Topic: #14: Relaunch  (Read 15483 times)

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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#14: Relaunch
« on: October 29, 2007, 01:28:45 am »
The editting may not be as good in this as in some. Bear with it, please. My heart just wasn't in it [the editting, not the writing].

This tale was inspired by a rare Trek dream I had about 2 years back. Said dream encompassed as scene which is actually near the tale end of this much longer, more detailed story. This story is also set in TMP/STVI era, where the dream was TOS... Anyway...hope it is enjoyed...


Star Trek: Endeavour
Relaunch
Prologue





“I don’t care about the traffic! Just get me out to my frelling ship!”

The pilot nodded in frightened quickness at the sound of the anger within the gravelly voice that commanded him. The conscripted soldier (and former convict) said nothing more to the Over Warden, now called Over General, but went about the process of killing the power umbilicals leading to their shuttle. Once the small craft was untethered from the construction command station, he released the docking latches and triggered the aft boosters. Without further delay, they were drifting through the congested patterns of craft that cycled through the building yard.

Over General Jarn remained standing behind the pilot’s seat, bending his large mass over the back of it to peer out ahead through the fore screen. Jarn smelled of exotic smoke and spice, the scent of his den on Kovarn. The smell of opulence. Corruption and power. The unfamiliar scents overwhelmed the pilot, but he could do little for it. Jarn might kill him for the slightest reason, it was said. He was a tyrannical man.

But he paid well. Very well. Even the lowest ranking among his forces was a reasonably wealthy individual. The mines of Kovarn turned out a great measure of high-yield ore. Jarn spread the wealth around thickly. It made his people very loyal. They merely had to be careful where they stepped…

“What’s the hold up!” Jarn demanded. His voice was hard and thick, stony, like the rock they mined on their capitol world. The pilot glanced back uneasily into the leader’s black eyes. The grey of his flesh was darkening with anger. “I want to get there today, pilot! More power!”

“Yes, General!”

Applying unsafe measures of speed, the pilot began to weave the small craft through dizzying strings of yard traffic. He flickered his gaze several times to the navigation relay on his board, checking their position against their destination. At this speed, they’d be docked within the minute.

Jarn made a pleased sound as they pierced the weaving patterns of traffic and broke into the clear. His vessel was now in view. It was a jagged monstrosity of metal and high tech components. It was the new flagship. Built to combat any kind of Federation starship, the craft had a slim profile when facing her enemy head on. She packed extreme amounts of firepower, possessed two warp cores, one of them dedicated strictly to weapons power. She had six impulse drives, four warp nacelles and heavy belts of tiburnium armor. Her shields were double what the strongest Federation ship could boast. This ship would lead them to victory against the homeworld. It would safeguard the rest of their fleet against Starfleet interference.

Jarn patted the edge of the pilot’s console in anticipation of boarding his new vessel. He’d just returned from three full days of pursuing the home government’s warships out of Kovarn space. They had suffered three attacks in the last two weeks. All had feared damage to the new flagship before she could be launched and tested. Now she was ready. Jarn would take her out to engage the fleets of their enemy, the ‘legitimate’ government of their race. Everything was ready for the final battle.

The great ship loomed in the forward view port.

Then it shredded into hand-sized fragments as the largest explosion the pilot had ever witnessed tore it to rubble. The first shockwave smashed into the shuttle, battering it with the debris it carried. The pilot’s quick reactions brought up the shields, saving them from death as more and more space flotsam, once having been the hull of the massive battleship, struck the ship from all quarters. Another wave of force struck the craft, blowing out fuses in the overhead and making the Over General duck with a curse. The pilot’s eyes were wide as the remnants of the detonation spread out into the depths of blackest space.

The battleship, their hope for a swift end to the civil war, was gone.

“What the frell was that!” Jarn’s hate driven boom demanded of the cosmos. He slammed a stone fist into the back of his pilot’s chair, clipping the top of the man’s head. Jarn staggered backward into the passenger compartment where he could stand fully. His black eyes were wide in shock, crazed with disbelief. He grabbed at the pistol at his hip and drew it forth with a spastic jerk. The pilot never saw his death coming, heard only the sound of the shot. He didn’t even have time to become frightened.
***


...yeah...couldn't help the teaser...

More 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 Czar Mohab

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #1 on: October 29, 2007, 05:55:29 am »
That's kind of mean. I mean, really... a teaser? Especially about a *Relaunch*... and Andy proofing...?

 its kind of like saying your store is having a grand reopening sale in a comercial, and then telling everyone who shows up at the store's doors, "We really meant after we've finished waxing the floors" or tossing the dog a ball once and saying, "OK, thats all, have to go clean the house, Grandpa's coming to visit."

Other than that, I'm hooked. Can I bring marshmallows to the Weenie roast?  :popcorn:

This opening might explain why the Big Bad BShip wasn't blown up by Sanchez in 13... or did they leave a present? Perhaps a Flaming Bag of Poo?

Czar "I found that gem back in '00; although, someone sent it to me in an email" Mohab, who still laughs hysterically at said Poo Bag.

P.S. Sorry to kinda threadjack. Back to the story! No more talk of poo!

« Last Edit: October 29, 2007, 09:16:01 pm by Czar Mohab »
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Offline Grim Reaper

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #2 on: October 29, 2007, 08:36:19 am »
I'm with him ^.
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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #3 on: October 29, 2007, 08:51:15 pm »
I'm so confused..

--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 Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #4 on: October 30, 2007, 08:19:28 pm »
Perhaps more will satisfy?








CH. 1





The turbolift doors to the main bridge of the USS Endeavour parted to allow her commander, Commodore Chevis Ford, access to the command deck. The freshly shaven officer stopped, taking in the sight with pride. Every surface and console of the bridge had been repaired, replaced and revamped. It was like stepping onto a brand new starship. The rails had been freshly repainted to a brighter hue of blue than before. Every console reflected the overhead lights brilliantly. His crew, dressed in fresh new uniforms for the occasion, turned as one to look back at him with a smile…save for Lieutenant Surall.

Ford couldn’t help but return the smile. Their ship was back up and running, better than she had been before being wrecked months ago. He stepped closer to the rail surrounding the center stations and cleared his throat. “It’s that time, ain’t it?”

The ship’s new executive officer gave a grave nod. He stood next to the helm, forward and right of the command chair. “Yes, sir.” Commander Davenport answered him.
Standing to Ford’s right, the former XO patted the commodore on the shoulder roughly. Commander Thomas had remained in Starbase 23’s vicinity for a while, with Ford’s permission, to attend this relaunch. He had as much vested interest to want to see the old girl take her first strides back into the space lanes. He shared Ford’s pride in the moment. “She’s all yours again, Chevy.”

Lieutenant Smith turned his small chair away from the communications console to look at his CO. The comm officer held a command receiver to his ear, listening to a speaker on the other end of the line. “Yard control signals clear for launch, Skipper. Captain Conally sends her compliments and says ‘God Speed’, sir.”

“Tell ‘em thanks,” Ford told the young officer. Slapping his old friend on the shoulder in return for the earlier favor, Chevis took a turn around the portside sensor control console and proceeded down the steps to the command center. There he took his place in the newly reupholstered conn and settled in. He looked up to the helmsman, Lieutenant Bronstien. “Helm, report.”

“Navigation department ready, all engines online and standing by. Warp and impulse at your disposal.” This was probably the most official sounding report the young radical had ever delivered to another officer. The situation seemed to call for it…

“Operations,” Ford addressed their new second officer. “Clear all moorings.”

Lieutenant Commander Slik, their freshly transferred and promoted Gorn chief of operations, tapped his talons on the controls gently and nodded. “Moorings clear, Commodore.” He hissed.

Ford eyed the Gorn officer with amusement. When he’d found Slik’s file among the roster for this theater’s available officers, he’d been so interested that he’d had to select him for Endeavour’s bridge crew. This had meant promoting the unusual officer to the rank of lieutenant commander and ordering him into a short training session for department command. Slik had only been aboard ship for two days, but what the commodore had seen thus far impressed him. The reptilian officer took to new circumstances swiftly.

“Port and starboard RCS to station-keeping.” Ford resumed launch procedures. “Aft thrusters set to one-quarter.”

Bronstien nodded.

“Thrusters ready.”

“Take us out.”

With the most feathery burst of aft thrust, the long, sleek Excelsior-Class starship pushed ahead, stepping slowly out of the almond stained scaffold structure of the repair dock. Nearby yard hands waved to those they could see in the mighty ship’s windows. The 467 meter long vessel moved steadily out of the yard space and returned to her natural habitat: space.

The commodore leaned into the blue fabric and cushioning of his chair, running his hands over the polished and smoothed contours of its control armrests. The engineering gang had gone so far as to ensure even this chair had no remaining blemishes before their launch. He looked up to the black, star speckled viewscreen and smiled. “Helm, ahead one-quarter impulse power.”

“Ahead one-quarter, aye!”

Ronald turned to look back to the skipper.

“Course, Commodore?”

“Let’s go some place new, XO. Once we’ve met with the Tenseiga, let’s head ‘er for PL 1156B. It’s close to our patrol routes, and has only been mapped. I’d like to take her there.”

Ron nodded back, then bent low to confer with Mister Bronstien. Commander Thomas stepped close to the conn and smiled down to Chevis. “Guess that’s my queue to head, then, Skipper.” Ben told him. The big man was smiling wide and earnestly. “Good luck. Don’t get her blown up again.”

Chevis whacked the larger officer on the forearm before the other could retreat. “You just keep our shipping safe. It’s a long haul to Praadis.”

Ben Thomas continued to smile as he parted company and left the bridge. Lieutenant Nechayev saluted the departing captain as he passed by the weapons console. Ford watched as the blue lift doors closed on his friend’s form and took him away. He wondered how long it would be till he saw Ben again. Ford looked to the comm station. “Mister Smith. Signal the Tenseiga that her CO is ready to return.”

“Signaling now.”

A moment later, Lieutenant Nechayev perked up at his console.

“Tenseiga closing to transporter range.”

Davenport turned around again.

“Course set, Skipper. Engineering reports speeds up to factor seven available.”

Chevis nodded, silently getting ready for a new voyage. Things had changed some since he’d taken his ship out into deep space. He hoped he become a better man for all that had occurred in recent months. He had his doubts about the prospect, however. Another voice from the comm section drew his attention as Smith’s subordinate made her report. “Transporter room signals Commander Thomas has returned to his ship.”

“Tenseiga maneuvering clear.” Came from tactical.

“We’re clear and free to navigate.” Reported the helmsman.

“Ahead standard, helm. Let’s see what she’s got.”

***

--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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #5 on: October 31, 2007, 03:22:37 am »
Despite having read this before, gotta say it's good to see her underway again.

Also fun seeing Slik turn up. ;D
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Offline Scottish Andy

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Re: #14: Relaunch - Getting one in early
« Reply #6 on: November 01, 2007, 01:36:52 pm »
Hi Guv, I'll be following this one as it comes. Makes the nitpicking easier to swallow in smaller doses, right? :D

Nah, I'm, not going to torment you on this one. Having reamed you a bit on #13, and with your typo disclaimer at the start, I'll sit back and enjoy the ride.

So...

Quote
But he paid well. Very well. Even the lowest ranking among his forces was a reasonably wealthy individual. The mines of Kovarn turned out a great measure of high-yield ore. Jarn spread the wealth around thickly. It made his people very loyal. They merely had to be careful where they stepped…
Very smart Over Warden! Many an evil genius has had his downfall in a disgruntled ex-henchman.

Quote
His voice was hard and thick, stony, like the rock they mined on their capitol world.
Ref. comment on #13. A lot of Yanks have this blind spot. It's the way you see it spelled 99% of the time, not surprising you spell it that way too for a closely-related thing.

Quote
He grabbed at the pistol at his hip and drew it forth with a spastic jerk. The pilot never saw his death coming, heard only the sound of the shot.
How very Captain Krenn of him!  :D

I really liked this part. Hearing that it was Jarn's Death Star and able to out-power front-line Fed ships was worrying. I am wondering how it happened, of course. The Sanchez did not have time or opportunity to do it, so... who?
How did he get Fed-level shields? More covert rogue-Klingon aid?

[Andy has decided to avoid the Poo Bag]

Lieutenant Commander Slik... hooo boy. The crew of the Endeavour will have fun with that name for sure!

Quote
This had meant promoting the unusual officer to the rank of lieutenant commander and ordering him into a short training session for department command.
Doesn't that mean he wasn't qualified for the role? Capable, surely. But a bunch of other officers are going to be pissed at him and Ford. Hmmm... idea for a future story...

Quote
Once we’ve met with the Tenseiga, let’s head ‘er for PL 1156B.
Sounds like Stargate-style planetary designations.

A good start, but not a lot ot chew on yet. I am very interested in Jarn's reaction and subsequent actions to find out what happened to his Death Star, and what he does when he finds out.

Waiting for more.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #7 on: November 01, 2007, 09:12:22 pm »
Thank you, thank you!

Yeah...the way I discribed Slik's promotion DID make him seem like he wasn't up for the job. Wasn't how I intended it. Perhaps an edit or a later clarification of it.

And yes, the planetary designation was very Stargate-ish. With full intent. It is also an actual mathod of catologuing stars in real life observatories.

Jarn's DeathStar: Heh...truth be told, it wasn't as bad-ass as Jarn was bragging that it was. Could it have taken an Excelsior head on? Not likely. But it would have been hell on the main government's ships.

As to who killed it? You'll LOVE that answer...





CH. 2





Captain’s Log, Stardate 9714.6

Endeavour has entered the limits of System PL 1156B. This starsystem has already been mapped and generally catalogued by previous survey missions. One planet has been noted to bear humanoid life and I have decided to make for orbit there. We’ll undergo a general planetary survey while we’re here. I believe this will be a welcome change of pace for all hands. This crew has been through pitched battle, repeated patrols and the prolonged repair of this vessel. They need a break in the monotony, and aside from assigning them even more leave time than they’ve already used, I believe this the best release for them.

The ship is operating much as expected. We attained a speed of warp factor eight during our trip here and experienced nothing worse than a slight vibration on Deck Eight. Engineering is investigating the cause of this anomaly, but has yet to pin it down. It has caused no real problems. Beyond a few maladjusted systems we’ve noticed, this has thus far been our only glitch.

End of Log.





“Skipper, incoming personal message for you coming in on subspace frequency 713.6. Civilian band.” Lieutenant Noah Smith’s voice was saying over Ford’s desk mounted intercom. The commodore turned his leather chair around to face his desk. He’d been looking out the aft porthole, enjoying the starscape over the starboard nacelle and the sweep of the sloping saucer section. He tapped the waiting com controls, keying a response and triggering the rise of his communications viewer.

“Pipe it through, Lieutenant.”

Another bald shaven individual appeared on the CO’s monitor. The man bore mustache and goatee, both of them shot with grey. His hooded eyes bespoke of a lifetime of fighting and violence. He was a man who enjoyed both. Unlike Ford, he was allover covered in developed and toned muscle. He worked hard to maintain a fit physique. More than fit, he looked like a body builder. Her wore a light vest of energy ablative armor and armed individuals moved around in the background behind him. When he recognized Ford, the man inclined his head a bit.

“Package delivered, Commodore. The recipient was pleased with the item.” His gruff voice told Chevis. Ford began to smile.

“Did you observe the package being opened?”

“Yeah. The destined recipient wasn’t there for the actual opening of the package, but he got to watch it. It was a big hit.” The mercenary told him. Ford was quite satisfied.

“Too bad. I figure he would’a liked what I got him. Payment is in the usual account. There’s a bonus for quick delivery, Rex.”

Captain Rex Stevens rendered a reserved smile in return.

“We aim to please, Ford. Be seein’ ya.”

“Soon, I imagine.”

The merc nodded a final time before his visage dissolved from the screen. The ship commander leaned back, reflecting on the highly illegal act he’d just concluded with the mercenary crew of the CS Rattlesnake. The hiring of a crew to bomb a ship belonging to another, unaligned nation was something he could wind up serving a great deal of time for. The backlash of this action could be severe indeed should Command ever learn of it. But he could not with good conscience allow Jarn to have such a powerful vessel. Not given the estimated capabilities Commander Davenport had attributed to the craft. And any act to harass the Over Warden pleased Ford to no end. He determined to put the action behind him for now. He wasn’t going to even tell Davenport about this. The less his men knew, the better for them. The blame was solely his, and he’d assume total responsibility for any fall out.

The intercom squalled again.

“Skipper, we have assumed standard orbit over the second planet.” Lieutenant Bronstien informed him. The helmsman had command at the moment. It was his shift as officer of the deck. Ford again tapped the key to respond.

“On my way, Lieutenant.”

Chevy emerged on the bridge and instantly looked to the rotating green and blue world on the main viewer. It was a sparkling paradise, or seemed so from way up high. The commodore wondered what they would find here. Lieutenant Surall, who seemed gratified to be back aboard Endeavour, was standing to address him.

“A small array of artificial satellites are evident in planetary orbit, Commodore. I count twelve. Primitive, but stable.” She told him. Ford nodded, moving closer to the brown skinned Vulcan.

“Space flight level?”

“I have yet to detect an orbiting space craft. I suspect manned, rocket propelled capsules of limited duration. There are no advanced space borne detection systems in use. Our approach has not been detected.”

“Good. Hate to cause a panic.”

The CO rounded the edge of the blue railing and made for the conn. There, Bronstien abandoned the command chair and resumed his post at the helm. The kid was still walking stiffly on his prosthetics, but he had complained little about them in the last week. Perhaps he was gaining an aptitude for them. He considered the lieutenant’s capacity to carry out a landing mission. Too many things could go wrong for the officer, were Ford to order him down there among unknown primitive aliens. Better to wait till John either became better with them or till he received his cloned replacements.

“Begin detailed scanning of the planet surface. Helm, align planetary sensor dome with the surface.” Ford began passing the first orders of the survey.

The ship rotated on her axis by 90 degrees, till her bottom pointed toward the ground below. The view of the planet morphed into a solid half globe at the bottom center of the main screen as Endeavour now literally flew over this new world. Each officer and noncom present on the bridge went through the motions they’d been trained in. Starfleet was primarily an institution of exploration and diplomacy. It was all too easy to fall away from these peaceful ideals and plunge into a militant stance. Their most recent experiences exemplified this. Now they were returning to the duties most of them had joined the fleet for.

