimiah could have been a bullfrog" Mohab, who notes that corpsmen often go with the frogmen, too
« Last Edit: July 19, 2007, 11:31:06 pm by Czar Mohab »
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #8 on: July 20, 2007, 10:18:44 pm »
'Let the slaughter begin!'

My Liver Eatin' Johnson reference comes from American frontier folklore about a man named Jerimiah Johnson. He had confrontations with tribes of American Natives who did everything up to and including killing his wife. He bent on revenge toward said injuns, and was renown for hunting them down and, most tales say, eating their livers, either for survival or to 'gain an essense of their spirit'. There was a movie in the late 60's, early 70's about the man, which portrayed him as a hero, leaving out the liver eatin'... I believe Robert Redford played ol' Liver Eatin'. Wicipedea likely has a page on this movie, and perhaps even some history on the story behind it.

Look it up when you have time, it can only add to the fun of your stories.

I'm liking where your story above is going. Nice, straight forward prepare for combat feel right now. And very militarial with all the nomenclature and watch-precedure. Bravo. Almost makes me think of the new BSG. [am also hoping that the new Trek movie will emulate some of this stuff as well...]

Keep 'er cumin'!

--thu guv!
'It's a lot of hard work being a mean bastard...' --Captain Eric Finlander, CO USS Bedford (The Bedford Incident)

'Jaken...are you pretending to be dead?' --Lord Sesshomaru, Inuyasha.

Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #9 on: July 25, 2007, 01:31:08 am »
Hope it doesn't feel rushed

   
   Cerberus shuddered and slowed to a crawl in space, lights throughout the small vessel dimmed noticeably. McDougal surveyed his bridge crew for signs of uneasiness and found none. Confused, he asked, “Why have we slowed?” The answer, it seemed, was obvious to all but him.
   “Low power,” Jones replied. “We don’t have enough to maintain your speed and charge everything.” She looked up from her panel and met his gaze. “You weren’t here for the trials, so I guess you didn’t know; we can’t maintain one hundred percent power for longer than ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”
   McDougal turned swiveled his chair to face aft. “Well, then, engineer, give me those ten minutes.” He saw the look of ‘I’d better not’ on his engineer’s face. “Do whatever you need to do, just do it quickly.”
   “Powering up number three,” she said reluctantly. The ship sprang forward as if shot from a sling, and the lighting resumed its normal illumination. Before she could offer protest, the computer spoke up in her place.
   “WARNING. WARP FIELD RADIATION EXCEEDING TOLERANCE LEVELS. RADIATION LEVELS WILL EXCEED MAXIMUM SAFETY LIMITS IN TEN MINUTES.”
   “Disable audio warning,” the captain ordered. “And power down that engine in seven minutes. T’Sala, what does the tactical picture look like?”
   The Vulcan busied herself with her controls before responding. “Four small, two large and two super freighters under fire, most have taken light damage. Frigate Pensacola is attempting to draw fire. We are approaching optimal firing range for proximity torpedoes, estimate we can succeed in hitting target’s number four shield.” Her panel beeped a frantic warning. “Freighter Lost Luggage has lost all warp power.”
   “Helm, give her everything you can.” McDougal spun quickly back around to face the view screen, as the door to the lift opened. Lieutenant O’Kelly walked onto the bridge with an armed escort, standing by to protect the bridge should it be invaded. “Oh, good, I was about to call for you. Have all available teams standing by in or near the transporter rooms. May not need you, but you never know.”
   Saddened slightly that his first ‘official’ trip to the bridge was cut short, he simply replied, “Aye, sir,” and left the way he had come, leaving behind his four guards.
   “Firing tubes one and three,” T’Sala reported. On the screen, twin red orbs of fire projected themselves towards the Klingon ship. In a brilliant flash, they were gone. “Both detonated on target.”
   “Reload tubes as standards. Range to contact?”
   “Fifty thousand and closing fast. Contact is continuing to target freighters." She seemed frazzled, as frazzled as a Vulcan could get anyway. "Thirty thousand," she called off.
   "Fire non-defensive phasers and torpedoes at one thousand," McDougal ordered. "Helm, make our speed warp one point two by the time we get to firing range." He could almost hear the protest from his tactical officer, and interrupted her before she could utter a sound. "Fast load the torpedoes if you have to, and stand-by on the drones."
   On the viewer, the range closed between frigate and cruiser. Several phasers lances shot out from the freighters in a vain attempt to ward off the unwelcome guest. Cerberus managed to close the gap and slow in time; red hot lances of phaser fire ripped into the Klingon's aft shield, followed by three red orbs of destruction. The protective shield faltered and failed, allowing the torpedoes unhindered access to the unprotected hull. Whether it was luck or a good tactical officer's targeting skills didn't matter, as the single overloaded weapon found its mark in the main impulse complex, causing massive eruptions of fire and escaping atmosphere. "Overload all torpedoes, all available power to shield one. Helm, stay with him, but let him open to three thousand." Cerberus remained behind the warship, dwarfed by its massive size. Four pinpoints of energy erupted from the now wounded combatant; drones sent to their next target. Without hesitation, Cerberus fired her defensive phasers, destroying the incoming missiles almost effortlessly. "Tactical, priority targets: warp, impulse and weapons, in that order."
   "Aye, sir," T'Sala replied. She began making the required adjustments on her panel. "Incoming transmission, sir," she added as her panel beeped. "Priority one message from Star Fleet."
   "Put them on hold, this is a bit more important." McDougal mentally envisioned the chastising he would receive form command for delaying a high priority transmission, but justified it with the lives that would be saved. Unless its something more important he thought. "Overload phasers, too, Miss T'Sala. Let's end this."
   The Klingon ship managed a small counter attack with its phasers, and began a vain attempt to shake its adversary. In this attempt, the range between it and its former prey increased, allowing precious time for the freighters and their lone escort to escape. Phasers and torpedoes once again struck out at the Klingon, this time severing its port warp nacelle and almost destroying the other, along with severe structural damage. Out of power, the Klingon slowed to a stop, and began a slow turn to port. "Open a channel," McDougal ordered. T'Sala did as instructed, and before she could acknowledge that the channel was open, her captain spoke. "Klingon vessel. You have violated our space for the last time. I'm giving you two options: surrender or be destroyed." In response, the warship fired its only powered phaser and its four drones. "Have it your way then. It is fitting that Cerberus would guide you to the gates of Hell." McDougal motioned for the channel to be closed. "Fire everything available, and keep firing until they surrender or are destroyed."
   It was only a few minutes more before the Klingon ship exploded from Cerberus's continued onslaught. "Secure from battle stations, secure from red alert," McDougal ordered. "Shut down number three warp engine and Miss T'Sala, would you be so kind as to receive the transmission from Star Fleet?"
   T'Sala worked her board for a second and replied, "It was text only. We are to report to Base Station at New Alexandria for ship modification and passenger pick up."
   "That's all there was? No specifics?"
   "None, sir."
   "Well then, helm, you know what to do."
   
