Topic: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident  (Read 17426 times)

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Offline Czar Mohab

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Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« on: November 24, 2007, 02:36:21 am »
Finally decided on a title for this, so thought I'd put up what I have started thus far. Makes a good teaser/intro if you ask me. But since no one did, I'll let you all judge!

Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident


   Cerberus orbited in silence over the sixth planet in the Trellious system. Sunlight reflected off of its red sanded surface, casting an eerie red glow onto the starship’s hull. McDougal found the view befitting the ship’s namesake, and had ordered several pictures taken using the ship’s sensors. Later, he would take note of the best few and have them framed and hung in key locations throughout the ship. Now, however, he waited patiently for the soft beep from the sensor panel, confirming the completion of this orbit’s survey.

   The planet below reminded him of Mars and the cities he’d visited as a young man. He remembered watching out the shuttle’s cabin as they descended towards the “big red dust ball” as he called it back then. He remembered watching as the cities grew larger against the red ground, silvery beacons in the desert like plains. It was always a family visit; most of his extended family lived not on Earth. He wasn’t too sure, but the day he was allowed to pilot the craft (with strong oversight from the actual pilot) on its short journey home might have been the catalyst to his desires of joining the fleet.

   He’d wanted to travel to this planet’s surface, to experience the nostalgia of the trip first hand; the discovery of two unmanned probes on the surface forced them to reconsider, reminding them that this planet was not yet explored by the locals. The Prime Directive was there again, forcing his hand in ways he wished it not to go. Further towards the center of this solar system, twin planets harbored the life that had begun to take their first tentative steps into the unknown. How would they receive the knowledge of a Starfleet issue boot print or two on the surface? It was bad enough that the planet below them was an archaeologist’s dreams come true; someone long ago had lived on the planet; now, the only inhabitants were the two wheeled rovers, scurrying about its surface.

    Finally, the sensor panel beeped its cutesy beep, refocusing his mind. “Last survey completed, sir,” Perkins noted unnecessarily.

   “Helm, break orbit and head for Trellious Three, half impulse; and keep us out of close view of Four and Five. I don’t want them to see us if they’re looking.”

   “Breaking orbit,” the young female ensign at the helm replied. Ensign Sherri King worked the panel like a pro, and after a few silent moments had the new course laid in. She informed her captain of such, and followed his order to “execute”.

   Cerberus pulled away from the red planet slowly, confidently, and proceeded in a port-ward looping course towards the next planet. The red glow on the hull faded to a soft yellow-white cast upon her by the system’s single star. She saw her target planet far off in the distance, a blue-white ball of rock covered with a think layer of superheated gasses. “We’ll be passing close enough for a preliminary scan of Four and Five,” King noted nonchalantly.

   “Sounds pretty good to me, Miss King. Mister Perkins, let’s take a peek, low powered scan. I don’t want to spook them.”

   “Acknowledged, sir,” Perkins replied. He busied himself with his panel, refocusing the ship’s sensors towards the two planets. “This is amazing, sir! Both planets are similar in mass, land to water ratio, atmospheric content… They even share an almost identical day-night rotation, Five is seventeen nanoseconds longer. Wait a second… I’m reading several space craft in orbit of both planets… fusion propulsion drives, minimal sensors from what I can see. I cannot determine an exact number; however there are several life forms on the ships orbiting Five, and very few on most of those orbiting Four.”

   “And yet they send unmanned probes to Six. Do you think that they could make it out this far?”

   “I believe so,” he responded without looking from his panel.

   “Continue scanning the planets as we pass, maybe there’s a key to this mystery on one of them.”

   “I’m reading a technology level equivalent to an early pre-warp society on Five. There are some vestiges of similar technology on Four, however it appears that most of the planet is lacking in technology. These could be landing sites; I should know more when we get a bit closer.”

   Cerberus maintained her sweeping trot across the solar system, finally closing enough on the fourth and fifth planets to get a good view with her down powered sensors. It wasn’t enough, however, placing her captain in a precarious position. Do they move closer? Do they increase the intensity of the scans? The whole covert survey mission could be thrown off if they picked up on the sensors or saw the ship outright. They risked enough, as far as the Prime Directive was concerned, just being in view of the planets. Perkins rattled off what little information he could before the ship’s distance to the two planets opened. McDougal’s mind was focused on the most interesting tidbit: the two planets orbited their sun at such a pace that they would forever be the same distance apart.

   McDougal’s mind chewed the information, possible ideas forming and subsiding at a substantial pace. Most revolved around the vast possibilities of trade between the two planets. He finally rested on something that bothered him greatly, a horrible atrocity from Earth’s own past. He ordered the sensors to a higher level scan, searching through the ships leaving the fourth planet and heading for the fifth. They were not much longer than one hundred seventy meters in length, yet each ship made planet fall on Five with over five hundred life forms on board. In contrast, the ones landing on Four boasted a mere twenty or so. The scans of the twelve vessels that could be detected made McDougal bitter and angry.

   Scans of the life forms were indeterminate, but indicated a similar biology between the two planets, perhaps off shoots of the same species. Scans directed at Five revealed a highly evolved culture, where the native inhabitants seemed to enjoy a status of luxury, while those that were being shipped in from Four appeared to take the route of laborers, farm hands, servants and the like. This set McDougal over the edge. He ordered the ship to hide behind the third planet and left the bridge for the shuttle bay. How could such an advanced culture condone slavery? he asked himself as the lift door shut with Perkins and himself inside.

*****

Czar "Its a fresh approach" Mohab

*Minor edit to: add some things my mind forgot to tell my fingers to add, lower number of slaves per shuttle to be more realistic, flow balance some parts.*

**Another minor edit to correct a lost edit edited before the first edit.**

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« Last Edit: November 24, 2007, 11:13:36 pm by Czar Mohab »
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #1 on: November 24, 2007, 10:19:04 pm »
Ah, slavers. My favorite among all bad guys.

--thu guv!!
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Offline KOTH-KieranXC, Ret.

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #2 on: November 24, 2007, 10:56:01 pm »
Me, I tend to go for those lawful evil stellar domination types. :D
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #3 on: November 25, 2007, 10:36:48 pm »
Here cometh part the nexteth:


   “ffF*CK!” McDougal shouted inside the turbo car. Perkins watched him, puzzled at the sudden outburst. “Computer,” McDougal said while his shout still resonated within the lift, and much forced calmness in his voice. “Reroute to sickbay.”

   “You okay, sir?” Perkins offered as the lift reversed its direction.

   “I’m fine. My brain was working too fast, missed a step or two. We need to get fixed up to look like the locals.”

   Perkins stood quietly beside the man, not desiring to offer up that the species they’d seen, and would soon infiltrate, looked human enough that they should be able to get by fine without the stop off, just a tad shorter. Perkins himself had never been on an infiltrate and study mission, but knew the risks at hand. He’d been studying some of the better known Captains’ and Commodores’ successful and almost disastrous missions. McConnell, Kensett, Washington and Ford, all names that stuck in his mind when he thought of the risks and gains; these were the near misses and almost disasters he’d read that ultimately lead to successful infiltration or first contact situations. Then, of course, were the jackasses like Kirk and Mohab who seemed more inclined to pick up dog mess in a yard with the Prime Directive than to actually follow it. He’d glossed over their reports of blatant interference, keeping a mental note of what to never do, lest he be promoted to a desk job where he could do no more harm.

   When the pair finally arrived in sick bay, Perkins immediately made his way to an available terminal. He accessed the snapshots the sensors had managed to take of a few of the locals. With about one thousand good examples of apparel, faces, hands, feet, skin tones, height, weight, eye color and ear shapes from both planets, he felt assured that the inhabitants could easily set up a colony on Earth and no one would notice them save perhaps their only major outward difference.

   They were tall. Using pictorial references, Perkins estimated that they were an average height of two point five meters tall, which might cause problems for anyone in the away team.

   Perkins studied the files closer while listening to the captain and Doc explain this whole thing to each other; looking for physical and any obvious differences between the two races. At first, he didn’t notice anything obvious, until he saw a slave master and her group of what Perkins had thought was her children. “We’re in like a rabbit in the cabbage patch!” he exclaimed.

   Doc and McDougal both eyed him quizzically. “Mister Perkins?” Doc finally asked.

   “We won’t need any surgery, Captain, Doc. Save for their clothing and adornments, we look exactly like them. The slaves happen to be our height, while the slave masters are taller, about half a meter or so.”

   “Well that actually fits my plans,” McDougal commented. “Replicate appropriate attire for six males and six females from Four and meet me and the rest of the away team in the shuttle bay in thirty. I’ll be in engineering briefing the Engineer.” McDougal left sick bay without another sound. Doc simply crossed his arms and shook his head.

   “Something’s bothering him,” Perkins commented.

   “I know,” Doc said, not offering any more. “Let me help you with the replications.”

   “Do you know why he thinks we need twelve people?”

   “Besides you and himself, he doesn’t know who is going yet.”

   Chief Rankin met the captain as he crossed the threshold into the engine room. “Sir,” he said politely.

   “You ever study lower tech power generating systems, such as first generation fusion reactors?” McDougal didn’t even stop, hoping the chief would follow him for his answer.

   “Of course I have, sir,” Rankin replied, having trouble keeping up with the speeding commander.

   “Good. You’re coming with me.” McDougal kept his pace, twisting and turning through the room. Dissatisfied with his own search, he finally stopped and turned to Rankin. “Where’s the Eng?”

   “Right here,” McCloud said from behind him. McDougal jumped slightly. “Do you need me?”

   “Maybe. I’m taking Rankin with me on an away mission, but I’ll need a command ranked officer to remain behind in command of the ship. I was wondering if you’d be up to it.”

   “Of course, sir,” she said softly.  “If I may ask, why are you asking me?”

   “According to Starfleet regulations, the commanding officer of a star ship isn’t supposed to lead away missions, correct?”

   “Correct, as far as I know, sir.”

   “Doesn’t say anything about observing, not even in the fine print. After this one, they might think to recheck that.” He smiled at her, and started again, “You’ll be stationed behind the third planet…”



   Lieutenant Commander Jones waited impatiently in the shuttle bay for her captain to show up. She eyeballed the three shuttlecraft there, the two standard sized craft Hermes and Odin and the much larger shuttle Many De’Oria. She was thankful of McDougal’s choice of the larger shuttle over the two escort fighters offered them at Hyperion; they most likely wouldn’t help in combat anyway. She did, however, wonder why the fighter ready-racks remained installed, such superfluous equipment might have been better served on a full sized survey ship or even a carrier group.

   She was also thankful that the De’Oria was equipped with transporters, making her the likely choice for the mission ahead. She was never one for traveling in the cramped confines of the smaller shuttles. She didn’t know all of the details yet, but could only imagine that a covert insertion wouldn’t be possible by landing any of the craft planetside.

   Jones had long since donned her “local” clothes, a set of what seemed like sixteenth generation hand-me-downs; they were tattered and stained with who-knew-what and ill-fitting. Her denim-style jacket was much too loose, while her undershirt was at least two sizes too small. She wondered how anyone could live with such tattered rags for warmth as she innocently fingered a hole in the woolen pants she wore. Perkins and Rankin sported similar fitting duds, and looked uncomfortable. She just hoped that whatever her captain had in mind would be something simple and quick, if the locals didn’t kill them, the clothing might.

   No further words were spoken once McDougal’s form split the doorway to the shuttle bay. He was followed closely by Master-At-Arms Second Class Larry Williamson and Master-At-Arms First Class Brenda Larson. McDougal initially wanted Marines for this expedition, but realized that, with helpful prodding from Security Chief O’Kelly, these two from the Special Operations Forces were better trained and less robot-like than any of the handful of Marines assigned to ship’s security. They both offered McDougal something none of the Marines on board had: explicit training in the art of covert warfare. McDougal liked the potential that these two had.

   De’Oria slipped silently out of Cerberus’s shuttle bay and took a long leisurely path to Trellious Four, making certain that Five and the slave trade ships remained out of view. It was a quiet trip; the shuttle’s occupants took in the breath-taking views of the earth-like planet as it grew in size. McDougal piloted the craft to a northern polar orbit, using the natural magnetic fields of the planet to mask the shuttle’s signature. They waited for almost an hour for an orbiting slave transport to land, clearing an opening for the smaller shuttle to scurry to satisfactory transport coordinates and begin beaming down, in pairs, the away team.

   First to land were the security personnel, sent in first to make sure the area was clear. Once McDougal was satisfied, he sent down Rankin and Perkins. McDougal and Jones waited just long enough for the helm to acknowledge the auto pilot orders and beamed themselves down. McDougal had thought this part out rather well. If there was trouble and they needed to be extracted, they would hail the shuttle and be beamed aboard as soon as it came into range. If something happened to the shuttle, the mission was most likely botched at that point, and Cerberus would come sweeping in for the rescue.

   The team landed not too terribly far from the northern pole, allowing for the shuttle to maintain some of its stealth if extraction was required. Twelve kilometers distant from the landing site was a small settlement; their primary objective. This site was chosen for its distance from any of the slaver landing sites, they would most likely not be picked up as slaves themselves if the locals from Five were as far away as they were.

   “Higher levels of background radiation than initially detected,” Perkins said, reading from his tricorder. “Possible nuclear fallout. Well within safety limits, but I wouldn’t want to stay too long.”

   “Any signs we’ve been detected?” McDougal asked.

   “Negative. No humanoid life signs detected within three kilometers. Smaller mammals and other non-humanoid life forms are sporadic and extend the range of the tricorder.”

   McDougal briefly surveyed the grassy plains that they’d materialized in. He could see a young forest in the distance to the south, lazily rolling hills to the east and west, and nothing but grass to the north, the way they needed to go. If they were ambushed by slavers, there’d be no place to take cover. “Let’s move out, we’re burning daylight.”

Czar "How's that?" Mohab   
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #4 on: November 26, 2007, 06:41:46 pm »
Looks like you're building up to a good one. The flow is slow and steady, but it doesn't slow down to the point that I'm dozing off.

Keep er coming!

