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From: [e-mail] (james vassilakos)
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Subject: STORY: ST-PBeM Turn #32 - Leaving Port
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*******************************************************************************
                           Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
                              The Forbidden Years
                               Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
                                 Adventure #2
                              A Matter of Policy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                   Turn #32
                                 Leaving Port
===============================================================================
              Copyright 1994 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved
*******************************************************************************


  Cast & Crew
  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
  ST-PBeM GameMaster       Jim Vassilakos      [e-mail]
  Lt. T'lar                Ronnie Simonds      [e-mail]
  Lt. Morchainte           Brian Chrisman      [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. Duran          Tony Hayes          [e-mail]
  Lt. St. James            John Brengman       [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. de la Sangre   Carlos Jensen       [e-mail]
  Lt. Cmdr. Hawkins        Tony Hayes          [e-mail]
  2nd Lt. Xelha            Dave Shue           [e-mail]
  Dr. Bannister            Jason Stripinis     [e-mail]
  Lt. K'tar                Steve Mays          [e-mail]
  Lt. Soroc                Jeff Ellis          [e-mail]


Stardate 6003.28 at 0840 Hours: USS Phobos, Outside Sarin's New Pad
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Duran shifts from one leg to the other, 'Forty minutes and I'm already bored
out of my mind.' He looks over at St. James, wondering if he should attempt
small talk to pass the time, wondering why they suddenly are having such a
personality clash (they seemed to get along fine on the Excalibur), and
wondering if she is behaving differently because of her new job or if it's just
his issue with authority or a combination of the two.

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, then listens for a moment,
carefully and ever so quietly. "Someone is coming."

"How do you know?" Kris looks over.

"I hear them."

"I don't."

"Try growing antennae." About this time, T'Lar appears around the far corner
heading in their general direction. Duran smiles politely to Kris as if to say,
"See?" He nods wordlessly to T'lar, reaching reflexively for his tricorder,
stopping only when he sees her rub her lip in response.

"Hello... has our guest arrived yet?" She looks at them both with an odd
intensity in her eyes. "I mean that as far as my authority goes, and I *am* her
official Federation escort, she is to be treated as a *guest*, not a prisoner."
Her voice softens. "More than that, I would ask you... a favor." She glances
back at Duran. "Vulcans always remember what they owe other people."

Duran smiles politely, "I expect to get along with your new friend splendidly.
I have a hunch we have a lot to talk about and a lot in common... or maybe not.
But time will tell."

T'lar nods thoughtfully. "You may, at that... but might I suggest you not bring
any of it up right away? She hasn't seemed much in the mood for conversation
recently, and I suspect discussing that particular topic with a total stranger
might... rub her the wrong way. I'll be happy to introduce you, however."

"When is she coming aboard," Kris asks.

Suddenly her communicator beeps. "Albuquerque will be transferring a prisoner
to the brig in five minutes."

"We'll be ready," she replies.

Duran turns to Kris, "I know you want two people standing here, but I would
like to be at the brig when the chameleon arrives."

"Now that we have the chameleons taken care of, we can relax a little, I
think." She stares at him for a moment, then hits the intercom. "Mr. Ekstrom,
report to Deck 4, Section 13, please."

"Aye sir."

Once Ekstrom shows up, Kris scans him. "We should be right back, so hopefully
you'll be able to get back to whatever you were doing. Thank you for your
time." With that, Kris turns and heads toward the brig, large andorian in tow.


Stardate 6003.28 at 0845 Hours: USS Phobos, Deck 7, Brig
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Brig Layout:
    --------------------------,,,,-   The Brig has no sliding doors. Only
    | Cell | Cell | Cell |        |   protonic forcefields. They are
    |  #6  |  #4  |  #2  |        |   erected internally by a generator
    |,,,,,,|,,,,,,|,,,,,,|        |   which has it's own power supply.
    |                    ,   Desk |   If the generator is rendered inactive,
    |                    ,        |   the system will tap into the ship's
    |''''''|''''''|''''''| Force  |   power lines, but the transition takes
    | Cell | Cell | Cell | Field  |   1.7 seconds to complete. You can't beam
    |  #5  |  #3  |  #1  | Gen.   |   into an area which is cut off by a
    -------------------------------   forcefield.

