Topic: #11: White Rabbits  (Read 18664 times)

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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#11: White Rabbits
« on: August 01, 2007, 09:19:57 pm »
Alrighty...

I've gotten pretty far along in my 'Andy-Proofing on #11. I'm pretty proud of this one, so I hope it doesn't suck.

Also, there is a rather explicit scene of sexual nature in it. I want a poll among y'all as to whether to edit it out or let it stand in the post version. If ANYONE disapproves, I can quite easily take it out without loss to the story itself. Lemme know. But for now...


Star Trek
White Rabbits
CH. 1





Doffed of his rank and even his uniform, Chevis Ford awoke in a strange bed with a strange woman. Ford stretched, his tired limbs reaching across cool expanses of satin sheets. His bunk aboard Endeavour, hell, any Starfleet bunk…lacked the space to stretch in this manner. It felt so good and so…novel.

The light coming through the terrestrial window showed softly down on the wakening starship captain. It felt so odd to see a sun rise up slowly over the far horizon of a planet. So many more times, he’d seen the stars of uncounted systems grow larger on his view screen or pass by a porthole in his cabin. Oft times, he was greeted by a beautiful vista as his ship created an artificial sunrise. But they never looked quite the same from orbit. Ford decided to rise and make it out to the porch of the condo to watch that sun rise up.
Chevy looked aside, laying eyes on the equally beautiful woman that slept sprawled at his side. She was a slim, tall black woman with aquiline features and wide, expressive eyes. He’d been drawn to her instantly when he’d met her the night before. No other time had seen him picking a woman up at a tavern. Last night had been different. He’d followed his desire, his lusts. He’d asked her name. Anya. He had spoken with her for hours. Flirted. Made his move, invited her home with him.

With a lovely, hungry smile, she’d said yes.

His career and the romantic thought of loving a Starfleet officer had probably attracted her as much as his questionable attempts at wooing. He didn’t feel too bad about the realization. She’d been there for the same thing he’d been after. Alcohol and sex.

Ford couldn’t help but smirk at the sudden thought. Yeah, he’d been after cheap, unworthy diversions last night. After what he’d been through in the last year, he’d deserved it. I haven’t had a damn leave in so long, he thought. Not a real leave.

Careful not to rouse Anya, Ford slid himself to the edge of the bed and let the sheet slid aside. He bent to tug on a pair of briefs and then his slacks. He laughed silently as he compared the lovely woman’s youth to his age and skinny-ass legs. She sure looked a hell looked a lot better than him. He shuffled away from the bedroom, passing through open doorways into the kitchen. He gave his Pekinese dog China an affectionate pat. Passing by the appliances, he called quietly, “Coffee.” The machine immediately clicked into action and began brewing the first pot.

Ford eased out onto the wooden planks of the back porch. The rear of the rented condo faced east, giving him the perfect chance to watch as the small blue sun rose over the long expanse of green ocean stretching out into the corona of bright white and yellow sky above. Ford felt nearly timeless as he settled down onto the swing left of the back door. His dark brown eyes gazed out at the spectacle being granted him.

The small star slowly ascended from the cover of calm waves; he could hear Anya rouse and murmur softly. The bedclothes rustled and moaned as she moved across them and pulled on some of her clothing. Chevy privately wondered how long she would venture to stay.

The sun was half risen, blazing in pale azure glory as Anya emerged from within the condo. She was just a breath taking as the sunrise. She wore only the long, billowy dress shirt from the night before. It was the color of the star beyond and came just down to mid-thigh. Her dark complexion contrasted beautifully with the color of the blouse and the effect made her eyes shine like nothing else. Chevis found himself looking from the rising star to the statuesque female posing before him, arms crossed as she looked out over the ocean. Her long, tightly curled hair blew a bit in the light breeze. Her silky blouse fluttered, forming around her curves again and again, teasing his senses.

“You’re missing the rest of your sunrise,” Anya told him.

Chevy smiled, glancing up to the coy, angular eyes dancing back at him.

“Am I?”

She made a laughing, throaty sound and turned toward him. The tails of her shirt blew apart, showcasing her hips and thighs… Anya came close and straddled him. Her face snuggled close as she wriggled in snuggly to him. Her small hands touched his chest atop a mass of scars, palms down. Ford had been shot there twenty years back by an Orion thug. The scars were sooth but wide and obvious. Some things never faded. Anya didn’t seem to mind.

Ford’s hands slid up this woman’s thighs, over her hips and waist. They met at the small of her back and held her tighter. She felt good, and despite the things they’d done the night before, she smelled good too. He kissed her forehead, something that seemed like a very ‘old-man’ thing to do with a woman a third his age. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five.

Today he was fifty-seven.

The Earth Date was January 26, 2294.

At almost sixty, he was beginning to wonder seriously just how much longer he had left. In command, in the service…in life… Such thoughts were not abnormal, especially for a man who routed danger as frequently as any Starfleet captain did. Things would eventually begin coming to an end. And if many more things like his torture at Jarn’s hands came to pass, those endings would come much, much faster.

Sitting with a beautiful, sexy woman in one’s lap made it difficult to dwell on such things. This was the whole purpose behind coming here. To get away from the harsh realities of his service life and forget what had happened only two weeks before. Prescription Zatronex and Apipholine could only do so much. Nothing cured like release.

“Are you enjoying New Plymouth, Chevy?” Anya asked him. Her lips brushed his fleshy Adam’s Apple. She worked her way softly up to his ear and licked it playfully. In response, his hands slid up to cup her breasts. They were just larger than his grip could cover. She laughed, not quite a giggle, as he fondled her.

“Oh-yeah…”

“Why are you so tense?”

Chevy smiled for her, nuzzled in to kiss her neck.

“Stay that way, usually. Been a hellova year so far.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to fix your ship?”

“Don’t have a clue. They might scrap her for all I know. They were barely gettin’ her into the dock when I pulled up stakes and left.” He sighed. She was naturally interested in the Starfleet Captain’s space ship. He really didn’t want to think about it, though. This was his home they were talking about. Endeavour’s fate was very much up in the air. He could return to 23 and find himself homeless.

Anya leaned back, very careful not to put too much weight on his legs or upset the swing that creaked gently about them. The wind again tossled her hair ever so slightly. With the light of Plymouth’s sole star behind her, her could see the entire shape of her upper body through the silk of her shirt. God, this was a beautiful woman! She looked down at him in earnest interest and concern. Her apparent attachment surprised him, but in the good way. He found that he enjoyed the feeling…maybe even needed it…

“You don’t want to talk about it.” She said without a hint of question.

“Not really. Been through a lot. Came to New Prov to rest up.”

Was he putting too light a veneer on it all? Should he confess that he might be mentally unbalanced to a woman he’d known for less than fourteen hours and already bedded down with? Or should he act as though nothing was wrong at all? An old saying came to his mind. ‘Moderation in all things…’

“I need to put some things to rest.” He decided to leave it at that for now.

Anya nodded. Her brown eyes softened, full of understanding. He reached up and caressed her shoulder blades and ran his hands down her smooth sides to her slim hips. She was a goddess. Still smiling, the colonist separated herself from her perch and returned to the kitchen.

Ford remained long enough to realize that the new day’s sun was becoming much too bright for his battered, fleet-officer eyes. He stood slowly, feeling every creek and groan in his joints. He was indeed getting older. Funny, he hadn’t thought about it much before today.

Anya was in the middle of the kitchen as he entered. She was pouring him a cup of coffee. He noted with wry humor that she had claimed his own mug as hers this morning. The Jolly Roger and black flag smiled back at him from her cupped hands. She looked back to him and offered him the spare, plain white cup. “I don’t know how you take it…”

He took the mug with a wink, again feeling old at such a gesture. He moved past and opened the refrigerator. He set about mucking up his java with way too much sugar and cream for the average man and began to stir it all home. He turned back to find her grinning coyly at him over the rim of her cup.

“I thought my brother was the only one who did that.”

“What?”

“Drank his coffee that sweet.”

Ford took a short sip of his hot brew. Yup, it was sweet.

“I don’t really like coffee.” He admitted. “I just drink it for caffeine and the crap I pour into it.”

She just kept smiling and drank her coffee. Ford wondered what it would be like to live with a woman like her for the rest of his life. She was pleasant, understanding and kind. And a vixen. He barely knew her, but felt so at home now he couldn’t help but dream a bit. Both his previous marriages had failed miserably. The first had left him for another man and the second had just considered him too boring when he was home. Someone like Anya, however, might actually be able to put up with him. It gave him something pleasant to consider as he headed for the living room to turn on the holonews.
***


There's a teaser. Different pace and different kind of tale. Hope y'all enjoy!

--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: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #1 on: August 02, 2007, 05:10:51 am »
In the world of sexually explicit things, it fits into a network primetime show for level of "sexuality"... so I doubt others would have that much of an issue.

Teaser? Yeah, it is. Scrap the E? Better not, still bankin on new toys for that beasty.

Czar "There was a thought about the coffee that goes kinda hand in hand with his new woman" Mohab
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Offline Commander Maxillius

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #2 on: August 02, 2007, 06:44:19 am »
I didn't see anything bad there.  But then my limits are a fair bit higher than most...
I was never here, you were never here, this conversation never took place, and you most certainly did not see me.

Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #3 on: August 02, 2007, 07:40:16 am »
I didn't see anything I'd think was objectionable, but then, this is me we're talking about, so mine is probably not the best opinion to follow.  ;D

Liking this so far.  It is a very different pace from your other stories, but it's fun to stretch your legs, see what you can do with a different style.  So far this one seems to suit you.

Incidentally, your descriptions of Anya are sexy as hell.  Made the toes tingle, which probably means my work schedule is keeping me away from the woman a little TOO much, but it's still cool that I can get that from text. :D
"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 Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #4 on: August 02, 2007, 04:05:20 pm »
Think y'all might have misunderstood me. Said 'sex scene' doesn't appear till the last chapter. I wanted a poll of folks to help me decide whether to keep it in or leave it out. I wasn't speaking of the scene of fondling above.

Said scene isn't so lude as direct instructions on the act itself. But it ain't as tame as the above, either.

And yes, this story is a stretch in a new direction, but as you once have forgotten, La'ra, this is not the first non-combat story I've done. [referring to a comment months back in R/L where you wanted to 'see me do a story without any combat']. Of course, after writing the Thomas-Rell fight, I'd like to work in more fisticuffs...

Thanks all for the comments. Be back soon!

--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 Commander La'ra

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #5 on: August 02, 2007, 09:48:08 pm »
I didn't forget.  I said it was different from your usual. ;D
"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: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #6 on: August 03, 2007, 09:50:26 pm »
When it comes to that sex scene, I think you'd be better to worry about the lurkers then the regulars... I'm always up for a well written and mostly tasteful obscene scene ;)

Czar "What, me lurk?" Mohab
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #7 on: August 05, 2007, 09:47:42 pm »
Good, good. Thus far, unless halted by other, sage advice, the scene will remain when time comes to post it. Till then...

CH. 2





The entire radial corridor stretching the forward length of USS Endeavour’s forward saucer on Deck Eight was full of the noise and signs of heavy work. Droplights illuminated places that were without power. There were many such places. Long winding conduits, cables and hoses ran the span of the floor, looping and crossing amongst themselves. Men hunkered before exposed structural members along the walls, laser torches and gamma welders blazing as they cut away burnt and twisted members to replace them with new material. Entire trunks full of ODN cables and EPS taps were exposed to view as technicians picked through their innards to trace down faulty leads. The work was progressing hecticly and looked like utterly uncontrolled chaos.

To Lieutenant Commander Ronald Davenport it looked like the best celebration he could have wished to stroll into. It meant his home was being put back in order. Both he and Lieutenant Commander Xia Tolin were picking their way across the hot, confined deck, headed toward the ravaged bow as they surveyed the progress of the first day’s repair teams. They paused at various points of interest, or contention, to aid the workers there as they struggled to rework the badly damaged ship around them.
After one such pause along their tour, Xia found herself pressing close to her lover and standing on tiptoes to shout at him. “I can’t believe Sharp okayed the reconstruction of this ship, Ron. She’s in the worst shape I’ve ever seen a starship!”

Ron regarded her with an expression bordering on insult.

“She’s not that bad off. You ever read about the beating the old NX-01 got in Xindi space? She was just as badly hulled and they salvaged her.”

“They didn’t have a choice.” Xia shot back, looking suddenly down to avoid falling over a gas-hose snaking from compartment to compartment. “Archer had to patch his ship up while fifty light years from the nearest help. This one has seen her day. We should pull the working equipment off and haul her to Ralna Four—“

Ron faced the Andorian woman fully, towering over her with his greater height and mass. His finger waved in front of her nose. “Now damn it! You’re the Chief Engineer! YOU are the one that’s supposed to be speaking on behalf of the Endeavour’s defense! Not trying to get me to sign her over to the scrap heap!”