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Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #5 on: November 27, 2007, 12:27:35 am »
Yep.  That whole realization of what those slave ships were up too...that's when McDougal probably wishes he was a Klingon, rather than Federation, Starship commander. ;D
"Dialogue from a play, Hamlet to Horatio: 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Dialogue from a play written long before men took to the sky. There are more things in heaven and earth, and in the sky, than perhaps can be dreamt of. And somewhere in between heaven, the sky, the earth, lies the Twilight Zone."
                                                                 ---------Rod Serling, The Last Flight

Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #6 on: November 27, 2007, 12:32:56 am »
Might have to add that line about being Klingon in later...

Thanks for the responses so far! I hope to keep you all entertained with the next segments, but that may or may not be soon. We'll see.

Czar "Stupid reality keeping me from my happy place." Mohab

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Offline Andromeda

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #7 on: November 27, 2007, 10:48:08 pm »
Who's McDougal?  First meeting in story should give me something to know how to treat him.  As a new reader of Second Changes, I need an introduction. 
Quote
silvery beacons in the desert like plains.
desert-like is easier to read.

Wouldn't it be terrible if they weren't slavers.  Besides, where does he get off apparently violating the prime directive because they offend his sense of righteousness?  Great Start and a flawed man in charge.  Oh, well.  I am looking forward to the next part.
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #8 on: November 28, 2007, 04:30:40 am »
Thanks Rommie! I must point point out to you that you didn't have to swing over and say hi, but I am glad that you did!

Quote
Who's McDougal?

The Captain, of course...

Quote
First meeting in story should give me something to know how to treat him.  As a new reader of Second Changes, I need an introduction.

You are absolutely right. I wrote this right after chapter 2, so I kinda forgot to get that part in. Apologies.

Quote
desert-like is easier to read.

You're right. Didn't see that.

Quote
Wouldn't it be terrible if they weren't slavers?

Maybe. You'll have to see, won't you?

Quote
Besides, where does he get off apparently violating the prime directive because they offend his sense of righteousness?

All that there is is suspicion. Best way to find out, go talk to the locals. Fed's do that all the time.

Quote
Great Start and a flawed man in charge.

His flaws are not from jumping the gun and rushing to find out what's up. His major flaws will be coming in a later installment.

Czar "Thanks again, Rommie. You gave me a lot to look at!" Mohab

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Quote
Oh, well.  I am looking forward to the next part.
Glad to hear that!
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #9 on: November 28, 2007, 05:37:30 am »
With some inspiration, this has been edited. Enjoy!

   McDougal stopped dead in his tracks. “What if they’re not slavers and slaves? What if this is some sort of strange symbiotic relationship or something?”

   “Having second thoughts?” Chief Rankin asked him. “It’s a little late for that.”

   “Will,” he started, remembering his own standing order to keep this mission semi-informal to allay suspicion with the natives. “I’m seriously thinking about that.”

   “Shawn,” Jones started from in front of the two, “what are you going to do if your first feelings were right? You can’t just emancipate them.”

   “I know. But I have to know for sure.”

   The six continued their trek, security at point, Jones and Perkins in the middle and McDougal and Rankin in the rear. It wasn’t long before the grassy plain left them for the overgrown shrubbery along a dusty path that forced them into a single file line. It turned into a slightly upward climb, and after two kilometers of uphill hiking, the path and bushes gave way to a breathtaking view of a serene valley. Far off in the distance snow capped peaks loomed like sentries watching over their domain. Between them and the mountains were countless kilometers of fertile land. Two different rivers could be seen winding their way through the valley, each passing through the medium sized settlement that was their goal. Smoke from late afternoon fires could be seen, passing lazily through thatch-roofed cottages of stone and clay.

   “‘Ello friends!” a small voice called from behind them, startling the group. McDougal motioned his people to stand down; it was only a boy, after all.

   “Fancy seeing you out here,” McDougal said to the young lad.

   “I was lookin’ for you!” the boy exclaimed. “Pop-Pop’s going to be so happy I found you first!”

   McDougal eyed the small child with fascination. His shirtless form was covered in layers of filth, his tattered cloth pants hung about his waist two sizes too large, tied with an old rope. Despite being alien to them all, he seemed familiar. “How’d he know we were coming?”

   “No time now, we’ve to be going! Come along! Follow!” The boy motioned them along and led them safely into the valley and onward to the village.



   “Rig for ultra quiet!” McCloud passed the ancient order over Cerberus’s 1MC. Long ago, Earth’s submarine captains would pass the same order when trying to evade an enemy. Noisy machinery was turned off in favor of quieter counterparts, unnecessary personnel would head to their racks, unneeded machines were secured… Submarines in this state were virtually undetectable; McCloud hoped that with this ship’s adaptation of the procedure, she, too, would make a hole in space. Lights dimmed. Background ambient noises faded away. Red combat lighting cast an eerie glow about the bridge. Best we can do because of that stupid treaty with the Romulans McCloud thought to herself. It better work, or Shawn’ll be pissed.

   “Similar hull shape to the vessels orbiting Four and Five,” T’Sala reported. “Both vessels are closing to this planet from the far side.”

   “Have we been detected?” McCloud asked. She’d ordered the ship to a southern pole orbit in an attempt to confuse the sensors of the fast incoming ships.

   “Uncertain as to the full extent of their sensors, ma’am. I am reading that they are conducting an active sensor sweep around the planet.”

   “How about the planet? Can we use the cloud layers to mask our signature?”

   “The atmosphere is too dense for entry.” T’Sala’s tactical control panel beeped at her. “We are being hailed.”

   “Let’s hear it.” McCloud was not amused with how this was turning out.

   The bridge speakers cracked to life, emitting the translated message,“Unidentified vessel, you have violated Y’Takki space! Surrender and you will not be harmed.” With a snap, the line closed.

   “Friendly lot. You sure they haven’t seen us yet?”

   “I am certain. They have passed out of line-of-sight, however, they were scanning in no particular area. We are safe, for now.”

   “I wish we were Klingon. We could blow these bastards out of the sky.”



   “I’m glad we’re not Klingon,” Perkins said. “We’d have missed this lovely place. Probably would have leveled this planet and conquered the other.” The boy was well ahead of the group, and out of earshot from their casual banter.

   McDougal smiled at him. “I hope that everyone else is having such a wonderful time. I know I am.”

   They finished the journey to the village in silence. When he felt he was close enough, the boy ran off to one of the larger buildings, crying for his ‘Pop-Pop’ to come out and see what he’d found. A wizened old man came from the building with three younger men. They wore purple robes, without any trim or special adornments, save Pop-Pop’s. He wore a chain about his neck, the end of which held an old style Starfleet communicator.

   The six met the old man not too far from the building, his shuffling couldn’t carry him very far out. “Who leads this team?” he asked in a raspy voice.

   “I do,” McDougal started.

   “Very well,” Pop-Pop started, and then paused. With the speed of a younger man, he struck out with a vicious left hook and struck McDougal square on the jaw. “Take that back to your Starfleet, a special gift from my late wife.”

   McDougal staggered under the force of the surprise blow, but regained his footing. He motioned to his team that all was okay; not to shoot the old man. “How do you know?”

   “We’ve been watching!” Pop-Pop laughed himself into a deep cough, and then continued. “Ninety-eight of our years ago, three of your Starfleet men came to our planets. They chose Y’Takki to live,” he pointed to the sky, “and eventually, to rule over.”

Czar "Clearer yet?" Mohab
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Offline Andromeda

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #10 on: November 28, 2007, 06:01:25 pm »
Clearer yes.  I almost think I don't like it.  The next part will tell.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #11 on: November 28, 2007, 07:48:02 pm »
sh*t!

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

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

Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #12 on: December 01, 2007, 06:02:16 pm »
To keep you all in suspense over the weekend, and possibly all of next week, I post this. Also, I hope to keep the "Rommie" audience, but I won't know until after she reads this. Enjoy!

   
   “So,” Perkins started with a touch of unease on his words, “I have a couple of questions for you.”

   The village’s elder stopped himself from slugging this younger lad. These were a different people than his own, after all, and he didn’t intend disrespect by speaking out of turn. “Go ahead,” he begrudgingly obliged.

   “How were you watching us? I don’t see anything remotely capable of seeing us from space, let alone our orbit or landing here.” Perkins chose his words carefully, unsure whether these people knew of the actual level of technology of the current Federation.

   “What do you think those probes on Inarri are for?” Pop-Pop chuckle-coughed and continued, “we knew about your ship as soon as you entered the system, as do they,” he pointed skyward. One of his younger aides ran back inside the larger building at Pop-Pop’s gesturing request. His aide returned and handed Pop-Pop a bulky box-shaped object that the Starfleet personnel recognized immediately: a one hundred year old tricorder. Pop-Pop opened and activated the ancient device, and to the amazement of the crew, it still worked. Pop-Pop chuckle-coughed again.

   “How did you get these things?” McDougal interrupted the old man.

   “Because, Commander, I was Lieutenant Kermit Gabriel, formerly of the Earth Survey Ship Magellan.”

   “That is impossible!” Rankin started. “You would be…”

   “One hundred thirty-seven? Back then, Earth controlled several of her old navy ships, most had been converted for survey duty, freeing up Starfleet vessels for other things like war and peace. The four of us were disgruntled with the way things were turning out on Earth, so we left when we passed through this system. Commanders Bates and Lewis and Ensign Walker all took to living on Y’Takki, like I said already, while I chose to live here.”

   “What the hell happened then? Even back then there was the Prime Directive!” Perkins grew angry, and his words showed it.

   “Not for us. We weren’t part of Starfleet officially. Funded and supported by, and working for, yes, but for all intents and purposes, we were just humans. Back then, it didn’t apply to us. As for what happened, they infiltrated the Y’Takki government, eventually securing themselves in key positions.”

   Gabriel looked to his tricorder, and then motioned for the group to follow him into the large building as he turned and shuffled towards its door. “During their rise to power, they convinced the government to go to war with us here on G’Haalo. They dropped nuclear and biological weapons from orbit, devastating the planet. When the people here had enough, they unconditionally surrendered.

   “Before we arrived, these two planets knew only peace. In the distant past, they had an empire similar to Earth’s Romans on Y’Takki, but they didn’t stop at ruling their own world, they colonized G’Haalo before the empire fell.” One of the young aides opened the door for the group, and they all entered the cavernous building. Gabriel continued his shuffling towards a throne-like stick built chair at the far end.

   “No longer supported by the Empire, both planets fell backwards in time; forgoing maintaining the advanced technology for survival. Eventually, both regained space travel and learned of the distant relationship. Peace thrived.

   “After the surrender, Lewis used his wartime fame to secure the vote to Supreme Leader, and ordered that we here on G’Haalo be stripped of anything that could take us to space again. He did some good for the people here; he had the Y’Takki clean up this planet after the war.

   “Lewis wasn’t the real problem; it was Walker that was our greatest threat. He assassinated Lewis and took the seat of power. As reparation for the war and clean-up costs, he ordered the enslavement of G’Haalo.” Gabriel finally sat in his massive chair with a creak and a groan that was either the chair or his joints. He shut down the blinking device and returned it to its box-like state. “Since then, we’ve never been free.”

   “Are you the leader of this world?” McDougal asked him. “And what of Walker and Bates?”

   “I am village elder, nothing more. My age has given me centuries worth of engrained respect from these people. They value the old.” He smiled, then continued, “Walker and Bates were both killed long ago. Their children now rule the planet Y’Takki. They do not know my true name or where I came from. The three humans all thought I had died during the war. When the Y’Takki come here for you, they won’t know me from Adam.” He smiled sheepishly. “You have to go with them. We interfered with these people, we can’t change that, but you have an opportunity to fix what I can not, and secure a better future for these people.”

   The door to the lodge building burst open, revealing ten armed guards. They were clad head to toe in black combat armor, including a black helmet with black tinted visor. Their weapons looked viscous, and with a synchronous hum, the guards powered up their laser rifles. “We claim these six for slave duty!” the lead guard ordered.

   “Take them and be gone!” Pop-Pop called back to the guards. They entered and rounded up the Starfleet crew, and forcefully shoved them out of the building. In the late afternoon sunlight, the six could see a small shuttle-like craft in the close distance; it must have just landed, but there were only the ten guards. No one noticed as McDougal grabbed the outside of his pants pocket.



   “Receiving emergency beam out request from the captain,” T’Sala read from her board. “Shuttlecraft Many De’Oria is not responding.”

   “What is our status with the local ships?” Lieutenant Commander McCloud asked, fast becoming disappointed with how her first ‘command’ of the ship was going.

   “They are still searching for us, however they are in such a position that we could get a sizable lead on them before they come around the planet and see us.”

   “Helm, take us to Four, all ahead flank!” She pressed the command chair’s internal communications buttons, hailing the transporter room. “Transporter room, stand by for emergency extraction.” She closed the line shortly after getting her confirmation from the on watch transporter technician. “Restore full power,” she started. Behind her at the engineering panel, young Lieutenant Merten acknowledged her, and ship’s systems started coming back online. “And go to red alert, begin jamming all transmissions.” she finished.

   Cerberus sped from her hiding place, destined to rescue her crew from the botched mission. Half way to the planet, the two vessels sent to find them came into view of the fleeing ship and charged after her in hot pursuit. Their prey had superior speed; they could never catch her in a dead race. They soon learned that they were unable to contact their own reinforcements, and hoped beyond hope that someone somewhere would see their target and intercept.

Czar "Do I go the Kirk “Time Travel®” route or the Picard “Fix the Situation With Words™” route? The Sisko “Blows Stuff Up©” or the Janeway “You’re on Your Own™” route?" Mohab, who might surprise you.

P.S. I'm actually asking, kind of like a choose your own adventure thing, but not. I'd like your input, please.
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #13 on: December 04, 2007, 08:03:25 pm »
It really is dead week....

Anyway, just thought I'd post this, hopefully to get a few laughs. Since no one responded to the question above, I took matters into my own hands:



   Cerberus fell into orbit around the fourth planet a little too fast. In the sky above the away team, a brilliant red flare was visible, distracting the guards just enough for the two Special Forces operatives to draw their phasers and stun six of them before they turned and reacted. The rest of the team was acting in overdrive, and with lightning reflexes, busied the remaining guards long enough for a phaser beam to find each one in turn, crumpling them into limp heaps of flesh. McDougal didn’t have time to deliver a swift kick to the one closest to him as the transporter beam swallowed him up in a shimmer of electric blue-white light.