The CO’s yeoman; a new Petty Officer named Ailee Pershing, if Ford remembered correctly; stepped up to the command dais and proffered an update on the ship’s fuel stores consumption. The commodore studied the very young looking blonde, wondering if she were truly old enough to really be a petty officer. He wasn’t the oldest man in the fleet, but times like these, when he was face to face with the fresh hands of Starfleet, reminded him of the years that had passed. He took the PADD and slowly glanced over its contents.

“The USS Constantinople originally mapped this starsystem,” Commander Davenport was now reading from the science console to all those who were listening. An accompanying graphic of the old Constitution-Class cruiser was rotating on his board. “She mapped the twelve solar bodies orbiting the Type M star and made a close pass over the second planet. Her science officer noted the inhabitants were similar to humans, possessing an advanced industrial level of technology. They were using rudimentary radio technology, perhaps even radar. This was thirty years ago, just when the fleet expanded our influence into this sector.”

“So they’ve gone from barely having wireless comm to having rockets in three decades. Not bad at all.” Ford commented as he signed off on the fuel report. He handed the PADD back to the beautiful young yeoman and gave her a smile. Pershing returned it. She didn’t speak too much. Ford couldn’t remember an instance yet of hearing her voice. She remained near to the conn, watching the viewer. Her duties weren’t that pressing, so he was inclined to let her spectate for a while.

“Now detecting low levels of gamma radiation within the planet’s atmosphere.” Surall called out, making Davenport turn suddenly and join her at the scanner panels. Ford looked over to that station, his amorous appreciation for his very young yeoman momentarily forgotten.

“They have nukes?” He asked.

“These levels of gamma radiation are indicative of advanced fission development.” The science officer responded. She raised the primary sensor scope and peered down into it for a detailed examination. “There is evidence of nuclear detonations on an island in the extreme northern quadrant. I count three distinct blast patterns and there is an extensive testing facility in place there.”

The Vulcan officer drew silent as she manipulated her controls for a time. “There is some evidence of a fission reactor north of the area… The shielding of the complex is very thick and its exhaust is commendably light for such a device. This may, however, merely be some other kind of experimentation.”

“Any evidence of nuclear powered naval vessels?” Asked the XO. It was going to be Ford’s next question as well. The commodore nodded in self-satisfaction. The officer he was grooming to one-day take over this ship was going to do very well.

“Not as yet, but it may be submerged and therefor nearly untraceable.” Surall replied.

Ford stood up from his chair and moved past the yeoman who still stood by watching all this. “Continue standard surveillance. Pick out some likely prospects for landing missions. Let me know when you’ve located a few.”
***





Commander Davenport paused before the conference roof table and looked over his gathered officers and enlisted personnel. Lieutenant’s Smith and Surall sat in their normal positions to the left of the CO’s chair at the table’s head. Newly promoted CPO Dawayne Goodwin sat next to Specialist 1st Class Kimberly McCoy near the tale of the long silver table. The two of them obviously felt out of place among the higher ranking officers, but the XO wanted them both along for this mission. He would have liked to have had Bronstien as well, but the CO had ruled him out for medical reasons.

“Only one of you has been on a cultural infiltration and study mission before.” He told them, nodding as he did to Mister Goodwin. The husky-built security officer nodded once, still uncertain. “So we’ll be going over this slowly to get it right. We’ve located a few items of interest for landing party operations, and I plan to send two teams down initially to investigate them. Other departments may pick out more locations to beam down to, but they will be under the direct purview of their department heads and will have to get cleared by the Skipper.

“Our two items are the military governed rocket launch site on the southern continent and the nuclear reactor complex on the northern continent’s surrounding islands. The first is prepping to launch a manned space vessel into orbit. We’ll be observing their procedures and recording the show from ground while Endeavour watches from orbit.”

The Chief Petty Officer held up a questioning hand.

“You said this installation is military run?”

“Yes, but a significant amount of civilian traffic has been noted. Likely observers, dignitaries and researchers.” Ron told him.

“And off-duty military.” Goodwin added. “We’re gonna have to be damn careful. And I’ll bet we’ll need base passes and the whole bag of tricks.”

Ron nodded, making a note on his PADD. He was glad to have such an experienced noncom coming along on this romp. Goodwin had been on three similar landing missions during his decade in the service. “I’ll make sure we take care of that one before we transport. We should be able to zero in on any kind of visual pass from orbit, barring bad weather. We’ll try to get as many tricorder readings as possible if a discrete method presents itself. Mostly we’re going down to watch how they do things. Surall will command this mission and you’ll be designated Team One. Team One will also be comprised of Mister Goodwin and Lieutenant Smith. Smith will be delayed, however, pending the finish of the Ya’wenn fleet intercepts he’s currently decoding.”

At this, the communications officer nodded deeply. His expression showed that he was still thinking about the traffic he’d been picking through all morning long. The boy was damn good at decryption. Ron went on.

“Team Two will be led by myself and incorporate you, Miss McCoy, as my engineering assistant and a member of the security team to back us up.” At this, Ronald looked back to Goodwin. “You have any suggestions on whom to take, Chief?”

Goodwin thought over the men and women who belonged to his security squad. “Spec One Montoya. She’s good. I think she’s been on one infil mission before, aboard the Trinidad.”

“Very well. We’ll bring her along. Type One phasers and standard away gear for all team members. We’ll try to match terrestrial clothing as closely as possible. Now, let’s go over the proposed mission sites and familiarize ourselves with the terrain.”

Ron got down to business with his people. He held off on going over the main details till Specialist Montoya could join them. He mentioned several points about problems with the Universal Translator and tricorder emissions around certain kinds of low-tech systems. He could foresee few problems beyond the normal hitches that such a mission always cropped up.
***

hope that was enjoyed...

--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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #8 on: November 02, 2007, 10:36:44 am »
This one's looking interesting.  We've never got to see the Endeavour crew on this particular kind of away mission.  Can't wait to see how their...distinctive style translates when it comes to skulking about disguised as natives.

I, of course, already knew who'd arranged the demise of Jarn's battlewagon, but I still enjoyed the revelation this time around.  Hiring out third party contractors gives plausible deniability too!  Also enjoyed the mention of the Constantinople, complete with her class designation.  I'm sure Andy missed her. :laugh:


Quote
“Not as yet, but it may be submerged and therefor nearly untraceable.” Surall replied.

 :rwoot:
"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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #9 on: November 05, 2007, 10:52:49 pm »
How 'bout sum more?


CH. 3





The Feldad Rocketry Field was a wide, flat expanse of former farmland set near to the coast of the Ulad Federation’s East Coast. This installation had been in place for the last ten years as the Fed government vied for the supremacy of space. The Ulads were so close to achieving their ultimate goal of reaching their planet’s moon, Col. Today’s space shot would bring them even closer to this lofty goal, as scientists would see how the moon craft delivery vehicle would function.

Said delivery vehicle was the final stage of a six-stage rocket that dominated the center of the Feldad Field. It was designed to deliver a seventeen ton moon lander into lunar orbit and allow it to undergo its half of the proposed moon mission. If this vehicle, with its current test load weighing eighteen tons, were successful, the proposed moon shot would then be a true reality.

A myriad of hopeful military and science personnel crawled all over Feldad field in anticipation of this success. The mission was destined to launch late today. The vehicle would then go out to an elongated orbit of the home planet, Jobia, launch its test load, then return. Millions would be watching on telecast and listening on radio. Thousands of people would be right here to get up-to-the-minute updates.

Lieutenant Surall’s landing team beamed in amid several of the furthest buildings within the fenced in perimeter of this field. Surall wore a long brown coat and a soft, woven cap over her sharp ears. Like Goodwin, the Vulcan woman had a prosthetic wedge of artificial flesh grafted onto her forehead and a series of slanted slits etched into her cheeks. So long as neither she nor her team was searched, they would pass for Jobians. Plastic coated copies of government security passes hung from both of their lapels. These, also, would bear under a certain amount of scrutiny.

Surall looked to her companion as the effects of transport faded away. Goodwin wore a shorter jacket than Surall. No male Jobians had been detected wearing long coats and it was assumed such might be a female-only fashion. The two of them wore similar clothing of loose, buttoned shirts of cotton and brown slacks. Once assured that they had escaped detection, the lieutenant nodded to the west exit from the path they stood within. There were few people in this section of the base. None had been within easy earshot of their beam-in. Those who might have heard might have attributed the sound to some piece of machinery in the area.

When they emerged from the alley-like space between the small white out buildings, both were treated with an awesome view of the three hundred sixty-foot tall rocket ship these people had constructed. Goodwin whistled aloud at the first sight of the thing, drawing a curious look from Surall and a few Jobians nearby. Goodwin shrugged as they set forth for the center of the field.

Largely, the two of them were ignored. Surall noticed those few who did look their way seemed to take a mild displeasure to their sight. Likely this was some example of racist sentiment among these lesser-advanced people. It was quite common among such species and probably based around the color of her flesh. The individuals who hid their sneers had all been colored as Dawayne, white skinned. She found such bigotry too offensive to be interesting even as a study specimen. She chose to ignore it.
Guards lined the closer perimeter within seven hundred feet of the rocket ship. None but cleared specialists showing their ID cards were allowed past the cordoned off area. The two of them drew to a respectable halt some distance from the craft and looked on as by standers. Dawayne bobbed around on his heels as they stood there in the cold wind. Surall found his nervous activity to be unbecoming, but she noticed several in the vicinity doing similar things to pass the time. It would add credence to their cover, so she did not attempt to correct it.

Her sharp eyes found a lofty building rising above the collected wooden structure in their area. This building had a long, wide observation platform standing out on its face, pointed toward the launching area. This would be an excellent place to take tricorder readings of the launch. At this moment, the platform seemed to be sparsely occupied.

“We should make our way toward that observatory.” She told Goodwin, inclining her face to the place in question. Dawayne looked out that way and gave a nod. They passed massed groups of Jobians, including a throng of media prepping their recording equipment.




Commander Davenport led his own team of explorers down the sidewalk of the small Jobian city they’d beamed down to. A few masses of this planet’s citizens strolled about them, going their own way. The team drew no odd glances or undue suspicion. It seemed as though they had successfully melded into the planet’s culture. So long as no one asked the wrong questions of them, they would maintain this façade.

The populace of this nation wore more anachronistic clothing than that of the people Team One was investigating. Their own, homespun wears were thick and dully colored, reminding the Mississippi native of thicker versions of overalls and jean pants. Most of these people were of a rough cut, knowing much hard labor and extreme cold from the northern climbs. Ronald liked the look of these hard working folks, but would not like to anger one of them. The look of their thick, callused hands told the commander that any one of them would likely tear him asunder with little effort.

The town about them was simple but efficient. Short, wooden buildings lined the streets and pathways. The roads were paved in simplistic tar and gravel material. Naked power lines hung from poles, snaking power through the area from home to home. They saw no obvious police presence, but there was no sign of crime or defacement. There were but a few motor vehicles.

Ron drew his people to a halt at the end of a street and studied the green and brown painted homes about them. Businesses and industry were evident further down the street. That would be their next area to visit. He looked back to his people. “Strange kind of town to put your most advanced power plant.” He commented to them.
Specialist McCoy looked about at the people passing by. She was nervous and timid in these new surroundings. Her behavior could tip the more observant of these aliens off to something amiss. She’d have to calm down. Maybe conversation would lull her into a more stable mood. Ron pressed further in his comment on the reactor. “McCoy, your opinion?”

The young woman’s hazel eyes widened as she realized he expected an answer, but then returned to normal. She knew that if she could not maintain control of herself, Davenport would have no recourse but to send her home. She forced herself to feign an air of calm and ran fingers through her straight combed red hair. “Russia’s first reactors were far removed from highly populated areas to safe guard them from accidental exposure in the event of an accident. Perhaps there is a similar purpose involved here. Endanger as few people as possible while they test their new plant.”

Ronald nodded to himself and looked aside. This idea did make sense, though placing an untested device close to any number of people at all seemed rather barbaric. But then, all the dangers of a new power system had to be tested out…

Security Specialist Dana Montoya eased closer to keep her words between them. She eased a sly smile onto her face to make it seem as though she was having intimate words with her companions. “The nuclear complex is at the far western edge of the city. We noted moderate security outside the plant and surrounding grounds. Night time would be best for a closer inspection.”

“Just how close do we intend to get to that thing?” Kimberly asked with mild anxiety. “Are we going to go inside the place?”

Ron shrugged a bit, leaning against a tall green sign.

“As close as it takes to get a good tricorder scan of that reactor. We’re not going to put ourselves in danger, but the more we find out about their power generating advancement, the better idea we’ll get about how long it’ll take them to reach warp drive.”

“So our peeking in on them like this isn’t just idle curiosity?”

“Not all of it. Though…I do think there is some voyeurism involved in missions like this.”

The three of them looked back down the lengthy street and studied the buildings at hand. Ron pointed to a white, stucco building with a gaily-painted sign on its face. “That looks like a restaurant of some sort. Let’s go sample some local cuisine while we think our insertion over.”

The trio of Starfleet explorers made their way leisurely down the walkway, ignorant of the black sedan pulling up behind them slowly. The driver of the vehicle killed the engine to avoid drawing suspicion to himself and his partner. Their quarry did not turn to look their way, and the two agents looked to one another with a small nod.
***





Commodore Ford looked up from the collection of indigenous clothing that lay on the bench in the transporter room’s prep area. Lieutenant Smith stepped timidly through the hatch from the corridor beyond. He had the same prosthetic modifications on his head and face and carried like disguise under his arm. The look on the kid’s face made the Commodore pause to wonder if Smith was truly ready to beam down to this alien world. His expression was one of intimidation.

“You alright, boy?”

Smith drew up short. The doors whispered closed behind. Ford stood totally erect to examine the junior officer. What had him so edgy? Smith didn’t seem to want to look him in the eye. “I didn’t realize you were coming along…sir…”

Chevy smirked without real amusement.

“Cap’n’s prerogative, son. I get to have some fun too. What’s swirling around in your mind, Noah?”

Smith’s mouth drew tightly as he looked away. Ford was beginning to suspect the kid had found something out that he wished he hadn’t. Smith looked back to Chevis. He bellied up and summoned the courage to speak out. “I’ve…just finished the decryption of our last intercepts from Kovarn.”

“And?”

“It’s in the report I filed. I thought you’d be reviewing it by now…”

“Well…Change of plans. I’m visiting the surface. Been years since I’ve done a mission like this. I haven’t read your report yet…” He looked to the boy, trying to prompt further information from him.

“Well…” Smith took a moment to control his breathing. Whatever this subject was, it was taxing him. “The vessel we observed in the Kovarn system was destroyed. The intercepted reports indicate…that a bomb was used to destroy it just before it went out on a shakedown cruise.”

“Jarn’s got a lot of enemies.” Ford said noncommittally. He knew the kid was smart, and didn’t put it past the lieutenant to have pieced something together. Really, he’d been expecting this eventually. The fact that Smith had done so already showed him just how intuitive the comm officer was. Ford would have to be damned careful to avoid giving the lad any more than he already had…

“Yeah… I wouldn’t have thought much about it ‘cept… You got that civilian comm from the CS Adder…which is also known as the mercenary ship Rattlesnake. The Rattlesnake was comming us from near the Kovarn end of the Tempest. My triangulation gear showed her to be at high warp, heading away from that the storms…”

Ford allowed an easy smile onto his face in an attempt to disarm the lieutenant’s suspicions. “What are you suggesting, Lieutenant Smith?”

Noah dropped his gaze to the deck. He wasn’t any surer of his theory than Ford was about his chances of covering up his actions forever. Ford stepped in close and grasped the young officer’s shoulder. “Go ahead and say it. You might even be right…”

“It…looks like you hired Rex Stevens…to blow up Jarn’s ship.”

The silence hung on the air for several seconds. Finally, the commodore smiled. They were alone in this room. None was around to hear what he was about to say. Smith already had the correct theory in mind. He was not ashamed of his action against Jarn. The man was a cruel murderer and a tyrant. A slave master. And Noah was a good man, worthy of his respect and the truth. Ford was eventually going to have to face the music over this. He wouldn’t lie to a good officer just to stave that off a short time.

“Yeah… I did. That ship would have eventually been set on us and been used to cause innumerable Starfleet casualties. We’ve already seen that the Warden is a serious threat. I couldn’t allow him to keep that ship.”

Smith stared back, wide-eyed in shock over the Commodore’s open candor. He obviously hadn’t expected Ford to admit his actions so easily. Ford studied the kid’s response and body language, wondering what he’d do. The silence was stifling.

“So, Mister Smith. What’s next?”

The kid could now report him to the ship’s XO, who would then be compelled to go through normal channels to deal with the matter. Ford’s career would end there, unceremoniously. He’d be dishonorably discharged and then imprisoned. It would still be worth it. Saving Federation lives from that monster outweighed his career.
Smith suddenly looked up and met the older man’s eyes. There was a sudden strength of resolve in the boy’s countenance. “When we first found that ship…we argued over whether to blow it up ourselves. If we’d had photon torpedoes, we’d have done it then and there. We considered a concentrated phaser barrage. It probably would have got us killed, and it would have botched our recon flight. We botched that anyway… We also would have killed everyone in the area of the construction yard. The civilian casualties among the Ya’wenn would have been very high… Your attack killed just over a hundred soldiers. I’d say it was the better deal…and it didn’t get our shuttle crew killed.”

Ford leaned back and away from the youth with entertained interest. He waited to see if the boy had more to say. When he said no more, Ford prodded a bit. “And you’re saying this to mean…”

Smith shrugged and smiled a bit.

“If I was a commodore…and I had the means to do this to safeguard my people…I probably would have. Or something similar. I’m with you, sir.”

The admission brought a surprising amount of relief to the flag officer. The kid was now a party to a conspiracy, but when the courts finally caught up to Ford, he would be sure to keep the kid out of the fallout. Smith’s loyalty was encouraging.

“Just keep this stuff under your hat. Just knowing about it could spell death to your career, and I expect you to be in that uniform, or one…similar to it…depending on future Fleet fashions…for decades to come.”