“This is a waste of resources, Love.” Tolin countered with just as much vehemence. Her hands found the swell of her hips and planted themselves. “Sharp can order the Excalibur here inside of a month, or the Excelsior. There are plenty of command ships. We don’t have to pull in every work detail from the station to piece this thing back together.”

“She deserves better than that!”

Xia shook her white maned head.

“This attachment and sentiment you human’s place on ships is way beyond me, Ron. She’s a piece of metal.”

“You want me to go back to the Admiral and tell him I was wrong, we should just scrap her before we have to shed a lil’ sweat?” Ron was becoming pink in the face, and it wasn’t from the heat in the hallway. He looked back to his girlfriend with a mix of betrayal and anger. “Is that what you want me to do?”

“You suggested to Sharp that Endeavour was salvageable? I thought the sector commander was supposed to supervise the inspection and give the final approval.”

“He did supervise the inspection… from his office!” Davenport set back off on their trip through the forward length of the saucer section. “He and Chevy told me to take care of the inspection and render my decision. So I did.”

“And that’s why the inspection only lasted three hours. You sent the okay without really caring how much labor and material it took to rebuild this ship.” Tolin was smiling despite herself. It sounded like such a human thing to do. Like raising a sunken ship from the seabed when you were able to build much superior ones to defend yourself.
“I did, and you should be applauding! She’s not hopeless! I’m gonna see her back on her feet if I have to tow her out of this dock with my bare hands!”

Xia shook her head, letting the subject rest. Ronald was passionate about his ship. He was probably questioning just what kind of engineer she could be if she didn’t want to save her own ship from the axe. The thought made her smile. Seeing this vessel as anything more than a collection of materials and inanimate objects was quite beyond her. It was a machine. A great and glorious one to be sure, but it had none of the spirit that Ron and many of the crew attributed to her. But, looking about at the uncountable heads stooping about her and clambering about the insides of the ship, she saw every bit of that same devotion among the human officers and enlisted. About a quarter of the workers were Endeavour crew. Most had given up reassignment to put this ship back together. Others had also given up leave time to be here.
The crew would see their ship back out in the great beyond, doing her job. They spoke of the ship as though it were a member of some big, 810-person family. A family member in need of their help. Tolin paused mentally as she followed behind the Chief of Operations and thought the concept over. Could there actually be some purpose behind such a mind-set? Was it beneficial?

“Now here’s a man who knows how to treat a lady!” Davenport suddenly exclaimed over the din of the working repair teams. Tolin looked up to see that they had run into the coverall-clad former helmsman, Lieutenant Bronstien. The skinny, unshaven young human grinned back at them from beneath a virtual mask of grease and soot.
“Hey, I didn’t touch her, who ever she was!” Johnathan shot back at them jovially. Tolin could not help but smile. The man’s charisma was infectious. One had to be made of stone to dislike this human.

“That ain’t what she said!” Ronald bantered in return. He clasped a broad hand on the filthy youth’s shoulder. “You deserve a medal for getting our girl back here in as few pieces as you did.”

Johnathan shrugged.

“Hell, all I did was absorb radiation and play with broken equipment for two days. Constellation did the real work. If she hadn’t shown up when she did, this old girl would be all over the place. An’ I’d probably be dead.”

Ron grinned, tight lipped. After tussling the man’s shoulder, he turned aside and led Tolin and Bronstien down the last stretch of corridor to where it ended in a T-junction. To the right was where Whisker’s pub had been. Now, a gaping, razor-toothed maw opened out onto the black of star littered space. Only a dock generated force field kept them from the ravages of vacuum. Johnathan shook his head and averted his eyes.

“That’s why I don’t come over here. That sh*t just messes with me!”

Tolin smiled over to the younger officer.

“The dock’s forcefields are completely safe. You could jump-kick that field and be thrown back into the ship.”

Bronstien shook his head vehemently.

“Oh hell no! Me knowin’ that and doin’ it are two different things entirely.”

“Coward.”

“Hey,” the helmsman held up a semi-threatening finger, then lowered it. “I don’t have a good come-back. But when I do, I’m gonna let you have it.”

The three of them smiled back and forth, then turned back to the gaping chasm of rent metal that yawned out at them. This had been the sight of two separate photonic detonations. The lounge that used to be Whisker’s had been torn to pieces. No furniture or any of the normal wares usually found within could be seen. Only the blackened hulk of the aft bar remained. The plaque bearing the stuffed fish Commodore Ford and Commander Thomas had brought with them was gone.

“How are the outer hull structural latches in your sector?” Davenport inquired of Bronstien. The young man moved closer, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Mostly intact, Commander. We shouldn’t have to replace too many when we rebuild the hull.”

It was Tolin’s turn to interject. “The latching modules in engineering are a different story. They’re severely weakened, and they weren’t built for the mass of the metal you’re looking to employ there anyway.”

“We need the new armor.” Ron returned. He said it as a matter of fact rather than a point of contention. With all of the engagements Endeavour had already been through, the extra protection would be a blessing.

“Then I’m going to have to replace every single buckle and reinforce the main framework. Otherwise we’ll tear the hull open at the first twenty-G turn we make.”
The chief of ops didn’t look happy, but Xia didn’t think it was totally due to what she was telling him. Ron had been slightly more aloof from her for a couple of weeks now. Ever since she’d brought him to realize she wasn’t quite as committed to their relationship as he had apparently been. She could feel the distance between them more acutely than ever before.

“Whatever it takes,” he was telling her now. “I want a good estimate on how long we’re gonna be working on the girl by the time the Skipper gets back from R&R. What systems need the most?”

Xia paused to consider the question. The entire ship was in utter shambles. Where to begin?

“My main concern is the condition of the outer hull, Commander. The Ya’wenn have good weaponry, but their targeting is poor. They just poured on the fire and let their weapons fall where they would. Any vital component they struck was just a stroke of luck. As a result, most of the key internals are still intact. The EPS grid is severed in several locations, but we can get to that before we begin laying in new hull panels.”

“So, hull first.”

“Aye.”

“How long till the Mark Four phasers arrive?”

“They’re still being pulled from the mounts on the station. And it’s going to be hell building the capacitors for them.” Tolin was even more dubious about this last modification to the ship. Such weaponry wasn’t intended for a starship.

Ron turned back to Bronstien. The helmsman was turned toward a flickering computer access terminal that had just sputtered to life. The lieutenant was poking at it like it were a new life form found on a deserted world. “How long are you with us, Lieutenant?”

Johnathan turned back to the commander.

“Till the Tenseiga gets back from patrol, I reckon. She left before we got this bitch pulled back here and I think she has about twelve days left on her route.”

“Then you’re back with Captain Thomas?”

“Yup. I hope the Admiral finds him a full time XO. I ain’t ready for that job yet. I’d as soon let Surall keep it.”

“She is the senior lieutenant on board.” Xia ventured.

Ron nodded to both of them in agreement.

“In the meantime, Lieutenant, you belong to me. I know how Captain Jeremy treats guests aboard his ship. Since you didn’t belong to him, he let you just lounge around. But I’m gonna make you earn your pay. I want you in charge of Tolin’s engineering repair gangs on the outer hull. Start by releasing what’s left of the hull panels and follow her orders on how to replace the buckles. If we’re lucky, we can get those two items totally finished before Tenseiga gets back.”

Bronstien smiled, standing rail straight as he snapped off an archaic salute.

“Aye, aye, sir! Ready to do whatever, sir!”

“Good man.” Ron glanced to Tolin. “He’s all yours, Engines.”


'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 Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #8 on: August 05, 2007, 09:48:47 pm »
BAH! 20000 characters my ass!

CH.2 [part 2]


Admiral Sharp watched in silence as the long, brown hulled Vulcan ship pulled up to the docking port and made soft contact with the collar. The long, cylindrical-hulled ship was drawn closer to the space station as the final attachments to their hulls were accomplished and docking finished.

A buzz sounded over the inner lock as its doors slowly drew apart. Ambassador Spock stepped slowly past the threshold and bowed slightly to the Admiral. Sharp held his hand aloft in the Vulcan greeting, which was returned. The two made their way into the interior of the heavily armored station without escort or assistance.

“What news from the Ya’wenn homeworld, Ambassador?”

The wizened Vulcan looked sternly back to the flag officer. He looked tired, which one did not often find in a member of his species. Dark circles lined beneath his eyes. “The situation there is one of controlled chaos, Admiral. Our battle with the forces of Kovarn did much to level the playing field for the legitimate government, but the acting Premier is finding that several of his out-lying colonies have fallen in to support Jarn. Government ships have set up a perimeter of control around their system. It took four days of argument to get into orbit of the planet, and that was only under armed escort.”

“Who’s their acting Premier?”

“A Governor-General named Heedis. He formerly controlled a large continent on their world and much of their infantry.” The two of them continued on down the corridor at a fast, measured pace. They came to a series of turbolifts that would have taken them anywhere in the Starbase they wanted to go. Instead, they entered a car and keyed the system to shut it down.

Now they had a place where they could speak entirely in private.

“So Ya’wenn Primus is under military control?”

“In effect, yes. Their system of government seemed built to switch power to the leading military governor upon the death of the Premier. They had no post of vice president or its equivalent. Civilian life seems little affected save for interstellar shipping, which is now being escorted and run through intensive security checking.”
“Do you think this Governor-General can get things back under control without our help?”

“I cannot say. Heedis was quite adverse to telling me many of his plans. He seemed highly distrustful and on the border of paranoia.” Spock seemed to draw within himself in thought. Finally his deep voice continued. “I do not believe he will cooperate with us on any level.”

“So he’s not going to stop Jarn if he hops the border again.”

“No. Heedis cares only for protecting his homeworld.”

Sharp stared ahead into the deep blue lift doors as he thought about how this would affect things in the coming months. Jarn had lost several ships during their engagement with Endeavour; a battle that was now being called ‘The Battle of Tempest’. Some of the more cynical were calling it ‘Ford’s Folly’. The members of the later camp believed Ford’s greatest mistake had been in following Spock’s suggestion of sending away the majority of his fleet when tending to the alien Premier.

Sharp remained apart from siding with either opinion. He had not been in tactical command of the situation and could not say whether he would have followed the ambassador’s lead or not. Either way may not have made much of a difference given the long odds the fleet had been up against.

“We may have to take more direct action against Jarn’s forces,” Sharp stated suddenly. “The Tenseiga’s foray into Kovarn space allowed his science officer to make some detailed scans of the Warden’s outer system. He has an extensive starship construction yard that is easily capable of launching two of his escorts and one of his bombardment ships…per month.”

Sharp silenced as the full intent of his words sank in. Spock’s brows arched in classic Vulcan style as he thought the implications of such tactical capacity over. He seemed to nod to himself a bit, then looked back to the dark skinned admiral. “What are our current estimates of their strength?”

“Between Tenseiga’s scans and the observations of our patrol forces around the Tempest, we know Jarn commands no less than thirty escort size ships and probably two of the bombardment cruisers.”

“Then you are thinking about a strategic strike against Jarn’s fortifications?”

“I am. The final decision isn’t mine, however.” Sharp pressed a key to send the turbo elevator back along its way toward the operations level. “What do you believe the reaction from this Heedis would be?”

The ambassador could not easily answer that.

“I am uncertain as to his ultimate response to such an overture… But it is probable that any action taken against Jarn could only be a boon to his position. Perhaps even give him the edge in his government’s conflict against the rebels.”

“Have the two forces actually engaged in combat?”

The lift came to a rest and opened on the ops level before Spock was able to answer. The older Vulcan crossed his heavily sleeved arms and bent his head low. “I believe they have, at least once. And not to the legitimate government’s favor. I overheard at least one comment from an advisor that Heedis has lost at least three ships. Protecting what…I am uncertain.”

The maroon clad Admiral led his guest through the multilevel control room of the monstrous space station. At length they entered the commanding officer’s office and took seats about the general issue desk. Sharp sighed out a long breath as he pondered how best to proceed in these matters.

The Ya’wenn government did not want to cooperate or even truly communicate with the Federation or its envoys. They didn’t even seem to want Starfleet military support. Had they asked for such, Spock would have been sure to convey that issue. If he were to allow the situation to evolve without Starfleet interference, there was no way to tell whether the legitimate government would win the day or even survive the coming conflict. The Federation might find itself dealing with Jarn as the new ruling Premier…

“How much longer do you intend to remain in direct control of this sector?” Spock posed.