   The transporter effect faded, and they realized at once they were on Cerberus’s bridge. McCloud filled him in on what had happened since they’d left. “Set a course for free space, Mister Michaels,” he said, taking his command chair. “We need to regroup and get away from those ships for a moment.”


For the On Your Own story, scroll down to JANEWAY

For the Blow Stuff Up story, scroll down to SISKO

For the Time Travel story, scroll down to KIRK

For the Word Salad story, scroll down to PICARD

For the What Really Happened story, you’ll have to wait.


JANEWAY


   Voyager shook with err…
   
   Cerberus shook with violent tremors as the first volley of fire came in from the alien craft. They’d managed to amass their entire solar fleet in the time it took to beam up the away team. Combat lighting illuminated the smoke filled bridge as shot after shot struck the vessel’s shields. With each impact, McDougal’s normally well kept hair shook itself loose; stray fronds of his gorgeous brown lock littered his scalp, giving him the look of a trimmed palm tree.

   Cerberus’s hails to the planet Y’Takki went unanswered.

   He paid his hair no mind, his thoughts only of his ship, his crew. He’d underestimated the capabilities of this tainted race. Surely, T’Sala would soon announce the weakening of the shields; McCloud the failure of a critical system. That’s when he’d strike, with full furry. This ship had seen a lot in the recent past, and this encounter here was just par for the hole.

   “Shields are failing,” Tuvok sai… Dammit…

   “Shields are failing,” T’Sala said above the din. “We can not survive much more.”

   “We’re loosing warp containment fields!” McCloud shouted. “Inertial dampeners are off line! EPS rupture on deck three! No power to the starboard phaser emitters!”

   There was nothing more that could be done here. The ship must be protected! McDougal thought to himself. Besides, they did fire first. “Target the lead ship, weapons systems only, let’s see if we can’t get their attention.”

   “Fire in the galley!” someone cried over the 4MC, the ship’s emergency only communications line.

   “I’m on it!” Jones said as she sped to the already waiting turbo lift. In a flash, the door shut and she was gone.

   Cerberus came about in a grand sweeping arc, bringing her main guns and fresh shields to bear on her harassers. Phased energy shot forth from the vessel, striking the nearest of the pursuing craft. Small fires followed the phaser’s path of destruction on that ship’s hull, followed closely by large explosions. The phasers had gone too far, and in a bright orange flash, the ship was gone. A deep sense of self preservation forced the other fifteen alien vessels further from Cerberus, but the orders to fire kept coming, and one by one, they were either destroyed or crippled with no hope of ever reaching home.

   “We are being hailed,” T’Sala commented from her lightly charred panel.

   “On screen,” McDougal ordered. The view of the debris filled battlefield shifted to that of an older man.

   “Why have you come here?” the man demanded. “Haven’t you humans done enough damage to our society? Now you lay waste to our refugee relocation fleet?”

   “Your slaver fleet, you mean?” McDougal asked as he stood.

   “Well, I suppose you would see it that way. Ever since your human friends took over and ordered the enslavement of G’Haalo… They never saw us as saviors. G’Haalo is fast becoming uninhabitable! We ended the slavery years ago, but our past war so decimated the planet that its climate is changing…”

   “I don’t think you want to be lying to me. All we wanted was to explore your system, see if there was anything worth while, and investigate the possible slave trade happening here. Your ships attacked us without provocation, and we defended ourselves. If there was a slave trade going on caused by our past influence of your planet, we would have offered both planets’ peoples a way to find restitution for our past mistakes. It’s obvious that you don’t want or need our help.

   “We’ll tow your crippled vessels into orbit, but after that, you are on your own.” The comm. line cut abruptly with a small gesture from McDougal.

Scroll to HAPPY ENDING

******
SISKO


   Cerberus shook with violent tremors as the first volley of fire came in from the alien craft. They’d managed to amass their entire solar fleet in the time it took to beam up the away team. Combat lighting illuminated the smoke filled bridge as shot after shot struck the vessel’s shields. McDougal sat in the center seat, calm and collected.

   “Incoming fire from the fifth planet,” T’Sala reported. “More enemy vessels inbound.”

   McDougal fought to straighten his mind. Was that the proper course of action? If he were Klingon, then of course it would be. But he was Human, a member of Starfleet, and a Federation citizen. He was bound by an oath, he couldn’t decimate the entire planet. But they did fire first.

   “T’Sala,” his calm voice filled the bridge over rattles of combat. “Destroy everything that is firing on us, defend the ship.”

   Phaser fire ripped through the unshielded hulls of the attacking craft, destroying most and crippling some. In quick succession, photon torpedoes left their tubes and found their marks on the planet’s surface. One shot, in a totally unpredictable fashion, found a deep fissure in the planet’s crust. The overloaded warhead sped more or less unhindered into the mantle and detonated.

   From her high orbit, Defiant watched as sev… sunnova…

   From her high orbit, Cerberus watched as several volcanic eruptions began to consume the surface of the planet. Cerberus left the smoldering rock, and made for home.

Scroll to BRUTAL ENDING   

******
KIRK


   “Call up all pertinent data regarding Kirk, James T., Spock, and time travel,” McDougal ordered.

   T’Sala looked back at him, clearly unmoved by the decision. Her hands worked her panel, like lightning they flew. It was a short moment before she was through; she had also worked in the obvious calculations in relationship to the local star’s mass, the ship’s mass, available fuel, and distance in time to be traveled. “Calculations complete,” she said without prompting. “Mister Michaels, if you will please follow the course already laid into the helm, we may begin.”

   McDougal whistled approvingly. “I didn’t ask for all that, but I’ll take it. Helm, you heard the lady. Let’s get going.”

   Cerberus spun silently in space about her axis, and made way for the Trellious star. Once she made it to warp, she began to shudder and shake. The star on the viewer grew larger, hotter. Small explosions from overloaded equipment plopped and fizzed on the bridge. The deckplates whined under the strain of warp and gravitational forces. “Now!” T’Sala shouted, a bit out of character.

   Maybe the thought of death is enough to overcome the rigorous Vulcan anti-emotion machine, McDougal thought as the ship sped away from the burning hot globe in the center of Trellious. 

   Silence filled the ship.

   “Picking up faint ion trail,” Perkins said, breaking the silence. “Possible early Earth Naval vessel.”

   “So they’re already gone?” McDougal asked.

   “Picking up a small craft on long range sensors,” Perkins added. “Early Earth style shuttle craft, entering orbit of the fourth planet.”

   “Life forms?”

   “Four, sir.”

   “Intercept and destroy that craft.” McDougal pondered the thoughts about how one or two of them might have done some good in this time. Or even in the future. But he’d dismissed that by thinking that they were rogues enough, and no amount of salvation could save them from the atrocities they would commit.

   Enterprise sped towards the smaller cr… motherless little…

   Cerberus sped towards the smaller craft, and in a small blaze of light, vaporized it without pause. “Let’s get back to our own time and see what good we have accomplished.”

   Cerberus repeated her performance of traveling through time, and with an unheard “pop” reemerged in the Trellious system.

   What they found astonished them all. Combat lighting bathed the bridge in its eerie red glow before the first phaser blast struck the ship. The Kzinti mining operation that they had stumbled into was rather well defended. So they were important, McDougal thought to himself as he ordered the ship to defend itself.

Scroll to BRUTAL ENDING

******
PICARD


   It was a long while waiting, but eventually the assault fleet gave up pursuit of the fleeing Cerberus. It was a brief pause in the moment, a rest for his brain, away for an ever too brief moment from the road ahead. “Options?” he asked them; and waited.

   “We could try to talk to them,” McCloud offered. “We’d have to try to offer them something useful, like a rehabilitation team.”

   McDougal nodded, but wondered, Where do we get one of those?

   “I agree,” Jones started, “but they’ll have to call off their dogs before we can do anything.”

   “I say we blow them all up,” MA2 Williamson added to the mix. “They’re already messed up anyway.”

   “They still deserve the chance to live like they were supposed to,” McDougal countered.

   Michaels spoke up from his helm station, “What about heading to the past? We could stop them from landing before they even get going. Then vwoop! We come back here and everything is fine.”

   “I thought about that,” McDougal said dryly. “It’s too risky.”

   The deliberations continued for almost an hour, finally resulting in what McDougal wanted from the beginning, to try to figure everything out.   

   “Open a channel to Y’Takki,” McDougal ordered, placing his cup of hot Earl Grey down on his chair’s armrest.

   “Emperor’s office,” the young man that now filled the view screen said.

   “I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Fed… did it again…

   “I am Commander Shawn McDougal of the Federation Starship Cerberus. I would like to speak with your emperor, please.”

   “You already are!

   “Good. We come from…”

   “My family has warned me that the Federation would be sending ships here eventually.”

   “Well, then, I guess you know why we are here?”

   “Hopefully to help us restore the leadership of this planet to the Emperor and strip it from the Chancellor of Peace. She’s been running this planet while the legitimate ruling party can do nothing but sit idly by. You’ve probably run into her ships and her slave traders. All her idea, yet I have to take the fall from that. Even the Great Wars were blamed on us, while she and her cohorts devised the entire thing!”

   “How can we help?”

   Almost an hour of talking finally ended, allowing McDougal to send a team to the planet to extract the Chancellor. The mission itself didn’t go too well, and ended up with the Chancellor’s untimely death. McDougal wrote it off as a step towards progress. The Emperor immediately halted all slavery on the planet and began a program to stabilize the relations between the two planets. Cerberus remained on station until a Federation negotiations team arrived.

Scroll to HAPPY ENDING

******
HAPPY ENDING


   With their business behind them, Cerberus and her crew left the Trellious system, a deep sense of remorse and success interweaving themselves into a bitter mix of emotion. They steadied themselves, squared their shoulders, and got ready for what lay ahead: The journey into the unknown. This, above all else, was their goal.

******
BRUTAL ENDING


   Cerberus plowed through another wave of fighters. Shields buckled and fell, missiles found their way through the defenses and impacted bare hull. The Kzinti assault fleet was merciless with their onslaught. Cerberus faired well, taking down two frigates and a destroyer before the big boys showed up. McDougal never in a million years would have thought that the Trellious system, so deep in the Federation’s frontier, would be claimed by the big cats.

   Cerberus kept moving, kept running. Power failed, two twisted stumps and a burning pylon were all that remained of the warp nacelles, denying them precious freedom. It was never a fair fight, it wasn’t the way of these cats. Before the ship began to disintegrate around him, a stray thought crossed McDougal’s mind: Isn’t there some rule about three carrier squadrons and a super space control ship fighting a lone frigate? He never got his answer, only the loud silence of death whispered in his ear.

Czar "Sorry about the quality, I was worried about space... and time." Mohab, who didn't want to spoil the actual story.

P.S. I'll edit this later, I REALLY need to get going!
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #14 on: December 04, 2007, 08:57:54 pm »
well... Ford dislikes time travel and would not consider it an option given what might happen could actually be worse...

Ford might not originally go the 'kill everyone' route, but...it might just oops-adentally happen anyway.

The Picard method would be what Ford WANTED to do...but is too cynical to think it'd work...

Thus, he'd likely envoke his General Order One right to bug the hell out and tell 'em, "You're on your own..." Then he'd tell Starfleet and let them handle it from there.

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Offline Andromeda

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #15 on: December 04, 2007, 11:35:24 pm »
I liked the previous installment.  However, the pick your own ending thing, not funny.
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Offline kadh2000

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #16 on: December 05, 2007, 02:21:11 pm »
I agree with Rommie.  I think you got impatient and ruined a good story.  Although there was an awful lot of expository speech by the old guy in his last installment.  Of course the story is redeemable.
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #17 on: December 05, 2007, 07:10:37 pm »
It wasn't meant as the end. Just some quick filler to "explore the options". I am not 100% sure if I'll be able to post more of the actual story in the next 2 weeks or more, so it was just something for everyone to chew on until I came back to writing and posting. No harm was intended.

By the way, you two didn't say which story you chose...

Thanks guv for the input. Might use that info later...

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Offline kadh2000

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #18 on: December 05, 2007, 08:03:55 pm »
In order from the way I'd pick them top to bottom. 

Janeway - leave them to their mess!
Sisko - blowing things away solves all problems
Picard - only because the time travel thing is so over used
Kirk - well Jim-boy woulda saved the good 'un, beaten the Kzinti, restored peace in the system, and gotten girls from both planets.  So clearly McDougal isn't up to Kirk's standards.
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #19 on: December 06, 2007, 01:04:55 pm »
The story continues! I hope it is enjoyed!


   McDougal led his party within the guards, ever searching, ever looking, for his ship or shuttle.  It was a more or less pointless endeavor, neither would be seen from the surface, but he kept looking anyway. He knew that they’d most likely have to distract the guards as soon as the beam out began; and he kept looking for an opportunity as the guards’ shuttle grew closer.

   The craft’s entry door opened as they approached, emitting an unnatural blue-green light from within. The guards in front of and next to McDougal moved faster towards the craft, leaving six guards for the six prisoners to handle. Sensing an opportunity, McDougal “tripped”, falling flat to the ground. He guessed that the four phaser shots that he heard before he could retrieve and fire his own concealed type one were from his two security guards. He didn’t have time to think more about it, nor fire his own shot, as the familiar tingle of the transporter consumed his body.



   “Four aboard!” came the frantic cry from the transporter room. “Captain and XO are unaccounted for! Readings indicate that the beam was redirected, but I can’t find them anywhere!

   McCloud quietly acknowledged the call. “T’Sala? Anything?” she asked softly.

   “No readings from the planet or of the shuttle,” the Vulcan replied.

   “We’ll have to withdraw for now,” McCloud said solemnly. “Helm, take us out of system, best speed, any course.” The command chair felt unusually unfriendly to her, cold and callous.

   “Engaging warp drive, heading three two three mark two one one,” Michaels replied. “Entering warp nine point eight six.”

   “Helm, all stop once the system is at the edge of our sensors.”

   “All stop, helm, aye.”