Smith smiled and offered a handshake. Ford accepted it, and the two men went about the process of donning their disguises to mingle with the life below. The two of them had forged an unspoken pact. One that would open up future avenues, and likely bring future pains along with it. But for now, they would put it past them and concentrate on a lighter hearted mission.
***

--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 Grim Reaper

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #10 on: November 06, 2007, 02:59:05 am »
Quote
Smith smiled and offered a handshake. Ford accepted it, and the two men went about the process of donning their disguises to mingle with the life below. The two of them had forged an unspoken pact. One that would open up future avenues, and likely bring future pains along with it. But for now, they would put it past them and concentrate on a lighter hearted mission.

I love this. But the omnious note with the gestapo/kgb/nsa like stalkers makes me wonder how much lighter hearted it will be.

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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #11 on: November 06, 2007, 03:10:28 am »
Another great chapter in a fine series.

Under normal circumstances, the scene with Smith and Ford would've been my favorite part of the story so far.  It was...well done, showing us just how smart the younger officer is (not often seen on Trek) and showing us, once again, that Ford doesn't ignore the possibility of negative consequences when he operates in a manner not expected of a Starfleet officer.  Too often fan fic heroes who use similar methods never acknowledge the vulnerable position it puts them in, or worse, escape such consequences with a flippant remark or two.

So why isn't it my favorite scene?  Simply because I really enjoyed the descriptions of the native folk, the details of the landing teams blending in and observing.  I liked Surall's realization of the native's prejudice's and her ignoring it despite her displeasure.  I liked Davenport's fond appraisal of the simpler folk in the small town.  Both scenes painted a good picture for me. 

Anyway, keep it rolling.
"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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #12 on: November 06, 2007, 12:42:02 pm »
Chapter 2 comments:

Quote
We attained a speed of warp factor eight
I realise your Helm said only up to warp 7 was available so kudos to ChEng for getting an extra factor and almost 200 more multiples of lightspeed out of her, but are you using TOS or TNG warp speeds? My Excelsiors can reach warp 11.81 on the TOS scale. The changeover date for TOS to TNG warp scale is undefined, but people seem to like the 2310s or 2320s for it.

Quote
The hiring of a crew to bomb a ship belonging to another, unaligned nation was something he could wind up serving a great deal of time for.
Why that sneaky, underhanded, low down, brilliant son-of-a-bitch!  ;D  So, that's his revenge for the last few arguments he lost... hehehe
Nice one Guv. I really liked that.

Quote
The intercom squalled again.
Nice sound-imagery (if you'll forgive the poor grammar ;)) I like the use of that word, it evokes a certain frame of mind in the listener, since we all know what a com-page sounds like.

Quote
He considered the lieutenant’s capacity to carry out a landing mission.
Good to see he isn't being flung in over his head, possibly jeopardising the safety of his crewmates and the mission. Baby steps, as it were.

Ailee Pershing, hmmm? Will she go like a rocket? :D  Always good to see hot women in uniform. Admittedly, I think it would be funny if someone Freudian slips on her, and refers to her as "Pretty Officer Pershing"... but my sense of hunour can be kinda lame at times.

Ah, Larry's Constitution-class USS Constantinople. You know, you have the Trek way of naming ships down pat, guys.

That is: Very annoying.   >:( :P ;D

Quote
“Not as yet, but it may be submerged and therefor nearly untraceable.” Surall replied.
I'm pretty sure some Cold War era novels had SSBNs being tracked by a blue/green orbital laser that can cut through interference. If it was nearly possible then, it sure as hell should be in another 300 years. Besides, Endeavour could run a pretty detailed MAD scan of the whole planet in not too long a time. She's all set up for that with her subspace and realspace sensors. Dunno why Larry "woot"-ed over this line.  :huh:

Ah, landing parties going after the secret military installations! How very! ;D  No cultural intelligence missions to find out the price of fish and how they haggle for it on this world?  :angel:
And you're sending a Vulcan down in the first party? Shouldn't you be a bit more cautious if they're Humanoid?

Miss McCoy.. I cannot see that name without immediately thinking "Medical". Kinda jarring to have her an engineer, but that was the point, so well done.

Ch 3 comments later.
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Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #13 on: November 06, 2007, 05:06:56 pm »
Quote
Ah, Larry's Constitution-class USS Constantinople. You know, you have the Trek way of naming ships down pat, guys.

That is: Very annoying.   >:( :P ;D

Don't see why that's annoying....she's clearly named for another famous ship named Constantinople, since all the others seem to follow said naming convention.  Enterprise, Yorktown, Potemkin, etc.

 ;D

Quote
I'm pretty sure some Cold War era novels had SSBNs being tracked by a blue/green orbital laser that can cut through interference. If it was nearly possible then, it sure as hell should be in another 300 years. Besides, Endeavour could run a pretty detailed MAD scan of the whole planet in not too long a time. She's all set up for that with her subspace and realspace sensors. Dunno why Larry "woot"-ed over this line.  :huh:

Because I like submarines, and any bit of 'not perfect' with Star Trek sensors is a good thing.

Also, a Magnetic Anamoly Detection scan might not work...many subs today are constructed of non-magnetic materials or, in some cases, have their steel hulls 'degaussed', rendering them magnetically neutral.  It's not a new idea, either, so while these folks seem late '50's or early 60's technology wise, it's possibile any such vessels they have have been constructed in such a manner.

And I believe the blue/green laser idea was more for communications than tracking, though I could be wrong.

« Last Edit: November 07, 2007, 12:52:48 am by Commander La'ra »
"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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #14 on: November 06, 2007, 05:47:03 pm »
Quote
...she's clearly named for another famous ship named Constantinople...
A quick Wiki and Google search reveals no ships named "Constantinople" - apart from that Trek ship from TNG that happened to be a transport ship. Your theory has a major flaw. ;D

Would you name a transport ship the Enterprise? The Yorktown? The Potemkin? Etc. ;D

I mean that you name ships in a class with no regard for the theme or profile of the class - which is exactly what real Trek does. The Pegasus was originally meant to be a Cheyenne class, before becoming an Oberth. Greek mythology name in a native people's class? Crazy Horse was also given stock Excelsior footage. Bleh.

Anyhoo, away from the thread hijacking and back to the Ch 3 commenting.

Quote
Said delivery vehicle was the final stage of a six-stage rocket...
Wow! Yon's a big beast at 360ft tall... but how come the six stages when the three-stage Saturn V was 363ft tall?

Quote
...the proposed moon shot would then be a true reality.
As opposed to an alternate or false reality? In this context, I think the "true" is redundant.

Quote
...I really enjoyed the descriptions of the native folk, the details of the landing teams blending in and observing.
I second Larry's comment. The description of Surall's team specifically, with the "we've not seen any men wearing this" comment, was beautifully done.

Quote
So long as no one asked the wrong questions of them, they would maintain this façade.
Unless they have an immediate backup plan of action for what happens when someone does ask them, I think "could" is a better word choice here.

Quote
...and extreme cold from the northern climbs.
This word is most definitely "climes" : climate <traveled to warmer climes

Quote
...ignorant of the black sedan pulling up behind them slowly.
Oh, niiiiiiiiiice! Heightened, unobtrusive surveillance has noticed strangers! And if this is a 60s Yangs vs. Kohms comparison, these poor beggars are in for some KGB-style interrogation!
Very atmospheric, very well done. Waiting on seeing what happens next!

His expression was one of intimidation.
I'm not sure "intimidation" is the best word choice here. I find myself favouring "being intimidated" or "cowed". This use - despite the obvious meaning from the context - indicates that Smith is doing the intimidation rather than being the recipient of it. Intimidating not intimidated.

Quote
Too often fan fic heroes who use similar methods never acknowledge the vulnerable position it puts them in, or worse, escape such consequences with a flippant remark or two.
I agree with Larry here, though we've seen it often enough in real Trek - the prime example being Kirk's negligence in being "caught with his britches down" by Khan. That said, we don't have to follow all the silliness on screen that contradicts common sense or standard practice - like ship naming conventions or lack thereof? :D
Good to see the consequences are ever near, lurking below an otherwise innocent scene.

Looking forward to more. This has a very TOS feel. The rocket pad team is even reminding me of 'TOS: Assignment: Earth'. Keep it up!
« Last Edit: November 06, 2007, 07:32:46 pm by Scottish Andy »
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The Senior Service rocks! Rule, Britannia!

The Doctor: "Must be a spatio-temporal hyperlink."
Mickey: "Wot's that?"
The Doctor: "No idea. Just made it up. Didn't want to say 'Magic Door'."
- Doctor Who: The Woman in the Fireplace (S02E04)

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #15 on: November 06, 2007, 11:25:17 pm »
In the RogTrek 'Verse, the USS Constantinople was named for a renown Litoral Combat Vessel which served in WWIII. HA! [Also BS, but might find its way into RogTrekdom anyway.]

As to all...and I mean ALL, mentions of grammar...

Read the first introduction to the first post. This story is barely editted.

Yeah...my rocket is tall and has a LOT of stages. Its scifi. It would look cool!

My native secret policia are based heavilly on KGB/Gestapo ideas from old B&W movies. I had fun with a lot of the details of this one. I'm glad the natives are being enjoyed. And no, my Starfleet personnel are not concerned with the mundane methods of commerce, etc. on this quaint little world. They want to see how these people make their first forays into space and want to see how their most advanced power sources work.

Not really sure why there was a quibble about sending Surall down on the first team among 'humanoids' given she is a 'humanoid' and smart enough to know how to maintain a low profile.

Star Trek sensors. Yeah...aiming a MAD detector at a planet is gonna get you a REAL BIG reading, my friend... FROM the planet. There's a reason they don't employ them from space. Also, all one has to do is imagine a higher magnetic quality to the water itself and presto...MAD is near useless. If there were an easy way of detecting submarines...they would not still be in use or developement today. I see no sensing device today or in even the very far future being so capable as to pick out a sub from orbit. This is just my opinion.

The blue green laser was reserched for detection purposes, but like any light dependant device, its range is poor under any volume of water. Just in case y'all wanted to know that particular bit from Popular Mechanics.

The name Ailee Pershing rings no particular bell with me, save that I cobbled it together from a couple different...sites...I frequent... Care to elaborate?

As to ship naming conventions, I leave that crap to real life nations. When I come up with a ship, I give it the name that fits it.

I'm glad y'all are liking this one! I was not sure at all how it would be recieved, good or bad. The flow of it bothered me, but I wrote it in such a halting, start-again-stop-again manner that it seemed in my mind to be strange. Even when I reread it, it still hold that because I still remember what I was doing while writing each scene...

But if my readers like it...I must not have botched it too bad, bad grammar and lack of editting aside.

I am in the process of editting #15. I'll do thisd one once Andy's had his way with it. [I AM taking notes, Andy...] Also...despite my wish to take a longer break from Trek writing...I started #16 today...just couldn't help myself...

More to come. Thanks for the propmt responses!

--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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #16 on: November 07, 2007, 12:57:41 am »
Quote
A quick Wiki and Google search reveals no ships named "Constantinople" - apart from that Trek ship from TNG that happened to be a transport ship. Your theory has a major flaw. ;D

300 years between now and then.  Plenty of time for a famous Constantinople. ;D

Quote
I mean that you name ships in a class with no regard for the theme or profile of the class - which is exactly what real Trek does.

*cackles* If you only knew...
« Last Edit: November 07, 2007, 12:22:48 pm by Commander La'ra »
"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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #17 on: November 07, 2007, 11:26:11 am »
Grammar edits: I wasn't picking at your spelling, it is word choice. Also, wrong word. "Climbs" is a real word, it's just the wrong word.

As for Ms. Pershing... my knowledge of this comes from the excellent movie 'Weird Science', but here's the Wiki entry on what I'm referring to:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MGM-31_Pershing

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Mickey: "Wot's that?"
The Doctor: "No idea. Just made it up. Didn't want to say 'Magic Door'."
- Doctor Who: The Woman in the Fireplace (S02E04)

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Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #18 on: November 07, 2007, 12:24:02 pm »
Does that mean she's a bombshell?

*ba bump bump*

Okay, okay, yes, that was awful.
"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 Czar Mohab

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #19 on: November 07, 2007, 06:21:03 pm »
I hate coming in at the end of all the comments... Sounds like a dead horse being beaten...  :whip:

6 stage moon shot rocket? Not to unbelievable. If you count all the pieces of the Saturn V and the apollo modules, there were the 3 main stages, the command module and the service module could be counted as 2 more, so 5? Not to beat this dead horse, but it is possible that the culture has the ability to produce more with less. After all, we don't know if their moon shot is as far out as ours was.

Naming of ships... I don't agree with Andy at all that the names are annoying. Usually when one of us writer types names a vessel, there is a reason behind the name. I personally don't care if the name fits the vessel (sometimes I do try, though). And for the record, Constantinople was the registered name of a 19th century sailing vessel. I know no more information about it. But at the same time, wasn't the first E outfitted with sails? And the later TNG era incarnation of the Const. would fit the name as a transport, IMHO, since, origionally, it was.

I'm 100% behind you with the undetectable subs. That's why they were made in the first place. I do, however, wonder why the sensors wouldn't pick up one that would be tied to a pier. Or in drydock. But, I'll leave that one up to this strange new world. They could all be out to sea.

Guv, this seriously is shaping up to be a wonderful piece. I can almost hear the din of the launch site, the "silent" black sedan; almost smell the roses, if you will. I look forward to many more chapters.


Czar "Hope the Smith-Ford dream team does just as good as the other two" Mohab

P.S. For La'ra, et al: if you haven't yet, google SSGN 726, 727, 728 and/or 729. 727 was my girl. And what a b*tch, too. Unfortunately, the best pictures of her aren't on the 'net, so far as I have seen. I'll see if I can get one for ya (not classified or anything, just not on the web).

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Offline Scottish Andy

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #20 on: November 07, 2007, 08:22:46 pm »
I was wondering what had/is happening to the Ohios. Not much call for SSBNs these days. Glad to see they are still being useful as cruise missile ships. Quietest boats that ever put to sea is their rep. A hole in the water.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #21 on: November 07, 2007, 09:58:21 pm »
*Eyes light at the sight of all the responses!*

Y'all get more story!







CH. 4





Two jet-powered aircraft passed by over the heads of the on looking spectators at Feldad Field. Lieutenant Surall watched the sleek planes pass by, studying their design. Beneath the wide lapel of her coat, her tricorder whirred as it’s scanner head recorded the various details of the two ships. Both were armed with slim, conventional missiles and had the obvious barrels of projectile cannon just beneath the cockpit. They were reminiscent of Soviet Mig 15s or ancient Vulcan Sulvaat fightercraft. Their primitive nature did not in any way mar their subtle beauty.

The two jets continued their way out of sight. The crowds below and here on the veranda of the observatory building went back to looking at other things. The original survey mission to this world had observed no flying craft what so ever. These people had developed admirably in the period since that contact. They would continue to do so providing there were no great setbacks.

Footsteps sounded from behind Surall and Mister Goodwin. There was a wooden stair directly behind them. The Vulcan lieutenant had chosen a vantage here because of it’s distance from the few others in the observation area and because she’d be able to hear the approach of passers by as they climbed the creaky steps. She tucked the tricorder back into its oversized pocket in her coat.

“Just us.” Commodore Ford called ahead of himself and Mister Smith. The science officer had not expected the ship’s commander to join them on this landing mission, but given the unpredictable nature of Commodore Ford, she was hardly surprised.

“Launch is one hour and twenty seven minutes away.” She reported to him. Anyone overhearing the Starfleet crew would hear their words in Jobian standard. Simply talking back and forth on missions like these was a technological wonder. Their words would be intercepted by an aural vocoder in their communicators, translated to a new language for the benefit of the terrestrial populace, then reintercepted by another communicator and translated back to Federation standard and projected to the ears of the intended recipient. It was easy to take such technology for granted.

“Good. I was hoping we hadn’t missed anything.” Ford replied. He tucked his hands into a brown leather jacket he wore and looked out into the distance at the great silver rocket. The ancient craft used by the United States in such ventures still existed in various museums on Earth. But to see a working, living example of a space rocket was quite a treat. “Big sucker.”

Surall could have called off the specifics of the vehicle’s dimensions and design. Such was not necessary, she knew. Therefor she sufficed with: “Yes.”

Ford noted her choice not to badger him with unnecessary information and he smiled at her. The woman did not return the gesture as Surrak, his old friend, might have. But then, Ford had never met a Vulcan like Surrak, before or since.

Surall maintained the silence and continued to look out over the launching field. The people below, near the spacecraft, had just launched into a new wave of activity. She looked more closely at them and the vehicles they drove up to the launch scaffold next to the rocket. Her tricorder made a whooping sound. Ford and Surall both looked down while she withdrew the machine enough to read its screen.

“Commodore, I’m now picking up a Gamma signature.”

With his interest now piqued, the Commodore leaned in to get a better view of her scanner’s screen. The little device was indeed depicting a radiative emission along the parameters of a fission weapon’s fuel source. This fact alarmed the starship commander and made him look to his science officer with due concern. “Where’s it coming from?”

Surall risked unveiling her scanner entirely and passed it about the space before her to attenuate the detection grid. The tricorder’s oscillations picked up in frequency and then changed to a higher tone. “Bearing 175, sir.” She pointed a slim finger to a covered vehicle painted in green camouflage. “That truck. It is carrying a fission weapon and some sort of delivery system.”

Ford looked with dismay down upon the rig and the men following its slow pace. There was a virtual army of technicians and several military handlers accompanying the thing’s payload. “I thought the audio intercepts we picked up said this was a civilian based venture. A test for a future lunar mission…”

Surall looked up from her display as she again hid the tricorder in a pocket. “It appears that this nation’s military decides what payload constitutes a test package for said lunar effort. That system is an orbital launch platform containing a nuclear missile capable of remotely striking any target on the surface of this planet, Commodore.”
A harrumph sounded from CPO Goodwin. “Sounds like what the U.S. did just before the Third World War. Wound up helping start Armageddon…”

Ford whipped his communicator out of his pocket and hid it’s small bulk in the flat of his hand. “Ford to Endeavour.”

The hissing voice of Commander Slik issued forth in response.

“Yes, Commodore?”