Sharp kneaded his pale, wizened hands together and thought about it. As the Chief of Starfleet Operations, he wasn’t supposed to be out here commanding fleet assets on such a small scale. The movements of the entire fleet were up for his command decisions. Those duties had been heaped upon his subordinates over a month prior when Sharp had decided to come out here for a prolonged ‘visit’.

“As soon as Ford returns from shoreleave and acclimates to the duties I’m going to lay out for him, I’ll head back to Earth. Then he can handle things.”

“You are certain?”

“You doubt the Commodore’s abilities?”

“He is an atypical officer. I am uncertain as to his capacity to deal with the diplomatic demands this sector’s situation will require of him.”

“Then let me set you straight on the Commodore’s abilities.” Sharp said with a stern stare. “Ford commanded an Oberth-Class science ship for six years as he traveled through Klingon and Romulan space to return her home from the wrong end of a terminal wormhole. He had to fight, connive and barter his way through over one hundred sectors of unfriendly space. He and Mister Thomas were able to make more friends on their trip than enemies. And they got home with only three casualties to show for it.”

The exact details of Ford’s command aboard the USS Stephen Hawking were classified, as Starfleet never officially admitted the ship was across the Klingon border. Her being hurled there had been an accident, but the diplomatic situation then with the Empire had been a very tenuous one.

Spock considered the admiral’s words and looked past him out the main view port. Perhaps Ford could indeed handle the situation. He was a surprisingly capable leader. The ambassador eyed Sharp measuringly. “I am unable to remain in this sector. I communicated my reports and advice to the Federation Council during my vessel’s return here. Their decision was for me to make my final report and confer with you my observations in person and depart within the day. The Third Khitomer Conference will convene in seven days and I must return to Paris to speak with my own colleagues.”

The admiral nodded.

“I understand. We’d better get busy with the hard facts then…”
***


I'd always wanted to write a drydock repair kind of scene. The oportunity fell into my lap without planning ahead for it and I reworked an existing conversation between Tolin and Davenport into what you see at the beginning of the chapter. Then I worked in Bronstien to give him some lines [unlike what they ever did for Mayweather and the plethora of Helmsmen from Enterprise-D] and have some comedy.

Working him into the scene also laid the ground work for some of the character development that happens later in this story and stories to come.

Anywho, hope y'all like! Read on!

--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: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #9 on: August 05, 2007, 10:34:13 pm »
Hmmm... Can you say it with me? Endy gets new toys!!!

Czar "Was hopin so" Mohab

P.S. Good continuance, too. Liked the 'tour' through the damaged section.
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Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #10 on: August 06, 2007, 07:33:02 am »
Also liked the tour and the description of the nature of the damage Endeavour recieved.  The conversation between Xia and Davenport was well done, and underlined the 'distance' you later mention Xia feeling.  I also like the difference between Andorian and human mindsets at play.

As for new toys...heh.  You never did like that whole 'well why CAN'T I mount it on a ship?!?' thing, did ya'? :2gun:

Feed us some more.  Oh, and...

Quote
“Sharp can order the Excalibur here inside of a month, or the Excelsior."

Thanks. ;D :thumbsup:
"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 Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #11 on: August 06, 2007, 03:27:27 pm »
As for new toys...heh.  You never did like that whole 'well why CAN'T I mount it on a ship?!?' thing, did ya'? :2gun:



Well, in DS9, they mounted a planetary based disruptor cannon on a fre9ighter that was smaller than a B'rel-Class BoP. I think Endeavour can handle a couple 'Phaser-4's' [as SFBers might call 'em]. Besides... I like the TOS and ENT image of those big guns firing from the bottom of the saucer. While the TMP era ships have phasers in those general locations...they were just too close together and different looking for my imagination to employ the same 'effect'. And, like I said in a previous post, Endeavour is my Defiant. Just a really big, slow turning, hard to accellerate Defiant... Like the Czar says, new toys!

And of course I was gonna mention/use Excalibur. Can't go without the Larry/Rog world's sister ship for the 2007... Do you still want the NCC to be 2001? I haven't made it Rog-Canon yet.

--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: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #12 on: August 06, 2007, 05:36:13 pm »
I haven't a clue as to your background with SFB, but they did develop a 'neat and tidy' work around for ships wanting a Ph-4 but wanting to keep within the rules of the game (Note, I like the idea of bigger phasers. I hate that some SFB/SFC ships could power them but don't have them... so I generally make that happen ;))(I also think that the rule was based on the size of the mount and the force of the shock when fired, I'm not 100% on this one, but I do know that it made sense to me). The solution was the Phaser-M, or mega phaser. Not quite as powerful as a 4, not as weak as a 1. It can be found in module P6, along with micro and heavy photons, and some others I have forgotten. Its just my 2cp.

Seriously, an Exy class with better guns, should tear through ALOT with not much effort. Looking forward to seeing the poor sap captain that thinks hes got the edge over Endy...

Czar "BOOM!" Mohab, who notes that an experimental ship for OP is going to be tested just to see...

P.S. I don't know if you've said so before, but what is Endy's power curve? Standard for the class or is there more? And if more, how much more...?

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #13 on: August 06, 2007, 09:26:10 pm »
P.S. I don't know if you've said so before, but what is Endy's power curve? Standard for the class or is there more? And if more, how much more...?

[/color]

I am not an SFC/B fan by any means, though I have played the hell out of OP and 3. But I'm one of those who wished the phasers recharged in like 2 seconds or so and I play the game on Speed 11. The standard pace of the game aggravates the piss out of me. So I can't give you specifics on what 'power curve' Endeavour has.

I my 'universe' that I write in, Endeavour has a standard 'power curve'. She has a slightly new reactor after the refit at 23, which is more efficient and can help her maintain maximum warp a bit longer. You can say she has more power to play with if you want. So far as charging said "PH-4s", the capacitor system they'll build for them will be good for a few shots [MY capacitors don't just hold a single shot]. But recharge is gonna be a bitch. In game terms, I'd say she'd have to be underpowered for the guns. They'll play around with this more in the future...  With the new armor, Endeavour will accelerate and turn even more sluggishly than before. There'll also be other settling in problems. But I'm not gonna elaborate as that would be 'spoiling'.

Please note [and I could rant on this for paragraphs, and DID in the original draft of this response] that my Excelsior does NOT fit the BCH model of SFC. She'd be more like the BB. In the interest of not seeming like I'm pissing on SFB fans, I'll just leave it at that.

Hope my answer helps.

--thu guv "Who in Czar-fashion notes that he could go on MUCH longer on this, but it'd be a really big rant..."
'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 Grim Reaper

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #14 on: August 07, 2007, 07:37:09 am »
I cant believe i haven't commented yet on this. But I will. Someday not at work with too many bugs on my name....

Snickers@DND: If there is one straight answer in that bent little head of yours, you'd better start spillin' it pretty damn quick, or I'm gonna take a large, blunt object, roughly the size of Kallae AND his hat and shove it lengthwise up a crevice of your being so seldomly cleaned that even the denizens of the nine hells would not touch it with a 10-feet rusty pole

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #15 on: August 07, 2007, 08:21:47 am »
Do you still want the NCC to be 2001? I haven't made it Rog-Canon yet.

Indeed.
"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."
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Offline Grim Reaper

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #16 on: August 12, 2007, 04:36:42 am »
You know, reading it back and musing about it, i found why i like it. It's because a "minor" incident spiraled into one huge steaming pile of sh*t in such a short time AND having a definite effect on people's lives. That's what I missed in most series (not just trek). Big consequences of relatively minor actions.
Snickers@DND: If there is one straight answer in that bent little head of yours, you'd better start spillin' it pretty damn quick, or I'm gonna take a large, blunt object, roughly the size of Kallae AND his hat and shove it lengthwise up a crevice of your being so seldomly cleaned that even the denizens of the nine hells would not touch it with a 10-feet rusty pole

Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #17 on: August 12, 2007, 10:20:20 pm »
You know, reading it back and musing about it, i found why i like it. It's because a "minor" incident spiraled into one huge steaming pile of sh*t in such a short time AND having a definite effect on people's lives. That's what I missed in most series (not just trek). Big consequences of relatively minor actions.

 ;D


CH. 3





Chevis Ford stretched out on the cool plastic tubing of his collapsible beach chair and looked out over the impossibly wide vista of ocean before him. The empty beach ran for kilometers on either side of him. On a planet composed of long, winding peninsulas and wide islands and archipelagoes, it was easy to find an empty beach. Even during the tourist season.

Boats shot by on the wind-whipped sea, driven by tall white sails as small crews enjoyed the weather. Sun shone down brightly and gave the beach a warm temperature around eighty-seven degrees Farenheight. A squall or storm line was visible on the horizon, maybe twenty kilometers off. It was moving inland and would be near to Ford’s beach within a couple of hours. He was intent on watching it come.

Out on the water, one small sailboat coasted to a near halt on the choppy waves. Its canvas was being lowered by machine. Ford could not see anyone on deck. ‘Must be going to the head’, Ford thought with a wry grin. ‘I’d probably bring her to a halt if I was the only one aboard her and just had to go…’

The commodore thought back on the night before. Anya had made the entire trip out here to this planet entirely worthwhile. After his problems on 23 with Andrea… A frown creased his face. He’d not wanted to think about his CMO.

Ford had been falling in love with her, he was pretty sure of that. They’d spent every off duty moment in each other’s company. They’d made love nearly every night, reveling in the thought of ‘sneaking’ around in front of the crew. Not that they could really keep their affair secret. But the idea of such a romance was enticing and they merely fueled the masquerade for the fun of it.

Then came his return from imprisonment and torture. She’d run away from him. She would not return his comm messages. The one time he’d come to her quarters, she hadn’t answered the door chime. The computer had given her location as being in her cabin, but she’d refused to speak with him.

So he’d given up on her. Whatever problem she had been having with his supposed death and capture had been terminal to their relationship. He was not able to speak with her about it. No one else had been able to either. Chevy could do nothing about the situation. Save brood about it.

These unwelcome thoughts simmered in the resting officer’s mind as he stared blankly at the wallowing boat a kilometer away from him. He couldn’t wait for Anya to get off her shift at the little curio shop she’d mentioned. He thought about dropping by there to see her before seventeen hundred… But he did not want to seem bothersome. Too much attention might annoy her. She told him she’d drop by his condo later that night.

A tiny flicker of light reflected off something aboard that little boat. Ford squinted through the tinted glass of his shades at the craft, wondering what it could have been. He could make out glass windows along the sides of the cabin of the sailboat. But the flash had been from farther abaft. The flicker came again.

The uneasy feeling of being watched came to him just then. Chevis found the sudden thought humorous. Just who the hell would want to watch a pasty fat guy sitting on the beach? That made him smile. He hoisted up a beer from the ice bucket sitting in the white sand beside him and took a long swig. Besides, even if someone were watching him out there, wasn’t that just what he was doing right back at them? His eyes had barely come off that boat since it had sailed up.

But then, why had that boat come all the way out here just to halt? She hadn’t moved inland with the waves in the ten minutes she’d sat luffing… She must have set anchor. But why there? The occupant wasn’t fishing. There still wasn’t anyone on deck… Unless that dark shape at the stern was a person…

Where the flashing was coming from.

Ford frowned, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Was there some kind of voyeur out there taking a strange interest in him? He tugged at the blue, button-up silk shirt that hung over him. He felt like getting up and leaving. Let the person keep watching an empty beach.

‘Bein’ a guest at Palace D’Jarn done made ya’ paranoid, Chevy,’ the commodore admonished himself. ‘No one’s watchin’ your fat ass.’

Finishing off his Killian’s Red, Ford creaked up out of his chair and turned away from the boat. To hell with them out there. He’d watch his rainstorm from the condo back porch. He gathered his folding chair and beer bucket, abandoning the beach for home…
***





Lieutenant Noah Smith bounded down the long stretch of engineering hull to the point where his friend stood. Lieutenant Bronstien, in his white EVA suit and magnetic boots, stood before a naked rift of internal structure, facing the keel of the Endeavour. As a communications officer, Smith hardly ever got to venture forth on work details such as this. He’d never stepped foot on the outer hull of this ship. He’d only ever been EVA three times before; each of which had been a training exercise. He found this exhilarating.

“Hey, Johnathan!” He called out over the short-range comm frequency. The helmsman turned at the waist and looked back ‘up’ at him. He raised a hand in a short wave and turned back to the trio of work pods that were uncoupling a seven-meter long length of duranium hull paneling from the skeleton of metal beneath it. Noah slowed his low-gravity jaunt and tapped the controls on his belt to increase the magnetic pull of his boots. Now more firmly planted to the ship’s skin, he sidled up along side his friend and chucked him on the shoulder.

“Hey, man. Need any help out here?”