Czar "And so they continued..." Mohab
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #10 on: July 25, 2007, 06:53:24 pm »
Not much of a fight there, was it? A D-7 should put up a hellova fight, no matter who's beatin' on it IMO.

The transition between the security guy arriving on the bridge and firing the first torpedoes of the fight seemed rather abrupt to me. I'm all for firing as she comes to bear, but some lead in helps.

I don't wish to over critique, however. The rest of the story and indeed the over all writing of this chapter/tidbit arre very good and discriptive. The fight just seemed lacking. But then, I'm one for LONG fight scenes, and am not always a sound judge. Perhaps you did not want this fight to detract in any way from the rest of the story.

Any way, am itching for more! Reall y wish to see where the Cerberus goes. I like the crew and would like to see them interact even further as the story goes on. McDougal seems to have an axe to grind in some way, likely in consequence to his previous defeat. Wanting to see where this leads...

--thu guv!
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #11 on: July 25, 2007, 11:47:41 pm »
Not much of a fight there, was it? A D-7 should put up a hellova fight, no matter who's beatin' on it IMO.

D7D... supposed to be 'distracted' by trying to take down the freighters, and treating the frigates as 'flies on a carcass', saving them for last, and not expecting the 'lucky shots' that ended up crippling it. Also, should have included more about recent shield damage from defenders and weapons' status.

I try to stay true to SFB/SFC style battles, and was going off of an old 'house rule' that I found long ago, whereas one could target specific things and a success would mean damage/distruction of said things with remaining damage then following the DAC; along with a second rule that uses the DAC but allocates damage differently. Damage is applied to system A. When all of system A is destroyed, reroll remaining points on DAC, repeat until all points resolved. All damage occurs to a "block" of that system on the SSD, example would be the Fed CA with 8 labs, in two blocks of 4. DAC calls for lab, and only one of the blocks would receive the damage. Weapons handled similarly to the normal rules (i.e. facing weapons first, then others). I think I covered most of it. If I confused you, go with the "lucky shot" deal and call it good  ;)

I don't wish to over critique, however. The rest of the story and indeed the over all writing of this chapter/tidbit arre very good and discriptive. The fight just seemed lacking. But then, I'm one for LONG fight scenes, and am not always a sound judge. Perhaps you did not want this fight to detract in any way from the rest of the story.
Bingo. This battle is not the important part. Its what is coming later that will be the focus. This was just a "get a feel for ol' Cerberus" incident.

Any way, am itching for more! Reall y wish to see where the Cerberus goes. I like the crew and would like to see them interact even further as the story goes on. McDougal seems to have an axe to grind in some way, likely in consequence to his previous defeat. Wanting to see where this leads...

You'll get that, and more, in time.

Czar "Fuzzy clarity" Mohab
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #12 on: July 26, 2007, 02:31:46 am »
Ah, I see. They just didn't seem much like lucky hits given the presentation. And yeah, the before hand info on the D-7's previous damage would have given a better head's up. I expect most freighters traveling in deep space to be armed. But mentioning such goes a long way too.