Vince is the first to arrive, finding the Brig to be the absolute model of
efficiency. No security people are stationed there, and the forcefields aren't
even consuming power, having been all switched off well in advance. Come to
think of it, he's not even sure they work. 'Great... just great.' He paces
back and forth across the cellblock, trying each of the fields in turn. They
all seem to work, which is somewhat of a relief, though he imagines that a
handful of blobbies could reverse that situation easily enough.

Then he hears the echo of boots in the outer corridor, and in walks Hawkins. "I
got yer summons, Capt'n. What can I do for ya?"

"I want you to tell me how things are back in engineering, are we ready to
depart?"

"Wellsir, we seem ta be. We're still fine tunnin' some o' the equipment but
elsewise we're set. Warp and impulse are at your disposal, though I wouldn't go
a-flyin' outta here lest you raise suspicion. Weapons an' shields are
functional, though they are off-line just now as we're realigning the emitters.
They should be back up in 'bout an hour or two. There are other minor problems
here an' there, but none that would delay our departin'."

"Have you put the 'smoke screen' to work?"

"Absolutely. An' it seems ta be workin' so far. I had ta inform a few of my
people 'bout the mission lest they'd make a scene about the engines bein' fine.
Everyone else seems ta be buyin' into the story."

"Good, then we depart as soon as we get the go-ahead from Albuquerque.
Meanwhile, would you be so kind as to put the ship on full standby? I want it
to be ready to depart at a moment's notice. Meanwhile, I'll try to get the
green flag from Commodore Ash."

Hawk goes over to the comm-port and calls engineering, "Y'all standby, looks
like departure is slated ta occur in thirty minutes or less." Then he calls the
bridge and gets the duty officer, "This is Hawkins. If anyone is still not on
board, git 'em on now 'cause we'll be leavin' soon. Also, put me on public
address." He waits for the audible click from every speaker on the ship. "All
hands report to stations. This is not a drill." He repeats it again, just for
good measure and then closes the line, wandering back over to Vince. "That
should do the trick. Ash give us the green?"

"As soon as this chameleon transports over. If you want to stick around to meet
her..."

"No sir... I've had that pleasure already. I'll be on the bridge whenever y'all
are ready ta go." He passes T'lar on the way to the turbolift. "So you got yer
way, eh T'lar?"

T'lar ahems, "Just proof that those twenty-hour logic classes on Vulcan ARE
good for something."

"Twenty hours? One hour per day?"

"Twenty hours straight. It's more a test of endurance than aptitude. You should
try it sometime." She heads past him and into the Brig, only to see Captain
Vincent de la Sangre pacing back and forth along the cell block.

"Where's Kris?"

"On her way, sir. Do we really need to wait for security?"

Vince grumbles, "We're doing this by the book, T'lar. She's a prisoner. Got
it?"

Just as T'lar is about to object, in walks Kris, Duran right on her heels and
looking rather pleased to be doing anything besides standing guard duty. He
smiles politely, in more of a good mood because he gets to surreptitiously
gloat in front of Vince. He pauses for a moment, widening his grin to the
silliest extent possible, "Good morning, Captain, did you have a good night
last night? I did." He winks, taking a position on the other side of Vince.

Vince casts a scathing glance toward Kristin, but says nothing. Meanwhile,
Duran continues to look rather pleased with himself, as though he is genuinely
looking forward to their guests arrival. He suddenly turns to the room's
resident vulcan. "T'Lar, bring your guest by for lunch, why don't you? It'll
make her feel welcome and may even lift her spirits somewhat!"

T'lar cocks her head slightly as she looks at Duran. "You seem positively
bubbly. You haven't smacked anybody today, have you?"

Duran grins a T'Lar, "Why, no one lately. Are you volunteering?"

She lifts a decadent eyebrow in his general direction.

"Oh, T'lar. Is it a crime to be happy? I do get that way from time to time you
know." He smiles again and begins to hum some andorian tune.

Vince grits his teeth, suspecting the worst. "Break it up children. Start
behaving like Star Fleet officers por Dios!" Pacing up and down a bit more, he
turns to Duran and Kris. "Any suggestions as to how we are to keep watch over
the Chameleon and Sarin at the same time without any more security personnel? I
know I haven't any..."

"Why bother?" Duran asks.

"What?!?" Vince nearly shouts.

Duran grins, "No, I mean once we leave port, we have a contained environment.
The Chameleon would have to be really stupid to do anything at this point. It
would gain her nothing and cause her to lose a lot."