   Cerberus cruised through space, putting distance between her and Trellious. Seconds passed like hours, but eventually she stopped and turned around, keeping a watchful eye on Trellious. Her pursuers stopped the chase, unable to make the faster than light speeds of this advanced vessel.
   


   It was cold in his quarters. Deep chills ran through his body, and pain followed each shiver, pain deep in his joints. He was tired, though. Too tired to adjust the temperature of the room, to tired to simply put on more clothes or add another blanket. Each shiver pushed him further from the sweet release of slumber, pushed him closer to finally giving in and…

   Whatever chance of slumber shattered with the warbling squawk of the alarming chronometer; the one reason he forced himself to endure the torturous cold. It had been a surprisingly long ten minutes.

   In the sonic shower, he washed his body; feeling the scars left from encounters in the recent past. Each old wound  was followed by a memory, a Klingon bar fight he’d started and won, shrapnel wounds left by a lucky Starfleet torpedo that almost took him and his ship with it, claw marks from an angry Lyran female, and so many others, he didn’t have time to explore them all. He watched the dirt and grime of the night wash off his slender, well toned body. The scars, however, stayed. They never come off.

   Following his shower, he dressed himself in his finest uniform. It wasn’t anywhere near the same style as those he’d worn in Starfleet, the reds, golds, blues…. Even the stupid looking red jacket/black trouser combo that someone thought was a great idea would have felt more familiar to him. He let the thoughts pass through his mind as he dressed, one leg then the other into the black slacks; fasten then zip, always it was fasten then zip. Green tunic with a gold leafy pattern followed over the white undershirt. Admiral’s stars found his collar, brilliantly reflecting the room’s dimmed lights.

   He paused to look in the mirror, looking back into his own rugged face, gazing deeply into his own eyes. He hated who he saw, hated the salt and pepper hair and goatee, hated the nasty scar that traced downward on his cheek; had the dagger been a centimeter higher, it would have claimed his right eye. He hated who he’d become, who they had forced him to become. He could have led a fleet during Unity if they hadn’t pushed him away.

   But he was raised to push on, pull through, keep going. No matter what life threw at you, you had to push forward and make the best of it. He’d lost his wife, his sons and his career because of the choices of others. He had been a Starfleet Admiral, Commander of the Third Fleet, but they took that from him. One mission forced him into piracy, earned him a name among the various cartels. It was, after all, Starfleet’s idea. How would it look to rehire a deserter?” one of the admirals had asked him once the praise of success dried up. They were right, of course, even though they had devised the entire desertion story as a guise. At the time, retirement wasn’t an option.

   He played their game, stole his own ship away from the fleet; a handful of his officers had joined him, many more than he’d thought reasonable. Loyalty, it turned out, was more valuable than even the most precious metal.

   He’d decided to be a pirate hunter; like a modern day Robin Hood, he’d raid pirate convoys, or break up pirate attacks on the weak or helpless. Unlike Mister Hood, he kept the loot for himself and crew, steadily building a stockpile of munitions and supplies.

   There had been a Federation starship that caught his eye once; its capture forever erasing the good deeds he’d done, but laid the foundation for his new fleet. Over the last two years, his fleet grew. Federation, Klingon and Kzinti ships were present, if few in numbers, alongside the standard pirate ships of the line. Despite all of his success, he hated every minute. He could never return to who he once was.

   A pirate shipyard ended up being a fabulous prize, on the Federation’s side of the Klingon-Federation-Kzinti borders. He’d set up shop there, outfitting and redesigning old vessels while pushing forth high quality new designs for the highest bidder. This part he did enjoy, if only marginally. There was nothing quite like taking one of his designs for a shakedown cruise. He’d also done the impossible, upgrading many ‘un-upgradeable’ ships to the experimental technology that was sweeping the galaxy. He did, of course, maintain close ties with friends in high places.

   Last night was the first decent sleep he’d taken time to enjoy in weeks. Chasing down the right convoys for plundering had taken its toll on him. Despite the scars and whitening hair, he hid it well. He finally refocused himself, combed his hair, and left for the bridge.



   He surveyed his bridge the instant the lift doors parted. He never found the design of the ‘Old Man’ cumbersome or awkward, rather, majestic and spacious, efficient and warm. He’d long ago replaced the center commander’s gunnery chair with a more simplistic Starfleet pair of command chairs, one for him and one for his First. Hauser, Howerton, Ramirez… They had all served him well during his former career. He continued his gaze forward of the blue grey command chairs, starboard and forward was the combined helm and navigations console. Lieutenant Biklis manned this panel, and to her left was the oft unmanned operations console. Most of the functioning control panels had been rerouted through the tactical and helm stations, and were the only two required to be manned every minute of every day. It wasn’t like the old days he remembered, where the port side science and communications panels were always manned; their Federation design a sharp contrast to the Klingon designed engineering panel, directly across the bridge. This starboard side station, too, was unmanned.

   Resources in his fleet were thin.

   He was met by the one other person on the bridge as he passed the aft bridge stations: Tactical to port, Auxiliary One and Two to starboard. He noticed she had been using the Federation designed but Romulan influenced aux panels to run system diagnostics and the cloaking device. It was a feature that was not present in the ship’s original design, but was put to good use on her new duties. 

   “Sir,” K’Tal reported as he strode through the lift’s parted doors, “we are on schedule to arrive in Trellious; the system is on long range sensors.”

   “Very good, First K’Tal,” he replied to her. She took her customary seat at the aft tactical station, possibly the greatest use of this Vulcan’s skills. She made an excellent first officer, she had been promoted to the rank of Fleet Captain, and yet no one had ever surpassed her masterful skills at tactical. “Helm, take us out of warp as soon as we reach the rendezvous point.”

   “Aye, sir,” the young Kzinti replied. Her solid coat of blue-grey fur ruffled slightly with her movements.

   “Sir,” K’Tal relayed from her panel, “Picking up Starfleet vessel, unknown configuration.”

   “Helm, intercept course; K’Tal maintain the cloak and begin powering weapons!” Crew for the fleet and a new ship to put them on. He smiled a very wicked smile.

   “They are attempting to leave the system,” K’Tal said.

   “Course adjustments complete, entering speed changes for intercept… Sir! They’ve gone past our top speed!”

   “Very well,” he replied to her, sounding extremely disappointed. “Resume operations for scheduled pick up. Be ready if they come back, I will not tolerate failure again!”



   McDougal woke on Cerberus’s bridge, alone, again. This time, there was no one to greet him, just a very familiar and unwelcome voice, “Things are not as they appear, you can’t fix everything.”

   “Would you stay out of my head? Please, this is not the time!”

   “There is more at work here than what meets your eyes.”

   “Seriously, this is not the time!” McDougal paced around the empty bridge, searching for the source of the voice that echoed into quiet around him.

   “When you discover the truth, you should leave as quickly as you can.”

   McDougal gave up his search and took his seat in the center of the small bridge. “Suppose I don’t?”

   “Then there won’t be anyone to take the information back to your Starfleet.”

   “I’ll play the cards as they’re dealt, Par. I don’t need you influencing my decisions!”

   “I think you’ll find out that I am worth listening too,” the voce began to fade, “commander, commander, commander…”



   “Commander! Commander! Shawn, damn it wake up!” Jones was frantically shaking her passed out CO. She straddled his limp form, and slapped his face, hard.

   “I’m not a Vulcan,” he said groggily. “You don’t have to hit me.” He lifted himself to rest on his elbows, and surveyed the area. Jones sat back on his legs, waiting for him to continue waking up. It was rocky nearby, with small patches of snow and stray fronds of vegetation trying to live in the harsh climate. He shivered in the cold; his head ached. The soft dirt below him was surprisingly warm. “How’d we wind up here?”

   “Not sure,” she replied to him. “Nearest I can tell our transporter beam was redirected.”

   McDougal kept looking around, searching for something that might indicate where they were. All he could surmise was that they were in the mountains, far from where they started. They stood up together, Jones helping her CO off the ground. “This could be a while,” he said softly. “Let’s see about some shelter and food.”


Czar "Another surprise!" Mohab, who seeks not redemption, but hopes its there anyway.

P.S. Somehow things lined up where I would have the time to finish this part and post it. :D :D
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Offline Andromeda

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #20 on: December 06, 2007, 02:40:49 pm »
Is the voice in his head someone/something I would know from earlier stories I haven't read?
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Offline Hstaphath_XC

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #21 on: December 06, 2007, 02:46:34 pm »
I took the "alternate" endings for what they were and found them hilarious!  Of course, I'm obviously twisted in regards to humor so your mileage may vary.   ;)

Pewsonally, I vote fow the ending that involved fish-schlapping.  Keep it coming, Czaw!
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #22 on: December 06, 2007, 03:38:17 pm »
Quote
Is the voice in his head someone/something I would know from earlier stories I haven't read?

Yes. You can find all of that information in The Long, Dusty Trail. I think you're right, though, that part of that should have been included somewheres in the intro.

Quote
I took the "alternate" endings for what they were and found them hilarious!

I'm glad someone got a good laugh out of it, that is why it was there in the first place!

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Keep it coming, Czaw!

Roger, wilco!

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Offline kadh2000

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #23 on: December 07, 2007, 08:34:09 am »
Very nice.  Of course, the none-of-the-above answer is the only right one.

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #24 on: December 26, 2007, 03:08:46 am »
Technically, It's still Christmas (somewhere), so here you all go, its a little late, and (sorry) not wrapped in a bow:


   “Cloak effects fading,” K’Tal reported behind him. “Freighter Gold Rush and Tanker Blue Ribbon entering system.” The two massive Clydesdale class freighters showed on the main view screen, closing in on the sixth planet. Blue Ribbon stopped her travels while her dry-goods counterpart coasted ahead on her red glowing impulse drives. “Four Y’Takki vessels are assuming escort pattern…”

   “What?” he barked at her, standing and turning around to face her. “They have never escorted us before.”

   “The Y’Takki might still be spooked from that Starfleet ship,” Biklis said softly from the helm, hairy paws plotting in their approach course.

   He turned, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I doubt that they realize what power any Starfleet vessel might have when compared to their tiny ships.” He resumed his seat quietly and spoke in a soft voice, “they want to risk their lives if that ship comes back, then let them. Offer no assistance if it becomes a firefight.” He smiled deeper, more sinister, and spoke again, “get me all sensor data on that ship, and see if we know who we’re dealing with.”

   K’Tal worked her panel silently, and a brief moment passed before he was reading the data for himself on the console between the command chairs. He drew upon years of service with the fleet, watching the form rotate slowly about. Some of the shapes that this ship had were familiar to him, and others not. His well trained eyes found the weapons mounts, docking hard points, life boats… He counted the decks, guessed at the length and width, and found this ship to be an enigma to him. It was, essentially, a light cruiser packed on a large frigate’s hull. Power output was off the charts for a frigate, but then again, Starfleet had been taking leaps and bounds in the field of engine efficiency. She was small, and would hurt when she punched, but he was confident in his ship and crew. Boldly across her hull was plastered her name, Cerberus; the name tickled him inside, and he chuckled softly.

   This information amused him to no end, and he made the decision, This ship must be mine.



   Perkins almost tripped over the still opening lift door as he entered the bridge with a frantic pace. “The rovers,” he started, nearly out of breath, “the rovers we found… they aren’t surveying the sixth planet, they’re surveying for us!” T’Sala’s gaze followed him to his science panel, Aux 2, with upward arched eyebrows in genuine curiosity.

   “How do you know this?” McCloud questioned him with equal curiosity. “And can you prove it?”

   “Wait one,” he told her as he busied himself at the panel, augmenting the sensor readings on the recordings, waiting for something to jump out at him. “Bingo!” he said after a long pause.

   “‘Bingo!’?” T’Sala asked him, hoping it was a simple explanation behind the phrase.

   “Yeah, bingo; as in ‘ah ha’ or ‘eureka’… look,” he pushed a few buttons on the panel, and it chirruped merrily in reply to his commands. The view screen shifted and displayed what it was he found. “We thought that they were simply relaying messages back to their home planet, but part of each transmission was bouncing off of our hull…”

   “Like old style radar,” McCloud interrupted.

   “Not quite. The radio transmission was enough to mask the probe’s scans.” The screen showed Cerberus orbiting the planet, and each probe’s transmissions were highlighted with white wavy lines. Perkins pressed a control and the image highlighted a separate purple line, directed from each probe directly towards the ship. “There’s more,” he said softly. The screen shifted again to a top-down view of the system, with an extensively drawn grid of purple lines extending around the fourth, fifth and sixth planets, and extending near to where Cerberus sat quietly waiting.

   “It seems that they have a partial system wide detection grid set up,” Perkins said. “Set up to be undetectable by standard scans. We met with a village elder. He said that four humans had decided to make this system home.”

   “But that doesn’t fit,” McCloud started. “Sensor technology and scanning protocol has changed drastically over the years.”

   “Perhaps this will explain,” Perkins said, returning his attention to his now alarming panel. He didn’t have to look to know what was going on, the alarm was familiar to him; it was where things were happening that forced him to look. “An unknown vessel has decloaked near Y’Takki.”

   “Too far out to be Romulans,” Michaels said from the helm.

   “Klingons or pirates,” T’Sala offered.

   “I’ve managed to patch into their sensor net. Whoa…” Perkins worked the controls and the screen shifted to a close up view of a Klingon battle cruiser. “Insufficient data to determine anything for certain, but that’s a see seven hull, I’m very certain of that.”

   “Are those Starfleet markings?” Michaels asked. “There have only been three of those ever to serve in the fleet.”

   “And only one,” McCloud started, and then sighed softly before continuing, “that wasn’t scrapped for raw materials.”

   “Commander,” T’Sala said in a hurried voice. “Using Perkins’ patch, I’ve found the Many De’Oria.”



   “When the ships collided,” Jones continued her story in the smallish cave that had been their temporary home in the encroaching night. A faint smile played on her lips as she finished, “the entire simulator room erupted in flames and smoke. Half the saucer was blown off, but we managed to take that Klingon out. We tumbled into another cruiser, destroying us and them.”

   “And that was your answer to the unbeatable simulation?” McDougal asked her.