So far as fight scenes go, I don't go by any kind of game rules. I try to emulate the combat damage shown in Movies 2, 3 and 6. Though I note that 3 did not show torps blowing through the hull. Given the uber sharkage, I imagine Enterprise and even the BoP has at least partial shielding in place when hit.

The rules you quote don't sound too bad though.

More of same, please.

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #13 on: July 28, 2007, 12:03:07 am »
Its that time again, folks... One more posting...


   Rear Admiral Baker paced behind his desk in his office, and his anger permeated the room. McDougal stood across from the desk at attention, and waited for the short, stocky man to finish his tirade. “I believe in Unity, commander. I believe that we all can benefit from acting as one fleet with a combined goal, and I believe that there can be galactic peace in our time. What you have done today could have put a damper on our peaceful relations with the Klingons.” Baker paused a moment, enough for McDougal to squeeze a word in edgewise.
   “Sir, with all due respect, they were attacking one of our trade convoys. Did you want me to sit back and let innocent civilians die?”
   “No,” Baker replied calmly. “You followed the book in that regard, answering the convoy’s distress call. I am surprised that you pulled it off with such a small ship. However, destruction of the Klingon vessel was unnecessary, and a bit extreme. Your own combat records show that the ship was crippled and unable to escape. You could have left them for one of our local patrol ships to tow them in for repairs.”
   Without hesitation McDougal interrupted the admiral, “So now we are offering aid and comfort to the enemy? They were attacking innocent and mostly unarmed vessels. If I should have done anything different it would have been to beam their crew into space, then destroy the cruiser.”
   “Mind your place, Commander.” The anger in the room thickened. “Remember that you are addressing a superior officer.”
   Only in rank, McDougal thought. “Is there anything else, sir?”
   “As a matter of fact, there is.” The man stopped his pacing. “I have gone over the schematics for your vessel. She is quite impressive when she can use all of her warp power. There was a technical memo from her space trials, either to add more shielding to the dorsal hull or extend the center engine up higher away from said hull. Star Fleet has ordered us to make the required modifications to support your new missions.
   “The Klingon Empire has been without a proper delegate at Hyperion Station for quite some time, and with a recent change in the pace of which Operation Unity is gearing up, one is required there in a very rapid manner. A Klingon courier ship will deliver the ambassador to you at the station here in a week, and you will depart immediately following and make best speed for Hyperion.”
   “Why not any other ship? We’re not…”
   Baker interrupted him curtly. “Yours, sadly, is the only one fast enough to reach Hyperion from here before the next meeting of the Unity Council. And as part of our retrofit of your ship, you will be capable of carrying this diplomat and his aides.”
   McDougal eyeballed him rudely. Cerberus is a ship of war, not intended to carry the enemy he thought to himself. “Are we done here?”
   “You will be more respectful, Lieutenant Commander,” the words escaped Baker’s lips with an evil puff, “or you will find yourself on report! You are dismissed!”
   Silently, Cerberus’s CO turned, lifted his hands to chest height, and strode out of the office. McDougal was glad that his body covered the obscene gesture thrown the admiral’s way.