“You’ve never done any of this before.” Bronstien replied. His voice was short and tired sounding. Noah ignored the impolite edge to the pilot’s voice and shrugged.

“Neither have you, compadre. All you’re doing is pointing to which panel you want took out next. They’re doing the real work.”

Johnathan looked sidelong at the comm officer. The face staring back from the lightly tinted visor was one of consternation and tiredness. John had been on the work detail for two days now and had barely stopped. This was the primary reason for Smith’s venture out onto the outer hull. Noah had reached an impasse with rewiring the communications data relay and could not continue work till the engineers installed a proper voltage regulator. So he’d come out here during the wait to help or at least entertain his Academy roommate.

“I’m also spotting for tangled components, damaged buckles and exterior maintenance modules…” The lieutenant sighed over the open comm. “…and other assorted sh*t. I love Commander Davenport.”

“I’ll be sure to spread that around, Lieutenant!” Came a voice Smith did not recognize over the comm link. Noah looked up to one of the free-floating work-bees that were hoisting the blackened hull panel up from the ship. The pilot inside was smiling back from behind his control board as he laughed inaudibly. Noah waved up at the unhelmeted pilot.

“Won’t do ya’ no good, Senior.” Bronstien was bantering back to the engineer. “Everyone knows you’re my hot mama.”

“That’s our lil’ secret, Lieutenant.” The man laughed. “You know how the brass views officer-enlisted fraternization.”

“You keep my secret, Senior, I’ll keep yours.”

“That’s affirmative, LT. I’ll be seein’ ya’.”

The enlisted man gave another wave and began to rotate his pod about above them. The work pod towed the hull panel away with it, leaving the other two to continue. Bronstien ignited a work light and walked slowly to the edge of the chasm and bent down to closely examine the long members of tritanium structure which had just been exposed. He let the light linger on each uncoupled attachment buckle.

“Aren’t we removing those?” Asked Smith.

“I’m looking the base pads over. If they aren’t damaged, all we have to cut off is the buckle.”

“And if they are?”

“Then the job gets a little harder. What’s the news on the main computer?”

“Regulator and processor damage only. The mainframe and memory storage system is intact.” Smith replied. “Got lucky there. I hear the Chief Engineer wants to scrap the old girl…”

Johnathan turned suddenly to look back at him again. His displeasure with the idea was very apparent. “Yeah, I was there for part of that conversation.” He confirmed. “Never heard of an engineer that wanted to haul her own ship to the scrap depot. Bunch of bullsh*t!”

“You sound mighty attached to a ship you were transferred off of.”

The lieutenant’s shoulders sagged a bit. Smith realized then that his friend wasn’t entirely happy with his new assignment. “You don’t like the Tenseiga? I thought you’d like a more maneuverable ship to helm.”

“Kinda got used to this ship…” Johnathan paused. Smith remained silent and let him finish. “Now she’s in pieces… And the woman in charge of putting her back together doesn’t want to!”

“You gonna request a transfer back?”

“I don’t know if I can. It’ll be months before I could anyway. Might not want to then. The Tenseiga’s a fine ship.” The helm officer stood from where he’d hunkered and waved up to the nearest work-bee. Then he pointed to the next hull panel aft of where he was. The pods floated that way with puffs of directed gas and lowered themselves closer to the burnt and pot-marked hull.

The pair of lieutenants watched as the pods extended their mandible arms and reached beneath the flat sheets of thick duranium. Flares of brilliant light burst out in cones, causing the visors of their helmets to darken in response. Johnathan took his tricorder from his belt and snapped it open, scanning as the work-pod pilots sliced through the buckles.

“So we’re gonna armor the hull?” Smith ventured, trying to coax out more conversation. The helm officer’s helmet bobbled with a nod.

“Yeah. Diburnium-Bacinite alloy ablative armor.”

“That’s experimental.”

“We’re getting the first run of it, I hear. On its way from Tellar now.” The lieutenant paused, moving as quickly as he could closer to the threshold between the panel he stood on and the one being cut off. He leaned in and lowered his tricorder head to the flat expanse of metal. “We got a problem!”

“Problem?”

“Yeah… I’m reading a deuterium pocket near the hull…”

“What do we do?”

Johnathan was now waving the work-pods away, stepping as close to the edge of the blazing hot metal as he dared. “Break off! Break off!”
***





Commander Davenport watched the resolving simulation over the shoulder of the chief engineer as she ran the computer terminal before them through the program. On the screen, a plate of silver metal was being stuck by a 2.8-megawatt particle beam and boiling away at the flash point. A graphic to the left of the visual representation showed the particle disintegration as the beam burned its way through the alloy. The heat and radiant energy was being distributed over a wide plane of the armor plate even as it was being burned through.

The two officers had been in the Starbase’s main computer chamber for the last seven hours, diligently examining Starfleet’s experimental information on the new armor Sharp had ordered. They had barely taken a breather or even spoken to each other. The tension of the first few moments had bled away as they’d forced themselves into their work. Neither wanted to address the rift that was developing between them.

“The alloy resists the equivalent of a Type-Eight phaser strike for six seconds without penetration.” Tolin observed as the simulation ended its cycle. She dialed up the program that broke down the atomic structures of the metal during the firing sequence. They analyzed the molecular disruption at a much-slower-than-reality speed. “It’d take a Ya’wenn magnetron cannon nearly twice as long to punch through. They rely much more on thermal radiative effects than the particle disruption of a phaser.”

“Yeah…” Davenport leaned back from the screen and tried to stretch the stiffness from his spine. “But how does it stack up against a photon torpedo?”

“The experiments did not focus on missile ordnance. The armor wasn’t designed to fend off Starfleet technology. Our own weaponry…” Xia didn’t hide the extent of her exasperation over Jarn’s forces gaining Federation weapons.

“We’ll have to come up with our own sims on photonic detonations—“

A loud squalling alarm cut Davenport off mid-sentence. He looked toward the ceiling as Tolin tapped the comm key near her wide console. “Yes?”

“Commanders, there’s been an explosion aboard Endeavour!” Said one of the young ensigns assigned to the operations deck. “Two injuries and one fatality reported!”
***
'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 Grim Reaper

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #18 on: August 13, 2007, 09:15:26 am »
Talk about cliffhanger! The bee pilot / our helmsman Bronstien / our communications officer Smith. If you ask me you could have gone for the anonymous bee pilot, but I think you didn't. I do hope to see some anxiety with our couple before they learn who died though.
Snickers@DND: If there is one straight answer in that bent little head of yours, you'd better start spillin' it pretty damn quick, or I'm gonna take a large, blunt object, roughly the size of Kallae AND his hat and shove it lengthwise up a crevice of your being so seldomly cleaned that even the denizens of the nine hells would not touch it with a 10-feet rusty pole

Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #19 on: August 13, 2007, 10:13:57 am »
Noah's always getting blown up.

Agree with Grim; great cliffhanger.  I also figure Chevy isn't being paranoid.  But that's because I'm paranoid.
"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 Scottish Andy

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #20 on: August 16, 2007, 02:19:41 pm »
Good story Guv. Not much to comment on really, right now. A few speeling mistooks... "creek" (river area) instead of "creak" (squeaky noise) for example. Some good, steady relationship and character development happening at the speed of life instead of the speed of plot (massive amounts of gold stars for that, my friend).
I feel sad for Davenport/Tolin, and for Chevy/Andrea.
One possible fluff: You have the narration and ANya call the world "New Plymouth" (possibly another car reference), but Chevy calls it "New Prov", which seems to me to be short for "New Providence". Care to clarify?

A couple of really great lines that made me smile:
Quote
“I don’t really like coffee.” He admitted. “I just drink it for caffeine and the crap I pour into it.”
and:
Quote
“Hey,” the helmsman held up a semi-threatening finger, then lowered it. “I don’t have a good come-back. But when I do, I’m gonna let you have it.”
;D ;D ;D

Also like the shadow on Ford's horizon - possibly being watched from the sailboat. Nice edge of hinted-at-but-not-actually-present danger in the otherwise-idyllic scene.
On a final point, I like that you actually explain while not explaining all the wacky decisions being made on 23. ChSFOps Sharp still there running things to make sure "his" boys get what they need. "His" boys wanting Endeavour back and the entirely uneconomical and inefficient wish getting the go-ahead, stuff like that. There's no explanation, but it's mentioned and so we realise you're including these points in your consideration and not just unaware of them. Good job.

Looking forward to more.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #21 on: August 16, 2007, 08:57:16 pm »

One possible fluff: You have the narration and ANya call the world "New Plymouth" (possibly another car reference), but Chevy calls it "New Prov", which seems to me to be short for "New Providence". Care to clarify?

Sorry...thought I'd fixed all those... I'll have to go back through it and JUST look for those mistakes... I think they even make it into other stories... The intended name was New Providence, as a mention of the Colony wiped out in TNG's 'Best of Both Worlds'. Though, honestly, the Encyclopedia says that said colony possessed only 900 inhabitants... Mine's a lot bigger...


On a final point, I like that you actually explain while not explaining all the wacky decisions being made on 23. ChSFOps Sharp still there running things to make sure "his" boys get what they need. "His" boys wanting Endeavour back and the entirely uneconomical and inefficient wish getting the go-ahead, stuff like that. There's no explanation, but it's mentioned and so we realise you're including these points in your consideration and not just unaware of them. Good job.

Looking forward to more.

I thiank you very much sir. My misspellings, I must admit, come from writing so fast that I'm not looking at the screen, but at the keyboard to avoid hitting totally unintended keys. Thus, if the spell checker doesn't realize it's misspelled, and I don't catch it while editting and Andy-proofing, than it remains. Oh well. I've seen worse make it into print.

For a man who says 'not much to comment on yet', you do a fair job. Thanks for the comments. Like I said, you're among the foremost I wait for.

And now, without further a-do... ;D


CH. 4





The rain had been a short one. Ford sat in a booth facing the window in the small Tydurian restaurant in the center of Treasure City. The streets were still moist from the tropical downpour and hover vehicles were sloshing water up onto the sidewalks. Some carried umbrellas as they walked to and fro amid the picturesque township and its antique stone buildings.

The colonists of New Providence had known they were sitting on a gold mine when they’d opened their world up to the tourist trade. This sector and those bordering it weren’t the most heavily populated among the Federation, but this world sat alongside three major trade routes. That meant transport vessels came through at regular intervals servicing the forty or so colonies and Starfleet installations in the surrounding area. It also meant patrol and exploration ships coming in for leave. There was a great deal of money to be made.

Even in an economy that didn’t operate on traditional ‘money’, the profits in owning and running a tourist based business in any city or township on this planet meant loads of usable revenue. Federation credits meant that your business took care of its expenses and then some. And the influx of other, less traceable means of payment; latinum, platinum, gold; meant a person could become inordinately wealthy in a short amount of time. Good business owners spread the wealth far and wide, breeding more and more opportunities.

Ford pondered the idea of someday settling here, maybe opening some little shop or something to keep busy in his retirement days. What would he sell? Starfleet memorabilia? Charge ten credits or a slip of latinum to pet the former Starfleet commodore? Replicas of his ship…

There were opportunities. He could make a good living on this world in addition to his Fleet pension. Add to that his enormous savings. And then there was Anya. He wasn’t so deluded or dream-struck to think that a real, long lasting relationship was likely with a woman like her. She was just enamoured with his life as a Starfleet officer. He tickled some kind of fancy she sported for men in the uniform. For the time being, he was happy to take advantage of her wonder-lust. Nothing real would come of it. But she could still be a good friend.

Ford looked down at the hisparu-kel he was enjoying on his plate. Tydurian food often tasted like Mexican. This was no exception. Without the lively spice that commonly exploded in Mexican cuisine, this tasted much like a fried beef chimichanga slathered in cheese. He missed the refried beans and rice, though. And the pico de galo. Perhaps a Mexican restaurant would do well here… He hadn’t seen one on this planet yet.

That feeling of being watched was coming back to Chevy as he sat there in the small diner. He couldn’t shake that feeling of paranoia. He knew it was only a lingering after-effect of the week of interrogation at the hands of the Ya’wenn. He still bore the white scar on his belly where his own knife had been rammed into his intestines. His wrists hurt from the days of hanging from those manacles.

Ford could not remember anything of the rescue. He’d faded into unconsciousness, believing he’d never awaken again. Then he’d blinked back to life in the tiny infirmary section aboard the USS Tenseiga, Commander Thomas’s ship. After much decidedly unmanly weeping, he’d finally convinced himself it might actually all be over. He might really be going home. Ben Thomas had been there for him. He’d guarded the Commodore’s bedside till he was able to leave sickbay, and then he’d shacked Ford up in his own cabin till they reached Starbase.