   “No, that was my first answer to the K. Maru.” She laughed a little before continuing, “I made three more attempts, the last one I found the Kobyashi Maru, but the Klingons swept in while we were slowed for transport.”

   “Poof!” McDougal added with a laugh.

   “Yeah, poof. I think we lasted twenty seconds in combat on that run.”

   “Well, I only had the honors of running the test once,” he smiled at her in the firelight. “I was the last in my class to take the no win, so I had a lot of stories about what to do and what not to do. But the test administrator either knew what I was planning or had several cadets who were last in line pull what I had planned, so he changed the programming on me. I had to rescue a crippled Klingon frigate that was under attack by a single pirate ship. We took out the pirate no problem, but when two Klingon cruisers showed up, they assumed that we’d come across the Zone just to take out the frigate.”

   “Poof!”

   “Yeah,” he agreed. “I tried to talk my way out of it, but in the end, disruptors spoke louder than words, and down we went, that stupid frigate fired the kill shot.”

   He paused a moment, letting her ponder his words. “That was when I created the U.S.S. Hope.”

   “That was you?” she asked. “I only heard about that behemoth, we all thought it was a legend…”

   “Well, I’ll tell you the whole story, starting with Hope herself.”

   “I heard she was some kind of super battleship.”

   “Mostly correct,” he started.

   Story time stopped abruptly as McDougal’s communicator chirped softly for his attention. He fished the small device from his pants pocket and activated it. Static filled the line, followed by the brief sentence, “Have found shuttle Many De’Oria, stay on the line for beam out.”

   A silent moment passed until the familiar tingle of the transporter took them away. Alarms assailed their ears when they materialized on the shuttle, the most worrisome of them was the one indicating that a Klingon Battle Cruiser had decloaked in system.

   The question of whether or not anyone had noticed was answered shortly after their arrival as the shuttle rocked gently from a near miss from one of the local craft. A warning message blinked frantically for attention, and Jones read it aloud, “Run to Three.” McDougal deftly piloted the small craft through several weapons discharges, evading them with years of practiced skill.

   Many De’Oria was a large shuttle, and boasted similar speed and maneuverability to her smaller counterparts. Added to that was her small warp drive, not ever going to break any warp speed records, but enough to move the tiny vessel faster than light. With a simple button push, the ship left behind her pursuers, and leapt towards relative safety. “We’ll have about six minutes,” Jones started, “before they catch up.”

   “I just hope McCloud can rescue our sorry butts in time.”

   “Strange that the Klingon hasn’t taken to pursuit yet. I would have figured he would have been all over us.”

   “Might have something to do with those two freighters out there,” he replied, pointing at the sensor readouts.



   “Starfleet shuttle has gone to warp,” K’Tal said calmly. “Shall we pursue?”

   “Negative. Let our protectors protect us from this dangerous shuttle.” He chuckled maliciously.

   “Entering standard orbit,” Biklis added.

   “Very well. Wait for it Biklis, don’t get too comfortable.”

   “Incoming urgent transmission from Y’Takki,” K’Tal said. “They are requesting for us to aid in capturing the shuttle.” Her panel beeped frantically. “Starfleet vessel has reentered sensor range, heading for Y’Takki., high impulse.”

   “Open a channel to the planet,” he said while standing. The view screen didn’t change over like he’d anticipated, instead it remained focused on the slowly turning planet below. “Our deal is advanced products for crewmembers,” he said in a cold voice. “One thousand of your best slaves every three months gets you more crap than you’ll ever need. Our deal does not include capturing shuttlecraft. However, I am willing to renegotiate.” He paused to let the words sink in. “Two thousand slaves gets you the shuttle and her crew, three thousand and we’ll remove the Starfleet vessel permanently from your system.”

   Again, the screen didn’t change over, but the Supreme Leader’s voice filled the bridge’s speakers. “These are people’s lives you are dealing with!” he shouted, a touch of remorse in his tone. “Do what you must, but I want salvage rights to the ship!

   “Supreme Leader, if you are so concerned with the lives of your slaves, then why enslave the planet at all? You sound as if our deal isn’t fair.”

   “Not at all unfair, m’lord, I’m just concerned with the welfare of the slaves, that’s all.

   “As I said when I first came to your people, they will be well taken care of as members of my crew. Four thousand gets you whatever remains of the ship after we’re through, the crew of the shuttlecraft, and a double shipment of weapons and ship components in three months instead of deuterium this shipment.”

   “Consider it a deal,” he replied grudgingly. “But when will we have more deuterium? Our stockpiles are running low.

   “Then I suggest you start a conservation program or start harvesting it yourself.” He turned to K’Tal, a wicked smirk on his face, and issued a throat-cut gesture. The line closed as he spoke, “Combat stations! Take us out of orbit, helm. Intercept course, ahead slow. Miss K’Tal, order Blue Ribbon to our position. Charge all weapons to standard, tractor beam to full, transporters and raiding parties to stand-by.” He chuckled maniacally as he resumed his center seat. “Order no casualties, I want that ship and her crew.”

   “Holding position,” McDougal said from his tiny helm station. Many De’Oria had stopped after rounding the third planet of Trellious, just far enough to watch events unfold, and to make a clean get away if the situation called for it. “Cerberus has reentered the system, and it looks like one of the freighters and that Klingon are heading to intercept.”

   “We passed close enough to scan the freighters and the Klingon. Nothing definite, but it looks like a pirating operation,” Jones sighed and continued her report, “the freighter in orbit is empty, the one that is moving is loaded to the gills with deuterium.”

   “Did you say deuterium?” McDougal asked her. “Something familiar about this set up.”

   “Cerberus is closing on Y’Takki. Communications are being jammed.”

   “Is there any further readings on that Klingon ship?” he hastily tried to augment the sensors to pick up a higher resolution on the bogey.

   “All we have is recorded data. We picked up on a see seven hull type, heavily modified. Starfleet power signature, some Starfleet, Klingon, Romulan and Kzinti materials detected on the hull.”

   “We can’t see anything from here,” he said, giving up on the sensor tune up. “McCloud better have an ace up her sleeve.”

   “She does, look!” The Klingon vessel and Cerberus closed silently in space. As the two ships neared optimum firing range, they veered away from each other, the Klingon ship exposing her weaker rear shields to Cerberus.

   “Aw, shoot!” McDougal shouted. His mind finally found the lost bit of data that was stored in his vast memory, forcing his mind to think the unthinkable. Run! a different memory told him as the events coalesced into fact. “Don’t take the bait! McCloud, damn you, keep turning! We can wait!”

   McCloud did not hear him. Jones looked at him worriedly. Cerberus turned towards her prey, sealing the deal. Both ships now pointed towards the shuttle. McDougal knew what was next. But he waited, watching impatiently, hoping things would change. Blue Ribbon increased her speed.



   “Cerberus has taken the bait, sir,” K’Tal said quietly. “Speed has increased and she has turned to engage. Twenty thousand… fifteen thousand… eight thousand…”

   “Emergency reverse!” he barked, and with a jolt the old man jumped backwards. Cerberus began to overtake them, the sudden change in course caught them off guard. Some weapons fired, rocking the old man, making him shudder like a leaf in the wind, but the frigate’s photons never fired, they stayed nestled in their tubes as the older Klingon vessel passed beneath them. “All stop! Engage tractor beam!” The old man halted his movement, and an unseen hand leapt forth to grab the smaller craft. He lurched again under the frigate’s pull, but his own mass kept her from fleeing.

   “Remote link to Blue Ribbon has been reestablished.” K’Tal said from behind him. “Changing course, lowering shields for transport… transporting now…” The fluid laden freighter slowly came in from behind them, speeding towards the entangled prey.

   “All back emergency!” he said as he watched the frigate struggle like a fly in a spider’s web. “Drop tractor, all available power to shield one!”

   Cerberus had fired what weapons she could into the Klingon vessel as she passed over, spreading the damage across several of his shields. Of what remained, the arc wasn’t proper. She began a slow, struggling turn while caught in his grasp. A few more seconds, and the first two of the four overloaded photons would come to bear. “Detonate!” he ordered as the small craft on his screen was eclipsed by the freighter.

   Well positioned anti-matter pods disintegrated within the mass of deuterium, their contents hungrily interacting with the fluid, causing an explosive chain reaction that detonated the freighter. Cerberus and the old man shuddered with the force of the blast, the frigate taking the worst of it, but she remained.

   “Enemy shields five and six are down,” K’Tal reported.

   “Initiate second transport!” he ordered in return. The protective shield dropped as the old man slowed, now moving in for the capture. “Belay that!” he barked, but he knew it was too late as watched on the view screen the orbs of death flew unhindered through the expanding debris cloud. The shield was already down, and there was nothing more they could do but wait.

   Four overloaded torpedoes had been chomping at the bit, waiting for the sweet release of launch. Their wish was granted and the salvo leapt from the ship, no longer hindered by line of fire. He smiled in fear as two struck his ship’s hull.


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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #25 on: December 26, 2007, 01:43:22 pm »
A good addition! I'm gonna have to reread a lot, however, for it to flow well in my head.

I'll reply in more depth later.

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Offline Andromeda

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #26 on: January 01, 2008, 03:48:38 pm »
Suspensful and annoying at the same time.  Annoying because I have to wait to find out what happens next.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #27 on: January 01, 2008, 08:44:03 pm »
Love the torps at the end! I must have a copy of your stuff for my collection!

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Offline Scottish Andy

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #28 on: January 04, 2008, 12:27:15 pm »
Okay, just reading and noting as I get there.

I really liked the idea of the captain having pictures taken of his ship in an appropriate light. Great idea!

Quote
How could such an advanced culture condone slavery?
Orions? Kzinti? Romulans? The Final Reflection's Klingons? You don't have enough data (at that point in your story) to say they're socially advanced, only technologically. And as we all know, some peoples' technology advances more quickly than their wisdom and/or social mores.

Also, why instantly jump to thinking they are Slavers? How can you determine the trade of an individual through a life form scan? My first thought was they were a colony planet in the process of being settled, my second was that they were miners a la 'TOS: The Devil in the Dark', and the third was that it was a prison planet.

Master-At-Arms is a position, not a rank. There is no 1st or 2nd class. Different ranks can be an MAA. Depending on what service you are in, they have sliightly different roles, but the traditional duties in the USN (as opposed to the originating RN - I'm assuming as a Yank you're using the Yank position) is law enforcement. An MAA on a USN Ship serves as military police. They are not Special Forces. Even in the RN, the MAA position is the Armoury Officer, being in charge of the ship's small arms and their provisioning and training in their use. He is also responsible for discipline on board. The position can be assigned to any rank of Petty Officer.

Rommie's comments that they might not be slavers fits in nicely to my above comments. Having the captain suddenly say, "Oh, wait!" strikes me as... wrong. Feds aren't meant to pre-judge after all, and with so little supporting evidence for any theory, to leap to that as your first conclusion instead of giving a newly encountered race the benefit of the doubt... this guy should not be in charge of an exploratory mission. The facts are too thin on the ground to be so sure - unless he has a Kirk-style gut-instinct about it that you haven't made clear.

I liked your "I wish we were Klingon/I'm glad we're not Klingon" comments from the different scenes. Again, though. the Feds really shouldn't be wanting to blow anyone out of the sky - unless, I grant you, they genuinely are slavers.

Quote
“We’ve been watching!” Pop-Pop laughed himself into a deep cough, and then continued. “Ninety-eight of our years ago, three of your Starfleet men came to our planets. They chose Y’Takki to live,” he pointed to the sky, “and eventually, to rule over.”
Ooooooh!! Big revelation! Cracking cliff-hanger! Now I'm really interested!

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE the 'Pick your own Story' elements! Very funny (especially Janeway's hair comments and the strikethroughs). Even funnier was our fellow authors thinking these were the real ending(s)!
I do agree with Kadh's secondary comments though. Jim would've saved the day six ways from Sunday. My personal order of preference would be:
Baneway (Best written - "Fire in the Galley!")
Smirk (even before the Jim'd save the day editorial)
Ricardo (major under-reaction - "It was a long while waiting, but eventually the assault fleet gave up pursuit of the fleeing Cerberus." Sheesh. Grow a spine.)
Crisco (Major over-reaction - Oopsie, I blew up the planet...)

The introduction of the ex-Admiral is odd in a way I cannot define. It's descriptive enough, just possibly a bit rushed. I dunno. Interested to see where it's going though.
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #29 on: January 04, 2008, 03:32:06 pm »
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A good addition! I'm gonna have to reread a lot, however, for it to flow well in my head.


Sometimes proper flow escapes me. Sorry for that.

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Annoying because I have to wait to find out what happens next.


Sorry here, too. I recently discovered the rest of D.net and I spent my writing time trolling the rest of the boards. Next part due out in about a week... from Tuesday...

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Love the torps at the end! I must have a copy of your stuff for my collection!


I'm really glad that that part came out well. And, as soon as the series is concluded, including reverse editing the master file (I often add/subtract/modify after I've copy-pasted here but before posting; I don't always go back and make the same changes in the master  :-[) I'll port it to .pdf and find a way to get it to anyone who wants it.

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I really liked the idea of the captain having pictures taken of his ship in an appropriate light. Great idea!


Also plays into scenes coming up, and came from some really old KA screen shots of a similar nature, but I don't seem to have those anymore, so I can't share it. Sorry.

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Orions? Kzinti? Romulans? The Final Reflection's Klingons? You don't have enough data (at that point in your story) to say they're socially advanced, only technologically. And as we all know, some peoples' technology advances more quickly than their wisdom and/or social mores.

Also, why instantly jump to thinking they are Slavers? How can you determine the trade of an individual through a life form scan? My first thought was they were a colony planet in the process of being settled, my second was that they were miners a la 'TOS: The Devil in the Dark', and the third was that it was a prison planet.


I won't argue this, mostly because you're right. Just because *I* know what's going on doesn't mean everyone else should know too.