“Begin a new scan of the artificial satellites in orbit of Jobia, Mister Slik. Look for any kind of weapon system, active or inert. Determine its nature, and also evaluate for threat to the Endeavour.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

Ford closed the antennae and resumed watching as the truck and its escorts neared the base of the launch platform. A large crane elevator had just lowered to the ground to meet the arriving package. There were now no more civilian visitors anywhere near the rocket. They were all out of accurate sight, beyond the chain-link fence. The leaders of this government didn’t want the general populace knowing what it was about to perch above their heads.

“I’d like to know what kind of response this is going to generate from the other nations of this planet.” The skipper looked back to the communications expert. “Smith, does this nation have any enemies that you’ve been able to discern?”

The lieutenant nodded hesitantly.

“I listened to an intercept about talks between several nations geared toward the opposition of a nuclear build-up in the nation of Tadikad. That’s the nation who claims the territory around that nuclear reactor.”

“I don’t like where this is going. It’d be just our damn luck to beam down here on the day that a damn war breaks out between these people.” Chevis groused, his voice sounding like one long, strained sigh. His breath frosted on the increasing wind.

Surall looked back down to the launch area before them. The idea of a military subverting the peaceful exploratory ventures of its people was not a new one. This was just another example of such. She found it disturbing to find such patterns repeated in exact detail on so many different worlds. Were all governments basically corrupt, or only a percentage of them? Humanoid life seemed to fall into patterns of behavior and often repeated these patterns to infinity. Vulcan had once been very much the same. Only adherence to a doctrine of emotional control saved them and drew them forth from their darkest period. It made her uneasy to see so many examples of life that could and often did fall into that dark morass of destruction and violence. Many of those did not find so easy a way back into the light.

The science officer sank into her own thoughts even as her acute perception detailed the entire goings on beneath and before her. Ford had drawn quiet, leaning on the wooden support rails before him and grimacing as he thought about what these people were about to launch themselves into. She could not see either Smith or Goodwin and had no idea about their thought about the matter.

Since her speaking with Ambassador Spock those weeks prior, she had begun to observe her crewmates more closely and learn of them. Humans were among the most diverse and unpredictable species available for study, and the most prodigious among Endeavour’s compliment of 800. Also, she had been the least comfortable among them. Their constant, morphing emotional hemorrhaging was unsettling to her. She had lived on Vulcan for 92% of her life to date. Only her acceptance to the Academy on Earth had lured her away from cultural seclusion. Her new surroundings had not caused her much grief at first, given the scholastic nature of her surroundings in the classroom environment. But upon graduation and her first assignment to a Fleet ship, she had instantly met unrestrained Starfleet men and women from many worlds and cultures. None of them had sought emotional control, few were even half as reserved as her people. She saw them as an unstable and infectious mass, liable to lead her away from the goals she’d set for herself in joining Starfleet.

This lack of emotional control, she realized today, seemed even to bleed into a government’s handling of its affairs. An impulsive, probably paranoid thought had seized control of people at the higher echelon of control, and taken root among the military. Now, this thought was taking shape in a machine built for a preemptive strike on its neighbors. This realization of how unrestrained emotion and bad judgement could mold the affairs of an entire race or nation made her all the more wary of the non-Vulcan.

But the ambassador had spoken of embracing her comrades for their differences and learning from them. Could the same somehow benefit her in learning from these people? How could she approach this quandary?

Her reverie was ended as the commodore stood straight and waved for his people to follow him to the far end of the platform. “I think we might get a better scan of that launching aperture from down here.”
***

--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 Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #22 on: November 13, 2007, 11:03:33 pm »
Well...no one's posting much. I assume RL has turned back into her bitchy self. So I'll inject some more story and see if things liven up some.


CH. 5





Commander Davenport savored the taste of the drink in his hand as he held his glass aloft. This restaurant was more along the line of a tavern or a bar and grill. Several surrounding patrons enjoyed alcoholic beverages and ate small lunch plates in the presence of comrades. The atmosphere of this establishment was one of friendship and collective toil. Each of the people within the pub seemed to know one another. They did not know the Starfleet explorers, but it seemed to mean little to them.

The drink Ron sampled was something the barmaid had called Yfette. It tasted like honey and smelled like vodka. It burned stoutly on the way down. He set the short tumbler back on the round wooden table. “Now that could grow hair on your chest…” He looked up to the female members of his landing party. “Y’all might want to steer clear of it.”

Spec McCoy grinned sheepishly and tossed back a short pull of the same poison.

“Nothing we haven’t got back home, XO.”

Montoya gave the two of them a dubious look as she toyed with her own, nonalcoholic drink. “Let’s not get carried away. That stuff might have more of a punch than you think, and we’re on the clock.”

Ron nodded to her. She was right. He figured a country girl such as McCoy might be able to drink most of the crew under the table. But they still needed all their wits about them. He could still feel the warming of the drink in his throat. “You’re right. We’ll go easy on this stuff.”

Their waitress returned a moment later, bearing a tray against her ample hip as she looked them over with a reserved smile. “Enjoying the Yfette, Visitors?”

“Yes.” Ron answered for them, trying to match the woman’s expression. “How’d you know we were strangers?”

The lady smiled even larger, as though being asked a mildly dumb question. “I’d have recognized you if you lived here in Hetonna. Small town you know. Are you specialists with the power plant?”

Ronald nodded shortly.

“Government reviewers, actually.”

The barmaid looked off through the windows toward the general vicinity of the plant’s smokestacks. Some smoke could be seen floating skyward. “Never liked that thing. But you made the electric costs so cheep that we can hardly gripe.”

To take further advantage of his impromptu disguise, Davenport faced the woman more fully and leaned back in an engaging manner. “You don’t trust atomic power? Why not?”

The lady looked unsettled suddenly and glanced about. She looked as though she was worried over admitting secrets to a governmental overlord. “Well…”

“No reason to worry. You can speak freely.” Ronald assured.

“Well…there’s the radiation. The sicknesses…”

“Has there been a history of that here?”

She looked at him anew, as though surprised by the question. Ron knew he’d have to be careful not to go too far in his inquiries. “No…not yet. The plant’s only been there for three years. Some…”

“Some?” He prodded gently. Davenport’s team members watched on with interest and tried to look less than intimidating. The woman seemed to take some confidence from that and looked back to Ron.

“Some scientists have said that the effects could happen over a long term…taking years to bring on the sickness. And some people say that children are being born with deformities.” The local woman’s confidence was increasing as she spoke out more openly about her reservations. Her concerns were legitimate ones. The effects from primitive nuclear reactions were well-documented on hundreds of worlds.

Ron noticed that several of the pub’s patrons had taken note of their conversation. They were leaning in with interest to hear what was being said, but remaining aloof to avoid being involved. Likely this government took a dim view on opinions counter to the decisions of office. He decided not to prod the lady much further. He didn’t want to bring her problems in the future.

“I see. Well,” A hand on Ronald’s arm silenced him before he could get much further. The woman he was speaking to looked up suddenly and seemed to hide a gasp. Ron looked to see both his subordinates looking toward the door. He followed their gaze.

Just inside the door, two men wearing thick, long black over coats and small black hats with long brims stood there staring at the Starfleet team. Obvious weaponry bulged out beneath their left arms. Concealed firearms. One of the two put on a small, facetious smile and took several steps toward them.

“If you would be so kind, friends, we’d like you to come with us.” The closest said.

McCoy and Montoya both looked back to Davenport, their expressions slightly frightened and confused as to what to do. Ron understood that these men likely belonged to some kind of secret police. A person might expect to find such near a brand new power plant like the one sitting seven kilometers from here. It also meant the team had made some kind of small mistake to draw their interest. He hoped to be able to diffuse the situation before it went too far.

“Can we help you?” He asked them benignly.

The speaker smiled even wider with contemptuous sarcasm. He peered from beneath the turned down brim of his fedora-like hat. “We’re rather certain that you can, sir. If you’ll accompany us to our sedan?”

Ron shrugged slightly. He could not help but notice that the bar’s patrons were gaining their distance from he and his team. The waitress had been the first to step away. Now she was behind the counter, pretending to busy herself with wiping down glasses.

“My associates and I are rather busy with our affairs today—“

“It wasn’t a request, sir.” The little man told Ron with a chuckle. His partner had now discretely drawn a revolver and held the weapon low to his side. This was going to come down to a fight. It would be best to orchestrate it so as not to include innocent bystanders. Ron stood, motioning for his people to do the same.

“Alright. We’d be glad too.”

The little agent smiled again, staring acidly at the alien before him as the party was led toward the door and out onto the street. The sedan the speaker had mentioned resided at the end of the block, just out of sight of the tavern’s windows. It was empty right now. That meant there were only two of these men in the immediate vicinity. He didn’t think they would have hidden extras. The Starfleet team didn’t have any obvious weapons on them.

The littler man guided them down the walk from ahead and to the left. He walked mostly sideways to keep an eye on his charges. The taller agent fell in behind, his pistol now raised and aimed for Ron’s back. Both Montoya and McCoy were in front of Davenport. By the nature of her stance, Ron could tell that Dana was ready to move swiftly and draw her phaser. He didn’t know how the engineering spec would react once the fighting started. He hoped she’d at least hit the dirt. She was Fleet trained; he shouldn’t have to worry too much about it.

These fellows would likely try to search the trio near or at the car. This would be the best time to turn the encounter around. One of the men would likely disarm himself to search his prisoners. That left only one armed man covering the three of them. Montoya would be waiting for just such an opportunity as well. Were he searched first, Ron decided he would take the initiative to pull attention to himself. If Montoya were first, he’d wait for her action and react accordingly. They were nearing the vehicle, now. The speaker slowed and hung back. He was smart. He’d be the hard one to get past. His gun was now sliding forth from his pocket. Ron took some reassurance in the fact neither man bore a silencer.

Silencers meant no search. No prisoners. Just bodies.

Ron began to tense as they came within reach of the waiting sedan. He allowed his arms to rest loosely at his sides, hands open and ready. He saw that the security officer did the same. The taller agent pushed McCoy first toward the hood of the car. He began to place his weapon in his coat pocket while the short man drew to a halt and looked directly at Ron. The commander studied the face of his adversary. The agent was looking solely at him. The expression on his face was expectant of trouble. He knew what Ron was planning…

The roar of approaching jet aircraft shook the buildings of the small town. Windows rattled in their frames. The roar grew and increased, thundering as the unseen craft blew in closer. Ron looked up and to the northeast to catch sight of the aircraft. What the hell was going on? Did these people put up with low-flying jets every day? The sound was painfully intense!

The great bulk of a swept winged plane with a long fuselage shot past over their heads, barely a hundred fifty feet above the ground. There was a glaze of atmosphere directly behind the jet as the ship neared the speed of sound. Another craft was hot on its tail, both of them huge, eight engine vehicles. They hurtled out of sight, but the sound did not abate. It only grew.

Ron took a glance to the agent covering them. Both dark clad men continued to watch them, but still looked skyward to the aircraft every second or so. More craft were coming. The third and forth jets, bombers like those before, shot into view, hot on their brothers’ heels. The scream of their engines was approaching the highest tone.
They broke the sound barrier directly over the town. Windows burst as a visible shockwave blasted down on them all. Both agents threw their hands over their heads and crouched low to protect themselves from the perceived danger. Beyond the possibility of ruptured eardrums, Ron knew there would be no immediate hazard from the passing of those ships. They were low enough to break glass and buffet bodies, but not low enough to knock them flat. He ducked with the pain assaulting his head, snatching his phaser free of his pocket. He aimed and snapped off a swift pulse of ionized energy, folding the short policeman up into an untidy ball on the concrete. Montoya fired off a long blue shot into the one who’d been frisking McCoy. That one fell forth into the engineer and slid down her body to the ground.

While another duo of aircraft screamed past overhead, well above the speed of sound, Ron shouted ineffectually to his party to follow him into the near alleyway. Neither heard him, though McCoy noticed him speaking. Whether their ears were functional, Ron couldn’t tell. The continuing stream of flying aircraft ensured their inability to talk back and forth.

The commander loosed a shot of phaser energy into the door panel of the sedan, drawing Montoya’s attention. He pointed toward the alley and then pressed into a steady trot. Their hands were pressed to their ears against the torturous sound as they ran for cover.
***



There we go, y'all. I know the whole sound barrier penetration description is a bit off, but I was trying to go for a more '60's feel for the scene.

Hope this was enjoyed.

--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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #23 on: November 14, 2007, 01:37:24 am »
One of the little things I like about this one is reinforcing the '1960's' atmosphere with subtle mentions of our own tech from the era...the MiG-15's, the multi-staged rockets, the fact that the agent had a revolver, still more commonly issued at the time, etc.  The scene with the planes flying over reminded me of those old 'Strategic Air Command' type movies, with lots of big-ass planes flying very low...though I'm now quite curious about what the planes are up too.

Keep 'er comin'.
"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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #24 on: November 14, 2007, 02:08:17 am »
...though I'm now quite curious about what the planes are up too.



...it's not obvious?

Perhaps I'm not as transparent as I thought.

--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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #25 on: November 14, 2007, 03:32:10 am »
...it's not obvious?

Perhaps I'm not as transparent as I thought.

Well, I'd guess they're attacking ye olde nuclear facility or scrambling to defend the same...but you've surprised me before, and beyond that, there's always the details. ;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 Grim Reaper

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #26 on: November 15, 2007, 06:13:03 am »
We have in story dialog indicating tension + bombers + nuclear facility + rocket launch. Either the nuke and/or rocket get it or the bombers are stopped in time. But you don't use bombers for defense like that.
« Last Edit: November 15, 2007, 06:47:05 am by Grim Reaper »
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 Czar Mohab

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #27 on: November 15, 2007, 01:45:57 pm »
Not to big of a review today, I'll get back to this review when I can; busy day today.

-Couldn't help but think "Men in Black"~ two agents aresting aliens...
-Nuclear plant seems Soviet (We had our issues, too, but look at their history! I wouldn't even know where to begin with Sovietr nuclear issues, most fit this place)
-Rocket/moonshot seems USA (Assuming that you are using US/Soviet cold war/late '60s for reference & style)
-Hypothesis: Bombers going to nuke Rocket.

Oh, Gotta jet, sorry!

Czar "Some more, please?" Mohab
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #28 on: November 15, 2007, 08:16:35 pm »
But you don't use bombers for defense like that.

No...WE don't.

They do.

There's a bit more to it, though. This story isn't about analysing their defense in depth, however. More about surviving someone's else's mistakes.

--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 Grim Reaper

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #29 on: November 16, 2007, 07:22:04 am »
...

No...WE don't.

They do.

There's a bit more to it, though. This story isn't about analysing their defense in depth, however. More about surviving someone's else's mistakes.

--guv!

Well, ^ made me even more curious!
GIMME MORE


(and I mean NO f*ckney Drugney Spears who stole my line)
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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #30 on: November 16, 2007, 09:13:16 pm »
It's just cuz she wants you, Grim.  She's trying to get your attention.
"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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #31 on: November 16, 2007, 10:22:45 pm »
Alrighty...now things get interesting.

BTW...how's the editting been so far. Horrid mistakes? [Andy can't be the one answering this one...]






CH. 6






Lieutenant Commander Rathus Slik stood rigid and watched as the junior officer manning the main sensor console went about their relayed orders. Endeavour’s sensors scoured the orbital area of the planet Jobia, looking for any spaceborne weapons platforms that might exist. Both these officers seemed proficient. Both seemed well versed in their duties and diligent.

They were also scared to death of him.

Slik found this entertaining. Such fears and apprehension were supposedly far behind the races of the enlightened Federation. Such rubbish. Primal fear among primate species in the presence of large reptilian creatures was hardwired into the brain. These Earthers thought themselves so far removed from their animal beginnings. Such thought was as foolish as it was counter productive.

The Gorn officer stepped back out of their perceptual range and leaned against the tactical console. The weapons officer did not fear him so much. He smelled little fright within Nechayev. No, more the lieutenant felt great loathing and hostile feelings for Slik. His every sense was attuned to Slik’s movements and actions. Daniel Nechayev would cooperate with the Gorn. He would follow his orders. But the weapons officer very much wanted a reason to harm Commander Slik.

Since his coming to the Federation and being sponsored into Starfleet, Slik had not encountered such a negative force directed his way. For some reason, the gunner hated him. Likely hated all Gorn. He decided that he’d devote some research to Nechayev’s past to discover the reason for such animosity. Curiosity ate at the commander every time he thought about the weapons officer and the smell that emanated from him.

“Commander.” One of the sensor officers piped up. Rathus’s attention refocused on the science console.

“Yes?”

“We have yet to detect any space weapons of any kind. However, there are twelve nuclear armed vehicles traveling at supersonic velocity on a southerly heading.” The youngest, golden haired male told him.

“Course?”

“Indeterminate as yet, sir.” There was hesitation in the young one’s response. “But the rocketry field is close by the projected flight path the craft are currently on. If they angle their path toward the field, they will be over it inside fifteen minutes.”

Slik turned, paying the sensor officers and tactical no further attention, and descended to the conn. His long, clawed talon tapped the intercom controls. “Transporter rooms! Reaffirm your lock on the landing parties!”

“Aye, sir.”

Another tap to the controls.

“Commodore Ford, this is Lieutenant Commander Slik. Respond, please.”





Ford’s comm buzzed silently in his oversized pocket, the movement alerting him to the call. He withdrew the device carefully and withdrew into a recess built into the wooden wall behind him. There were about fifty observers up here on the platform now. Talking on a wireless device now would definitely arouse suspicion. “Ford.”

“Commodore, this is Slik. We have detected a large squadron of heavily armed nuclear bombers en route to your general location. I suggest egress.”

Ford looked up to his fellow officers. They nodded that they’d understood the message. As a whole, they turned to head back to the stair that had brought them here. The building flow of spectators was growing thicker by the passing second. As the launch time approached, many were seeking a good place to view the spectacle. The CO grimaced, holding his communicator low as he stepped in behind Goodwin to cover his use of alien tech. “Egress may be difficult. A crowd’s drawing in this area. How long till arrival of aircraft?”

“Fourteen minutes, sir.”

Ford clapped the antennae down on the comm and tucked it away. He had no idea how long it would take to reach a safe area for beam out. He wished for the millionth time for Sharp’s renowned ‘Sixth Sense’ for danger. It had saved unknown hundreds of landing parties from just this sort of calamity. While the commodore had expected a war to eventually break out among these people, he’d figured on more of a warning than this.

