« 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.