‘I’m alive, I’m free. We even got my ship back…’ He admonished himself. ‘I’m just looking for something to be wrong. Why?’

Chevy’s heart plunged. A glimpse of a humanoid figure bearing all grey skin caught his eye. He slowly drew his eye that way and looked upon the individual that had drawn his fright. The male alien was an Ifeedrian. They had grey flesh…but there ended the similarities. Their cranial features were more akin to the elongated mug of a bat than the more human looking Ya’wenn.
The grey furred fellow took note of the commodore and made the chin up gesture of challenge, one of the many nonverbal forms of communication the Ifeedrian possessed. Ford closed his eyes slowly and bowed his head, turning it left as he did so. It was the gesture of acquiescence, meaning he had made a mistake. The tall humanoid nodded back when Ford’s eyes had opened and he went on his way.

With that brutal beating averted, Ford went back to his meal. He was just plying into another rolled hisparu-kel and shoveled it mouth-ward when he noticed the hovercar standing out in front of the restaurant. How long it had been there was anyone’s guess, but as he looked up and focussed on it, its driver floored the accelerator and screamed away. The glass had been tinted. He couldn’t see the occupants.

Ford was up in an instant, dashing for the small, manual door. He shouldered through it, all the while ignoring the small man at the register who shouted for him to pay up. Once onto the sidewalk, he looked down the way, panting. The street bore only a four-wheeled vehicle and pedestrians. Damn that guy was fast! He must have nearly bowled half the street down to get through… Most of the people were now looking his way. ‘Wondering what I’d done to nearly get them all ran down…’ Ford thought as he returned to the diner’s interior.

The owner or manager of the place was now very close to Ford, but not so animated as he’d been when he’d believed the human was about to stiff him on the bill. His questioning gaze poured over the commodore. Ford handed him his credit card and shrugged. “Thought I saw someone who knew me.”

Now he knew he was being watched…
***





Commanders Davenport and Tolin skidded to a halt just outside the sickbay’s treatment area. Sharp stood among unarmed security men, who were making a cordon before the way into the operating rooms, holding concerned lookers-on at bay. Ronald made a beeline through people till he was directly before his commanding officer and stood stiffly erect.

“How are they, Admiral?”

“Not sure.” The tall, well-worn flag officer admitted. “The dry dock commander beamed them in as soon as his people could manage. But the pilot of work pod one-seven was killed by flying debris and Bronstien had already lost his legs. Smith’s faceplate had been crushed, but his suit maintained most of its integrity and he wasn’t severely injured. He suffered mostly exposure and asphyxiation. Your former helmsman is the main concern.”

Tolin blinked.

“John lost his legs?”

“That’s what they tell me.” Sharp replied, his voice calm but his eyes ablaze.

A voice arose among the din behind the concerned Endeavour personnel behind them. Coming from the main entrance, someone was pushing her way to the forefront and cursing like a sailor as she did so. The person who emerged from the pressing throng stunned Davenport as he lay eyes on her.

Doctor Andrea Keller stood straight as she pulled a long white lab coat off and tossed it aside. She looked to the commander then to Jon Sharp as she began to pull her flaming red hair back into a bun. “Let me in there, Admiral!”

“You requested to be relieved of duty—“

“They’re my people, Admiral. I have no time to banter semantics! Let me in there where I can do some good!”

Sharp pushed back into the security line to allow her to pass. She didn’t so much as look back as she made for the surgery prep area. Ron looked at her in slack-jawed silence as she receded from view. Sharp was now making his way close to the Endeavour crewers.

“There’s nothing any of you can do right now. Go back to your quarters and get yourselves some rest. There’ll be plenty to do tomorrow!”

Ron remained near the admiral’s side as the bunch dispersed. The Endeavour crew was very tightly knit after their journeys. It had shown when Ford returned from his imprisonment. It showed when they worked on the ship and even more so now that one of their own was injured. They weren’t behaving professionally, but they were acting like a family. Ronald noticed one face that wasn’t leaving.

Lieutenant Daniel Nechayev entered as the last of the transients left and headed right for them. His solemn expression told of his concern for their injured comrade. He handed a data PADD over to the admiral.

“It vas a pocket of escaped deuterium, leaked from the tankage on Deck Twelve.”

“But they were working on Deck Seventeen!” Tolin interjected. Her widened eyes and rail straight antennae told of her surprise. The gunnery officer looked back at her and nodded.
“’De leak started not long ago,” he said, more of his Russian accent showing than normal. “And has saturated the inner hull matrix all ‘de vay to the keel line of ‘de ship.”

The admiral looked between Davenport and the chief engineer.

“Weren’t the matter tanks bled before work began?”

“Aye,” Tolin answered, “But that doesn’t mean trace gas doesn’t remain behind. And if something jarred a hole through one of the tanks and let it free, then it gets everywhere. They probably didn’t even pick it up on their preliminary scans.”

“And what was your comm officer doing out on the hull with an extraction team?”

Nechayev had the answer for that one.

“’De surviving pod pilot say ‘dat ‘de Lieutenant vas out there to assist vhile further computer repair vas carried out on his systems.”

Sharp knew that sounded like more of a cover story than the truth. More likely the boy had been out there to chat up his former classmate while he wasn’t busy. Whether this had led to the accident in any way would be up to an investigation…should he order one. He pondered the possibility and the use of such a venture. He might find out if negligence was involved, but it wouldn’t bring back the dead pilot or the helmsman’s legs. And the Andorian was correct. The repair team wouldn’t have detected the deuterium leak through irradiated hull panels with the small sensor packages a work bee had at its disposal. It was unlikely a tricorder would have picked it up till the user was right on top of it.

At length, Sharp decided to address the matter on his own when the time was right.

The flag officer’s eyes played about the sterile white and silver wall panels of the infirmary and he went to sit in one of the waiting chairs. Since coming here to this installation, he’d met with one disaster after another. His Sixth Sense was whispering at him, warning of woe. He’d never felt this feeling for such a long time before. Were things only going to get worse?

Jon Sharp looked up to the on-looking officers. He couldn’t smile. Not even to reassure them. He’d just about run out of assurances. He felt tired…old. “Tolin, purge the deuterium tanks with high pressure air to empty them totally. Then flush the inner hull the same way. Don’t let anyone operate on that ship till it’s done. Remove all combustible materials from the interior of the ship. Make her safe to work inside.”

Tolin snapped to attention and nodded. This was the same as a salute among Starfleet officers and crew. “Aye, sir!” She replied and hurried off. Ron looked like he wanted to chase after her as well, but he was drawn to look down the wide hall to the surgery ward. Dim voices could now be heard flowing from within curtained doorways. He looked back to Sharp, hiding raw anguish on his face.

Jon knew why. It was all sinking in on him.

“You think this has something to do with you pushing to keep the Endeavour in commission?”

Ron just looked back at the admiral. He couldn’t summon a response.

“Well, it doesn’t. I’ve read your reports and I’ve read those of your men. She’s f*cked up, but she can be rebuilt. And the truth is, we need that ship out here. We’re not going to get another Excelsior out here till the Enterprise is finished. That won’t be for a year. We have other ships to divert here, but they’re all smaller and less capable. To pull enough of them here to make the same difference would leave three sectors under defended. So you were right to push! But something had to happen. An accident…and now one man is dead and two more injured. It could have been prevented, but then again it might have happened anyway. We won’t ever know for sure.”

“You’re not issuing an investigation?”

“Why should I? To check if someone missed something? We already know someone did. To find out who? I can look at the duty roster and decide that. To see if a dumb kid went out onto the hull to talk to a friend who should have been more mindful? There’s nothing to be gained there. I can throw rulebooks at people all day. But more likely Bronstien wouldn’t have detected that matter leak even if he’d been standing on it, aiming down with his tricorder.”

Nechayev turned fully toward Sharp and crossed his arms.

“Actually, he did, Admiral. The surviving pilot says he owes his life to the fact that Bronstien waved him and his partner off. But the explosion took out the other pod anyvay. The lieutenant did detect the deuterium.”

Sharp leaned back into the small chair and sighed. He suddenly felt a little better for not wanting the investigation. “There. If Bronstien hadn’t been paying the utmost attention, he wouldn’t have been able to see it at all. They’d have all been dead. Maybe Smith shouldn’t have been out there, or maybe he was out there to help. I’ll talk to him in person to find out which and make further decision then. But I’m not bothering with anything official. Ronald…” Sharp looked the tall, broad shouldered man over. The curly haired chief of ops looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “I know you’ve been on the clock ever since Chevy left. I want you to get eight hours of shuteye. You’re off-duty till eleven hundred tomorrow. Understood?”

Ron nodded back. He began to wring his weary eyes as though noticing his weary nature for the first time. He murmured a thanks as he made for the door. Nechayev remained for a time longer, looking back down into the surgery section. The man was a born stoic, and he seldom let show any amount of feeling for his shipmates. But his rushing here with the information before it had been requested and showing concern told volumes about his loyalty.

“He’ll be alright, Lieutenant.” Sharp told the young officer. The security man looked back with light inquiry on his expression. He wanted to know how Sharp knew…

Sharp just knew these things. That damned, niggling Sixth Sense had been there since childhood. It told him things that his mind could not fathom how it should know. It had saved him tons of heartache, and warned him of very bad things. He couldn’t always discern the meaning, but he always had that ‘heads-up’. Sometimes that all it took.

Today it wasn’t telling him about the doom of Lieutenant Bronstien. This meant he’d be okay and alive for some time to come. But it was telling him something else loomed on the horizon.

What? He could not tell…
***
'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: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #22 on: August 16, 2007, 09:36:26 pm »

He tickled some kind of fancy she sported for men in the uniform.

Thats not all he's tickled, I'd imagine.

"Wonder-lust" is a new one to me. Internet says its a band. Thought at first it really was wanderlust, but separating the two words, I think I understand better.

Had to read twice, didn't see mention of the lost pilot's name, assuming I'm not blind, good job on holding us all in suspense. If the name is there, then please let me know so I can have my eyes checked again.

All in all, I'd think that they would have kept Endy with or without pushing or political stuff or whatnots. Too good a ship to let go of.

Czar "Keep 'em rollin'" Mohab

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #23 on: August 16, 2007, 09:53:21 pm »
Like so many characters who die in Trek, that poor, poor pilot didn't have a name. In the credits, he'd simply be know as Pilot #2 or 3, and you wouldn't even know which...

And yeah, they can't get rid of Endeavour. It would have been like scrapping the NX-01 after she made it back from Xindi space. Which they probably COULD have, given all the really big holes in her. *wonders if that was the reason they decommissioned NX-01 when she was only 10 years old in the final episode, or whether it was just another example of sh*tty writing...*

Am wondering 'why' about your wonder lust comment. Wasn't that big a deal.

--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 Commander Maxillius

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #24 on: August 17, 2007, 10:58:36 am »
I don't remember there being a second work bee in the dialog, just the noncom in the first bee.  Since the other pilot hadn't said anything I doubt Bronstein or Smith even knew there was another bee close.
I was never here, you were never here, this conversation never took place, and you most certainly did not see me.

Offline James Smith

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #25 on: August 17, 2007, 03:28:08 pm »
Sharp just knew these things. That damned, niggling Sixth Sense had been there since childhood. It told him things that his mind could not fathom how it should know. It had saved him tons of heartache, and warned him of very bad things. He couldn’t always discern the meaning, but he always had that ‘heads-up’. Sometimes that all it took.

Today it wasn’t telling him about the doom of Lieutenant Bronstien. This meant he’d be okay and alive for some time to come. But it was telling him something else loomed on the horizon.

What? He could not tell…
***


Oo....foreboding. Excellent  ;D

Reckon at least one of my characters probably knows just how Sharp feels with the old 'sixth sense' rattling away in the back of the brain.....
RIMMER: Step up to Red Alert.
KRYTEN: Sir, are you absolutely sure? It does mean changing the bulb.

Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #26 on: August 17, 2007, 06:55:30 pm »
I don't remember there being a second work bee in the dialog, just the noncom in the first bee.  Since the other pilot hadn't said anything I doubt Bronstein or Smith even knew there was another bee close.

Alright, now. Read before commenting... :whip:

As quoted from narration:

The helmsman turned at the waist and looked back ‘up’ at him. He raised a hand in a short wave and turned back to the trio of work pods that were uncoupling a seven-meter long length of duranium hull paneling from the skeleton of metal beneath it.
And:

“That’s affirmative, LT. I’ll be seein’ ya’.”

The enlisted man gave another wave and began to rotate his pod about above them. The work pod towed the hull panel away with it, leaving the other two to continue.


And no, those two guys din't have names, as they were only there for a few seconds anyway. :skeptic:

Thanks for the read and the comments all. More to come.

