Topic: #14: Relaunch  (Read 15481 times)

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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!

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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.

Czar " 'One penis said to the other, 'Call me chubby,''- Denny Craine, Boston Legal " Mohab

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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