   The week passed without incident, and the arrival of the Klingon delegate on board Cerberus marked the beginning a terrible time for Senior Chief Johnson, the ship's 'doctor'. Standard procedure for newcomers to any vessel in the fleet was a preliminary physical, to verify that there were no ailments or contaminants or viruses that could infect the crew. Normally, this was handled by the transporter's bio-filter; but in the case of the Klingons, they had walked in right through the airlock. Now, three very large and very angry Klingons stood in the cramped sick bay, waiting for the captain's final ruling. Again, the Klingon ambassador protested, stating that they had been scanned by the station's transporter system when they beamed aboard. Johnson knew it was a lie, as the Klingon transport docked to the station just as Cerberus had, intending to make full use of the liberty port, just as they had done for the last week.
   "You came on board this ship right in front of me," Johnson reiterated for them. "And I watched you as you left your ship, you were not transported." This argument had gone on for almost twenty minutes before the captain was called to resolve the issue. Doc was just happy that the Klingons went to sick bay at all. The door to sick bay, one of three on board that was of the 'twin slider' type usually found on larger vessels, swished open to reveal O'Kelly, the CO, and that 'lost puppy', the XO. Does she ever leave him alone? Doc thought to himself. "Skipper, good, glad you are here. We have an issue..."
   "Had an issue, Doc," McDougal corrected him. He turned to face the fatter Klingon, who he supposed was the ambassador. "You will either submit to the scan or be confined to quarters the entire journey, without any ventilation. Doc will only perform a viral and bacterial scan, nothing more, but either way, this ship doesn't leave until you cooperate."
   "Ah," the fat one spoke, "so you are the one the new Klingon opera 'Hell Hound' sings of. We are impressed by how you handled the Divine Prowess."
   Well, two for one, the CO thought. He's the head cheese, and they're not too pissed. "Lieutenant Commander McDougal, ambassador. Translated, the ships name is, roughly, 'Hell Hound'." At least I'm famous somewhere.
   "We will submit to your scans. Being an ambassador, I've grown accustomed to certain luxuries, ventilation is one of them." Doc moved over to his desk in the now very crowded sick bay. Besides the people, there wasn't much in it, two fold down diagnostic beds, two gurneys, and random knick-knacks and assorted medical equipment. Doc found his tricorder and removed the remote scanner from it. Activating the scanner, he waved it over the Klingons, starting with the ambassador. The ambassador chuckled, jiggling his fat and ruffling his graying hair. He spoke something in Klingon, and the two others joined the chuckling.
   "You are right," Jones said from behind them. "The scan shouldn't find your concealed weapons."
   "That's why you're still going to be confined to quarters for the duration," McDougal added. "The safety and security of the ship is my number one concern."
   "Commander, I must protest!" the large Klingon whined.
   "They are clean, and fit as a fiddle," Doc added.
   "Good." McDougal smiled a fake smile, one he was hoping his guests would know was fake. "Ambassador, if you and your men would be so kind as to follow Miss Jones and Mister O'Kelly to your quarters. I know they'll be smaller than what you're used to, but they are a conversion of four of our three-man suites, with all the room you'll need." He eyeballed the fat ambassador. The quintet left sick bay and headed for the ambassador's quarters, six security guards joining them outside the double door. "Sorry about that Doc."
   "No worries, sir..."
   "You can call me Shawn, Doc," the CO interrupted. "You always could."
   "I know, Shawn. I didn't think it was appropriate anymore."
   "Just because you married and divorced my sister doesn't mean we can't still be good friends."
   "Well, thanks for helping to deal with the Klingons. I was honestly considering killing one of them, removing his liver and serving it to the other two with some fava beans and a nice chianti, and just for kicks join in..."
   "But why waste good wine?" They shared a laugh that didn't last long enough and left them in an awkward silence. "Doc, Jeremiah, seriously, I didn't know that you thought I was..."
   "Holding a grudge? No... Its not that, it was just awkward. I only knew you through Cindy, and when she left me..." he paused and sat in the chair at his desk. "I thought I'd lost a friend, too."
   "You lived with her for three years, I grew up with her. And as I recall, I warned you about her." They laughed again.
   "That you did, that you did..." he was interrupted by the 1MC clicking on.
   "Commander McDougal to the bridge," T'Sala's musical voice chimed over the announcing circuit.
   "Guess that's it for now," McDougal sighed. Silently, he turned and headed towards the door.
   "Shawn?" Doc started. "Thanks."
   "Anytime," he responded, and left sick bay. Doc sat in the now empty room, pondering whether or not the station's morgue would have a spare liver handy.

   Without a sound, the lift door opened and allowed the CO egress onto his bridge. Without missing a beat, he strode to his command chair and spoke at the same time. "Stand-by to get underway." He nearly ran over T'Sala, who had just vacated the command seat, when he heard the Engineer's voice behind him acknowledging his order. "Shouldn't you be in the engineroom?" he asked of her.
   "Thought about it," she responded with a slightly whimsical tone. "Decided not too. XO wanted to run things down there this time. Engines are warmed up and we are free of shore power, sir."
   With a confused but all-knowing nod, he sat in his chair and pressed his 1MC button. "All personnel not wishing to go underway, please disembark at this time." It was a wasted effort, as the ship had been sealed for almost an hour. Anyone still on board was either daft or going with them anyway. Note to self, recommend changes to that dumb procedure. Closing the line, he continued, "clear all service umbilicals and all access brows. All standard running lights and markers to full illumination. Cast off all lines."
   T'Sala worked fast, and without much pause, she 1MC'd "Ship is underway."
   McDougal slapped his armrest hard. "T'Sala, remind me to put you in for a pay raise." Unnoticed for the moment, the door to his puka had popped open. "Helm, ahead full impulse."
   "Aye, sir," Micheals replied. "Space doors are only just opening." Cerberus lurched forward from her berth, promptly closing on the mostly shut doors that led to the freedom of space beyond. "We won't make it."
   "Urgent message from Admiral Baker," T'Sala interrupted.
   "Helm, ninety degree roll to port. T'Sala, on screen."
   Admiral Baker's face filled the viewscreen, anger in his eyes. "I hope you plan on slowing down, mister!"
   McDougal adjusted himself in his chair, lifting his left foot to rest on his right knee. He brushed up against the door to his puka. Quickly and without looking, he withdrew one of the stogies. Fortunately, 'VICTORY' was at hand. "Not really. We're late, sir, so if you have anything important to say..." He deftly opened the tube and extracted the cigar and match. Quickly, he bit off the stub end and spit it towards the viewer, barely clearing Micheals' head.
   "This act of insubordination will not go unpunished! I am ordering you to cut your engines at once before you collide with the space doors!"
   "Very well, sir," he replied snottily. He struck the match on his raised boot and lit his cigar, filling the area around his head with a thick gray-white smoke. "Helm, cut impulse engines, set course for Hyperion, stand-by for maximum warp and engage as soon as we are clear. That good enough for you, admiral?" He took another drag. Victory sure is sweet. Cerberus completed her roll and started to escape through the still opening doors. Mere centimeters remained for clearance of her lower hull, the center warp nacelle, and the doors. The admiral's jaw dropped and he remained speechless. "Well, if you have nothing more to say, we'll be signing off. See you in a couple of weeks. Cerberus, out!" The line closed and the small ship lurched into warp speed, leaving behind several stunned persons who watched from various vantage points.
   "Never liked this place anyway," Micheals commented.
   "Never liked that dork, either, McCloud added from behind them.
   "And now all we have is the sweet sweet smell of victory!" McDougal drew another puff from the stogy, and indeed a sweet aroma filled the bridge.