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Master-At-Arms is a position, not a rank. There is no 1st or 2nd class. Different ranks can be an MAA. Depending on what service you are in, they have sliightly different roles, but the traditional duties in the USN (as opposed to the originating RN - I'm assuming as a Yank you're using the Yank position) is law enforcement. An MAA on a USN Ship serves as military police. They are not Special Forces. Even in the RN, the MAA position is the Armoury Officer, being in charge of the ship's small arms and their provisioning and training in their use. He is also responsible for discipline on board. The position can be assigned to any rank of Petty Officer.


You won't like what I have to say about this. One of my better friends in the Navy was MA2(SW) Burns. Great guy. I was prosecuted (and charges dropped) by MA1(SW) Roberts (don't ask, wrong place, wrong time).

Look here: http://usmilitary.about.com/od/enlistedjob1/a/ma.htm

And here: http://www.navy.mil/search/display.asp?story_id=31744

Navy Seals = special forces; MA1/2/3 (SEAL) is a very real position/rating. This is what I was going for. Cerberus isn't loaded with all Marines. I like the idea that the Starfleet Navy would have SEALS, too.

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I liked your "I wish we were Klingon/I'm glad we're not Klingon" comments from the different scenes. Again, though. the Feds really shouldn't be wanting to blow anyone out of the sky - unless, I grant you, they genuinely are slavers.


You're right about the Feds not usually blowing stuff up. But, I'm glad you liked it.

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LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE the 'Pick your own Story' elements! Very funny (especially Janeway's hair comments and the strikethroughs). Even funnier was our fellow authors thinking these were the real ending(s)!
I do agree with Kadh's secondary comments though. Jim would've saved the day six ways from Sunday.


I'm glad that you and others liked this part. I really tried to capture the main feel of how each would handle it, and how they would get into the situation. And you and Kadh are both right. Kirk would have pulled it off, got off, and had something funny to say about it with Spock and McCoy. Maybe I'll re-edit it later.

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The introduction of the ex-Admiral is odd in a way I cannot define. It's descriptive enough, just possibly a bit rushed. I dunno. Interested to see where it's going though.


By now you should all know who it is. If not, you'll know soon enough. I hope to use him at least once more as the bad guy in this series.

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #30 on: January 04, 2008, 03:59:51 pm »
I strand corrected on the MAAs not having grades. Apparently, according to your first link, there are 3 MAA grades: MA2, MA1, and MAC (Presumably for "Command").

However, the comprehensive listing of job descriptions backs me up in that they are law/discipline enforcers and physical security. It is not a rank but a position - especially as the Navy Pay grades of these ranks are E5, E6 and E7 respectively. The MAA you note in your second link - a damn fine soldier by that account - was a SEAL who was an MAA.

What I'm trying to says is: Not all MAAs are SEALS, and not all SEALS are MAAs. The MAA's job function - regardless of their Service (Army, Navy, Marine, SEAL) - is discipline and security, not Offensive SpecOps. Here's one of my sources:

http://web.archive.org/web/20050207144053/www.seal.navy.mil/seal/bec_sourcerates.asp.

The prefacing note says:
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Note: the SEAL program is open to all enlisted Navy active duty members (with exception to established requirements) regardless of their rating. Once you are in the SEAL program you will be required to change your rating to one of the rates listed below, if applicable.


I take this to mean that you can be a Navy MAA and transfer to the SEALs, or any Navy Petty Officer transferring to the SEALs and making MAA your rate, and you'll be an MA1/2/C ( SEAL). You could also be a SEAL with a Gunner's Mate rate who wants to be an MAA.

Admittedly, I feel like an idiot trying to correct someone whose served with MAAs. I feel like I'm setting myself up for a fall, to be cut of at the knees. If I'm wrong, Czar, lay it on me. I'd really like to know, as all my (second & third-hand) sources are disputing you.

Oh P.S. - Sorry for hijacking your thread. I like your story.  :D
« Last Edit: January 04, 2008, 04:31:06 pm by Scottish Andy »
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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #31 on: January 19, 2008, 12:23:00 am »
Andy- I'll get back to you on that MA bit soon enough. Suffice it to say, I was going for something not Marines, better trained and also part of normal security. Cerberus' new mission is to explore the unkown. Sometimes they might need some muscle to get out of a scrape. Marines die, that's what they're there for; but SEALs tend to live forever, which means, Cerberus away missions with SEALs will live forever.

That said, here's the next thrilling part:


   The warble of the intruder alarm reiterated to her that the shields had been compromised. Frantic beeping from the helm told her the ship was still spinning slowly out of control due to the huge matter-antimatter explosion that had ripped the protective shields away from the ship. Flashing indicators told her of damaged systems, weapons, shields, life support, transporters… She ignored these. Her attention was focused solely on the individual that had materialized on the bridge. He held a small, egg-like object in his hand. “Computer,” she said as he activated the device and dematerialized back to wherever he’d come. “Emergency control system lock out, authorization McCloud, theta one seven nine enable.” Anesthazine gas slowly filled the bridge, and most likely the decks below. She knew a takeover when she saw it, even if she only had a split second to act. Computer screens dimmed and shut down, terminals locked out. Only three people could restore the ship, two were not aboard, the last drifted into an unwelcome slumber.


   “Are you certain?” Jones asked frantically. If it is him…”

   “We covered this particular act for three days in advanced combat tactics,” McDougal replied to her dryly. “We even watched the recordings from his ship’s logs. How do you think he got that ship he’s on now?”

   Several warnings beeped and blinked frantically for their attention, cutting the discussion short. “Klingon vessel has…” Jones started. McDougal’s hands sped quickly over the helm controls, narrowly avoiding the twin disruptor salvo. The shuttle dipped and swerved, and eventually found relative safety in the milky grey atmosphere of the planet they orbited.

   “Stand-by to vent drive plasma!” he ordered, most of his attention turned to dodging incoming weapons fire.

   “Computer has recognized the ship, and you were right! Standing by to vent…”

   “We’re in pretty deep,” he said as the shuttle shuddered from another near hit. “We can’t stay in the atmosphere, we’ll burn up, and we don’t have much of a chance against him, even if he only intended capture. To top it off, what we’re about to do could cause our very deaths.”

   “What do we have to ignite the plasma?” she asked, recognizing their part of the Kolvoord Starburst. She gave him an “I’m with you” smile.

   “Him,” he said, pointing to the ceiling in the cabin. “We’ll have to time it right, but from their perspective, it should look as if we’ve been vaporized. And it should buy us enough time to get aboard Cerberus and get out of here.”

   The shuttle angled up slightly and began her exit from the planet’s uppermost atmosphere. Many De’Oria shook gently as a phaser strike impacted the hull. Taking her cue, Jones executed the release of drive plasma. “He’s powering down weapons!” she said excitedly. “He’s accelerating to full impulse”

   “Shut the vent!” he shouted at her. “It’s not him, he’s not there… If he was, they would still be firing…” he paused, refocusing his mind on the art of evasion. Skilled hands danced playfully across the helm. Behind them, the massive Klingon battle cruiser closed the gap, twin gashes of freshly rent hull plates could now be seen adorning his secondary hull. The shuttle dove hard towards the planet below, using the gravity to accelerate them. Jones’ panel beeped a frantic warning as structural safety limits were being exceeded. He ignored these, focusing solely on the planet below. “That f*cker’s on Cerberus.”

   Behind, the cruiser tried to keep up, and had his commanding officer been aboard, would have followed the shuttle down. In his absence, the crew merely waited for the shuttle to burry itself in the planet’s surface, or explode trying; first by slowing, then altering course all together. At the last possible second, the shuttle pulled up from her dive, a slight shock to the crew of the cruiser, and bounced gingerly off the atmosphere. The entire event managed to mask her ion trail, and for the moment, Many De’Oria was nowhere to be found.



   He walked quietly through the silent corridor, the sound of his boots muffled against soft Starfleet carpeting; the hiss from his respirator was the only sound that assailed his ears. Red combat lights bathed him in familiarity; red alert flashers reflected the evil in his eyes. Starfleet had been smart enough to delete his command codes from their computers, denying him his prize for the moment. He knew that the crew was well trained and loyal to the fleet; they’d never aid him in restoring computer control. No matter, soon the Old Man would flush out the quarry, sending the lone bird back to the nest. Judging by what he found on the bridge, at least one of the persons on the shuttle would be the commanding officer. Unless, of course, she was the one in the command chair, wearing an engineer’s uniform.

   He’d slapped her unconscious form regardless; she’d given the order to fire on his ship, after all. He’d have had more for her later in one of his agonizer booths, had they both not been destroyed. But he was crafty, and something would happen, it always did, that would allow him to force her atonement for his dead personnel.

   He finally made his destination, and stood beside the large pressure door to the shuttle bay. He waited a silent moment, allowing his far behind security guards to catch up. Beyond the door he could hear the whispering hiss of a shuttle landing. He waited, and took a position to the left of the door. Familiar sounds of a shuttle’s door opening sounded through the bulkhead, along with the main hangar bay door sealing shut, and still he waited.

   His patience wore thin after ten minutes of silence. They had had more than enough time to come through the door, to be taken by his men. He motioned for his squad to stay put and remain ready as he opened the door.

   No phaser shots came through at him. One of his squad pulled out a tricorder and briefly scanned the bay, and shook her head to relay the “no life signs” message she’d received. Anger boiled inside him, but never the less, he motioned to his squad calmly to secure the bay.

   As they busied themselves with searching the scorched Many De’Oria, he opened his communicator and dialed in the proper frequency. “K’Tal,” he spoke into the device through his respirator’s voice filter. “K’Tal, come in!” Silence was his only response. He looked down the corridor to a sleeping form. It was possible that one of the bridge crew had revived themselves, but certainly not enough to overtake K’Tal and the three marines with her. He closed down his communicator. She could just be too busy to answer; restoring the computer was the first priority, after all. He stepped into the hangar and greeted one of his men who’d come running out of the larger shuttle.

   “Recent transporter activity, sir,” he said. “The shuttle’s transport log has been erased, along with most of the sensor and communications logs. Two personal life support kits are also missing from the storage locker.”

   It is a standard Starfleet shuttle, he mused. Why not have standard equipment?   He smiled, and turned to exit the shuttle bay with quick strides, motioning for his squad to follow. In a flash, the door slammed shut, locking them behind him in the bay. He didn’t wait, though. Without feeling he trod down the lonely corridor, to the nearest computer terminal. They might have pulled his authority off of the ships, but they still used the same computer designs. He made the terminal as force fields snapped into existence around him. Unnoticing, he forced his way through the multi-layered computer lock out.

   A few hundred keystrokes later, he found himself free of his temporary cell, and on a turbo lift to the bridge.



   “Status?” Commander Shawn McDougal barked at her. He’d moved Lieutenant Michaels’ unconscious form free of the helm and sat down himself. Unlocking the computer was a long ordeal, as was taking out the guards on the bridge. Precious time had been lost, forever unrecoverable.

   “Shields one through four fully functional,” Lieutenant Commander Selma Jones responded. “Five and six are down. Life support systems are taxed, but are flushing out the anesthazine; Bridge is locked down and secured; all computer and command functions routed to bridge terminals; insufficient power available for movement or weapons at this time. Our guests are still wandering the ship; I’m waiting for power systems to return to capacity to engage security force fields.” A low rumble was felt by the duo, followed by a flashing indicator on the engineering panel. Jones hopped from the tactical station to the engineering station.

   “Impulse engines are at full capacity. Rerouting power to security systems.” A snap came from the turbo lift door as a force field formed within the frame. “That should do it, including those in the shuttle bay.” A flashing indicator blinked for attention on the tactical panel, then faded as quickly as it had come, unnoticed by the busy executive officer.

   “Lock down all turbo lifts and Jeffries tubes,” he ordered. “How long until we have warp drive?”

   “The computer estimates ten minutes, maybe sooner if someone wakes up down there. That explosion wrecked havoc on the power grid and warp drive.”

   “We need to get the downed shields back up,” he said, working the controls of the helm. “I’m plotting a course out of system, as soon as we have the power, we’ll be on our way. And Miss Jones?”

   “Yes sir?”

   “See if you can’t secure the garbage on the bridge,” he said, motioning to the four stunned infiltrators.

   “Gladly, sir.” She left her station to tend to the binding of the hands and feet of their four unwelcome guests. She tended to the Vulcan first, assuming that she’d be most likely to come around quickest, and she was the closest to her position. Eight pair of security shackles formed in the bridge’s port replicator unit, and with a simple click the first two were affixed to the stunned Vulcan. Jones continued her rounds to the next two, both lying behind the command chair, when the crackle of the force field protecting the bridge sounded in her ears.

   The lift door parted, revealing the tall man behind, phaser pointed into the bridge. “Don’t,” he said as McDougal and Jones both began to stand and draw their own weapons, “or you’re both dead.”

   “Computer!” McDougal shouted. The two consious Starfleet officers slowly moved hands away from phasers, and pushed them towardss ths ceiling.

   “I wouldn’t do that either if you valued your lives,” the man interrupted him.

   “I’d known you’d sunk low,” McDougal said to him, softly returning to his seat. “But this is a new low, even for the great Czar Mohab.”

   “My reputation precedes me.” He took a short bow. “Pity, I’ve not heard of yours.” He stepped away from the twin terminals, further towards the center of the bridge.

   “Strange, I thought you’d recognize the boot that will be kicking your sorry *ss all the way back to Earth!” McDougal said vehemently. He turned quickly to the helm, pressing down hard on one shiny red key.

   The sound of a phaser beam broke through the tension filled atmosphere.


Czar "So very very glad that cat's out of the bag," Mohab, who was tired of writing "him", "his", and "he".


EDIT 1: The old man was suffering from GID (her instead of his). Fixed.

EDIT 1.1: Had to act out parts of this to see if it was believable. Added a few words. Believable now.

EDIT 2: I swear I proof these before I post. But, Changed "Cargo" bay to "Shuttle" bay, as said by Jones.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #32 on: January 19, 2008, 09:41:27 pm »
I am very sleepy and have an attention starved feline in my lap, but am compelled to comment anyway.

This was a very exciting addition and left me wanting to see the story's completion all the more. The Ceberous sees as much action as the 'ill-fated' Endeavour!

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #33 on: January 21, 2008, 02:27:21 am »
I feel stupid that I didn't figure it out.  It should have been obvious. 