The landing party moved ahead with all due swiftness, pushing their way at times through the thickening crowd. The observers seemed confused that anyone would want to leave this strategic viewing area. Some pushed back against the crew, rudely spitting insults at them. At last they reached the head of the wooden stair. The path down was all but blocked off. Some of the kinder individuals made a way for them along one side. The party was able to escape the platform level one at a time, with Ford bringing up the rear.

Three minutes were thusly lost.





Slik leaned close, his earlier amusement and the cause for it momentarily lost to the crisis. The techs sitting side by side before him had all but tuned out his presence and acknowledged him only as a senior and the officer of the deck. The Gorn commander watched as the icon on his screens shifted and slowly advanced on the nation who prepared to launch their rocket skyward. Due to the upload from Surall’s tricorder and their own sensor sweep of the rocket field, Endeavour’s crew was well aware of the existence of fission weaponry in Ford’s location.

New telemetry was beginning to spring up along the border zone.

“I think the southern nation has gone on the alert, Commander.” The senior of the technicians told Slik. “I read aircraft launches from several airfields and ground based ordnance becoming mobile. I’m also getting more fission signatures!”

“Details?” Rathus asked.

“Field cannon…heavy bore.” The kid read from the screen. The young officer was not familiar with primitive artillery. He was having to report only what the computer told him. This process was slower than what an experienced, knowledgeable officer could render. “Nuclear shell-cased projectiles. Projected yield 500 kilotons.”

“They attempt to defend themselves.” Rathus commented. He privately wished them luck. Their success in defending themselves would safeguard the CO and his people. These details were now being fed to the tricorders of the ground teams. Perhaps they might find it useful should they actually have the time to read it.

“The aircraft are splitting up!” The most youthful of the pair of tech’s reported. She pointed to the craft depicted on the screen. The vessels were indeed taking divergent routes to their targets. They were flying in pairs, their speed nearly twice that of sound. “Two units are bearing for Commodore Ford’s position…with another two still capable of rerouting to strike there as well.”

“Redundancy…” Slik muttered further. His refractive eyes turned to another monitor, one showing the transponder markers for Ford’s landing party. His group had yet to leave that building. Should he be forced to, Slik was not above abandoning the Prime Directive and beaming his crew out in full view of every primate down there. The transporter rooms were on hot standby, awaiting his order.

“Antiaircraft fire now opening along the border region. Interceptor fighters closing on first two flights of bombers.” The two continued to report.

“Shall I go to alert status?” Nechayev asked the deck officer.

Slik turned around languidly. He’d nearly tuned out the very existence of the remainder of the bridge crew. Both Lieutenants Nechayev and Bronstien were staring intently his way. The weapons officer did so with obvious distaste. Rathus considered the suggestion.

“Indeed, Lieutenant. Sound Yellow Alert, but leave deflectors down for swift transport purposes.”

“Aye.”

Slik looked back to the helmsman who smelled of artificial prosthetics. The youngling seemed very attuned to the disposition of the parties on the ground. He’d likely served with these people for some time. Primates developed such overstated attachments. Slik cocked his head and returned his own view to the array of screens before him at science.

“Bombers have breached the first barrier of AA guns, Commander.” The tech was reporting further. “Aircraft are far too high up to be hit by those guns. I’m not reading guided ground to air weaponry. One intercept squadron now coming into weapons range of bomber unit three…”

The battle began to ensue on the main monitor. Slik half watched it unfold while continuing to glance at the ground team’s signatures. They had parted themselves from the observatory and were halted behind it. The number of lifesign indicators in the area was increasing by the second. The whole collection of aliens within the field was converging on that one building.

“Border cannon are opening fire on the northern country, Commander!” The young female reported, jabbing a pale finger to the indicators. “They’re firing their nukes!”





Commander Davenport slowed to a trot as he and his party emerged from the last in a long series of alleyways. They had left the tavern and their stunned policemen far behind. They were nearly across town from their starting point and well out of immediate danger. The XO paused to take stock of his two team members. Both were short of breath after their breakneck run, but no worse for wear. Neither was injured.

Montoya was looking straight at him and speaking. He could barely hear the slightest of mumbles from her. She wasn’t shouting for all to hear, thankfully. He probably still wouldn’t have understood her if she had been. He silenced her futile attempts by pointing to his ear and shaking his head.

Ronald took a slow look around their surroundings, careful to watch for witnesses. This mission was no longer viable given the police interest in them and the apparent war footing these people were on. Finding no one within the immediate vicinity, he drew out his command flipped it open. The familiar tingle of the transporter field took him just as his finger found the control to signal recall. Someone on the other end had had the same idea.

The blue glow of subspace energy enfolded around the away team and deposited them back within the semi-dark confines of Endeavour’s transporter room. Ron glanced at his people, who were now positioned behind him, and then nodded to the transport operator. The middle-aged woman at the controls was saying something to him. He couldn’t help but wince out a smile. This was going to be an entertaining next few minutes…





Ford and party halted and tried not to seem desperate to leave as the seven, armed men appeared at the edges of the gathering crowd of guests flocking around the observation center. The men before them were arrayed in full combat gear, green fatigues and helmets. They had semi-automatic rifles in hand and stern looks upon their faces. Those among the crowd who noticed the soldiers looked back and forth with confusion. An alarm soon began to wail in the distance.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The senior among the Jobian soldiers began to address the now concerned mass. “A condition of emergency now exists at this field! The Tadikad Affiliation has launched a strike on this installation and we are now all in danger! You will follow us as directed to the on-base bomb shelter. You must move quickly and orderly! Please, move this way!”

The soldier pointed off to a long row of green painted buildings with a heavy, reinforced concrete foundation. The murmuring of the crowd began to increase dramatically as their course was changed and they were herded toward this area of safety. Ford looked about quickly for an easy route toward escape for he and his party. None abounded. More soldiers were being deployed to handle the large number of civilians as they were moved slowly but steadily toward the intended buildings.

Shelter in this structure may or may not be sufficient to avoid injury and rad poisoning from a nuclear strike. Ford did not like the idea of remaining here and trusting to these people’s capacity for construction and the targeting priorities of the enemy. He’d order his people beamed up in the midst of them if he were forced to. His communicator vibrated in his coat. Hunkering close behind Mister Goodwin and Smith, he answered it.

“Ford, go ahead!”

“Commodore, the XO’s position has been shelled by ballistic cannon firing nuclear ordnance.” Commander Slik told him. “I ordered his immediate transport prior to impact. They were extracted well before the attack struck.”

“The reactor?”

“Being hit now. Projections show the entire area will be destroyed, including the nearby town. The airforce of the southern nation is having little success in bringing down the supersonic bombers en route to you. You now have four minutes to make your exit.”

“If we don’t make it away from the crowd in time, you initiate transport, Mister Slik. I don’t like the Prime Directive well enough to be a wall shadow!”

“Understood, sir. Endeavour out.”

Chevis looked up and about once more as he put away his communicator. One of the Jobian women nearest him had overheard most of what he’d told Slik and was staring wide-eyed as they jostled along with the masses. Ford shot her a sad smile and turned away. He hoped very much that the woman would still be alive an hour from now. “I think we’re probably just gonna have witnesses to our extraction,” he told his crew.

Lieutenant Surall turned half around to look back to her commander. “That is unfortunate, but hardly avoidable at this point. I don’t believe there will be any survivors to report our mysterious disappearance.”

“Why?”

“The concrete comprising the structure we’re being guided toward is inferior. It will collapse under the stress and heat of a nuclear detonation above four hundred kilotons. Endeavour’s computers report the devices used by the northern forces to be in excess of half a megaton.”

The commodore panned the crowd visually and swallowed. There were nearly a thousand people within easy view of him. More within the near buildings and about the rocketry platform. Most of them were going to die, while he and his crew beamed away to safety. It was a sobering thought. There was no transporter room waiting far above to take these victims away from their deaths.

The Starfleet team continued on, slowing as the crowds bunched up and pressed into the shelter. They had just over a minute left till Armageddon came calling.


'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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #32 on: November 16, 2007, 10:25:56 pm »


“Commander Slik! One of the aircraft approaching the Commodore’s position has opened it bomb bay doors… They are preparing to deploy weapons.”

Rathus approached closer to the command sensor station and peered down on the graphics being displayed on the tactical monitors. That plane was maintaining its formation with the aircraft beside it, and they’d out paced their pursuers with superior speed. There did not appear to be any malfunction within the bomber. No… They intended to drop their ordnance earlier than expected. What was their new target?

“What lies directly before them?” He asked the officers. The male tech panned his sensor scope over the terrain till a wide group of buildings became evident before his eyes. He looked back to the Gorn commander with shock.

“There’s a medium sized city between them and the rocket field, sir!”

Behind Slik, Lieutenant Nechayev stirred.

“Commander, if they drop their veapons vhile our team is on the surface, ve may be unable to retrieve them vith the transporters!”

Gamma radiation and sharp EM discharges disrupted most forms of transporter technology on a wide scale. Slik headed back to the conn and the intercom controls there. “Transporter rooms! Beam in the Commodores team immediately—“

“Too late!”

Slik whirled about to look to science. A great pulse of light was evident in the path of the planes passing over that city. They’d dropped two weapons on the city. He glared back down at the intercom panel. “Transport now!”

“Energizing, Commander!” Came the response on the other end of the comm. “It’s going to be rough!”





Chief Petty Officer Lori McColluck worked her hands over the transport control panel before her. She was already beginning to perspire undetectably about the collar. The electromagnetic burst had already blanketed the area about the rocket field, twelve kilometers distant from the blast. The subspace buffer assembly was slow to react amid the interference and the computer was advising her to abort the cycle.

She’d never get a better chance than this to bring the Skipper in.

Once the Gamma radiation emission reached the beam up sight, she’d lose the landing party. She had to get them home now. If the beam would only maintain solidity for another four seconds!

“Gamma radiation surge detected!” The feminine sound of the ship’s main computer said, it’s tone one of detached indifference. Lori cursed vehemently. The side doors to the transporter room parted as her most immediate senior officer entered at a trot.

“What’s going on!” Ensign Timier asked. The Rodelian junior officer skidded to a halt within the transport control booth and moved close to assist the CPO.

“Gamma surge. I’m losing the Skipper’s team!”

“Degradation is at 30%. Reset through the buffer and cross circuit to initiator circuit B.”

“Maintain this enhancement profile and I will.” Freed of the tedious demands of manually operating the landing team’s pattern within the transport grid, McColluck moved to the rear control panel in the pod and accessed the main buffer interface. There she began to manipulate the rerouting controls that would shunt the beam from one emergency system to another.

“Cross-circuiting to B!” She told Timier.

The machinery beneath the deck before the transporter alcove groaned and charged anew as the system redoubled its efforts to bring home the CO’s team. The transporter began to generate a diffuse glow of azure energy over two of the pads. Timier glanced back at the Petty Officer, fear evident in her yellow eyes. “Two of the signatures are undergoing severe signal degradation. If we fall below 65% we’ll have to reverse the cycle.”

“If we do that, two people are going to be dropped back down into a war zone!”

Timier shrugged.

“Better than losing them!”

McColluck shot a glare back to the ensign.

“It might be the same damn thing, sir!”

Timier said nothing further. Both knew what might have to be done. Neither liked it.

“Transporter Room One, report!” Commander Slik’s serpentine voice demanded above the call of the alarms. Timier looked aside just slightly to address the intercom.

“We’re working on it, bridge. Stand by!”

“We need more buffer resolution!” McColluck shouted out. Her attempts to strengthen the field had all but failed, and were only prolonging the abortion of the entire procedure. “If we can’t stabilize the carrier signal, the patterns will start to degrade!”

Timier shook her spike haired head.

“We’re not going to be able to stabilize the sig—“

“I’m cross-circuiting to A and C!”

“That’s crazy! The EPS array can’t handle it!”

“It’ll buy us time!”

The deck began to shudder with the efforts of the system imbedded in the innards of the ship. The Petty Officer glanced back to the alcove. The two shafts of subspace energy were coalescing, becoming more solid. Humanoid silhouettes were now evident within the transfers. Both were male in form. Nothing could be seen of the other two patterns.

“Transporter Room!” Slik called out again. “Report landing party status!”

“We’re losing them!” Lori shouted at him. Alarms were picking up frequency. Red damage flashers were beginning to paint the room crimson. “We need more power!”

“Transferring EPS control to transporter Room One!” Slik answered.

A bank of control immediately lit and flashed for attention. Under the reproaching eye of Ensign Timier, Lori increased buffer power to more than 30% over maximum. The transporter began to scream as its machinery neared overload. Timier looked back to her own panel.

“Signals One and Three are stable. Two and Four are losing pattern resolution!”

“I can get more power—“

“Lori! The grid is overloading!”

“I can do it!”

“I’m finalizing transport on the two we have!” The transport chief turned, nearly ready to strike her superior for overriding her. Her eyes gaped wide as the Rodelian’s blue hands played over the main controls. “Energizing now.”

The two intact patterns became solid and took on their own color as the fields of blue energy faded away and ended. When the field terminated, it left behind CPO Goodwin and Lieutenant Smith in a state of acute confusion. Timier tapped the intercom even as she worked on trying to salvage the remaining two patterns. “Bridge, we have two of them.”

Two circuits blew spectacularly beneath the transporter platform. Both Goodwin and Smith ducked low and ran free of the danger area. Smoke blossomed from the inner workings of the buffer as series upon series of fuses and circuitry lost cohesion. Goodwin bent low just as soon as he cleared the alcove and tore away two access panels to expose the burning workings there. Smith hung back, unnerved.

“Transporters are going down!” McColluck reported.

“Reversing transport now!” Timier replied. She glanced aside as Lori rejoined her there at the main controls. “Where do I put them?”

Lori took over the targeting array.

“Anywhere they aren’t kicking the hell out of each other!”
***

--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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #33 on: November 16, 2007, 11:08:22 pm »
Nuke-firing artillery...bombers obliterating cities with single weapons...feels like a good ol' '60's era 'End of the World' war movie, with no Henry Fonda to negotiate with the other side. ;D

Very fond of several bits of this chapter.  Slik's alien point of view and the way he associates smells and impressions with people rather than their names.  All the detail in regard to the nuclear war breaking out on the surface.  Slik and Ford's 'People first, PD second' attitudes.  The transporter being shown as both fallible and something that can be coaxed, jury-rigged, but still might not work.

Best little bit though was this...

Quote
One of the Jobian women nearest him had overheard most of what he’d told Slik and was staring wide-eyed as they jostled along with the masses. Ford shot her a sad smile and turned away.

His expression and the way you wrote it here says volumes.  We know he can't save all the people who're going to die, probably not even the woman he just locked eyes with.  He knows it, doesn't like it, but prepares to save his crew anyway, but can't help feeling something in regard to what's probably gonna happen.  This line says all that without saying any of it.  Excellent.
"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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #34 on: November 17, 2007, 06:48:17 pm »
+K 4 U!!

--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 Andromeda

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #35 on: November 18, 2007, 12:19:56 am »
As promised.  Thanks for looking at Calyx.  I read the whole thing but stopped nitpicking after the first two parts as I got too engrossed in the story.

I haven't read 1-13, so I don't know if this is part of a series. 

Prologue: It's an interesting beginning to it, but I have a criticism.  The build up to the ship exploding is just a few sentences too long.  I figured it out before it happened, and wasn't surprised by the explosion.

Chapter 1: I read the sentence about the crew turning to smile at Ford and pictured a giant combined being with a hideous giant smile on its face.  Creepy.  Out of yard space to space.  A nit: how about deep space?

Chapter 2: Rex: allover covered.  Isn't all over two words? I like the away mission to the planet.  Tension without being blasted by Klingons as the result is pretty nice to see in ST.

Chapter 3:Yeah, the scenes with the natives here were really good.  I think the scene with Ford and Noah was awkward.  Probably it should have been awkward.  Undetectable sub with a nuclear reactor.  Not likely given the few nuclear power plants on the planet.  Starship sensors should be detecting things in ways modern science can't expect to protect against, especially when those starships were designed by people who went along the same evolutionary path.  Leeway for fiction is allowed.

Chapter 4:  I have nothing to add.  I really liked it. 

Chapter 5:  I've got it figured out.  But that was exciting adn confusing.  As it should be.

Chapter 6: I love pathos.  And a good shift in where the tension is to remind us that the story is about the starfleet people not the world that just blew itself to hell.

Having read it all at once, I was struck by the parity between the events of the prologue and the events of the story.  How is the Federation so different in making a preemptive strike on an enemy battleship any different from the one nation launching a preemptive bombing raid on an enemy nuclear facility?
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #36 on: November 18, 2007, 12:32:24 pm »
Post Apocalyptic is one of my favorite themes. Another would be those leading up to the end (which is why I really liked the Fallout game series (even that lame wad PS2 attempt to cash in on the name (it was someone else's game, so I didn't mind playing it too much)) and the Terminator trilogy. I own what is probably the most awesome nuclear war type docudrama, Atomic Cafe; I own a book (sorry I forgot the name, it is still packed!) that covers a lot of nuclear blunders (including K-19, TMI, Chernobyl, etc.), not to mention my personal favorite Crimson Tide (having served on an SSBN, I have to just say "close enough" to that one); and of course, 4+ years on board SSBN/SSGN 727...  In short, I FREAKING LOVE THIS (end of the world) STUFF!!

That being said, this was awesomely written, with a lot of that "will they make it?" suspense. Its just freaking amazing. Seriously.

Best line:
Quote
“...I don’t like the Prime Directive well enough to be a wall shadow!”

Gives you that feeling of "oh, crap" later on when Ford doesn't quite come home. Also  brings up the question, "Does it violate the PD if those that saw died right after?" Some might say yes, I'd go with no.

I wouldn't be too surprised if some of those "undetected" nuclear subs became detected soon, either launching ICBMs, or their own nuclear tipped torpedoes (again, assuming a parallel with 60's Earth). While Slik and company might not be too interested in marking the occurrence, I'm pretty sure Endeavor's sensors will make a nice and neat little recording for our good Commodore's later perusal. Assuming, of course, he does come back.