Czar "I hate Baker, too" Mohab, who notes that our CO will be wearing his Milkbone undies for the upcoming butt-chewing.

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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #14 on: August 02, 2007, 06:08:38 am »
Chapter the next:
   Engineer’s Mate First Class Peter Roberts paused a moment in front of the auxiliary impulse relay panel, and entered a few of the numbers displayed into his data pad. Since Cerberus was now fully warp capable, the impulse engines had been regulated for surplus power generation duty, and the readings had hardly changed in the last two days. EM1 Roberts sighed, and moved on to the next panel in the engine room, and logged another set of unchanged readings. It was an hourly ritual that began when the system’s auto-logger failed. The only solace he had was knowing that his fellow watch team members were doing the same in the lower levels of the engine room. Roberts smiled at the thought.
   “Something amusing with the impulse coil temperatures?” the XO interrupted his train of thought. She had, in recent days, been spending way too much time not on the bridge, and managed a bad habbit of sneaking up behind people.
   Roberts continued his smile and turned toward her voice. Probably the only thing she’s good at is bugging the grunts working down on the deckplates, he thought absently, and almost aloud. “No, ma’am,” he replied to her query. “Just having myself a happy thought.”
   “Care to share?” she countered, genuine curiosity showing on her face.
   “Not particularly…” he managed when a very welcome interruption forcefully broke the conversation.
   “XO!” came the shout of McCloud’s voice. “Thought I’d find you here.” The engineer came out from behind a small series of panels that proudly displayed the ship’s warp power distribution system. “Let’s go,” she said calmly, trotting to the slightly stunned executive officer and grabbing her by the arm. “You’ve been harassing my personnel too often lately, and I’m ordering you to leave.” She shot the EM1 a wink as she drug the XO out of the engine room. She stopped their exit but retained her firm grasp on the XO. Turning to Roberts, she added, “We’ll be making a ten minute stop at zero two thirty, think you can have the auto-logger fixed in that time?” They did, after all, have to be not at warp to access the components; the computer would fry otherwise.
   Roberts grinned at the pair. How she’d managed to talk the captain into dropping from warp for such a small repair was beyond him, but she’d managed it. “Of course, ma’am,” he replied sheepishly. With only a nod, the engineer turned and continued her exit, her prize close at hand. Roberts hastily finished his log set so he could prepare for the repairs. He looked at a wall chronometer, and sighed. Twelve minutes to gather the right tools and repair parts was going to cut him short.

   “Olivia,” Jones protested as they entered the turbo lift. The door shut silently, cutting off her view of the intermix chamber. “I don’t think that was…”
   “Shut up,” McCloud interrupted her. “Deck three, galley,” she ordered the lift. She released her grip as soon as she was assured that there was no chance of escape. “Captain’s ordered me to keep you out of the engine room. And since we’re not on any sort of watch requirements for a while, I thought we’d catch a snack and sit and chat.”
   “What’s there to chat about?” Jones responded harshly. She gave her long time friend a very evil eye. They had been through almost everything together since first meeting at the academy. That is, until they were both selected as engineer’s on different ships. When Cerberus was in initial man-up, both McCloud and Jones were contenders for the open XO and engineer’s billets. With the grace and wisdom that could only come from Star Fleet’s top brass, Jones was selected as XO over her better qualified friend. It wasn’t rivalry that brought this fact to light, it was just the plain and simple truth; Jones never wanted to be anything but an engineer, and never strove for any higher goals, while McCloud had not only applied for XO on her former ship, but was being groomed for the job by her former exec. Jones' remembrance was interrupted when the lift door opened.
   They strode in silence into the mess decks, a rare sight for the few non-officers there engaged in several different recreational activities. They walked to the service window between the galley and mess decks and McCloud called for the galley watch captain. A brief argument ensued of whether he should make them something or if they should use a replicator, but in the end, rank prevailed and the cook disappeared to make some quick dish for them to snack on. In the meantime, they walked over to an empty table and sat down across from each other. There were ten rectangular tables, each with four seats; three other tables were occupied. The normal din caused by too many people in too small a room at mealtime was but a small and quiet chatter.
   “I explained to the captain,” McCloud started, “your situation. You and I both know that you are the better engineer. But you really need to start acting like an executive officer.”
   The explanation was blunt, but honest. Jones sighed, and spoke, “You are right. Delicious irony, though. Give the untalented the job requiring talent…”
   “I hope that you don’t see it that way, really.” She reached out and touched her friend’s hand. “You’ll make a wonderful exec and an even better captain when the time comes. The Brass probably just wanted to jumpstart your career. They know that I’m a hot candidate, but I still need the time in the engineering spaces.”
   “So you are saying that we are where we are supposed to be?”
   “Exactly. We need to learn our jobs and be the best we can at them. When it comes to placing its officers, Star Fleet rarely goofs.” She broke contact with her friend’s hand and they exchanged smiles. The cook arrived with two bowls of ‘beanie weenies’ and deposited them in front of the two officers. He grumbled something about it being two hours past midrats, and walked back to his arduous duty of preparing for the upcoming breakfast rush, three hours away.