--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 Commander Maxillius

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #27 on: August 17, 2007, 11:37:41 pm »
I don't remember there being a second work bee in the dialog, just the noncom in the first bee.  Since the other pilot hadn't said anything I doubt Bronstein or Smith even knew there was another bee close.

Alright, now. Read before commenting... :whip:

As quoted from narration:

The helmsman turned at the waist and looked back ‘up’ at him. He raised a hand in a short wave and turned back to the trio of work pods that were uncoupling a seven-meter long length of duranium hull paneling from the skeleton of metal beneath it.
And:

“That’s affirmative, LT. I’ll be seein’ ya’.”

The enlisted man gave another wave and began to rotate his pod about above them. The work pod towed the hull panel away with it, leaving the other two to continue.


And no, those two guys din't have names, as they were only there for a few seconds anyway. :skeptic:

Thanks for the read and the comments all. More to come.

--thu guv!

Sorry bud, but I did read it.  Just didn't go back through to see if I was right :P  My bad.  I must've missed the "trio" part. 
I was never here, you were never here, this conversation never took place, and you most certainly did not see me.

Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #28 on: August 19, 2007, 08:13:54 pm »
No prob, man. I was just rattlin' yer cage anyway.

I always miss something in a story, then make a comment of such and feel like a fool when it was right there before me.

Any ways, I am glad you are still reading and hope you're enjoying.

Rog!
'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 Commander La'ra

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #29 on: August 20, 2007, 03:29:24 pm »
Great part...Chevy's confirmation of espionage...the aftermath of the accident...Sharp again showing he knows what the hell he's doing...Keller's reappearance...all good.  Middle of the story though, and you know what that means for me. ;D

That said, I loved this line.

Quote
Charge ten credits or a slip of latinum to pet the former Starfleet commodore?

Hehehe.  Rub his head for luck.
"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 Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #30 on: August 20, 2007, 10:17:09 pm »
Yes, La'ra...you always mention me being 'half-way' when it's more like 2/3 or 9/10. This one wasn't very long. Probably why it only took about 8 hours in all to write it.

This chapter contains afor mention sexual content. I'm not including that portion today, to give those who do not wish it included due time to object. Then I'll post the remainder of the chapter.

So...


CH. 5





Chevy patted the Type 1 phaser unit in his pocket and half-slid his hand atop of it as he moved to answer the door chime. The door swung open at his direction to reveal a smiling, dark skinned Anya framed in the doorway. Ford smiled instantly. He was glad to see her.

“I was wondering if I’d see you!” He said as she leaned in for an affectionate hug. She kissed him on the cheek and pulled away. Curiosity touched her face as she turned to close the door.

“I said I’d be over tonight after work.” She replied. “You didn’t believe me?”

“I’m still having problems seeing why a beautiful young woman like you is making time for an old fart like me.” He told her. He was heading for the kitchen. He’d been fixing a fried steak and real mashed potatoes when he’d heard the hovercar. His paranoia over who it might have been arriving was forgotten. Chevy turned aside to the ‘fridge to grab a jug of homemade wine that PO1 Goodwin had made sure to pack off with him.

“I’m after your money and fame.” She replied gamely. She slid onto a stool at the kitchen’s bar and watched as he poured her a flute full of the pink, candy-looking drink. “What’s this?”

“One of my enlisted men brews wine aboard my ship. He recovered this from the wreck of his quarters.” He capped off his own glass and put the jar aside. He raised it and took a smell. “It’s sweet as my morning coffee and packs a hell of a kick. We call it Cotton Candy.”

Anya had took a cautious sip and held it aloft to look at it. She swished the concoction around and then swallowed. “It’s sweet. Kinda tastes like bubble gum and alcohol.”

“Yup…” Ford examined his glass once again with a mock serious face. “It might also be radioactive… After all, he did get his stash back after the ship pulled in to space dock…”

Anya held up her flute and clinked it t his.

“Here’s to radioactive wine.”

“Cotton Candy.”

They both had a short drink. Ford turned away to flip the two battered steaks he was preparing and checked on his potatoes. Anya leaned up to get a better look at his wares and his butt while she was at it. “I thought you weren’t expecting me… You’re frying two big ol’ steaks there.”

“Didn’t say I was hoping you wouldn’t… Just didn’t want to be overly disappointed if you’d decided not to show.”

She smiled toyingly back at him.

“And would you have been?”

Chevis turned back toward her, a greasy steak held at the end of his giant fork. “More than you would have guessed.”

Pleased, Anya made her way around the bar to his end and wrapped her thin arms around him. She looked up into his eyes and a playful light danced there in hers. “After supper, I have something for us to do.”

His hands left his cooking and traveled over the slim little jacket she was wearing.

“What’s that?”

Reaching into her short jacket, Anya produced two or three bits of cloth held together with lengths of red string. Ford’s eyes grew round and his lips drew into a dirty-minded smirk as he looked at the tiny bikini. “Damn!”

She smiled devilishly.

“We’re going down to the beach!”

Chevy looked out into the dark that now ruled over the land. He could see the twinkle of the moon dancing over the waves through the great, bay windows at the back of the condo. He harrumphed a bit.

“I ain’t swimmin’ in the dark.”

“Who said anything about swimming?”
***





Lieutenant Johnathan Bronstien awoke, feeling drugged and heavy. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and has been wallowed out with a roll of ancient copper pennies. His scratchy feeling eyes blinked into the all too bright light that shone at his from across the room.

Where the hell was he?

‘This is a sickbay’, he suddenly realized. ‘The Starbase sickbay!’

“What happened…”

A head popped into existence, followed by broad, grey-clad shoulders. Noah Smith had been sitting next to his bed, he saw as the tall youth bounded to his feet and bent over him. The jostling of the narrow bed sent waves of pain through the pilot as he lay there. He flexed his toes, feeling them pop as he moved them. Odd, he couldn’t feel the blanket over them. Maybe Noah uncovered them…

“You’re awake!” Smith was sputtering. His thumb mashed the old-style pickle call-button for assistance. Johnathan really didn’t want any doctors right now. He just wanted to talk to Noah. What the hell was going on? How’d he get in here?

The image of the explosion flooded into the helmsman’s mind as he lay there and he jerked erect. He tried to sit up but couldn’t seem to get the leverage. He felt top-heavy. The drugs?

“Lay down, man. Doc Keller will be here in a sec!” Noah was blathering. John wanted his to just shut the hell up for a minute. He pushed Noah away from the call button.
“Damn it, Noah! I don’t want Keller… Thought she left!”

“She came back for your surgery.”

“What surgery!” John tried again to sit up, to just rise in place without his hands as he rubbed his temples. Something moved, upsetting his blanket. But he didn’t rise. He looked down at his knees sticking up into the air. He didn’t recall bending his knees. Fear began to build, driven by some unseen master. Dread followed close on its heels.
He extended his knee.

Nothing rose. Nothing moved. Nothing.

Grabbing the rails at the edge of the bed, Johnathan frantically jerked up into a sitting position and ripped away the Starfleet issue blue cover away to reveal two bandaged, soar stubs where his long legs used to be. Bronstien grabbed each stump and looked about in fright and agony. He looked about, the malaise of the drugs gone.

“Where are my legs!!”

“You were hurt in the explosion!”

“My legs!”

“Johnathan!”

“Why’d you let ‘em take my f*ckin’ legs!”

“I was unconscious! The shrapnel took out my helmet!”

Bronstien was hearing none of it. He had eyes and ears only for the anguish and torment flooding his mind. Irrationally, he looked about for his legs. If he could find them! He lurched forward, batting away Smith’s staying hands as he groped his way to the bed’s edge. He swung legs that were no longer there out over open space and tried to stand. He crashed to the floor, carrying Smith with him.

Shouts and then alarms sounded in the infirmary as staff rushed in to help. They sedated their charge and wrestled him into bed. Smith could only look on with swollen, bruised eyes as they ministered to his friend. He could do nothing.
***
'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: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #31 on: August 21, 2007, 01:25:15 am »
Its so amazing that, with all the technology available to kill, destroy, build, renew, explore, and everything else, they still can't fix a man's legs. At the very least, he'll have the chance to walk again, no?

All in all a great continuance. There's something about 'going to the beach' that doesn't feel right; perhaps its just my imagination, though.

If what I think is going to happen happens, I'll comment then, such that plots aren't spoiled (not just the beach scene, either).

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Offline Scottish Andy

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #32 on: August 21, 2007, 08:08:11 am »
Oh man, that Johnny Bronstein scene was harsh. I totally felt for the guy.

Czar, I kinda think it was along the lines of the explosion mangled his legs beyond 23rd-century ability to repair. He'll get his own fast-grown cloned legs or some wizardry of prosthetics back that gives him full function. Unless the Guv is going to be horrifically mean and say a that radiation or some such from the explosion means they can't reattach legs, without a 50% chance of rejection, or that radiation degraded the Human-prosthetic interface and artificial legs cant be linked to his brain.

The Guv is evil that way.

Oh, and I didn't get that sense of "oh-oh" or foreboding from Anya going to the beach. Maybe I'm just too trusting of the "fairer" sex?  ;D

Looking forward to more.
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Offline James Smith

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #33 on: August 21, 2007, 12:23:58 pm »
Oh man, that Johnny Bronstein scene was harsh. I totally felt for the guy.

Indeed. Powerful stuff.

Czar, I kinda think it was along the lines of the explosion mangled his legs beyond 23rd-century ability to repair. He'll get his own fast-grown cloned legs or some wizardry of prosthetics back that gives him full function. Unless the Guv is going to be horrifically mean and say a that radiation or some such from the explosion means they can't reattach legs, without a 50% chance of rejection, or that radiation degraded the Human-prosthetic interface and artificial legs cant be linked to his brain.

The Guv is evil that way.

During the ongoing saga that is my "Vengeance" story arc, I go into why Smithy's doctor is in a hoverchair. Radiation played a part in that. It's a great catch-all excuse for not fixing medical issues  ;)

Oh, and I didn't get that sense of "oh-oh" or foreboding from Anya going to the beach. Maybe I'm just too trusting of the "fairer" sex?  ;D

Looking forward to more.

Neither did I, to be honest. Unless she's about to go all "praying mantis" on him post-coitally....but that would be a plot twist that rivals the "Evil Alien Nazis!!!111oneone" of that Enterprise season finale for utter insanity  ;D
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #34 on: August 21, 2007, 06:16:21 pm »

Oh, and I didn't get that sense of "oh-oh" or foreboding from Anya going to the beach. Maybe I'm just too trusting of the "fairer" sex?  ;D

Who said anything about Anya? Its prolly just me. No worries.

As to the 20-whatever century medicine, I was only stating it was sad that they have all kinds of tech, but can't save a mangled leg or two. I have full confidence in the author's ability to reattach falsies or permanently cripple the guy. Perhaps a tumble down a flight of stairs while testing his new legs, severing the spinal cord, rendering the new legs useless? Just a thought, Guv...

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #35 on: August 21, 2007, 07:58:48 pm »
The Guv is evil that way.

Hehehehehe...yesssss.....

Much like my RPG victims...er...players...you have all learned well...

You shall of course see how it turns out, medically, for Mr. Bronstien. I don't play from the TNG uber-med science side of things, but I'm not so daft as to believe they can't do better than we today in limb replacement. Were it not for all the goofy-ass laws being passed, we'd probably have cloned replacement parts within the next 10 years. And I could buy a second me to use for target practice... 

I'll post the rest of the Chapter after La'ra has gotten to this half...

--thu guv!
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Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #36 on: August 22, 2007, 08:55:05 am »
Much like my RPG victims...er...players...you have all learned well...

He's not kidding.  Three games with him and any character you create will be viewing a state of utter chaos and ruin as the natural state of the world, no matter how optimistic they started out.

Speaking of that...I know everyone else is feeling that gut-shot punch from the Bronstein scene, and I can understand why after reading it...but God help me, knowing the two people Smith and Bronstein are based on, that sequence comes off as high comedy to me.  I couldn't stop laughing.  Hard.  Mostly because those two really would get into a fistfight in a hospital ward where one of them is recovering from multiple amputations.

I am a twisted [censored!].
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #37 on: August 22, 2007, 11:37:54 pm »
You heartless bastard!

Just kidding. You're right of course. They would.

Now that the Commander has read...

...that which I have warned now comes to pass...

CH. 5 [pt. 2]





Waves lapped up over Ford’s shoulders as he held Anya’s lithe frame to his chest and kissed her. She writhed seductively and playfully in his grasp as the cool waves caressed them. She had indeed coaxed him out into the water for a ‘swim’. But she hadn’t lied about the bikini. It hadn’t been meant for swimming…

It lay in two pieces on the beach beyond.