I don't recall if I said this before or not, but it is a nice change of pace from the Ya'weenies.

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Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #37 on: November 18, 2007, 10:13:14 pm »
Post Apocalyptic is one of my favorite themes. Another would be those leading up to the end

The Guv and I are both big fans of The Bedford IncidentFail Safe was a wee bit overrated, but still enjoyable, and there's always Doctor Strangelove.  Something about Slim Pickens riding an atomic bomb down to it's target while waving his cowboy hat and yelling 'yeee haaa' is just...priceless. ;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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #38 on: November 18, 2007, 10:50:04 pm »
Thank you both, and specifically,

Andromeda: I reply to really good Andy comments point by point. So I am prompted to render the same to your own great response.

1] Yeah, this one is part of a series. 1-13 lead up to this one, but this one takes a sharp side-road from the over all plotline. It's one of my 'stop whacking the horse before he really does die' stories.

2] Yeah, I thought it'd be pretty easy to see that the BB was about to blow. Was waiting to see if anyone else thought so.

3] I appreciate the nitpicks for referal purposes, but I did mention that this one was basically uneditted. I spent like 10 minutes glancing over it. I was just not into nitpicking my own stuff that day...

4] On tension without Klingons...Yeah, it is too easy to fall into the trap of over using established Trek badguys. Klingons, Roms, Hydrans, whatever. I do like to dabble.

5] I still hold by the idea of a sub, nuclear or otherwise, being quite hard to trace. I do not hold by infalible tech. There never has been, and never shall be any. After 9/11, a friend said to me "Osama's a dead man, all he has to do is look up and we got him." He's not accounted for, and all those nifty lil' satelites in orbit have not contributed to his capture. I see Osama's tech level versus the USA's being on par with the Jobians versus the UFP (for purposes of comparison, abstract as it may be).

6] Smith and Ford: This was not an easy scene to write. Decided to go with a style, that once I reread it, seemed awkward. Thus was not the original intention, but I went with it because I liked that the flow was disjointed. I think it added to the moment.

7] CH. 4: Woot!

8] CH. 5: Woot Again!!

9] CH. 6: Yeah, there was a great deal of temptation on my part to show too much about the waring natives, rather than the alien intruding in their midsts. There was all sorts of detail I really wanted to use...but none of it had anything to do with the actual telling of the story.

10] While the Federation itslef did not initiate said preeptive strike against Jarn, I am glad that you made the connection you mention. It was not my intent, actually, to make that connection, and I was concerned with the fact that the prologue did not match the rest of the story. Your pointing out the similarities, though, makes me throw that concern right out the window. I DO try to portray the Federation as a benevolent structure, but I also want to show that, in the end, it is still just another big beaurocratic body with all the faults entailed therein. How different are they, indeed?

To theCzar:

1] I also like Apocalyptic tales, and have always been a great fan of Escape from New York. While my own collection does pale before yours, I have a few movies. I also love Crimson Tide, and introduced my wife to said last night. I am an avid fan of the US Navy [and the Brits as well, thought that more goes to the age of sail] and would have loved nothing more than joining the sub service. *looks back with some regrett, but remains glad for all that has happened in the past 10 years anyway...*

2] I'm overjoyed that the suspense factor is good in this one. I canwrite 'suspense' all day, but be unconvinced of it's capacity till some one else reads it. I can't judge what I write for the 'chill factor'. I'm glad it's carrying thru!

3] While I would have loved to use a nuclear sub of the 50s-60's vintage, such was never invisioned for this story. Sorry. Mayhap I'll write you an extra scene for your own enjoyment...

4] Would I kill of the good ol' Commodore? *whistles innocently and looks away from La'ra so as not to make eye contact sinse he all too well knows the answer to THAT one...*

5] I'm glad the diversion from the Ya'wenn is enjoyed. I believe you will still like the next episode, however.

6] About the PD in my realm: While beaurocrats will of course argue the mandates of General Order One till doomsday, I hold that Starfleet Command is run by reasonably intelligent folk. A violation of said in the interests of saving Fleet personnel is not going to get the book thrown at the involved commander or crew unless gross negligence has occured. Besides, I'd say it is better to leave a bunch of bewildered survivors with unbelieveable tales about people being whisked away by blue energy fields than to leave alien corpses behind for said folk to study...




I'm glad y'all enjoyed, and as Rommie said 'was engrossed'. That makes me happy. Thank you too, Rommie, for commenting on this. You held to your promise! + Karma for both of you!! Story #1 is in the topic titled 'A New Story?' just on this page somewhere. The rest are scattered, should you have the time to mess with em...

--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 Grim Reaper

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #39 on: November 19, 2007, 02:31:16 pm »
Quote from: Governor Ronjar
Story #1 is in the topic titled 'A New Story?' just on this page somewhere. The rest are scattered, should you have the time to mess with em...

doesn't Andy collect them all? If not, we should collect everything here. It would be a shame to lose it.

It's just cuz she wants you, Grim.  She's trying to get your attention.

That's scary m8!

Anyways, on topic:
I second most of the comments here, but my favorite scenes where all of Commander Slik's scenes, the war and the last part.

Quote from: Governor Ronjar
“Transport now!”

“Energizing, Commander!” Came the response on the other end of the comm. “It’s going to be rough!”
.....
Lori took over the targeting array.

“Anywhere they aren’t kicking the hell out of each other!”

I just love the sense of urgency, the faillability of the transporter "get free out of jail"-tech, the bridge calling in adding tension. Nice one M8. Now gimme more.
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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #40 on: November 19, 2007, 10:39:23 pm »
Incoming!



CH. 7





Commodore Chevy Ford’s world was spinning when the transport cycle finally released he and his party. The first thing to leap into his mind was the realization that his people hadn’t been brought back up to the ship. They were still on terrestrial property. The second was the lack of Mister Smith and Goodwin from their group. Wherever the two of them had ended up, they weren’t within sight in the street he and Surall had beamed into.

The third and final thing to dawn upon the flags officer was the fact that he was, indeed, standing in the center of a very busy road…

“Sir!”

Surall was already in motion, throwing her bulk into the commodore’s back and propelling himself and her out of the path of an on-rushing truck. The vehicle squalled its wheels and locked up its brakes, swerving in an attempt to miss the two of them. The truck skidded up onto a sidewalk; people dashed swiftly out of its way. Ford watched from the other side of the street, gaping at the sight of angry Jobian beginning to point his way.

“We’d better get the hell outta here!” He told his science officer.

“It is highly likely our transport was observed by many in the area.” Surall told him as they two of them turned and took off in a dead run for the alleyway. They charged out of the sight of the on-lookers behind them. A conscientious citizen attempted to bar their escape from the accident they’d caused. This earned him only a body check from the Vulcan woman and a kick in the face when he still tried to tie up Ford’s feet.

The two officers tore down the first left they came to and continued out of harm’s way. Only then did they start to hear the sirens sounding in the distance. Air raid alarms! This town was under attack too!

“Are we still in the same province?” He asked Surall as they came to a rest at the end of a final alley. Surall boldly took her tricorder out from its pocket and made a scan, heedless of witnesses. The few in the area paid them little heed anyway.

“We are within one hundred kilometers of the rocket range. Same country. There are two bombers en route, ETA: seven minutes.”

Ford flipped open his comm.

“Ford to Endeavour, come in!”

“Slik here, Commodore. Are you uninjured?”

Ford’s mind’s eye flashed back to the hood of that truck, earlier.

“Fine. What the hell happened?”

“There was a gamma ray surge in your area during transport. We had to abort half the signals.”

“Can you try again?” There had to be some reason the crew hadn’t already tried to bring them back up. He hoped it wasn’t a permanent reason.

“Negative, Commodore. In trying to stabilize your signal, we damaged the entire EPS grid leading to the transporter system. We have tried to power the cargo unit with no success.”

Now the pair of aliens had drawn attention. Men and women were pointing at the two of them, most with angry faces. These might have just come from the scene of the previous accident. Panicked by the sirens and the general commotion, now they’d centered their anxieties on the strangers. Strangers with odd devices who spoke on high tech radios…

Ford placed a hand over the antennae grid of his communicator set.

“We gotta go!”

Both the Starfleet officers turned and ran away from the massing Jobians. Shouts followed them up the street even as vehicles began to fire up along the sides of the road. Chevy just hoped none of them had a gun…





Commander Davenport was still fingering his left ear when he arrived back on the bridge. The majority of his alien wares were gone, save for the basic vestments of the clothing. His Starfleet jacket was tucked beneath his right arm as he came to a halt on the starboard bow of the control center.

“Report!”

Lt. Commander Slik turned away from the engineering console where he was assessing a damage control board. “Transporters inoperable, XO. Commodore Ford and the science officer remain planetside.”

To accentuate the report, Mister Smith emerged from the opposite turbolift alone. He frowned Ronald’s direction and then made to sit at the communications station. Ron stepped forward and descended into the sunken command section just forward of the helm. Mister Bronstien looked up searchingly at his approach.

“Any word from the Skipper?”

Slik seemed unsure how to answer. He was likely unfamiliar with the term the ship used for their CO. He finally nodded once, turning away from the engineering panel. “The…Skipper… was beamed down into one of the surrounding settlements south of the rocket base. This city is also in danger of an immediate attack. He reported his status as uninjured before he was forced to end contact.”

“Forced? What’s going on?”

“As nearly as we can determine…the Skipper and Lieutenant are having to evade pursuit on the planet surface.”

“Why!”

“Unknown.”

The XO’s eyes glanced to the repair board behind the Gorn officer.

“Estimated time to repair?”

“Indeterminate. The entire EPS array within the transporter matrix has been overloaded. Commander Tolin’s crews are on it, but have yet to render an estimate. Damage seems extensive…”

Ron tapped at both his ears. The damage to his eardrums was repaired, but he still heard after echoes of every syllable. It made listening difficult. He looked again to Bronstien. The kid looked back at him with a certain anticipation…yearning. The Skipper was in trouble and he wanted to do something more than sit on his butt on the bridge high above.

“Mister Bronstien, get down to the hanger decks and see about a shuttle with a transporter. Get the Skipper and Surall back home!”

“Aye, sir!”

Unencumbered by any difficulty with his prosthetic legs, the helmsman rendered his seat to the man at ops and headed for the lift Davenport had just vacated. Ronald felt a slight tingle of dizziness and headed for the conn. He sat there, wondering just how much more could go wrong today.




Doctor Andrea Keller looked up to the two nurses who were talking just outside her office. Had she just heard what she believed she had? The doctor closed the medkit she’d been preparing and strode hurriedly out of her office to catch up with her two subordinates.

“Nurse Tyler, could you repeat what you were just saying,” The British medical officer requested.

The tall, blonde nurse turned and regarded her senior with a curious glance.

“Doctor?”

“What you were just telling Nurse Genkins… About the transporters…”

Tyler came to sudden recognition and nodded. She knew why the CMO was asking.

“The transporters are down. They were trying to beam up our landing party from the surface when a radiation surge scrambled their signals. I was telling Genkins that we need to get anti-rad treatments and the transport trauma field kit—“

“You mentioned names, Nurse…”

“Yes, ma’am. Lieutenant Surall and Commodore Ford were the two they lost. They’re stuck on the planet—“

Keller did not remain to listen to more. She turned away, desensitized and feeling all over numb. The sudden thought that the Commodore, her former lover…was lost on an alien world. Lost on a planet just starting a nuclear war…

Confused and unsettled, the CMO stepped back into her office and out of the sight of her subordinates. All she could think about was him...the fact that he might not be coming back once again.





Johnathan Bronstien walked quickly, if stiffly, out onto the main deck of the dorsal shuttle bay. He glanced about till his brown eyes caught sight of the hanger chief, SCPO Karver. Karver was a large man in his late forties. He’d been in the fleet a good long while, and knew auxiliary craft inside and out. The helmsman made a beeline for him.

“Senior! I need a shuttle with a transporter.”

The balding man turned his direction. The look on his face told the officer he was not going to be in luck today. “No can do, sir. At least not till I fuel one. Only the cargo shuttles and the recon ship have transporters, and most of those are down for maintenance.”

“How long on the easiest?”

“I could get you the Patricia in a half hour. She’s in hanger four and is totally intact. Or I can give you Sanchez in an hour and some change. He’s in hanger one, but we’ve been pulling the plasma regulators per the XO’s order. Take a bit to put him back together.”

Bronstien shook his head. He pointed out to the portside main door.

“I’m gonna be out that motherf*ckin’ door in two minutes.”

“Then you can have either the Burton or one of the pods.”

“I’ll take the Burton. Get her ready.”

“Him, sir. Skipper named him after his Dad.”

“Him, it, whatever. Get it ready.”
***





A minute and fifty-one seconds later found Lieutenant Bronstien’s ship passing through the semi-luminous field of energy that held the atmosphere inside the shuttle bay. John applied full impulse power and angled his craft down for the blue and green world below him before he’d even cleared the bulk of the lower saucer hub. The pilot had strapped himself into his seat in preparation for turbulence.

“Shuttle Burton, this is the bridge.” Lieutenant Smith’s voice came loudly over the comm channel. “Coordinates coming through on estimated whereabouts of the Skipper and Surall. Life readings indeterminate. There’s too much radiation to lock in on his transponder, but that should clear when you get closer.”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll see me coming down.” Bronstien responded. This mission was so very against the Prime Directive of non-interference. There would be no hiding this shuttle once it swooped over that town down there. The general populous would see them very clearly. Hopefully they’d take the advanced craft for an enemy vehicle and attribute it to enemy activity rather than alien incursion.

The Burton buffeted upon striking the atmosphere. Johnathan lessened his velocity to a more controlled speed. He had to make it to the Skipper intact. Burning up or crashing on entry would do no one any good. The bow flared to a dull red color as friction built due to his oblique angle of insertion. A tap of two controls brought up the shields. Most of the friction and heat build were abated, but the turbulence increased as air was now being forced to take a wider path around the shuttle.

The planet under John’s craft flattened from a hemisphere to a long, wide horizon of immense proportion. The vibration from the hull began to slacken and the ship sank beneath a grey layer of high level clouds. Just before he lost visibility, a great flash of light caught John’s eye far to starboard.

The Jobians were still nuking the hell out of themselves.

He just hoped he could reach the Commodore and science officer before they wound up among the rising casualty toll.






Ford watched from the hilltop he and Surall had been forced up to just outside the Jobian township. Their pursuers had all but forgotten them, looking back at the on-coming bombers just as the Starfleet officers were. The first of the supersonic craft was slowing; it’s bay doors reeling apart at the bottom of the huge, silver fuselage.
Lieutenant Surall didn’t need her tricorder to know what was coming. “They are preparing to deploy, Skipper.”

Ford looked behind. Cover was slim. The bulk of this hill would provide some relief from the burst, given its distance from the apparent target. It would also stop flying debris. Radiation and thermal effects, however, would likely kill them anyway. “Is there any cover at all?” He asked above the roar of jet engines.

The science officer popped out the scanning head of her tricorder and turned westward with it. Neither could hear the signal emanations of the tiny machine for all the sound from those approaching planes. “There is a shelter of some kind built into the side of this hill. One hundred forty meters, bearing 357.”

“Let’s go!”

The two picked back up into a dead out run. They did not see the first bomber begin its preparatory dive that would assist in getting its payload away quickly. Ford had forgotten his normal lack of physical conditioning. He was running off straight adrenaline. Surall out paced him easily, though, her own form very fit and half his weight and age. They ducked low hanging branches and dashed around tree trunks on their way to where the Vulcan had indicated.

“There, Commodore!” Surall pointed to a wooden building built into the slope of the surrounding embankment. They redoubled their speed. Ford could not help but notice a band of civilians huddled into the doorway of their home about fifty yards west of the hill they traveled across. The family had heard the sound of the incoming bombers and were worriedly scanning the skies. Their structure would not protect them from the blast, let alone the after affects of a nuclear detonation. Ford drew to a halt.

“Those people are gonna be toast!”

Surall considered reminding her CO of the Prime Directive. This would accomplish little, and helping a family with children, to her, far outweighed any conscientious objection General Order One might invoke for the situation. She lowered her tricorder and began to wave with the commodore to them.

The family, three adults and four children, stared back in confusion. One of the women pointed out to the pair of them in and looked back to the others. The children were crying now. The male who seemed to be in charge glared back in obvious mistrust, an obstinate expression glued to his face.

Ford drew his communicator and set its controls to its loudest speaker enhancement.

“If you stay in that house, you’ll be killed!” He shouted over the loudspeaker. “That hillside shed is the only shelter here!”

Snapping his comm shut, Ford took off again, clearing the ground in long strides right behind his lieutenant. This seemed to convince the huddled family. First the eldest female snatched up the two smallest kids and took off after the alien visitors. This compelled the elder man to reassess his earlier sentiments against seeking help. He gave a wave to the remainder of his clan and they began to trek up the slope to catch up with the others.

The sounds of engines suddenly took on a baser note. The first of the two bombers passed over the hilltop, gaining altitude on a steep incline as it struggled to accelerate. Ford watched the craft zoom higher, seeming to barely move due to its size. It bay doors were reeling closed.

The ground shook as though a hammer had struck at their feet. Several of the Jobian family members fell and had to scramble back to their feet. The sky was alight in a hellish glow. Then the overpressure wave hit…

The top of the hill was shorn off in a blast of force indescribable. Trees took flight with the concussion that ripped them free of the ground. The very air became unbreathable, filled with debris and burning hot grit. Were it not for the hill, Ford, Surall and their Jobian charges would have already died. The impact zone had been extremely close.

A torrent of hot wind was tearing at the landscape as Surall reached the shed and tore the door open. She turned to grab at the commodore, guessing his next intent, but he’d already stopped short to help the approaching family. They crammed the seven aliens into the compact, wooden interior of the building, then pressed themselves in flush, pulling the heavy door to.

The next blast erupted just after that…




'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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #41 on: November 19, 2007, 10:42:38 pm »
CH. 7 [pt. 2]


“Shuttle Burton,” Commander Davenport’s voice came through the open comm channel. “Be advised that Jobian radar has detected your approach. Eight craft are on an intersect vector.”