   “There it is again, sir!” Perkins announced excitedly from the tactical console. T’Sala’s ears perked as she swiveled around in the command seat to face aft. “Burst of high energy static detected on the main communication frequencies. I can’t detect where it came from, but I can tell you that I think we were an intended target.”
   T’Sala bore a certain curiosity for the unexplained, something that she had always written off to being a scientific interest. Now, unexplained bursts of static piqued her curiosity to its extreme, and made her pause to ponder the situation. This was the third time since she took the watch that such an occurrence had happened, and had she been more emotional, she might have been annoyed. The computer was busy trying to decipher the first two, assuming that they were indeed transmissions. If they were, who were they meant for, and where was the source? “Run it through the computer, as before,” she said calmly. Then again, it could be just static on the lines. “And inform the captain.”

   The Klingon ambassador sat at the small desk in what was his office. The lights had been turned down to their lowest illumination without shutting them down, and they competed with his computer screen for which would provide the most light. The message scrolled across his screen, forcing him to worry. It wasn’t exactly the transmission he had anticipated, but it was close enough. K’Tark stood from his seat, his hand reaching out and shutting the screen off. He would spend a few moments pondering the cryptic words hidden within the message, then return to his slumber.


Czar " :angel: " Mohab, who promises more tomorrow
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Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #15 on: August 02, 2007, 08:13:41 am »
Allright.  Now that I've got more meat to chew on, I'll try and make a longer more useful comment.

This far, I'm enjoying the story.  You've created some nice tension aboard, both with the visiting Klingons and between the crew, and the pacing is very quick...always good when the story keeps moving.  Characters are idiosyncratic enough to be distinctive, but for the most part, they're not over the top...though this leads me to one of my main bits of constructive criticism.

McDougal is currently and enigma to me.  Part of me thinks (and enjoys the idea) that you're deliberately making him out to be a tad bit unstable.  He's displayed very poor judgement at a couple of points already, and I'm anxious to see what he does next.  But another part of me notes that he is, in some ways, the 'combative loose cannon, ready to kill and die for the Federation despite spending his formative years in a culture that deeply values peace' we see a lot of in fan fic.  If you're trying to make us wonder which he is, and play a bit with our sympathies, excellent work.  I won't say I have a problem with him yet, as I'm not sure what you're up to with him.  I WILL say I have a problem with Admiral Baker...not that I don't like him, he's obviously meant to be disliked...I just think that the 'door incident', especially paints him to be far, far, FAR more childish than his rank and age would imply.  He did, after all, take action that, with only a small miscalculation, could've heavily damaged or destroyed a Star Fleet vessel.

I also have to chime in with the Guv and say that the fight with the Klingon cruiser was a bit too...easy and quick.  The Cerebus was, after all, heavily outmassed, outpowered, and outgunned.  I realize you're going for a SFB feel for the fights, though, and compared to, say, ST II, SFB ships kind of have a glass jaw..  I also feel as if the fight was a bit...obligatory.  It didn't engage me, as it seemed there was little reason for it.  Had there been more follow up to it...more exploration of why the Klingon ship attacked and the resulting political fall out of both the attack and it's destruction...that last bit might not've been a factor.

I realize I've written at greater length about what I percieve to be flaws that I have about the virtues of your story;  please don't take that as a sign that I'm not enjoying the tale.  I am, and am eager to see what happens to the crew of the USS Cerebus.

Or, as Grim would say....'MORE!'
"Dialogue from a play, Hamlet to Horatio: 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Dialogue from a play written long before men took to the sky. There are more things in heaven and earth, and in the sky, than perhaps can be dreamt of. And somewhere in between heaven, the sky, the earth, lies the Twilight Zone."
                                                                 ---------Rod Serling, The Last Flight

Offline Commander Maxillius

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #16 on: August 02, 2007, 03:18:03 pm »
Yeah, the bit between the admiral and McDougal at departure screams '80s cop-show, if you make the admiral the police chief and McDougal the loose cannon detective, smoking the tires on his Mustang (Cerberus) as he leaves the station (Starbase).  I like 80s cop shows, and if you're not gunning for realism you're doing a great job at this! 

Small nitpick though.  Is the XO supposed to be a flirt or a slut?  I'm getting from her that she's got that kind of thing in mind a lot of the time and it would be unfortunate if she is the latter.  It would make for some interesting plot twists for sure, just I'm not sure what you're going for there yet.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #17 on: August 02, 2007, 03:56:45 pm »
While I'd be very tempted to initiate the 'door maneuver' to piss an admiral off, I don't think I'd risk my command over it. I was disappointed in the poor choice and the Admirals lack of real response to it. Seems to me such a CO would not alite the center seat much longer after that stunt, especially after being ordered not to and then defying said admiral.