Nice action, but I'm still not decided whether I like the overall story or not.
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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #34 on: January 21, 2008, 02:54:41 am »
I feel stupid that I didn't figure it out.  It should have been obvious. 

Don't. It was supposed to make the reader feel, "Is that... no, he wouldn't... would he?" I did leave enough clues, but don't feel bad for not getting it. I tried to keep it covered, too, you know.

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« Last Edit: January 21, 2008, 04:44:59 am by Czar Mohab »
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #35 on: February 29, 2008, 07:37:01 pm »
Long overdue continuation. Enjoy!

   “You missed,” Mohab sneered at the wily commander. The sounds of the transporter faded away with the forms of two of Mohab's men.

   “So did you,” the commander retorted. Mohab noticed the scorch mark on the other's left shoulder. He hadn't missed that bad before the commander dove for the deck. Plain as day, his adversary's left arm lay limp at his side, stunned.

   “I wouldn't try anything like that again,” Mohab said calmly. He adjusted the phaser to a higher setting. “Both of you, up front, now!” They stood and obliged him, and only once they were both in his field of view did he remove the slumbering female from the command chair and take the seat for himself. She fell painlessly to the carpeted deck with a soft thud.

   “I was a lot like you once,” he started, casually letting the fingers of his free hand trace the few controls on the chairs arm rest. “Full of wonder and nobility. Trying to save everyone. Look where it got me.”

   “Not everyone falls like you have,” the slender female said back to him.

   “No, and not everyone can blame their career path on one singular event either. There were so many vessels during the incident... Lyran, Klingon, Romulan, Tholian, and all the Federation ships...”

   “Which incident are you talking about?” It was the female again, and deep down he wondered if it was even mentioned when she went through the Academy.

   “Surely you know of the Hyperion Incident? The basis behind the construction of the station...” He felt pain at the memory, pain and regret towards the choices he'd made that day. He knew deep within himself that had he followed his instincts that day, Operation Unity would still have started. Everything else would still have played out the same, except there would be no station, no war with the Romulans that cost the Federation the Star Empire and that stupid device, which in turn would have never led him down the dark trail that he was on right now.

   His vision wavered, the humans before him faded into the background like ghosts in an old house. “... multiple hull breaches in the engineering section.” K'Tal's musical voice finished the damage report from behind him. Flames licked eagerly at the bulkheads on the bridge, his first officer lay dead at his feet, the deck shuddered as the mighty warship struggled through his damage to remain mobile. On the static filled view screen the lone Dominator receded from the battleground, ensuring victory for the Galactic Forces.

   “Message from Captain Kadh,” K'Tal's voice once again called to him.

   “On screen,” he replied. The screen flickered briefly, then showed the stern face of the Klingon captain. His red battle lit bridge was filled with smoke and debris, clearly the Screaming Dizbuster had faired about equally as Mohab's own ship. The man's face staring at him excited another memory, of Mohab's home planet many years prior.

   He'd learned at a very young age the treachery of Klingons. Through skillful negotiations, Mandeline III was removed from the protective sphere of the Federation's influence, and turned to a neutral status. The planet was one of many that the Federation had taken as its own during the recent war with the Klingons, and in an effort to further peaceful relations, was abandoned by both sides. With little interest in peace, the Klingons deceitfully came one bloody night and massacred every person who was unable to leave the planet. This included the Royal Family, save one young Jacob Mohab. It was the night he'd taken the still beating heart from a Klingon's chest, the pungent flavor of the same still hung on his lips. It didn't bring his family or friends back, but avenged their deaths with the whisper of the dying general's last breath. Mohab was one of seven survivors from a colony of twelve thousand, and though 'avenged', he never forgot them.

   Nor did he forget his distrust and hatred of Klingons. This was his second chance, here and now. He wouldn't wait for this Klingon to offer a victory celebration. Mohab would speak first, and end it here and now. “Captain Kadh, I am hereby officially ordering all non-Starfleet vessels to leave this sector immediately. Any vessel that has not withdrawn in ten minutes will be considered hostile and fired upon. This incident happened within the borders of the Federation and was a Federation matter. We appreciate the response to the destroyer Hyperion's distress call and dealing with the Andromedans, however we now consider this matter closed.” He made a cut throat gesture and the channel closed.

   “In case they think we are bluffing, target the Screaming Dizbuster's main bridge.”

   “Aye, sir. I must remind you that we are in no condition to hold out long in sustained combat

   “I know K'Tal. This has to remain an internal affair. I think...” his words were interrupted by the familiar tingle just on the edge of his senses. He felt his command chair melt away below him, and suddenly he found himself inside a Starfleet shuttle looking up from the deck plates. Before he could reorient himself, the tingle came again.

   He found himself, sans phaser, on Cerberus's cold hangar deck, lying on his back. He looked to his left at the large shuttle that he was just inside, two of his men desperately trying to pry the doors open. “It would not have worked,” the commander's voice called over the shuttle bay's intercom system. “Even if you managed to scare off some of them, Kadh and Kotheme would have destroyed you!

   Mohab screamed in panic. How much had he said? How much of that was a delusion? 

***

   “It was only set for four,” McDougal responded to his XO's questioning gaze. “I set Many De'Oria's transporters to remove our guests if the became hostile. I'm glad it took the loon,” he smiled slightly, “and left the Vulcan. She'll make a good bargaining chip.”

   Jones made her way to T'Sala's tactical panel while McDougal returned to the now charred helmsman's chair. “I can't find Mohab's ship,” Jones said as she looked over the panel. “If they've cloaked...”

   “I've got something...” McDougal called back to her. “Focus scans here,” he said as he fed her panel the data from the helm.

   “Working... Shawn, I'm reading multiple fighters inbound.”


Czar "Too short for being so long, but had to work it just right" Mohab, who saved this work from page 2, barely.

P.S. Andy, have at it, I didn't feel up to an in depth pre-post proofread.
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Offline Governor Ronjar

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #36 on: February 29, 2008, 08:44:02 pm »
Damn... Been so long since the last post...I need to reread it all...

I read a lot of stuff...

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #37 on: March 01, 2008, 09:28:56 am »
Damn... Been so long since the last post...I need to reread it all...

LOL!!!  I am relieved I'm not the only one...

Glad to see you are still working on this Czar, thanks!   :D
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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #38 on: May 04, 2008, 01:37:33 am »



Decided to take the more difficult route. Be done when it is done ;)

Besides, had some bad real life happen lately... not a happy thing.

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #39 on: May 04, 2008, 03:23:59 am »
I'll give you this. Maybe more tonight. Dunno. Not sleepy, so...?


   “What can you tell me?” McDougal asked his exec. He wasn't too surprised at the turn of events. It was just another coal in the ever growing fire.

   Soft grumbles came from around them as the unconscious crew began to wake.

   “Too distant to make anything out for certain, but I am reading at least fourteen  shuttle sized  hulls. Maybe more.”

   McDougal pondered the situation a moment, allowing things to flow through his brain and form a possible outcome to the seemingly worsening situation. “Clear picture on sixteen contacts, possible eight more fighter class hulls inbound. Also detecting larger power signatures on extreme long range.” He processed her report with everything else that he had been fed. Without further information, he came to what he felt were the three most logical conclusions:

   They were after Cerberus. Perhaps the ship, perhaps the symbolic nature of the ship.

   They were after the planets below.

   They were after Mohab.

   “Sh*t!” Lieutenant Michaels exclaimed as he struck his head on the underside of the his panel as he rose. “What the hell...”

   “Bogeys at noon, helm,” McDougal said, snapping the helmsman's attention to the here and now. There would be time enough for explanations later. “Mohab's cruiser is MIA, presumed local. Temporarily without warp drive or solid maneuverability. You've got the sticks.” McDougal stood from the scorched chair and with a single armed gesture, aided the still shaky helmsman to his seat.

   “I might need a moment to un-fuzz my brain,” Michaels said, holding his left thumb and middle finger to his temples.

   “Clear picture, twelve fighters, heavily armed with projectile weapons, mixed with twelve fighters, lightly armed, phaser only... heavy sensor suite on the drone mounts... all closing fast, bearing three-five-eight mark zero-zero-three.”

   “Seems like they're looking for someone,” the helmsman replied to Jones' continued reports.

   McDougal had turned his back on the view screen, assisting his engineer off the carpeted deck. “I'll figure it out on my way down below,” she said softly, rising from the ground. “I'm on my way, sir.”

   He was shocked at her sudden dedication to duty, and yet, not. He noticed T'Sala begin to stir near her tactical station. “Miss T'Sala, update yourself with our current situation as soon as possible. XO, assist the engineer in getting our engines to full power from the bridge. Helm,” he turned abruptly to face the forward station. “Maintain current speed and course, stand by evasive.” He took his own seat with a silent thud and a loud sigh. “And someone wake Mister Perkins.”

   Silently McDougal watched the rectangular viewer as twenty-four hostile assault craft angled towards his slightly crippled ship.



***
   Mohab paced gently inside the rather-spacious-for-such-a-small-vessel shuttle bay, listening intently to the reports coming in from Death Giver. Cerberus not only allowed for his ship to see these new threats much more clearly than his own ship's normal sensors could, but much sooner. He'd managed a fairly decent description from Biklis, and almost instantly recognized the intruder.
 
   Eric the Dead was a notorious pirate operating in the local area of space. He'd been dealing mostly within the Federation; however, he had occasionally wandered to the Klingon side of space. Last time, it was a normal VIP ferrying contract, nothing glamorous or dangerous; just taking a delegate from one planet to another. Eric had used the same space lane for years for such contracts and never once encountered any resistance.

   Until he met Mohab.

   Eric found out quickly that this newcomer was rather territorial, and vengeful. He'd managed to escape the war lusting former Starfleet admiral, only to have the bastard track down Eric's shipyard and capture it.

   There were laws amongst the pirates, laws that Mohab didn't know. Eric didn't hold a grudge when he was attacked in 'Mohab's territory'; that kind of misunderstanding happens, you don't notice the new guy so you miss paying the first “rights of passage” bribe. Usually it could be worked out. Eric learned that day that Mohab had no code of honor within the pirate circles. There would never be payments for passage, never more would there even be a blind shipping lane through the borderland for he and his associates to use.

   There would always be Mohab.

   Capturing the shipyard was one thing. It happened. As a pirate, you can't always protect every asset every time, stations and ships sometimes changed hands. Usually, deals could be struck, either returning the stolen goods or providing some form of compensation. Pirates were usually in pretty deep when it came to sharing hardships. Mohab did what he did, a simple act of retribution, to teach Eric a lesson.

   When the school bell rang, there was no more shipyard. Mohab had not only captured the giant ship manufacture and repair facility, but managed to cloak and move the entire thing out of the sector.

   Eric was miffed, to say the least.

   Attempting to contact Mohab had proven fruitless. Tracking him and his exploits proved pointless. Until, that is, an informant lead Eric to Mohab's slave factory.

***

   Mohab smiled to himself. “Czar Mohab,” he spoke into his communications device, “to commander Cerberus, please respond.”

   “Captain,” came the staticky  reply. “Kinda busy. Talk fast.

   “I believe I know who is approaching and why they are here,” Mohab smiled a bit wider as the words rolled off his tongue. “His name is Eric the Dead, one of the weaker pirate entities operating nearby. He's after me and my ship. If you let myself and my crew go free, we'll...”

   “Not so fast, silver tongue. You're officially a prisoner of the Federation. I can't just let you go.

   “Indeed, Commander, you'll do as I say or you'll not survive to hold true your weak threat. The pirate is after me, but I assure you he will gladly open fire on any vessel that has me inside.”

   The voice on the other side of the static paused, understanding the situation. Mohab was playing a dangerous game, but McDougal had to ponder how far the pirate would go. If what he was saying was true, then the lone Starfleet vessel would be left more or less alone. Unless they had a reason to attack the ship. Mohab was the reason, but would Mohab sell himself out for his own freedom? McDougal didn't know where Mohab was going with this. “You and the Vulcan will stay until Eric leaves. We'll drop the Vulcan off on the nearest surviving element of your 'empire', and keep you in custody.

   “Deal,” Mohab smiled.

   It was too easy. Way too easy. Mohab waited in the brief pause and thought he'd heard a mumble about transport. “Signal your vessel, ten seconds, three, four, five, all up.” The former 'Fleeter recognized the code, and relayed the information as such.

   It also meant that he had to get out of the shuttle bay in less than ten seconds to avoid the inevitable transport inhibitor field that no doubt would permeate the bay, locking him inside. The door to the bay swished slowly open, and he ordered the few of his men within out. They'd given his men a way out from under the inhibitor, but the quartet of phaser rifle armed security guards kept him at bay in the bay. Five or so seconds remained until shield three would drop. There would be a long enough pause between three going up and four going down... He pondered the approximate times in his head, and scoffed at the guards as they shut the door to the bay.

   No matter, he sighed to himself. I'll have almost forty-five seconds before the shields go back up. No problem.

Czar "Been so long *I* had to go back and reread stuff" Mohab, who apologizes.
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #40 on: July 10, 2008, 09:15:05 pm »
Did anyone want more?

   “Range to nearest strike craft is nine hundred thousand kilometers and closing,” T'Sala relayed from her tactical panel. “Shield three down, reading transporter activity.”

   “Very good, Tactical,” McDougal replied harshly. “Miss Jones, where's my damn power?”

   “Impulse engines now reading fully available,” the executive officer replied. “Stabilizing warp core... Wait, sir.”

   “Wait, aye,” he replied. “Mister Perkins, get the med kit, you're bleeding.” McDougal eyed the young lieutenant's left shoulder as he rose to tend his panel. McDougal focused on where crimson blood had begun to stain through his maroon uniform.

   “Just a flesh wound, sir,” he replied, with out looking up from his duty, tending his panel. “Targeting computer reinitialized.”

   “Get the med kit before you bleed any more on my carpet,” McDougal paused a moment, but was interrupted before he could speak further.

   “Nearest fighter is now actively scanning the immediate area,” the Vulcan's soft voice called.

   “Transport status?” the commander asked her.

   “Still in progress. Death Giver should be complete before the hostiles are able to detect the activity. Shield four down, sir.”