Johnathan cursed slightly as he lowered his ship to hug the flowing terrain more closely. He was over two hundred kilometers from the town the landing party showed to be within. He could already tell from the flashes in the day sky that the town had been nuked. He glanced to his sensor panel to ensure that Ford and Surall’s transponders were still transmitting. Thus far, they showed intact.

The pilot’s mind slued back to the current problem.

“Armament and disposition of fighters?”

“They are supersonic interceptors, armed with conventional missiles and automatic cannon. Neither present a danger to your shields, but I want you to evade contact if possible.”

Bronstien glanced aside to his tactical monitor. Eight blips were approaching from his one o’clock. Evading these interceptors would be nigh impossible if he were to maintain his drive toward the commodore. He’d have to turn about completely and lose them, then return and hope no one else got wind of him. All of this would leave members of his crew exposed to radiation and further attack. They may not be alive by the time he got to them. Orders be damned, he was going to get them home.
“Understood,” He answered simply. It would be better to beg forgiveness than to beg permission. He pushed the throttle past the atmospheric limit.

The Burton was a Type I shuttle, grand for space maneuvering. He was decent in atmosphere and among the most lithe in Endeavour’s hangers. But any boxy space courier was ill made for any kind of high-speed planetary flight. The best Bronstien could hope for while in atmo would be Mach 1.2. Those approaching fighters showed to be coming in on him at well over Mach 1.3 Primitive they may have been, but the Jobians held the advantage in speed for the time being.

Could they maintain it, though? Ancient Earth fighters were rated for supersonic speeds as well, but were only capable of maintaining them for a matter of minutes till fuel exhaustion. The Burton was under no such restraint. John watched the fighters move steadily closer.

“Shuttle Burton, you are close to being sighted!” Ronald’s voice projected loudly. Bronstien grimaced despite himself.

“Understood, Endeavour. Was hoping a low profile would confuse their radar. Any other path is gonna endanger the Skipper.” He explained back, choosing his words carefully to disarm the Commander.

There was a pause from the other end. The helm officer could only imagine the hell he’d pay upon return to the ship. “Understood, Burton. Continue on course.”

Momentarily pleased that he’d allayed the ire of his XO, Bronstien looked back to the sensor screens. The alien craft were almost within view. They’d be ducking beneath the clouds any second  now…

An alarm system began to blare for attention. Two missiles shot out from beneath a cloudbank and angled in on a direct course for his vessel. The helmsman’s first instinct was to ignore them. He was already beginning a maneuver to bank clear of the primitive weapons, then he noticed their size and warhead details on his monitor. A tiny weapon with rudimentary tracking control and abysmal range capabilities. Its warhead massed only twenty pounds...

Johnathan pressed on along his course. The fighters continued in on him, following the paths of their missiles. The weapons themselves slashed in and struck almost at once on the Burton’s starboard quarter.

The shuttle bucked twice in quick succession with the impact and small detonations of the missiles. Small drain alarms sounded from the deflector control panel, followed by green indicators. No damage. Bronstien smirked and looked out ahead, paying little further attention to his pursuers.

Another volley of missiles was forthcoming as the aliens loosed nearly their entire armament upon the seemingly invulnerable machine plowing across their skies. More than ten new weapons roared straight in on the shuttle and angled in on him. John watched them with a wary eye, hands hovering over the RCS controls in case he lost helm control.

This time, the Burton was nearly knocked clean out of the sky by the detonations, one after another, of eleven striking weapons. A few of the missiles missed entirely and sped on past. The Burton bobbled and dropped low. Tree limbs cracked and scraped by against the shields. But the hearty little ship kept on flying at his full atmospheric velocity.

John angled the bow back up over the horizon and groped for altitude. The primitive fighter vessels fell into line behind the still moving, undamaged craft and began to fire short bursts of heavy caliber cannon shells into his after shields. The shielding flared and contorted under the concussive hits, but still showed no strain. The fighters were staying hot on his tail. He glanced down at the topographical display near his helm control.

The Burton was less than fifty KM from the town bearing his crewmates. Those fighters would still be on him by the time he got there. He’d have to lower his shields when he reached the area, to get his passengers aboard. Those ships would be able to strafe him with impunity. The landing party would be vulnerable. In his hurry to reach them, John may well have further endangered his people…

“Endeavour, Burton! Those fighters are gonna be all over me when I make planet fall.” Perhaps, John admitted, he should have heeded Ron’s call and avoided those craft.
“It’s going to get worse, son.” Davenport returned. “More aircraft are inbound to your position. They were already heading in to intercept the bombers, so I looks like you were in for a fight any way you handled it. You need to evade those fighters and get the Skipper’s team out ASAP!”

“Copy that, Endeavour. Request weapons free.”

Bronstien didn’t believe he could outrun these ships and lead them away in time to evade another flight of interceptors. He’d have to make short work of them. This ship could do it.

“Negative on that, Burton!” Ron sounded vehement. “Weapons safe, repeat, weapons safe! Do not open fire. Those craft cannot hurt you!”

“But they can hurt our people!”

“Weapons safe, Lieutenant! Or I’ll order you back to the ship!”

Johnathan inwardly cursed. He had to bring those planes down. If he couldn’t drop them, what could he do to knock them out of the sky? He searched his frantic mind for a way. The incessant rattle of machine gun fire tattled at the aft shields. He could imagine what those guns could do to the CO and science officer if they were caught in the open.

John’s eye caught sight of a red outlined craft on his sensor board, which was suddenly beginning to lose altitude above him. One of the fighters had edged lethally close. Now it was dropping like a rock... What the hell was the pilot planning?

John realized only too late how far these men were willing to go to protect their land and peoples. The fighter crashed directly into the aft quarter of the shuttle and exploded with at least half its fuel capacity intact. Burton plunged like a stone into the forest below and tore through the boughs of thirty odd trees as Bronstien fought near-futilely against inertia and his controls to keep his ship up. A hard hit cracked the edge of his view port.

The shields were down!

“Endeavour! Endeavour! Shields down, I have damage!” Bronstien piped off like an alarm klaxon once he brought the shuttle up over the canopy of green once more. “Generator blown!”

Struggling like a heavyweight contender, John strove for every meter of altitude he could gain. His hands flew about the panels arrayed about him. He tried to restore his defenses, but only received banks of red flashers in response. More alarms began to call as cannon rounded pinged off his naked hull.

“Endeavour! I’m taking more fire!”

“Weapons free, Shuttle Burton!” Ron’s decision was like an avenging voice from heaven. “Defend yourself and retrieve the landing party!”

John banked the shuttle back the way he’d come, swinging his bow port to starboard randomly as he fought his way clear. His right hand tapped in commands, activating phasers and targeting systems. He set the phasers for pulse fire. Hopefully the aliens would recount his gunnery as tracer fire after the fact.

Johnathan killed his velocity, putting his craft into a full hover mode, and checked over his status indicators. Damage was minimal, but there would be little chance of restoring shields. The generator had blown two circuits, and even if he though he could reroute the power flow, it would take him an hour. Burton’s thrusters were undamaged. He was still in adequate fighting condition.

A roar passed close by the shuttle, and the lieutenant winced at the flash of aircraft blasting past him overhead. John watched their trajectory and refired his engines. As he bore on once more for the Jobian town, the fighter aircraft banked in two groups and turned to come back at him. He began to lock his phasers on the leader of the larger group.

The Burton surged ahead just over the tops of green oaks. The group of four planes cut their afterburners and began to spit drooping chains of machinegun fire toward Bronstien. The shots went mostly astray, their unassisted targeting poor and inefficient. John bore toward them, coming left in a nimble turn, just as the pilots might expect. Another chatter of gunfire bounded off the hull and the main viewport before the pilot. John flinched at the impact. It cracked his port, but could not penetrate.
John returned fire.

A short burst of phaser fire lashed out, spitting from one emitter, then another in intermittent pattern. Four lances of energy pierced the onrushing fighter jet and slit it in two. The pilot tumbled from the larger portion and deployed his parachute.

The remaining three ships maintained their course, still firing long bursts of cannon fire. Alarms began to cry out as the more sensitive sensor modules and RCS thruster quads took a couple of hits. Bronstien cursed and lashed out at his aggressors once again, dropping another whom fell on fire into the forest below. The Burton slashed by the remaining two fighter vehicles and kept on toward the landing party.

The smaller group of three fighters that had split off to Johnathan’s right had circled back and were even now closing on the shuttle’s aft. More gunfire rattled across the reinforced alloy flesh of the auxiliary craft. Another thruster quad showed inoperative as the charging vessels passed by and banked away. John followed the two with split away to starboard. He drew a bead on them, one after another, and put a burst of fire into each. The first cracked into small portions and spun away in different directions. John didn’t see the pilot bail out. The second craft simply burst into flame and began to roll over and over. The pilot tried to make egress, but could only get his canopy open and fail ineffectually before his ship hit the dirt.

Bronstien rightened his bearing back for his destination. The fighters were keeping further behind now. There were only three left, two pacing him from a kilometer aft, and a single other who was still heading away. John increased speed to the highest velocity his maneuvering jets could maintain. With three quads now inoperative, his maximum safe speed was halved. He could solve this by engaging the impulse drive, but even the least power from the main engines this low in an atmosphere would likely send him plummeting to the deck. There were reasons one didn’t fly a craft with an irregular hull that fast while planetside.

John began to pass over the rural surroundings of the small town. Great, blossoming mushroom clouds grew skyward and a corona of expanding energy still flowed over the landscape, knocking down buildings. The Burton crashed through the pressure wave, bucking hard as he hit. The closing fightercraft turned away from the detonation. They’d done all they could and were unwilling to endure hard rads from ground zero.

John slowed to a crawl, trying not to look over the carnage spreading about his craft. He had a signal on the transponder frequency he was scanning. Tracking it amid the rads and the heavy EM interference however, would take him some time.





Chevis Ford tried to clamp his hands over his ears against the clamor of screaming within the small space he and the other survivors were crammed into. The electromagnetic surge from the two bursts had all but fried his personal equipment, including the UT circuit of his communicator. The babble of the Jobian family was as unintelligible as it was excruciating. Surall herself had closed her eyes and was tuning the world out.

The blasts had not injured the survivors huddled into the hillside shed. But the increasing radiation and heat were already taking their toll. The babble of the natives was quickly turning into fright fueled screams of pain. Ford’s flesh was crawling, burning and itching with the rads he’d already sustained. There was little light in the shed. He could not see much of the visible effects of their increasing injuries. He didn’t want to. Both he and Surall would need serious radiation treatment upon returning to the ship.

Another roar overtook the cringing survivors. Ford wondered in growing panic if yet another bomber had come for them. Were more bombs about to fall on them? He could still hear the blast of winds from the first two.

“Commodore Ford!” Came a thunderous voice from beyond the heavy wooden door. It was Bronstien! “I’m here to evacuate you! The Burton is landed just outside your cover. Six meters! I’ll open the hatch when I see you!”

Ford turned amid the pressing mass of bodies and looked to his science officer. She looked back at him, concern for their charges obvious on her normally impassive face. Her dark eyes looked back at him, wide but steady. She knew what he was asking her. And she did not argue with him over the point. The family had fallen silent at the sound of the booming, alien voice and unfamiliar language from outside.

“Let’s get ‘em on board, Lieutenant!”

Surall fought her way to the back of the family and spread her arms wide to compel them forward. Ford threw open the heavy door, showing the natives the spectacle of the destroyed visage of their homes and the large alien vessel sitting in the middle of it all. Ford grabbed the smallest of the walking children and charged out into the open, sure that the mother would follow the evil man bearing away with her child. She did. The rest bustled along, shoved unceremoniously out into the hellish scene and toward the shuttle. Even in his hurry, Ford could make out all the damage and scratches in the hull. The Burton had had to fight his way down here.

The main, aft hatch reeled down to the ground long enough for the two officers to pack the family of Jobians into the ship. Surprisingly, the elders were so amazed and dumbstruck they offered little more than confused resistance. Soon, the door was pulling back up into its mount. Johnathan, his human face making the natives shrink away, looked back from the cockpit section.

“Everyone okay?”

Surall looked the natives over and glanced back from her stooping position aft. “Radiation burns and severe absorption. The after effects will be showing soon.”

John turned back to his controls as he began to lift them away from the surface. “I’ll put sickbay on the alert.”

Ford, bleary eyed and now feeling sick to his stomach, struggled forward and bent beneath the low bulkhead separating the aft compartment from the fore section. His instinct told him to take the ops position at the pilot’s side. But practicality and common sense overrode this impression. He was soaked with hard radiation. He’d affect Bronstien, possibly causing injury. The amputee had been through enough in the last few months. He remained aft during the trip back to Endeavour.
***


--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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #42 on: November 21, 2007, 11:01:16 pm »


Ford is officially on Top Ten Coolest CO's Ever status. Way to take the PD, wrap it up nicely and flip it ye olde Double Duece. Just freaking awesome.

I do hope that in one of the next issues of this story there is some explination as to why the shiny red button was pushed. It seems to me like a "what if" scenario in which USSR decided to nuke USA just before the first moon shot, possibly to keep USA from being able to take all the glory.

I read this and I think back to one of my favorite scenes in Atomic Cafe; the scenario is that USSR invaded southern California and the US Army decided that the only way to get rid of the Communists is to detonate an A-bomb. Since this is a simulation, the test is in the desert and not the pleasant township of L.A. Bomb is supposed to go off and army troops (all grunts!) are supposed to go in and clear the area. Ye Olde A-Bomb goes off, and cut to cut scene 1, instructor describes the types of radiation to the soon to be almost nuked troops, Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Neutron. Next comes cut scene 2, a cutesy animation describing how Alpha radiation interacts with the human body that obviously is unavailable to our kinda doomed troops. Basically it says that Alpha particles are most harmful when inhaled or ingested, since they can be blocked by normal, every day skin. Cut back to the bomb and the shockwave, and each troop shown in this part (yeah, you guessed it) is staring at the blast, mouth wide open. Somewhere in this they show a reporter asking the troops if they kept their mouth shut or not, each answered that they got a mouthful of dirt. Now, after all that explaining, I have to ask, did our heros have their mouths shut?

Czar "I'm lovin this" Mohab

P.S. Find a copy of Atomic Cafe and watch it. Brings new meaning to microwaved bacon in one scene. Even has the "duck *SWOOSH* and cover" song...

And I'll leave you with these quotes from the film, found on imdb:

Army information film: When not close enough to be killed, the atomic bomb is one of the most beautiful sights in the world.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Civil defense film: Be sure to include tranquilizers to ease the strain and monotony of life in a fallout shelter. A bottle of 100 should be sufficient for a family of four. Tranquilizers are not a narcotic, and are not habit-forming.


P.P.S. did I mention I love this stuff?
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #43 on: November 22, 2007, 08:27:03 pm »
Reason for the war was pretty simple so far as it goes, and all the clues are there. The southern nation decided to put a nuclear armed missile platform in space during their little 'test launch'. The northern nation found out and, being beyong Earth-nation-paranoid, they started their nuclear war. No the whole scenario isn't perfect and it likely wouldn't really happen this way...but then, I was aiming to mimic 50's and 60's WWIII stuff, so I intentionally didn't over-think it.

Glad you like Ford's way of command. He understands the necessity for the PD as much as the best commanders. He just isn't going to lose his people over it. Nor is he going to let folk die when he can stop it. I had another way for the shuttle scene to go, but it wasn't quite 'Ford'.

Original Scene: Bronstien lands the shuttle outside the hill and Ford opens the door, giving the scared natives a real good view of the craft as its rear hatch eases down. Surall wastes no time entering the ship, but Ford hesitates. He climbs onto the ramp and halts, looking back to the open shed and the aliens within. They stare back. The mother almost takes a step toward the ship, showing that she knows it to be salvation for her and her family. Ford pauses, looks back into the shuttle to Bronstien, who waves him in. Ford looks back, almost deciding to close the hatch. But then he waves the family on board.

I thought that the scene would be rather heart-grabbing, but in the end...I decided that Ford, knowing he could EASILY save some lives, wouldn't even think about it. He'd just do it. Period. So the scene wound up as shorter [which my aching fingers thanked me for...].

More thoughts before I wrap this one up?

--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 Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #44 on: November 23, 2007, 07:22:54 pm »
Guess I'll finish this'n off.

I hope it has been thoroughly enjoyed by all!




Epilogue





Shuttle Burton settled on the foredeck of the hanger bay and began to power down. A large crew of men and women were waiting with medical equipment and hover gurneys for the injured people within the ship. The door slowly descended to the deck with a thud. Confused, wide-eyed Jobians were the first to shuffle down to the outside, looking to and from with amazed fear.

Doctor Andrea Keller moved forward, waving her nurses and techs to the waiting patients. “Begin inoculation against gamma rays. Get Bronstien too. Let’s get the crew and passengers covered by the radiation field and move them to decon.”

Her people knew their jobs. They paid no attention to the fearful stares of the aliens who weren’t supposed to be here. They weren’t concerned for the Prime Directive, which told them not to interfere with primitive societies. They only cared for saving lives and caring for the injured. They began to inject inoculations into the visitors’ veins and ushered them inside the waiting containment field about the hovering gurneys. The aliens chattered amid themselves. Some pushed away from their benefactors, but were convinced to cooperate.

Keller saw that they were being handled effectively, then turned her attention back to the shuttle standing before her. Her own fear compelled her closer. She mounted the lowered ramp tentatively, peering in. Bronstien was coming her way, flanked by the science officer. They both paused a second before her. Surall was impassive, though she seemed uncomfortable. She was probably feeling sick from the rad poisoning. Both stepped past her, Bronstien doing so with a hard stare.

Ford was getting up from the bench lining the port bulkhead. His eyes were downcast as she approached. He didn’t notice her till he was standing fully and looking down at her. The doctor’s mouth dropped open…quivered. Feelings welled up within her, unwanted and unwelcome.

She hadn’t realized the level of her worry till she’d laid eyes on him. She’d feared for Ford’s life from the moment she’d heard about the nuclear strikes below. He’d come close to dying again.

“Chevy…”

“Chevy?” He repeated. He stared at her. Bronstien and Surall spared a look back their way, then discretely stepped out of sight. Andrea stepped in closer to the commodore on impulse, almost against her own will.

“I…”

“Worried about me?” He asked with a soft smile. His entire face morphed around his wide grins.

“Yes!”