Beyond that minor but enjoyable tibit, I like the confrontation with the Klingon party and the end of the last chapter where the Ambassador gets his secret message. I'm itching whole heartedly to see where that goes. Also liked the Hannibal Lecter moment with the Surgeon.

Am waiting patiently for more.

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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #18 on: August 03, 2007, 09:45:33 pm »
Due to totally unforseen issues, I will have to break my promise of another installment today. You can read about it here, still alittle shook up so might be a day or two. Or not. Depends how i feel.

About the comments:

Tried to explain that the XO wasn't confident in her abilities as XO, she is neither flirt nor slut, just unsure. She's a good engineer to be sure, just not trained yet as an XO. I have planned for her a defining moment where you will see that she is, indeed, worthy.

At this point, McD figgures he's got nothing left to lose, he's lost his chance at being a full captain, been demoted, lost his ship and crew, and had been chewed out for doing the right thing. Risky? Sure. Could have taken them out and the station? You betcha. I tried to give the feel that the helmsman would have stopped if he wasn't too sure they could make it, but live and learn. I knew several people with nothing to lose while in the navy, one was even a full bird captain. They all would do things that would cause trouble, and they almost all responded with, "Whatcha gunna do, demote me?"

Czar "Thankfully its a slow night at the office" Mohab, who was very elated to have a couple of these " :angel:"" :angel:"" :angel:" nearby yesterday
« Last Edit: August 04, 2007, 01:00:00 am by Czar Mohab »
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances
« Reply #19 on: August 04, 2007, 02:12:12 am »
Warning to sensitive viewers: Slight sexually oriented content ahead:

   He recognized the tall, dark haired man in the center of the bridge as Fleet Admiral Rickover. It was a damned funny sight not seeing anyone in anything but their skivvies. The rest of the bridge crew turned and saluted as he exited the lift onto the massive bridge, a veritable army of ‘tighty-whities’ surrounding what he presumed was his command chair. He walked slowly past unnamed crew members, their faces a blur. He thought he recognized someone from Apollo, but that was impossible. Other faces seemed familiar, too, all from past ships. Except someone from Cerberus, it seemed as if his entire starship career was represented by a familiar face from each prior posting. And all faces of comrades long since put to rest. Rickover was the enigma; he was wearing nothing but a warm smile, and he was still living, although much grayer than this person in front of him. “Welcome aboard the Super Battleship Cerberus," the older man said to him. “She’s ready to depart on your orders, Admiral McDougal. He liked the sound of that, and smiling himself he took the center seat. That’s when he realized that he, too, had been reduced to skivvies. Damn funny way of commanding a ship he thought.
   Something beeped, far off in the distance. Sounded like a door chime. “What the hell is that?” he asked the bridge crew. It beeped again, louder this time.
   “We don’t know,” they all began in unison. “It’s your dream!”
   A clouded haze filled his mind. The door beeped again, and with a snap the dream faded to nothingness. “Lights, low,” he demanded of the computer. Slowly, the lights in his quarters came up to a low intensity, revealing the disheveled state of his quarters. His mind wasn’t up to speed yet, and not fully realizing his own condition, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and kicked over an empty bottle from celebrations of earlier that evening. “Enter,” he said as he stood. Little McDougal also stood, at full attention, taking a glimpse of the outside world through Big McDougal’s undergarment. Fortunately, he managed to find a sheet to cover himself as he sat; the door to his quarters swishing open as buttocks met mattress, bathing him and his quarters in a harsh light. He squinted and saw the silhouette that formed in the doorway. It almost vanished as the form stepped in and the door shut behind. He became immediately aware of three things: he was hung over, he really had to urinate, and it was the XO that corrupted his dream.
   “The bridge has been trying to contact you,” she began. Not fully aware yet of her surroundings in the dim light, she stumbled on her CO’s haphazardly discarded uniform jacket. She picked it up and placed it half-folded on a nearby chair back. “T’Sala wanted you to be informed about ‘strange bursts of static’ on the com lines.”
   “Not so loud, please,” he said, rubbing feeling back into his face.
   “Are you intoxicated, sir?” She looked puzzled. Deep in the recesses of her mind, she recalled that the commanding officer shouldn’t ever be drunk, but she had long forgotten the exact regulation number, if it even existed.
   “Not anymore,” he sighed. “I just got a bit carried away after the eng left.” He paused and looked through the dim light at the two bottles that once held a thick green syrup-like and highly intoxicating liquid. He licked his dry lips and continued, “how long have they been trying to contact me?”
   “About twenty minutes, sir. They called me to investigate; I told them you were probably in a deep sleep.”
   “I was, and having a fine dream, too.” Forgetting his problem, he tried to stand, and was promptly reminded why he shouldn’t. “Miss Jones, you’ll excuse me, but I really need to hit the head.”
   “I understand. I’ll wait for you here.” She turned her back on him to give him some privacy as he headed to their shared bathroom. Not wanting to miss the shot, he sat down on the cool plastic seat and let his muscles relax. Jones noted that he’d left the door open and took advantage of the opportunity. “Sir, why didn’t you tell me yourself?”
   “Ha!” he exclaimed. “You’re absolutely right! I should have told you myself.” He stood and flushed, recovering his undergarment from about his ankles and pulling them to a loose fit. Confidently, he strode from the bathroom and made his way quickly to a clean pair of trousers. Snappily putting them on, he continued, “I need you to be an exec, plain and simple. We’ll work on that together, okay? I need everyone right where they are supposed to be right now, until I know what everyone can and can’t do.”
   “I understand, sir.” She looked at him over her shoulder and realized that he was half dressed and was tussling with a clean shirt. She turned completely around while his shirt covered his head and grabbed the jacket next to her. When he was ready to receive, she tossed him the jacket.
   “Thanks,” he said, snatching the garment mid flight. He tucked his shirt in and sat on the bed to finish dressing. “How many of these static bursts has there been?”
   “Three so far,” she replied.
   “Let’s get to the bridge then.” He finished with his boots and stood, draping the jacket over his arm. He walked to leave, escorting the XO along with him. “By the way, you never mentioned you spoke Klingon.”
   “That’s because I don’t speak it. But I can understand it plainly enough.” They walked out of his quarters and into the empty corridor towards the turbo lift.
   “When we get a chance, maybe we could teach each other? I’ve always wanted to learn that.”
   She didn’t reply, feeling as if he was making an advance on her. She didn’t mind the prospect; he was an attractive man, with many good qualities. She just didn’t want to be the ‘Captain’s Woman’.
   “I’m not looking for a date, if that is your concern,” he added, “just a study-buddy.”
   They paused at the lift door and waited for the next car. “Agreed, then, but only after we drop the Klingons off and we’re back on our patrol.”
   “Then its settled, we’ll start as soon as we get to the Kzinti border. I’m sure that we’ll have more than enough time after what I pulled at New Alexandria.”
   They walked into the lift when it arrived, and made the short trip to the bridge in silence. When they arrived, T’Sala was standing beside Perkins at the tactical station. “Three more bursts, sir,” Perkins informed them. “We’ve run them all through the computer, but they keep coming out as static, not transmissions.”
   “Has anyone received any transmissions since this began?” the XO asked. McDougal took the empty engineer’s console and reprogrammed one of the screens to mimic the communications panel.
   “Unknown,” T’Sala began. “Klingon Ambassador K’Tark has received two messages from the Klingon High Council, but has yet to read them. Several other crew members have received messages, but they have been nothing out of the ordinary.”
   “Try to do a power usage report,” McDougal said. “Maybe we can track the messages down by cross referencing when someone might have powered up or down a console.”
   “That could take some time,” Jones added.
   “Well, then, get to engineering and assist McCloud.”
   She took one of two steps towards the lift. “I thought you didn’t want me there?” She smiled at him and his obvious contradiction of orders. He shook his head and she departed the bridge.
   “Yellow alert,” McDougal ordered calmly. “Let’s get to the bottom of this quickly.”