   “Warp status, Miss Jones?” He walked over to a small storage locker under the port replicator and manipulated the simple control panel.

   “Chief Rankin is trying to isolate a power fluctuation near the shuttle bay,” she replied. She grimaced with potential realization as her eyes locked with those of her commanding officer. His expression told her what she'd needed to know. “Isolating power to the shuttle bay,” she said to him, momentarily pausing to watch him remove the med kit he sought.

   “Too late!” Perkins cried. “Hold on!”

   The power surge that they had been tracking manifest itself in a brilliant explosion, rupturing the shuttle bay's main door to space. Under normal circumstances, the bay's emergency force field emitter would have snapped on, preventing the expulsion of anything lighter than a shuttle craft or otherwise bolted down, including the precious atmosphere. This particular emission of energy had flown through the emitters themselves, and allowed the unbolted, much lighter-than-a-shuttle, and otherwise unhindered occupant a forceful shot into the expanse of space, into the waiting arms of Death Giver's transporter beam.

   Cerberus shook violently from the blast and moved forward and down relative to the temporarily free floating Czar. As abruptly as it started, the tremors stopped, leaving those not in the know to ponder if they were under attack or not.

   “Breach is isolated in the shuttle bay!” Jones called out, rather loudly over the silence on the bridge. Much quieter she added, “He rerouted power directly from the EPS grid through the force field emitters.”

   “Mohab?” McDougal asked. He already felt he knew the answer.

   “Beamed from space,” Perkins answered him, receiving the hand delivered med kit from his CO. “Wasn't out there long, probably will survive.”

   “Dang,” McDougal said silently. He retook his seat in the center of the bridge. “Let's just focus on getting the hell out of here.”

   “All power generating systems operating at full capacity,” Jones said.

   “Just tell me where to point this pig,” Michaels said, looking at him over his left shoulder.

   “She's the last of the pirates on board,” Perkins said, pointing at the unconscious Vulcan lying on slightly propped against the forward end of the engineering panel.

   “Canceling beam out shield drops,” T'Sala said calmly. Her panel beeped softly to her. “Incoming transmission, sir,”

   “One of our pirates?”

   “A human calling himself 'Pop-pop',” she replied with an arched eyebrow.

   “Put him through,” he said, almost sarcastically. When it rains...

   The viewer flickered from inbound hostile fighter craft in open space to the silent visage of the elder man that they had only recently parted company from. “Commander McDougal,” he started, a hint of urgency in his voice. “I know that we didn't get off on the right foot, but I have one request of you and your crew.”

   “Time is of the essence,” McDougal replied.

   “We've been monitoring the situation, Commander, and we need your help.

   …it pours. “We’re about to leave the system until these rival pirate factions either blow each other up or leave the system.”

   “We don’t blame your choice of actions,” the elder replied. “However, we believe that the second pirate faction is here to obliterate our planets. The others, they’re too proud to ask for help, but without it our people will not be able to survive.

   “They’re not your people,” McDougal retorted. “You abandoned your people long ago.” McDougal began to form an irritated look on his face. “Can you prove their intentions? Or is this merely speculation on your part?”

   “I’m uploading our sensor telemetry from the outskirts of the system to you now, Commander. You’ve likely noticed the large quantity of nuclear warheads on board the fighter craft, but at your range, I doubt you picked up on this.

   The view screen changed from old man to deep space, focused on a massive space vessel. Its lines were clearly Orion, yet they were corrupted by the presence of several ominous gun-barrel shaped objects. “Those read as mass drivers, commander. Do you need more proof?

   “T’Sala, Perkins, verify nuclear weapons on those fighters!” McDougal snapped. He was angry at himself for letting these planet dwellers see a better picture than he and his crew had. It didn’t add up in favor of the “they hate Mohab” story… One didn’t bring a cannon to a knife fight.

   “Confirmed, sir,” Perkins replied. “They’re using nuclear tipped missiles. Our scanners were not calibrated for the particular fissionable they are using, a modified tri-plutonian alloy.”

   “Theories, fast!” McDougal almost barked the order.

   “Annihilation,” Jones said, “pure and simple.”

   “I agree,” T’Sala added.

   “Sadly,” McDougal returned, “so do I. But what about the fighters with the sensor… advanced guidance systems. They’ll be able to blow the can right out from under someone taking a crap. Mohab was a ruse.”

   “Indeed,” an unfamiliar female voice came from behind him. “Return me to my own ship, and we will assist.”

   T’Sala quickly moved to the side of the still bound Vulcan. “Mother,” she said to her. “It is agreeable to see you again.”

   “Likewise,” K’Tal replied.

   “You would help us, then?” T’Sala asked softly, gazing into her mother’s eyes.

   “I would.” For only the briefest instant, there was a fluctuation in her gaze. T’Sala pounced at the opportunity, catching the elder Vulcan off guard and forced her own hand to K’Tal’s face. Initially, K’Tal was off guard enough to be unable to prevent the mind meld, T’Sala quickly found the answer she sought, but she probed deeper, looking for more. A brief mental battle ensued, visible only in the minds of the combatants. As suddenly as it occurred, the meld was broken. A shaken T’Sala stood and addressed the man on the viewscreen.

   “We will aid you, provided you launch every available vessel from your planets, including the ship at Craxo.”

   McDougal looked to her, puzzled. Aren’t I in charge? “What is at Craxo?”

   “Earth Survey Ship Magellan,” T’Sala replied. “Rebuilt from the keel up; along with two others, that were reverse engineered from her design.”

   The view screen returned to the view of the ever approaching fighters.

   There is an old Klingon saying,” McDougal started. “Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam! Helm, plot a course through the center of the fighter cloud. T’Sala, Perkins… Priority to the nukes, but if any other fighter presents itself…”

   “…take the shot,” Perkins finished for him. “Gladly, sir.”

   “Let's kick this pig,” Jones added. “All decks answering Red Alert, phasers charging, photons on stand-by. Warp and impulse power at one hundred percent.”


Czar "More later, but sooner than last time," Mohab, who is also working on SC4: The Forgotten (might be dropped), SC5: Atonement and SC6: Retribution (might be a different name); along with a post-Nemesis piece involving U.S.S. Challenger, but is currently unnamed. Planning events in SC4-6 is keeping 3 to a slow crawl. Don't want to trip on my own toes.
« Last Edit: July 10, 2008, 09:30:24 pm by Czar Mohab »
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Offline CaptJosh

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #41 on: December 13, 2008, 12:56:37 pm »
Well that was an unexpected twist. T'Sala's mother a member of Mohab's crew. To coin a phrase, "Fascinating."
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #42 on: April 13, 2009, 02:31:29 pm »
Quote
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Unless you're sure you want to reply, please consider starting a new topic.

Oops... That's too long. You'll probably need to reread this for the next to make sense. And, there will be more!

   It had grown cold on the bridge without his noticing. Silence assailed his ears. Colors shifted about in his vision. A gentle tingle of numbness crawled upon his skin. His sense of taste and smell remained unaffected, however. They told him of the icy cold air briefly recirculating about the bridge. They warned him of the presence of the long gone Klingons that still haunted the air ducts with their foul, sweaty, pungent and bitter odors; of how thick the scent would be; how the flavor would saturate his taste and spoil meals for weeks to come. The Klingons would have their revenge on him yet again, once the bridge began to warm; ousting the beastly odors from their hiding places.

   They warned him, and yet in the chilly, dark silence, he listened, forcing every other possible nerve into focus, listening for the sound of K’Tal’s voice, or the gentle snap-pop-hiss of static over her comm. line, at least giving some indication she was alright. 

   The tiny fans silently performed their duty, keeping the bridge cool for a few minutes longer. They were an after though in design – while the cloaking device consumed much power and required life support and many other systems to be turned to a lower power setting, much of the bridge’s electronics still functioned and in turn, generated much heat. They were a stop-gap measure to keep things cooler during short duration cloaks, but could only run a few minutes before requiring recharging; having a five minutes on – ten minutes off cycle that repeated thrice.

   Once the auxiliary cooling fans for the bridge turned off, they had ten, maybe twelve minutes before the stank would come. He had that long to reestablish the secure line between her and the ship; had that long to figure out if remaining cloaked for an extended period was a viable option, or if fighting alongside the smaller Star Fleet vessel would be worth his time. Above all else, however, he pondered the survival of the people on the planets in the Trellious System.

   Scans of the over-gunned frigate suggested a high probability of success against the fighters that closed in on her. Worst case scenarios had run briefly through his mind, leaving his aged cruiser to clean up only a handful of the swarm. Success or failure at this stage did not ride on the bloated guns of this strange new ship taking out the swarm. The planets had been informed. Ships would be launched to intercept. Anti-air laser batteries, silent for years, would thrum to life again, ready to intercept whatever would make it through.

   All the analyzing in the world told him Cerberus was not important in the outcome of the first bombing run. He would need this ship to survive, mostly intact, to remove the greater threat. Eric the Dead.

   But no matter what he decided upon, no matter the choices made by the frig-naught’s CO, he could do nothing until he knew for certain K’Tal’s fate. He needed that link between the two ships, needed to know what was going on, and where to best position himself in the soon-to-come battle. He had no further concern over the operation of his ship; her skills would be missed, however it was not beyond his capabilities to cover for her in her absence.

   He did make note of one thing further. The cold air, soon to end its cycle about the bridge, burned his flesh. He shrugged off the dermal regenerator and all other medical attention after his brief EVA sans the protection of a space suit. “Archer healed,” he told his doctor. “And so will I.” He was needed elsewhere, and convalescing could wait until the crisis passed.

   There was a pop-snap, perceived much louder than it actually was due to his focus, but none the less it made him jump. It was not, however, the comm. line chatter that he’d been patiently expecting. But it would be enough.
***
   Twelve and twelve. That was the official count. Twelve fighters equipped with advanced sensors in lieu of a half load of standard drones. Twelve fighters equipped with planet-killing nuclear warheads and no conventional drones to speak of. It did not make Cerberus’s task any simpler knowing the numbers. Twenty-four was a large number to crunch through, even for a fully fledged and capable anti-fighter group.

   So McDougal paused briefly and pondered the situation more closely. Twelve would provide electronic warfare support warhead guidance, and overall support to the others. Twelve would kill billions if they made it through to perform their mission.

   Who’s first? He’d already made the choice, ordered a firing preference to his gunners. As the seconds and kilometers closed to firing range, he pondered further.

   The ‘bombers’ most likely had orders to stay on target, regardless of what happened to the others. Focusing on the ‘fighters’ would gain them an advantage in distance towards their goal and away from Cerberus. This could not be allowed to happen, ordinance must not reach planet side.

   On the other side of the coin, the ‘fighters’ would most likely have orders to protect their charges, and could do considerable damage to his ship in the process, perhaps so much so that any remaining ‘bombers’ would be free to deliver their packages. Again, this was unacceptable. Not to mention that his ship would be required to be mostly intact to counter the rest of the pirate threat.

   There was a slightly more dangerous middle ground, placed firmly on the edge of that coin. He would have to take out as many of each as possible simultaneously, while still controlling the number of surviving ‘bombers’ that would get past his guns. He had the most advanced fire control system in the fleet at his disposal. He had sensors that could break through most, if not all, of the jamming and provide some anti-drone coverage. Phasers that could be made to cripple fighters on the first pass, slowing them to be vulnerable on the second. He had tractor beams to grab fighters, nuclear missiles and drones, holding them until they could be destroyed. And a small compliment of mines that could be used offensively.

   Against this threat, however, he would need one more ace in the hole. Ships surely would arrive from the local defense forces, and while not truly anti-fighter capable, could still pose a threat to the aggressors. He would, however, require a ship with much more firepower to cover him while he plowed the road. These fighter pilots were not very skilled, it seemed, and their almost straight line formation would make easy work for Cerberus. But some would get through, and someone would need to help mop up. This someone happened to be close by, possibly unknown to the enemy, and versed enough in Star Fleet tactics to know what was going on and where he would be needed.

   He might regret the decision, pirates were known back stabbers, but he had to take the chance. Billions counted on him and his actions today. The burden of command never felt more like an ox bow than it did right now, in this moment.

   Billions versus hundreds. “Open a secure channel to the Death Giver,” he ordered. The needs of the many… “And relay the following, ‘Alpha-pi-three-seven-omega. Alpha-sigma, two-five-five.’”

   “Message relayed sir,” T’Sala replied, her Vulcan calm seemingly out of place on the tension filled bridge. “Death Giver’s response: ‘Awaiting’.”

   “Revision to orders: impulse engines, all ahead flank, twenty second burn, then cut power and bring us around one-eighty. All phasers set to pulse, revised targeting priority: any fighter, any drone, any nuclear weapon launched, set targeting for minimum range targets only; anything that breaks from the pack we’ll have to get as we come back. Set transporter bombs to fighters and missiles only and standby to deploy. Energize all tractor emitters to minimum power and set for targets of opportunity. Set anti-drone defensive systems to standby.” He paused for a brief moment, making sure all was right, before continuing, “We’re counting on Mohab and his crew to cover our butts and take down anything that gets through, but he’ll need us to make that job as easy as possible. We can assume that those ships of the local defense fleet will be able to assist, but we can’t rely on them.

   “Prepare a log buoy, and standby to deploy. You all have your orders. Send to Mohab, ‘Execute.’ Helm, lead the way!”

   A round of ‘ayes’ would normally follow the long list of orders, but they were interrupted by Perkins, who simply added, “Drones inbound, multiple launch points!”



Czar "back in the saddle - Kinda" Mohab who will probably need to make edits later.
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Offline Commander La'ra

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #43 on: April 13, 2009, 08:33:58 pm »
Will read once 'suicide-headache' abates. ;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."
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Offline Czar Mohab

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #44 on: March 01, 2011, 09:27:36 pm »
I would HIGHLY recomend any fans of this series to reread this. You'll understand why soon enough.

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Offline FA Frey XC

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #45 on: March 02, 2011, 04:08:34 am »
BOOYAAA ;)

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Offline Hstaphath_XC

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Re: Second Chances III: The Trellious Incident
« Reply #46 on: March 02, 2011, 01:33:20 pm »
Done and standing by!   8)
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