"I suppose your right, but I'm not taking any chances. Not after what they did
to the crew on the 'Querque. I'm keeping her here until I get a complete
psychological profile on her. Well, what's keeping your Chameleon friend,
T'Lar. We are on a timetable, you know." Still pacing up and down, he curses
under his breath. 'I should have my head examined for listening to T'Lar. Or
even better, have HER head examined, preferably with a blunt instrument.' While
stroking his beard, he turns to T'Lar. "She is your responsibility while on
this ship, so you'd better watch her closely. I still haven't forgiven you for
the 'Talk' this morning! Just give me an excuse, and you'll be polishing the
outer hull without a space suit."

"Sir, that would hardly be logical, and if you have another fifty-three minutes
and twenty seconds, I can easily demonstrate..."

'Mierda! This has turned into the USS Kindergarten, and with me in command."

Duran ignores all the insults hurling from the lipped orifice at the center of
the Captain's face, instead punching the nearest intercom (gently this time).
"Exo, patch me in to the Port Authority."

"Port Authority, go ahead Phobos."

"We're waiting on a prisoner transfer. What's the hold-up?"

"We were waiting for the go-ahead from you guys!"

Vince finds a nice wall and starts thumping his head against it.

"Oh, well, then send her."

"Energizing now." The whine of the transporter can be heard over the "thump
thump thump" as the chameleon materializes in the center of cell #1. Kris
activates the forcefield after materialization is complete while Duran speaks
into the comm unit, "Thank you. We have her. Phobos out."

T'lar stares at her "guest" who it seems will be treated as a prisoner no
matter what she has to say about it. "Sir... it was my intention to take
personal custody of Histlin. That was the arrangement I'd made with the
Commodore."

Vince stops his rhythmic thumping, and tries to gather what little dignity he
has left. "Funny. He never mentioned it to me." Before she can argue the point,
he quickly starts making for the door. "I want all department chiefs in my
'office' in five minutes. Everyone else is to assume their posts. We are
leaving Albuquerque _NOW_."

After he's done, Duran grins again, looking toward Kris. "Gee... you lucky
department heads get to have another meeting. How I envy you."

Kris smirks back, "Well, you said you wanted to talk with our guest. Here's
your big chance. Your duty station is here until I say otherwise, and here is
where I expect you to be for the next eight hours. Monitoring the brig. How _I_
envy _you_."


Stardate 6003.28 at 0855 Hours: USS Phobos, Deck 7, Brig
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once on the bridge, Hawkins takes a seat at the engineering control console to
make a last minute review of all systems. After a brief moment, he leans back
and says to no one in particular, "Now all we need is the Capt'n to give the
word."

"Excuse me Commander Hawkins," Pacal inquires from the navigation console, do
you have any more plans for the spare micros? I mean if you need more storage
space, I'd be glad to store one in my quarters."

Hawk grins at Pacal, "No doubt! I suspect that they'll be all used up. You
figger you got a need for a whole micro of your very own do ya? I'll tell ya
what. If you can find one not in use ya can have it for your very own... at
least until it's needed elsewheres." Hawkins laughs. "By the way, what the hell
are ya doin' ta the nav sensors, they're goin' crazy! Are ya plottin' a course
to every star in the entire sector or something?"

"Actually, I've already finished plotting a course to every star system within
the sector. Right now I'm running subspace vector derivations. Oh, by the way
Commander, is there any work being done on the optimization of the warp drives.
The warp diagnostics say that they are running at 87% efficiency!"

"Do tell? Well, that's better than I 'spected, what with the A/M containment
field on the verge of collapse. Maybe you should look at plotting courses using
Warp 1 or 2, don't want them engines to blow up before we get 'em fixed!"
Hawkins grins, leaving Pacal wondering if the Chief Engineer is serious about
the impending collapse of the A/M Containment Field (and hence the total
destruction of the ship). Pacal consult's the ship's computers and discovers
that the resulting explosion would leave very little of the Phobos save
numerous subatomic particles streaking in various directions at close to the
speed of light. Quite a pop!

"Commander, why aren't you doing anything about the A/M containment fields?
Like possibly getting ready to abandon ship?" Pacal AGAIN thinks of
transferring, the sooner the better.

"Don't worry, Pacal. It's not like it's gonna blow at any minute. We still got
two or three weeks. If we're lucky."