   K’Tark sighed as yet again he was interrupted from his slumber by an ‘urgent’ message from his superiors. He hated this mission. Hated everything about it. It wasn’t the Klingon way to blow up a station just to kill a handful of enemies. But he did as ordered. He tried once to override the neural command sequencer that now controlled him, and failed. His masters had punished him hard for that, but it was worth trying. It was why he couldn’t be transported aboard for this mission, and why he couldn’t submit to a deep scan of his biology, everything would have gone up right there. His two body guards were equally trapped in the same net, forced to do their masters’ bidding. No matter now, soon they would be dead, the Klingons would be blamed for the destruction of Hyperion and Operation Unity would fail.
   When he got to his computer screen, he saw that there were three waiting messages for him. The first ordered him to gather his two cohorts and view the next two with them present. He wasn’t even allowed to protest the order in his thoughts, and was forced to wake the other two Klingons.  They gathered around the tiny screen as K’Tark opened the next message. A loud burst of static that lasted only a millisecond erupted from the unit, and the three Klingons paused as the new programming took hold. The third message displayed promptly afterwards.
   “UNITY COUNCIL MEETING MOVED TO EARTH. UNABLE TO HAVE YOU REDIRECTED TO ATTEND. MISSION ABORTED. FINAL PROGRAM INITIATED. YOU HAVE SERVED US WELL.”
   K’Tark grunted in disbelief. They now had less than an hour to live. His two guards left him at the terminal, preparing to face death by combating each other, in hopes that theirs would be seen as honorable deaths. Knowing full well what would happen to him, his guards and this ship; and knowing that there was nothing that he could do about it, he began to compose a message in Klingon earmarked for his son. He only hoped that the mechanical part of him would allow him to finish this message, and someone would understand it in time.

Czar "Think I missed midnight by a minute or ten" Mohab, who notes that if "morning wood" is inappropriate, it can be edited out without harm to the story.
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