“Me too.” His smile faded as uncertainty tainted his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Andrea rushed the final step into his arms and grabbed hold fiercely. Regardless of the rads she was absorbing, she clung to him, hugging him tightly as tears slid down her cheeks. Had she really believed he was in that much danger? She didn’t know. This eruption of emotion had blindsided her. She felt like letting go and crying aloud. Her hands grabbed at the flesh of his back. His own hands folded around the contours of her back as his breathing subsided and mellowed. They stood in tight embrace for some time.

Ford’s hand found hers, pulled the hypo free of her grip. He pressed the spray to his neck to inoculate himself. Then he pressed it to Keller’s arm as she looked back up at him with a giggle. Chevis smiled on, warm and happy. “To keep us from dropping dead.” He explained.

Andrea laughed a bit, and pressed close into him again. She didn’t know what their future would bring them, or whether this was a good idea at all…but she knew she was happy right there, in Ford’s arms. They remained for a time before heading for Sickbay.
***





The commodore sat at his desk within the much safer confines of his ready room. The surgical alterations that had allowed him to move freely among the aliens below was long gone. Their Jobian guests had been sedated and beamed down into a small hamlet far south of the warzone still raging on their world.

Endeavour remained in orbit, studying what might be the death of two separate nations. These people were exploring the road Earth had long since turned away from. Some civic and xenohistorical intel could be gleaned from the happenings below. Ford was no longer interested.

The flag officer reflected on the mission to the Jobian world. He had tried to relieve the crew with a non-combat mission of exploration and study. It had almost cost him and Surall their lives. Surall, after treatment for radiation sickness and burns, had returned to duty and silently began cataloguing the goings-on of the peoples below. Even now, her eyes were glued to her sensors on the bridge.

Ford shook his head as he mulled over everything that had happened. He had often wondered if he bore a curse. Days like this pressed home the theory. However, Keller’s actions upon his return home had given him doubt about the curse.

He didn’t know if their relationship was back on the road, or if this was simply an example of feminine confusion under stress and worry. Either way, it showed her feelings for him. There was still hope. Ford looked away from the sweating glass of tea that sat on his black desk. He toyed with the thought of making his log entry. What words would put this day into context? Telling the fleet what had happened would be the easy part. The rest… That would bear more thought.

The hatch opened from the security foyer aft of the bridge. Lieutenant Bronstien stepped in and stood at attention while the door slid shut. Ford looked up at him with a fond eye. “At ease, LT. What’s on your mind?”

“Was wondering if you’re alright, sir.”

Chevy waved the young officer to a free seat. He pushed the tray bearing a tea pitcher and two empty glasses closer to the boy who held up an abstaining hand. “I guess so, Johnathan. Just goes to show you, even the most peaceful mission can go awry.”

“Indeed.” The kid agreed, using one of the words Ford himself liked so much. “So what’s next on our agenda?”

“No clue, yet. Beyond returning to a patrol route.”

“Is our life ever gonna get easier?”

Ford looked back soberly. Did the whole crew’s opinion map his own this closely? Was morale falling below his ability to improve? He could see ample reason to feel poorly about all that had happened in this sector. He had to start building his men up, and he had to start here, right now.

“Yeah, Lieutenant. We’ve had a rough spell, but I’ve seen others just as bad. You’ve read the files on the Hawking?”

“Aye. The ship you and Thomas brought back from Klingon space after six years of being lost. I’ve read it over. You went through some hell.”

Ford nodded.

“We went through a long, very arduous trial keeping that ship intact. We made it back. That ship is still in service, so are most of the people who served on her. Save for our battle with Jarn in the Tempest, what I went through during that time was more trying than what we’ve faced here. Our…trials… shape us into the people we will become.”

Bronstien smiled at the sentiment.

“I’m just worried we’re gonna become dead people. When I joined, I never thought I’d lose my legs. A ship, maybe, but not likely. But some of what we’ve been through is just plain crazy. Will we have to go through this sh*t the rest of our lives?”

Chevy shrugged. “Fleet life is…interesting, Lieutenant. We play a dangerous game, and it might be the death of us. But the rewards of Starfleet service…the experiences…if your lucky, are more than worth the risk. You worried you made the wrong choice in puttin’ on that uniform?”

Johnathan looked down at the red uniform and black trousers he wore. When he looked up, his face was sternly hopeful. “No. I’m good. It just seems like a lot to go through all the time.”

“It’ll get better, son. All in good time. The dark only rules till the light returns.”

The two men continued to converse, sharing a moment of friendship as their ship, their home, continued to revolve around a strife torn planet full of people thinking much the same thoughts.

END.


This here's the original ending. I'm toying with the idea of adding some of the Czar's concerns later, but for now, this is the finiahed product.

Lemme know what y'all think.

--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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #45 on: November 23, 2007, 10:41:29 pm »


Ooh! First one here!

Glad to see that my suspicions of Andrea and Chevy weren't too far off. It'll take time for them to get to where they once were, but if they want it, its there for them.

Also glad to see you didn't go the wiped memory route for your guests. Might inspire one of the younglings to start a peace movement leading this people eventually to touch the stars.

Is there a curse? You betcha there is. Its called "someone is writing your life, and so long as that person keeps writing, bad, strange, wonderful and crazy things are bound to happen." Poor Ford doesn't realize that with a few keystrokes, he could have a *insert terminal condition here*. Seriously though, traveling the stars is trouble enough as it is with all the species and phenomena and other things out there. It can't all be open space and bacteria samples; human loving aliens and peaceable Klingons.
Quote
Chevy shrugged. “Fleet life is…interesting, Lieutenant. We play a dangerous game, and it might be the death of us. But the rewards of Starfleet service…the experiences…if your lucky, are more than worth the risk. You worried you made the wrong choice in puttin’ on that uniform?”

Johnathan looked down at the red uniform and black trousers he wore. When he looked up, his face was sternly hopeful. “No. I’m good. It just seems like a lot to go through all the time.”

“It’ll get better, son. All in good time. The dark only rules till the light returns.”
That just says it all.

Not much more to say on this wrap up. The story as a whole is excellent. If you ever get bored with Endy stories, you could always do a spin off based on the aftermath of this nuclear war, perhaps focused on the family that was rescued? Or not.

Czar "Chapter the next, if you please." Mohab

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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #46 on: November 24, 2007, 10:22:24 pm »
I'm rather entertained by how much these aliens amuse you, Czar. And flattered. I may have the Endeavour return to Jobia and see what sort of seed has been sewn there... :angel:

--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 Grim Reaper

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #47 on: November 27, 2007, 02:11:38 am »
If our crew does return and the Jobians have made something of the pieces left behind, perhaps that will finally be a moral boost. Or a friendly competition with another crew or something.

Still, I enjoyed the read immensly and I can't wait to see more. So guv, GIMME MORE masterpieces.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #48 on: November 27, 2007, 07:08:27 pm »
Thank you! I shall wait a few to post #15, which I finished Andy-Proofing (TM) last night. I hope to see a couple more review and opinions on this one before I move along. Maybe a Larry's Big Ol' Review (TM) or an Andy-ism (C).

More to come 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 Andromeda

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #49 on: November 28, 2007, 12:02:12 am »
Forget having the Endy come there.  Send another ship 100 years later to see how they recovered from their WWIII experience on Jobia.  Fun story. 
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Offline Scottish Andy

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #50 on: November 28, 2007, 04:33:35 pm »
More commentary. My time is short right now, so though I have critiqued your full story, I'll likely only get through Ch4 here.

First, the Nitpick. Now, I know your comments about editing, but I'm only letting you off with typos and mispelled words. Wrong word choice is free fire!

Quote
Surall risked unveiling her scanner entirely and passed it about the space before her to attenuate the detection grid.
Attenuate: reduced especially in thickness, density, or force. I think you mean "unmask" or "boost" or such like here.

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“Begin a new scan of the artificial satellites in orbit of Jobia, Mister Slik. Look for any kind of weapon system, active or inert. Determine its nature, and also evaluate for threat to the Endeavour.”
Good reaction to an unexpected threat. I was kinda wondering if the satellites should be scanned for this as a matter of course, though.

Quote
Ford closed the antennae and resumed watching...
Foes his tricoder have more than one? 'Antennae' is the plural of antenna. Latin plurals like this include nebulae and supernovae. And FYI, the plural of 'phenomenon' is 'phenomena'. ;D

A nice continuation. I liked Surall's contemplation of the subverting influence of paranoia and emotion in general; very Vulcan, it seemed to me.

Yup, times's up. More later tonight maybe, tomorrow for sure.

There's a lot more to be said. *evil cackle*
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #51 on: November 28, 2007, 07:34:31 pm »
As always, you border just on the brink of insulting with the grammar help. It is apprieciated, however...

BUT...Attenuate...

When one attenuates a device, such as a radio reciever [or in this case a tricorder], one is narrowing down the bandwidth it is recieving from. I learned this from my Dad who worked on radios for a pawn shop for a time back in the 60's and 70's. AH-HA!

And no...Ford's comm 'Foesn't' have two Anntena...  :laugh:

Am looking forward to more Andy-Smacking.

--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 CaptJosh

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #52 on: December 21, 2007, 12:06:49 pm »
I'm surprised that Chevy didn't echo Kirk's sentiment that "Risk is our business." It certainly fits all the crap they've been through. Still, perhaps the line has been overused.
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Offline Scottish Andy

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #53 on: January 07, 2008, 11:33:24 pm »
As promised (if horrendously late), here are the rest of my comments from Ch5 onwards.

Quote
“Degradation is at 30%. Reset through the buffer and cross circuit to initiator circuit B.”
Classic Spock line! Love it!

Chapter 6 is a helluva exciting chapter! All complimentary comments seconded! I decided to avoid the nitpicky comments, as I waited too long.

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Surall was already in motion, throwing her bulk into the commodore’s back and propelling himself and her out of the path of an on-rushing truck.
Helluva way to reappear, but what a great reappearance.

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Now the pair of aliens had drawn attention. Men and women were pointing at the two of them, most with angry faces. These might have just come from the scene of the previous accident. Panicked by the sirens and the general commotion, now they’d centered their anxieties on the strangers. Strangers with odd devices who spoke on high tech radios…
This scene is classic 60s "they're all after me" paranoia a la Invasion of the Body Snatchers, with everyone pointing at them. Great scene!

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Ronald felt a slight tingle of dizziness and headed for the conn. He sat there, wondering just how much more could go wrong today.
Never wonder that! You'll always get an answer... *grin*

Quote
“I’ll take the Burton. Get her ready.”

“Him, sir. Skipper named him after his Dad.”

“Him, it, whatever. Get it ready.”
Love this line too. Entirely appropriate, I thought. It of course reminded me of my conversations with Larry about Klingon ships using the male pronoun, like the Russians they were an analogy for.  ;D

Still don't know where your dorsal shuttlebay is on the Endeavour. I'm having trouble picturing where it is and from your description it seems to be on the upper surface of the saucer. Excelsior doesn't have one there that I'm aware of.
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before he’d even cleared the bulk of the lower saucer hub.
And where and what the hell is the lower saucer hub?  ;D

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It bay doors were reeling closed.
Wrong word there, I'm thinking. "Reeling" implies (to me) that the motion is out of control. I know it also means reeling in as if on a reel, but that usage has been shifted slightly to imply it's a bit of a fight - reeling that fish in, and all that.

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Eight craft are on an intersect vector.
This word is still accurate, but I'd have used "intercept" instead. May be personal choice though.

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But the hearty little ship kept on flying...
Again, I'm thinking "hardy" would be a better word choice here.

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Andrea rushed the final step into his arms and grabbed hold fiercely...
I found this to be quite a touching scene. Well done on the emotion-evoking here.
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“To keep us from dropping dead.” He explained.
I also found this pretty funny.  ;D
I'm glad to see Andrea came around in the end.

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“It’ll get better, son. All in good time. The dark only rules till the light returns.”
I really like this line, and the sentiment/belief/ideal it expresses. I think, if you don't mind, that I'll use that as the motto on one of my dedication plaques, attributed to a Commodore Chevis D. Ford. Make her a cruiser, or maybe an escort.

All in all, a rather stirring an well-told story. I loved the 60s feel to it, and that feel was well executed. There were some great character moments and lots of well written scenes. Definitely to be ranked as one of your best, Guv. Good job.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #54 on: January 07, 2008, 11:54:05 pm »
Thank you very much, sir. Your comments are always appreciated.

Yup, the laziness brought on by the tiredness of writing Endeavour for 2 solid years has made my word-choices pretty bad at times, and my 'editting' worse. Your pointers will be used as corrections when I feel like messing with these again. Thank you!

As to the shuttle bay in the neck of the Endeavour, watch the dockyard scenes of Generations with the Ent-B and watch where the shuttles are coming from. It is also evident in the deck schematic of the Ent-B found on Memory Alpha.

The 'lower saucer hub' is how I describe the bulge built onto the bottom of nearly every Federation starship's saucer. Never could come up with a good label for it, decided on 'hub' many years ago. You, sir...are the only person to ever complain. >:(

Glad you noticed the Spock-line. I decided to throw that in after watching the episode it was used in. My original idea for the Transporter scene would have been more TNGish. I think the TOS element made it better.

Also thought about having Ford just get hit by the truck they beamed in front of... I've been hit by 3 vehicles in my life... Ford should get hit by at least one...but I needed him able to run...not hobble around.

And if you name a ship after Ford...I ask for an escort. New Orleans-Class [if you go by the smaller build-idea, Saber if not].

I thank you for the diligence, time and trouble, good sir!

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: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #55 on: January 14, 2008, 09:17:09 am »


As to the shuttle bay in the neck of the Endeavour, watch the dockyard scenes of Generations with the Ent-B and watch where the shuttles are coming from. It is also evident in the deck schematic of the Ent-B found on Memory Alpha.

Those actually aren't shuttles, they're work bees, and the holes in the neck that you're talking about are *way* too small to be shutlebays.  Both of the Excelsior's shuttlebays (if you want it to have two) are rear-facing in the lower hull.  One at the very end of the fantail and the other (which I've read is supposed to be a cargo bay) at the bottom of the ship.



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And if you name a ship after Ford...I ask for an escort. New Orleans-Class [if you go by the smaller build-idea, Saber if not].

I don't understand the smaller-build idea.  The New Orleans is a larger ship than the Saber, but it makes sense if you mean fewer ships of the class since more Sabers would be built than New Orleans.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #56 on: January 15, 2008, 10:14:14 pm »
Yeah, me and Andy had a convo about the placement of the hangers aboard Endeavour. The data display of Ent-B shows it to be a torpedo emplacement and Andy confirmed for me that those were indeed workbees.

However, aboard Endeavour, rest assured that it is a shuttle bay, and while the doors are smaller than the traditional hanger bay door, the opening is quite large enough to fit said ship's own bridge module through it, so I don't see problems flying a shuttle through.

As to the New Orleans, most say the ship is pretty huge, but to me, the size of the window's tells me the ship should be in the 150-180 meter length. I know you won't likely agree, as I have read a many similar convos based on just that question. Either way, I care not. But if Andy names a ship for Ford in TNG...then I ask for a smaller breed of vessel. And I do love the New Orleans.

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Offline Scottish Andy

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #57 on: January 22, 2008, 03:49:48 pm »
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The 'lower saucer hub' is how I describe the bulge built onto the bottom of nearly every Federation starship's saucer. Never could come up with a good label for it, decided on 'hub' many years ago. You, sir...are the only person to ever complain.

:P I call that area the lower sensor dome, as it has been called since the FJ deck plans of 1701. Besides, the Excelsior actually has no bulge there, just the sensor array.

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As to the shuttle bay in the neck of the Endeavour, watch the dockyard scenes of Generations with the Ent-B and watch where the shuttles are coming from. It is also evident in the deck schematic of the Ent-B found on Memory Alpha.


Those actually aren't shuttles, they're work bees, and the holes in the neck that you're talking about are *way* too small to be shutlebays.  Both of the Excelsior's shuttlebays (if you want it to have two) are rear-facing in the lower hull.  One at the very end of the fantail and the other (which I've read is supposed to be a cargo bay) at the bottom of the ship.


Yeah, me and Andy had a convo about the placement of the hangers aboard Endeavour. The data display of Ent-B shows it to be a torpedo emplacement and Andy confirmed for me that those were indeed workbees.

However, aboard Endeavour, rest assured that it is a shuttle bay, and while the doors are smaller than the traditional hanger bay door, the opening is quite large enough to fit said ship's own bridge module through it, so I don't see problems flying a shuttle through.


I like the idea of the neck containing a shuttle bay. The Guv and I had a conversation about this - which lead me to examine my DVD of 'Generations' - and even though those neck cutouts have projections that would make their function as doors awkward at best, they are big enough for workbees, travelpods and shuttlepods to get through. I don't go for a standard-sized shuttle - and I have no clue as to how you figure the Excelsior bridge module could fit through one of those cut-outs - but small craft stowage? Sure.

Besides, we have nothing better to put in that big thick neck at present.

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And if you name a ship after Ford...I ask for an escort. New Orleans-Class [if you go by the smaller build-idea, Saber if not].


According to Bernd Schnieder's awesome site (http://www.ex-astris-scientia.org/), the New Orleans class frigate is 340m long.

http://www.ex-astris-scientia.org/schematics/fleet-chart-1060.jpg

I believe him, based on this:

http://www.ex-astris-scientia.org/articles/neworleans.htm

Cause she's so big (Basically a Constitution-sized Galaxy class), I'm calling her a heavy frigate. I like to be awkward. ;D And I think a Sabre is a good choice for "his" ship.  I have them pegged for the late 2360s, so it's quite probably Chevy's dead by then and can safely be named for him..
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #58 on: January 23, 2008, 10:34:18 pm »
*looks above, slaps forehead, rolls eyes...wonders how such things even become issues in fiction...*

As far as which ship I'd prefer for Ford, yes, the Saber would be it. I don't see Ford's name being on a ship any larger than a Defiant or Saber.  And Ford's name just doean't fit a Defiant... Even if I do love them so.

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Re: #14: Relaunch
« Reply #59 on: January 23, 2008, 11:33:45 pm »
*looks above, slaps forehead, rolls eyes...wonders how such things even become issues in fiction...*

I blame Andy.*nods*

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