Stardate 6003.28 at 0900 Hours: USS Phobos, Captain's Office
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vince takes a seat at the head of the table, and gives everyone present a stern
once-over. Pacal is there, waiting expectantly. So is Hawkins and Kris and
T'lar. Even Oein managed to find his way to the meeting along with Dr.
Bannister, and Tsandzia, through the Calainian doesn't look particularly awake
this early in the morning.

Vince shoots T'Lar a cold and unfriendly look. "I am about to make a statement,
which I wish to make only once, and during which I do not wish to be
interrupted. Anybody have a problem with that?"

Tsandzia yawns.

"Seeing as there are no objections... ladies and gentlemen, we are about to
depart from Albuquerque Station due to a fault in the A/M Containment field
of this vessel. We have been ordered to try and repair it out of harms way, and
to slowly make our way to Starbase 75, where they are better equipped for such
repairs. You are all 'volunteers' on this flight. You are under no circumstance
to inform the crew of this, as it would cause a panic, and possibly a mutiny.
If they ask, you are simply to say we are on our way to make routine repairs.
This is the official statement. Those of you familiar with the actual situation
are to keep your mouths shut until I give further notice. All will be revealed
as soon as I find it safe. Anyone caught disobeying these orders will be placed
in the cell next to our chameleon regardless of rank or position on board. Any
comments?"

Oein clears his throat.

"Yes Commander?"

"I have been speaking with various crew members in the past hour, and most are
already aware of this antimatter containment difficulty. They have been assured
that if there is a containment failure... which I highly doubt will happen...
that the containment cell would be ejected."

"I see," Vince looks around the table. "Anything else?"

"Excuse me," Dr. Bannister waves his hand from the other end of the table.
"What is this about an 'actual situation'? Is there something about the
situation you just described which is not 'actual'?"

"As I said, all will be made known when the time is right."

"As the chief medical officer, if there is anything about this 'actual'
situation which constitutes a threat to the health or safety of the crew, I
have to demand that I be made aware of it immediately, as in right this very
instant."

"So noted," Vince takes a deep breath. "Anything else?"

Tsandzia yawns again, thinking of something sarcastic she could mutter, but
refraining at the last possible moment.

"Very well then. We have been given the green light from the port authority.
Report to your respective posts. We will be departing immediately. That's all.
Dismissed."

Vince heads for the door, entering the bridge with a stream of officers behind
him.

Tsandzia whispers to T'lar on the way out, "Wow. What a pep-talk. Can I go back
to sleep now?"

"It would seem to be the logical thing to do."

Pacal returns to the navigational console, deletes his practice plots, and lays
in a new course for SB75. "Course established for warp-factor three."

"Take us out on impulse thruster's, T'lar."

"Aye sir. Anchoring zone cleared. Albuquerque Navigation Control reports
departure channel is open. New heading, 087 port plus zee 021. Increasing
thrust to full impulse."

Vince waits until the station fades from sight. "Warp speed, Lieutenant."

He turns his attention toward the sensor console until the display of the
Phobos appears to emit a sudden ripple in subspace the moment it crosses the
warp barrier.

"Warp one, sir."

"Now bring us up to warp three."

Pacal hits a switch on his console, "ETA calculated to 11 days, 10 hours, and
43 minutes at present velocity."

"And how long at warp 6?"

Pacal turns half way around in his seat. "Uh... 5 days, 17 hours."

Vince nods, glad that his navigator can do head-division. "Correct me if I'm
wrong, but with our current quantity of antimatter, we can sustain that warp
for 10 days."

"Yes sir."

Lt. Cmdr. Hawkins, can she take it? I want to put as much distance between the
Albuquerque and potential spies as possible before I relax. It would be
expected of us to get out of harms way as quickly as possible, don't you
think?"

'Potential spies?' Pacal thinks to himself.

"She can take it, sir. But it might generate attention, us peeling out at warp
6 and all."

Vince nods, mentally shifting the idea to the back-burner. "You're right."

"Sir... uh... attention aside, uh... I'm not an engineer or anything, but
wouldn't warp six put additional stress on A/M containment?"

"Don't worry about it, Lieutenant."

"Aye sir," Pacal turns back to his controls.

T'lar turns in her chair. "Captain, permission to leave the bridge now that
course is laid in? Piloting should be routine for quite some time, and I fear I
am of little use in keeping us hidden from the Romulans."