The two enjoyed themselves as the young might. Ford had again forgotten his age. In this woman’s arms, he felt twenty again. He thought of the uniform he’d worn in those years. Would Anya have liked him in the old, yellow tunic with the big floppy turtleneck? Hell, she hadn’t even seen him in his current uniform. He’d have to remedy that before he left.

The waves rose a bit higher in the next wash, coming up to their mouths as they kissed. Anya’s tongue tasted like the Cotton Candy wine they’d enjoyed. He pulled her back every time the water tried to take her from him. He loved the press of her body to his. Feeling her breasts on his chest, the supple curve of her belly on his. He pressed his manhood close whenever she presented him the opportunity. She responded by bucking against him a little. Each time she used more and more pressure. He wanted her.

Anya’s legs wrapped around him and she slid over him in the jostling waters. Sweet heaven flooded his senses as their lovemaking took shape. He let her have total control and was more than content to just stand and hold her. Her hips worked slowly, smoothly. She looked into his eyes and he could barely see her even as close as she was. The white sands of the beach showed quite well in the clouding night, but visibility of everything else had faded away since their arrival. But the twinkle of the dying light was easy to detect in her wide, luscious eyes.

Anya’s motions became faster and more rhythmic as her energy mounted and built. He held her butt, enjoying the contours of her muscle, her smooth skin. Her arms encircled his shoulders, clinging to him as she became more desperate with her plunges. He bucked his own hips to add to the foray of hot sensation. His lips found hers, soft and swollen feeling as he kissed her.

At last she spent herself. Her nails bit into flesh and tore as she looked heavenward with her last, shuddering gasp of pleasure. Then she sagged in his arms. He wasn’t sure how long he’d lasted. But he’d remained at attention during the entire march.

Anya pulled free of him and let the water take her away. Her hands traced down his arm to his hand and she pulled him with her. Chevy followed, breathing heavily but ready for more. He’d always had a decent amount of sexual stamina. This girl really knew how to use it. She led him back onto the beach and lowered herself onto the long, white blanket they’d put there.

Chevis remained standing. He found himself looking off to the east. What had drawn his attention? He had the amorous desires of a beautiful, young and totally nude woman right here before him and now he found himself looking off at nothing as though he’d expected to see something. A smell came to him. It overrode the scent of the sea and of their bodies. He knew the smell. The stink of oil and hydraulics. The burnt scent of old machinery. Well used chains.
Jarn.
Had that been what had drawn his attention? Had he sensed something? Was there something out there in the dark looking back at him? He strained to focus in the black gloom. He knew that the area dead center in most humans’ vision was weakest when used at night. He tried to look just a bit off from the middle of where he thought he’d seen something. Anya was questioning him. He could not even hear her now. He tried to pull the image of what he sought out of the night.

And there it was!

A tall, muscled silhouette was finally framed amidst the white sands as they stretched off into infinity. A male, bearing something in his right hand. Ford dove for his shorts at the end of the blanket. He had his palm phaser up in a blur of motion and aimed. He couldn’t see…

“What’s wrong, Chevy?” He could finally hear Anya say. Ford didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His mind was fixated on the being that’d caused him all his pain. The man who’d broken his soul… The man who’d come to ruin his few moments of happiness here by taking him back to Kovarn! His phaser aimed for that spot in the blackness. Anya couldn’t see the weapon. She was pressing closer. Her hand found the small of his back, his shoulder.

“You’re shaking!”

Ford squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open. It worsened his vision. He couldn’t see Jarn. But he heard that gravelly chuckle. Chevis pressed the thumb trigger. The iridescent beam lanced out into the night, banishing the dark in a brilliant pulse of light that shot down the length of the beach. He’d missed Jarn! He’d waited too long!

“You brought a phaser!” Anya was pushing away from him now, frightened and rightfully so. Ford focussed his mind’s eye on what he’d seen while the beam fired. Jarn had been high-tailing it up the slope of the grassy knoll headed toward the condo. Ford surged up from the blanket to follow.

“Where are you going? What’s going on!”

Ford broke the middle toe of his right foot as he charged up the rocky hill in chase of his quarry. He could see the bastard now. Jarn had turned back to taunt him from afar, and was surprised to see his enemy in such close pursuit. This was as close as Ford had been to the villain since the Over Warden ordered him to be placed in the delicate embrace of the Klingon mind-sifter. Chevy could feel the penetration of those needle-points. Feel the electro-stimulators and the clasp of the neural recorder. His flesh would bear the marks till the end of his life. His soul would bear them forever.

The commodore topped the hill, his bare feet crashing down onto the paved blacktop heading away from his condo. Jarn’s gravel-voice taunted back. Why wasn’t the Ya’wenn shooting? He had a weapon. He’d started with all the advantages. Ford raised his palm unit when he believed himself close enough to take the shot. He halted, firing.

That blazing crimson, reflections of the fires of hell, shot out across the landscape of the hill and the crisscrossing bodies of trees. Ford’s surroundings were twisted into a visceral image of the macabre. They flash burned into his retina. His eyes watered. Now he was blinded again.

Jarn laughed.

Where was he now? The phaser hadn’t got him…

“Chevy, what are you shooting at? I can’t see!”

“Get down, Anya!”

“You can’t get me, Captain!”

“f*ck you Jarn!”

“Jarn! Who’s Jarn?”

“Get down, I said!”

The scuff of heavy boots came from the left. Ford turned, phaser fanning but silent. He didn’t have a target. Petty Officer Jonsted always trained Fleet enlisted to fire only when you had a clear target. Anya was near. She hadn’t ate the dirt yet…

“That the best you got, human?”

“I’ll show you what you got comin’, Jarn!”

Ford blazed out another blast. He’d gotten a glimpse of his target. Jarn was trying to circle around behind him now. He had to be close. The beam hit something. He’d gotten the fiery after image of something the general size and shape of a human torso.

Jarn laughed out loud at his shot.

“Wrong target, Captain!”

“Anya, where are you?”

“Dead, Captain!”

“Bullsh*t!”

“I’m right behind you!”

Ford focussed on the very solid, very real silhouette that had indeed been behind him. He leveled his phaser on Jarn, thumb pressing down on the trigger. Jarn’s hands came up in innocent self-defense.

“Yeah, it’s not me, Commodore!”

Chevis hesitated. He bore down on the initiator. The phaser was humming in his hands as the pre-fire chamber heated. Who was this? Jarn? Too short. But his night vision was gone, how could he know! He pressed the palm phaser into the target’s belly, grabbing soft flesh in his right hand. His eyes, could one actually see them, were ablaze in heated anger and fear and hatred!

Whose voice had that been?

“Who are you!”

Anya gasped at the hot touch of the phaser emitter stabbing into her stomach. She recoiled from Chevy’s touch, but managed not to convince him she was about to attack. Her hands touched his, traveled to his naked chest, his face. She felt the tears streaming down his face. “It’s me, Chevy!” She cried back to him.

Was this really Anya? Could he believe his senses now, or had they been lying earlier. What was real now? How much of what he’d seen and remembered was real or phantasm?

What could he do?

“Who’s Jarn?” Anya pleaded with him. Ford’s hand on her shoulder could feel the trembling that consumed her body. She was cold and shaking. He drew her close to him, feeling her press into him. He smelled that sweet cherry blossom scent that came from her hair, even when they finished making love.

This was Anya. Had Jarn even been here?

“Jarn was the man who captured me…”

Ford’s feelings reeled in on themselves. He shouldn’t have pursued any kind of relationship with this woman given what he’d gone through. He’d just damn near killed her! How would he have atoned for that? He wouldn’t have been able to live with killing her. He couldn’t have killed her! But he almost had!

“What did he do to you?” She asked.

“He…hurt me! Tortured me for days, asking me questions…” There was no way to hide the pleading for help in his own voice. He needed Anya more than ever right now. Her hands tightened around his waist. She looked up into the tiny twinkles of light reflecting in his eyes. “He hooked me up to a god damned mind-sifter! He tore everything from me! I couldn’t stop him!”

“You need help, Chevy.” She told him, her voice still shaken as she shivered in the wind as the seawater dried on her cool flesh. The phaser unit fell to the ground and he hugged her close. “You need help.”

“I know! The one person I hoped would help me ran away!”

“You need to help yourself then, Commodore.” She told him. Of course, he realized, she would want nothing further to do with him… “You need to settle the score. Provide your own help.”

“What?”

“You’ll know what to do. If you let him beat you, then he wins more than you realize. You have to turn this around or you’ll live with this pain for the rest of your life!”

Ford felt a sudden and curative calm settle on him like an electric blanket. What the hell was she saying? Ford looked down at Anya as a light from above played about over her angelic face. She smiled back at him in sad understanding. She was dripping and naked and beautiful…and so right… Her wide, shining eyes blinked in the growing light as the sound of the hover vehicle descended on them.

Ford could not help but look up at the approaching security force car as it dropped in ten-meter plunges to close in on him. They’d come to investigate the disturbance… He looked back down to Anya…

…to find that in the time it had taken to look skyward, she had evaporated. His thick, hairy arms enclosed around nothing. Ford jerked his head left and right. How had she gotten out of his embrace? He hadn’t felt a thing. His arms felt just as they had…

As though…

…he’d never held anything at all.

“Sir!” Came a machine amplified voice from the security car dangling above him. The spotlight was so close he was beginning to sweat under its downpour. He realized also that he was standing in the middle of a blacktop two-lane totally naked. He covered his eyes as he looked up into the open side door of the car.

“Sir! Are you injured?”

“No…” Ford replied in confusion, breaking his eyes away as he searched about for Anya. He grimaced as his eyes strained to refocus from the bright to the dark. “No, I’m fine!”

“We’re investigating a phaser discharge from this area!” The security guard continued. Ford circled, disoriented. Where had she gone?

“Yeah…” Ford shouted back at him. “I fired my phaser!”

“Why were you shooting?”

The car was coming down now. The light illuminated the entire area, but showed Ford nothing. His mind swirled. The security man unstrapped from his seat and slowly slid out of his car to the ground. He had a pistol held low and at the ready. Ford no longer cared. He looked back and forth in a jerky manner. She was gone.

“Why were you discharging your phaser, sir?” Came the authoritative tone. Ford finally looked back to the man, silhouetted in black by the light at his back. Ford put his hand back up to block out the light. The pain in his head soared.

“I thought I was shooting at someone… I thought I hit her.”

“Her who, sir?” Now there was genuine concern in the officer’s voice.

“Anya! Where’s Anya?”

“Anya who, sir? Was there a woman here with you?” At a waving hand signal, the officer sent more men out with probing tricorders, looking for foul play. They fanned out over the area and closed in on a single point near the south area of the road, near a copse of trees.

“Anya… I don’t think she had a last name!”

Another security man stepped in close and ran a scanner over Ford. He leaned in close to the senior officer to whisper to him. The man shook his helmeted head. He holstered his particle weapon.

“Sir, have you been drinking tonight?”

“I’ve had a few.”

“More than a few, sir. You’re level is one-point-three. You’re wasted.”

“Where’s Anya?”

A shout came from the scanning party on the other side of the hover car.

“Sir! Nothing was hit by the discharge but an oak tree. Burnt it half to the ground! The other two discharges I read show no impact zone.”

This seemed to satisfy the man in charge. One of his subordinates closed in, bending to pick up the dropped palm phaser from the rough pavement. The officers were beginning to chortle and heckle. Ford was beyond any outburst of pride at being made light of. He was still too confused about the disappearance of Anya, beautiful Anya.
Soon he was sedated and ushered into the security car. He took a little trip downtown, to spend the night in a cozy little cell.
***
 :D
'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 Scottish Andy

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #38 on: August 23, 2007, 11:29:31 am »
Oh Guv... that was very well done -

- and totally f*ckin' evil!

That poor deranged Ford! Not even knowing if Anya was real? After thinking that he shagged her? That is just nasty! Pure, undiluted evil!

And you did it so well. Says something about you, I guess.  ;D

Very good job on the "hallucination in the dark" imagery. I was totally seeing it as you described it. Shadowy figures on white sand, at night, lit up by strobes of phaser-fire - I even saw wind whipping the trees slightly as if it was a lightning storm! The arrival of the security team and Anya just fading away were brilliant.

Top notch, mate. Keep it up!

Larry, I know you read this! You pointed it out to me. Why am I the first to comment on it?
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Offline Grim Reaper

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Snickers@DND: If there is one straight answer in that bent little head of yours, you'd better start spillin' it pretty damn quick, or I'm gonna take a large, blunt object, roughly the size of Kallae AND his hat and shove it lengthwise up a crevice of your being so seldomly cleaned that even the denizens of the nine hells would not touch it with a 10-feet rusty pole

Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #40 on: August 23, 2007, 10:03:56 pm »
Really freaky and very confusing! BTW didn't Nog have a prosthetic limb in DS9 what worked as good as his own (after he accepted it)?

* after verifying *

He did. See this quote linked via Wikipedia:

Quote
On AR-558, during a battle in the height of the Dominion war, a Jem'Hadar soldier shoots Nog's left leg, necessitating its amputation ("The Siege of AR-558"). The leg is replaced with a bionic one by Dr. Bashir, and Nog chooses Vic Fontaine's holosuite club simulation as the place to recuperate from the trauma of war, and to adjust to using an artificial limb ("It's Only a Paper Moon").



I have DS9 seasons 6 & 7 on DVD. I'm quite familiar.

This tale isn't done yet, so don't fret.

To those who've replied, thank you. I'll post the final CH. later on. This in it's own way is one of my darker tales, though it doesn't turn that way very quickly. I also try to show the Endeavour crew's best side in it's telling as well. Once all have said their 2 cents, I'll finish this 'un up.

--thu guv!
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Offline Grim Reaper

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #41 on: August 24, 2007, 06:43:11 am »
Its so amazing that, with all the technology available to kill, destroy, build, renew, explore, and everything else, they still can't fix a man's legs. At the very least, he'll have the chance to walk again, no?

All in all a great continuance. There's something about 'going to the beach' that doesn't feel right; perhaps its just my imagination, though.

If what I think is going to happen happens, I'll comment then, such that plots aren't spoiled (not just the beach scene, either).

Czar "Plot prediction as a sixth sense sux" Mohab



Czar, I kinda think it was along the lines of the explosion mangled his legs beyond 23rd-century ability to repair. He'll get his own fast-grown cloned legs or some wizardry of prosthetics back that gives him full function. Unless the Guv is going to be horrifically mean and say a that radiation or some such from the explosion means they can't reattach legs, without a 50% chance of rejection, or that radiation degraded the Human-prosthetic interface and artificial legs cant be linked to his brain.

The Guv is evil that way.

Actually Guv i was replying to the above by Czar Mohab and Scottish Andy. I know of your DS9 collection, you've referenced it in the past.

Anyways, I have to agree to calling this one of your darker tales. It's imho even darker than the previous one. The mental consequences for Ford coupled to the physical and mental pain of Bronstein makes it even worse.
Snickers@DND: If there is one straight answer in that bent little head of yours, you'd better start spillin' it pretty damn quick, or I'm gonna take a large, blunt object, roughly the size of Kallae AND his hat and shove it lengthwise up a crevice of your being so seldomly cleaned that even the denizens of the nine hells would not touch it with a 10-feet rusty pole

Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #42 on: August 24, 2007, 03:46:31 pm »
The Guv already knows everything I like about this section.  I haven't told him, but he knows.  I like it cuz it's a big, 40 oz gulp of Rog-mann's messed up imagination, and that's all I got to say about that.

More.  Now.
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #43 on: August 24, 2007, 05:51:49 pm »
Grim- I was making reference to the inability to prevent the loss of said legs, not replacing them. That technology has been around in some form or other for ages, but I won't get into that.

Guv- In all honesty I have to say that I saw something coming, so to speak (and maybe pun intended...?), with that beach scene. The actual events as scripted, however, took on a much more vivid "Ford's heading to the padded room hugging himself" type of image and thus, despite having a feeling, and that feeling being somewhat right, I was surprised. Seriously.

It was Anya's mystery exit that took me off the path the most. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt from the begining that there was something big that was going to happen with her. Instead of going praying mantis on Ford (I kinda hoped she'd try to eat him...), you lobbed a high fly out into left field while I was expecting a bunt. Totally didn't see it coming.

Also... didn't know about the night vision thing, I'll have to keep that in mind.

Larry, I know you read this! You pointed it out to me. Why am I the first to comment on it?

Because the Guv likes to post these tidbits at about the same time I am heading to bed or off to do something or whatever, and while I may not be the first to view, I have quite often been given the opportunity to say something first, and this time, I had to think about how I wanted to word what I said as to not mess anything up.

Czar "I can't believe I forgot that there was a sex scene in there" Mohab

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #44 on: August 24, 2007, 08:08:28 pm »
Plastic surgeons would be hard pressed indeed to remove the smile from my face.
I'm glad all enjoyed!

CH. 6





Commodore Ford packed the final bit of his clothing into the suitcase laying on the white blanket atop his bed. Save for the requisite furnishings, he stood in a mostly empty condo. He hadn’t left much of a mess for the room service crew to clean up. After his fiasco of drunk and disorderly, public intox, indecent exposure and discharging a particle weapon in an unguarded zone… He’d decided to keep to himself and not leave the condominium. It had been safer that way.

In the last week he’d dealt with his rising and ebbing demons. He still bore loads of pain. Any man would. And Chevis was not one to seek out therapy. He’d found his own sources of literature on port-traumatic stress. Many works dated back to the Vietnam War Era in Earth’s American history. They had dealt with the psychological fallout of torture and mental stress. He didn’t feel any better for it, but now he could deal with it more instead of just blocking it out of his mind.

Chevy still marveled over the appearance and disappearance of Anya. She’d been beautiful, heart stopping. And she hadn’t existed. There was no trace of her in the public or security records of this planet. No one of her description worked in any establishment on New Providence. Starfleet Security hadn’t even been able to confirm her existence.

A figment of his imagination, then.

Ford lifted the final item he’d packed into the case and examined it. It was his uniform jacket. He always packed at least one no matter where he went. He’d been planning to show it off to Anya before he left for 23. Modeling a uniform for a woman who hadn’t even been real. How low could a man really get?

He dropped the starched jacket and pressed it home. Starfleet service had trained many a man how to successfully pack a lot of stuff into a small piece of luggage. It was a highly developed skill, and probably one of the most used among former Fleet officers. His dog stared back at him from his spot beside the open suitcase, head cocked and tongue waggling in amusement.

Ford was happy and secure in the knowledge that he’d be a Fleet officer for some time to come. Retirement would be as far off as he could keep it. He had a lot to do in his life. That Mexican restaurant would just have to wait…

Ford picked up his case and headed for the front door. His rental car awaited. The commodore was homeward bound. China dropped to the polished floor and clattered after him. Chevy paused at the doorframe and looked back upon the house. He could still smell Anya’s hair…the scent of her skin. Her voice floated atop the busy waters of his mind.

And her words could still be heard there as plainly as when he’d heard them.

“Help yourself. Settle the score.”

“Got a lot of fightin’ to do.” He told China, and the two of them stepped out.
***





Lieutenant Bronstien stared at the far bulkhead in silent anger. His head was still bandaged in old-style white gauss, making his black hair stick up like a spiky dark flame. He wore the white, high collared turtleneck version of his duty tunic. His black trousers hung down from the bandaged stumps of his shorn off legs. He sat unmoving in the basic hover chair.

Doctor Keller moved around the blue desk of her borrowed office she occupied and knelt beside her patient. She looked searchingly up into his eyes. They bore into the pastel blue wall, ignorant of her attempts to reach him. Today he was being released to recover on his own recognizance. But she worried over his mental health. The loss of limbs was detrimental on any psyche, especially a virile young male…

“Leftenant, I wish to assure you that if there had been any other way…” Her attempt was feeble sounding, even to her. She abandoned that line of speech. She had to make him understand that his life was far from over. “Many options lay before us to steer you toward recovery. We have already begun cloning of your lost limbs. The base pairs are splitting at a regulated pace and you will have fully usable limbs within three months—“

“Who the hell told you to cut off my damn legs?”

Finally. Speech. It wasn’t pretty, and it was full of bile, but he was talking. Her heart went out to him even as she balked at the hostility directed full-bore at her. She reached out to touch his wide hand and he jerked it away. He glared into her with obstinate ire. He blamed her.

“There was nothing else that could be done. Your legs were mangled and damaged by severe exposure. It was a miracle that your suit maintained what integrity it did—“

“A miracle? Tell me, Doc, do I really look that damn lucky?”

“You’re alive!”

“I’m f*ckin’ maimed! I lost my legs!” Johnathan struck the ends of his stumps of his destroyed legs for brutal emphasis. His burning, red rimmed eyes glared into her. She knew he would like nothing better than to strike her right in the face for all his suffering and futile rage. His breath came in ragged breaths as he struggled with the emotions within him. “Cloned limbs don’t usually work! I know that! My best bet is a set of god damned cybernetic prosthetics that’ll leave me lurching around like an invalid. That’s all I am now!”

Andrea could feel empathy for the man. But sympathy was not going to help him now. Her face hardened and she leaned in close to his eyes. “You are going to have to accept this for now, Leftenant! You have no alternative. You can either let it beat you, ruin you, or you can master it! You can fight this! Chief Engineer Tolin is synthesizing temporary prosthetics for you even now to get you mobile once your legs mend enough to use them. So make up your mind now, helmsman. Are you going to fight, or curl up and die?”

Sarcasm broke through the anger burning in his eyes as he looked into her eyes.

“Nice speech, Doc. You write that down before you came in here?”

Andrea allowed herself to return the baleful smirk.

“Your choice, Leftenant. I can’t force you. Do what you want.”

Keller stood, smoothing her maroon jacket, and moved for the open office hatch. Bronstien’s face followed her. “You couldn’t stop with the Skipper’s heart, so my legs were next best thing, huh?”

The CMO paused, coming up short as she was about to make the turn to leave. She glanced back over her narrow shoulder. “Who are you angrier with, Johnathan? Me, for taking your legs, or yourself for losing them in the first place?”

The doctor left him there to stew. He continued to stretch his neck to look after her. A roiling turmoil flowed inside of him and begged for release. He had no way to vent this save to break down. Tears flowed down, unwanted, and unbidden as he tried to bury his face in his arms. His frame was racked with growling sobs as he found his release. He was glad to have the privacy of this wing of the infirmary. No one ever came over here save for triage training.

Johnathan was mistaken, however. Boot steps echoed into the room. The pilot fought to contain his raging emotions and to clean his wet face of its embarrassment.
Those boots carried themselves back into the medical office.

“Come back to impart more wisdom, Doc?” He scathed.

“No, Lieutenant,” Came a sterner, masculine voice. It was accented in Russian. “I have not. I have come to guide you back home.”

Bronstien looked up into the steely blue eyes of the chief security officer of his former ship. He scoffed. “Where is home supposed to be?”

“Vith your family of friends, Lieutenant.”

The gunnery officer took control of the handles at the back of the chair and fired up the hover field. Guiding his charge out the office, Daniel guided their way out of the medical section and through the least populated sections of the station. He took Endeavour’s injured son to the habitat module that housed the bulk of their surviving crew. And home.

END
'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: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #45 on: August 24, 2007, 09:29:43 pm »
Good gravy man!

Excellent job, all around. Looking forward to the next one.

Czar "There Andy. Now you won't be first to reply :D" Mohab

P.S. "port-traumatic stress"?
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Offline Grim Reaper

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #46 on: August 25, 2007, 06:24:07 am »
As I said before, what i like most are those little comments you insert into dialog linking previous parts and stories making it one continuous whole iso what most shows do a series of stand alone parts. I wonder what effect those words have on our dear doctor and what the return of the skipper will do...
Snickers@DND: If there is one straight answer in that bent little head of yours, you'd better start spillin' it pretty damn quick, or I'm gonna take a large, blunt object, roughly the size of Kallae AND his hat and shove it lengthwise up a crevice of your being so seldomly cleaned that even the denizens of the nine hells would not touch it with a 10-feet rusty pole

Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #47 on: August 25, 2007, 11:14:51 pm »
All to be learned of in the next episode...
 :angel:

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Offline Scottish Andy

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #48 on: September 07, 2007, 12:28:51 pm »
A good, if rather abrupt ending to this tale. Ford's last words here are ominous, though. Good play on Bronstein, too. Covered all the "options" bases, and let us see just how messed up he is. When you're that bad off, you need someone to blame. "It's nobody's fault" or "It's God's will" just doesn't cut it. It has to be someone's fault. Crap like that isn't supposed to just happen, someone caused it, it's someone's fault.

Good job. Off to read Czar's story on paper now. Reading the screen so much messes with my eyes.
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Offline CaptJosh

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #49 on: June 23, 2008, 02:12:26 pm »
I know it's a hell of a bump, but I have to say, very interesting indeed. I guess Anya is the white rabbit.

Minor nit. The final chapter. Gauss is a measure of magnetic field strength. Bronstein's head would have been wrapped in gauze.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #11: White Rabbits
« Reply #50 on: June 23, 2008, 08:27:24 pm »
One more f*cking grammar nit and I'll have had it.

--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.