"Very well, you are dismissed. Go have a look at your chameleon friend will
you? Lt. Xelha, you have the helm."

"Aye sir."

Pacal opens up a pilot's display on his navigation desk, taking full advantage
of the abilities of the new equipment to swap controls of various functions
from one station to another. As he sits there monitoring the progress of the
ship, half-rebuilt and newly out of port, he wonders about the weird staff
meeting. 'Couldn't have asked for a stranger Captain. Warp 6 on a leaky A/M
cell? Romulan spies?' He glances over a Oein, wondering what the federation is
coming to, what with a captain who's ultra-paranoid about romulan spies but
doesn't seem to give a second thought to the romulan sitting next to him.

After about an hour, K'tar comes in, making a small show of stomping around the
aft portion of the bridge looking big, tall, and muscular. He finally comes to
a halt in front of Hawkins.

"All weapons systems online, sir. I am ready to run practical tests now." He
steals a glance toward the phaser and photon controls, licking his lips
slightly with the anticipation of possibly blowing a hole in some unfortunate
merchant vessel passing by.

"Thankya very much, K'tar. I know ya jus' worked all night long, so if ya need
some down-time, jus' let me know."

K'tar grunts, trying not to burst out laughing. Though he's just pulled an all-
nighter, from looking at him, you'd think he just woke up, refreshed and ready
to clobber somebody.

"Then again, I've heard that Klingons are quite resilient. We should test the
weapon systems. Why don't you drop us outta warp and launch a coupla probes an'
check the phaser targetin' and sensor locks. I'll be in engineerin' if ya need
me. I need to check on a few things, considering that we may have to bring
velocity up to warp six in the next few hours."

"Warp six!?"

"You have a problem with that, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I respectfully submit that a ship in our condition is not likely to
handle warp six."

Pacal takes a sigh of relief, wondering why the Klingon seems to be the only
sane officer on board.

"You're worried about A/M containment, I take it?"

"Worried. Klingon's never worry. But neither do we initiate acts of suicide,
unless there is considerable honor involved. I do not see anything honorable
about blowing oneself to bits due to sheer stupidity."

"Stupidity?"

"Believe me, sir. This ship isn't going to win any interstellar olympics even
if we do bash the Romulans on their knees with a stick."

Hawkins sighs, "Don't worry, Lieutenant. If we go to warp six, it'll be safely.
You have my word on that." He heads into a turbolift, waiting for the doors to
swish shut before he blurts out what's really on his mind.

"87% efficiency my ass! We'll see about that!"

He arrives at main engineering and looks around, "Ensign Blacksmith, right?
Good. I hear rumors that we're runnin' at 87% efficiency. What say you and me
take us a little look-see at what is goin' on."

"Aye sir."

"JJ," Hawkins corrects.

They pull up various field displays, mostly warp geometry and power flows.

"Well, here's part of the problem, ya got the new controllers an' generators,
but yer still usin' the old field geometries. We could probably recoup 10%
right there."

"True, but we don't have the algorithms."

"They weren't transferred?"

"I made the request twice. They were supposed to be transferred, but we left
the station so quick, we just didn't get 'em."

"I supposed we could try ta write 'em. I don't know 'bout you, but that'd take
me... oh... a year or two!" Hawk grins.

"Yeah, at least."

Hawkins mumbles, "Okay, let me think." He paces around, then goes and fetches a
cup of coffee. He sees Woods and gets her one as well, hoping that when she
finally owes him a couple dozen she'll return the favor. She thanks him and
gives him a status report on the replicator.

He slaps his head then grins at Woods, "Yer a genius!"

"Thanks... I think."

Hawk goes back to Blacksmith, "I got it! Dixie has the new geometries! I had
'em stick everything on there dealing with the Phobos. We can download the
programs an' re-configure 'em for the new power outputs. Shouldn't take much
time at all."

Blacksmith grins a bit sheepishly, "You're making me look bad, Chief."

"Nah, ya had no way of knowin'."

"No, but I should've figured it out. I'll get the programs. You prep the sims."
Tyrone heads for the door, then stops at the last moment. "And do me a favor.
Don't tell nobody about this."

"Don't worry. My lips are sealed."


                      _   /|        Jim Vassilakos
                      \`o_O'        [e-mail]
                        ( )         [e-mail]
                         U          Riverside, California

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