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Star Trek: Play by E-Mail
The Forbidden Years
Campaign Write-up
===============================================================================
Adventure #1
Flight of the Phobos
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Turn #1
The Initiation
===============================================================================
Copyright 1993 Jim Vassilakos / All Rights Reserved
*******************************************************************************
Cast & Crew
ST-PBeM GameMaster Jim Vassilakos
Dr. O'Neil Mark Hammel
Lt. Bellasario Alan Ward
Lt. T'lar Ronnie Simonds
Administrivia:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This was basically where I began GMing the game. Tony, the guy who started us
all on this expedition into the unknown, had fallen upon busy times. I quote:
>From: hayes@ll.mit.edu (Tony L. Hayes)
>Subject: STPBeM
>To: jimv@ucrengr.ucr.edu (Commander Elineva (Jim Vassilakos))
>Date: Wed, 28 Apr 93 11:37:14 -0400
>
>I am really backed up. My work load has dramatically increased since I
>started this game (and it was slow then!). So what's my point? The point is
>I would like to know if you would like to take over. Of all the players,
>you are always quick with your responses and seemed more "into it".
Now who in their right mind could turn down an opportunity like this? After
all, it isn't every day that a guy has a PBeM thrown in his lap. To make a
short story even shorter, I said "Okay!"
Stardate 6003.16 at 1800 hours: USS Phobos, Auxiliary Control (Deck 6)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Phobos approaches the alien vessel at full impulse, condition red, shields
up, and weapons armed. Bellasario is bent over the sensor console in auxiliary
control.
"Scanning the planetary atmosphere, Captain. Seems to be a breathable nitrogen-
oxygen mixture. Life signs detected. Counting 39 humans and 25 non-humans."
Dark crevices form along the security officer's forehead. Gunner squints and
blinks his eyes. "Uhh... make that 38 humans and 26 non-humans, sir. The non-
humans appear to have some sort of electro-mechanical components to their
bodies."
"What about the ship?"
"Its reactor cores exhibit a factor-60 neutrino trace. It must be generating a
huge amount of energy."
"For what purpose?"
"Unknown. No weapons are armed and no shields are present. They are scanning
us, however."
"Open hailing frequencies."
The channel spits open as Gunner taps the requisite keys.
"This is Captain Elineva of the United Federation Starship Phobos. Please
identify yourself."
Gunner shakes his head, "They're not responding to our hails, sir."
Nien turns her head toward the Vulcan helmsman. "Do you sense anything
telepathically, Lieutenant?"
"I sense a number of things, Captain. While, I cannot guarantee 100% that it is
the same vessel that attacked us, it does have the same sense of... unity."
"Unity?"
"I can sense the aliens as individuals, sir. But there's a feeling of oneness
about them... as though they are somehow combined mentally into a single
consciousness. I've only sensed this once before, and that was during the
attack. It was only a feeling to me then. I couldn't piece together what it
meant. But I'm certain that this is the same *class* of beings that assaulted
us."
"Not surprising. Anything else?"
"From the humans on the planet I sense a great number of negative emotions,
mostly fear and pain. Some also have a strange incongruity to them, which from
my experience and studies I would say corresponds to their minds being
controlled in some way. 'Possession', you would likely call it."
"Possession?" Nien bites her upper lip. "Speak plainly, Lieutenant. Are they
erasing their minds?"
"Unknown. But I can say that there is nothing innocent or friendly about this
situation, and I am forced to conclude that their intentions, given all data,
are undeniably and extremely hostile to our form of life. Whether they consider
us uninteresting ants, terrible enemies, or lab rats, it seems clear they are
disinclined to deal with us as equals, and are quite willing to harm us
whichever way they please."
An expression of puzzlement forms along Nien's features, "Yet... for some
reason they aren't attacking us. They aren't even reflecting our scans. They're
just ignoring us, as though we're too puny to even consider a threat."
Gunner takes a gulp of air, "Sir, requesting permission to lead an away team to
the surface."
"You never give up, do you."
"No."
Nien takes in a moment of silence, then nods. It's all the authorization that
Gunner needs. He moves over to the comm station and opens a ship-wide, PA
channel, "Attention. This is Lieutenant Bellasario. All personnel assigned to
the away-team assemble in transporter room number one immediately."
He turns toward Ensign Brown. "Maintain continuous scanning of the vessel. If
one of those aliens so much as sneezes, make sure we know of it. And keep a log
of the energy level. I have a rather gruesome idea about what its source might
be."
Gunner singnals Brown to take over his station as he steps toward the
turbolift. "Lieutenant," looking in T'Lar's direction, "I believe we have our
orders."
As they ride the turbolift, Gunner looks the Vulcan over.
"We'll beam to the planet's surface and see if we can discover the cause of the
fluctuation in the distribution of lifeforms and perhaps encounter one of the
aliens upon the surface. I would much rather attempt to meet one of them on a
more neutral setting than on their own home turf, so to speak. Also, I would
like a little more time for the crew to get a better handle on what we're
dealing with before we go aboard their vessel."
So far, T'lar has been silent, and Gunner isn't sure if she'll crack and blow a
hole in the first being they encounter.
"You've been very quiet, Lieutenant. Have you any thoughts on the matter?"
"You heard what I told the Captain."
"I heard you ask her for permission to vaporize the entire lot."
"It would seem to be the logical course of action."
"Logical?" Gunner shakes his head, "That wasn't the first word that popped to
my head. Look, Lieutenant. If you have a problem with checking things out first
and shooting later, you let me know right now. Are we clear?"
Before T'lar can open her mouth to respond, the turbolift doors open on the
transporter room. The landing party appears to be ready and waiting, and all
eyes turn toward her and Bellasario. Counting three heads too many, Gunner's
eyes fasten on the grey-haired visage of Dr. O'Neil. The doctor just smiles
back.
"Didn't think you'd leave without me, did you Leiutenant?"
"With all due respect, sir... I would recommend that you stay aboard the Phobos
until we've discerned the level of danger."
"By the time you discern the level of danger, Lieutenant, you might be wishing
you had more medical personal. Besides... I want to take a look at these
'aliens' first hand."
Gunner shrugs, "Very well then, but you're in the forth team down. T'lar,
Janson, and Barclay... you're with me. Parker, you take Wilder and Rehorn in
the second team. Watson, you take Krugar and Tolavar in the third team. We'll
establish a shield-flicker during transport so that the ship isn't totally
defenseless. Keep in mind, this will lengthen our materialization cycle to
around twenty seconds for each team. That means that it'll be well over a
minute before we're all 'safely' on the surface. Any questions?"
Parker nods, "You want us to stand-by for coordinates?"
"Affirmative. I'll position each team once I get a look at the area. Have your
phasers ready. Watson, put us down as close as you can, without being too
conspicuous about it."
The aging chief steps behind the transporter controls, "I'll do what I can."
Team #1: Team #2:
Lt. "Gunner" Bellasario (Security) Crewman Tom Parker (Security)
Lt. T'lar (Helm) Crewman Liz Wilder (Security)
Ensign Don Janson (Security) Ensign Charlene Rehorn (Medical)
Crewman Terry Barclay (Medical)
Team #3: Team #4:
Chief Watson (Engineering) Lt. Cmdr. Jacob O'Neil (Medical)
Crewman Cheryl Kruger (Engineering) Lt. Darla Reeko (Medical)
Crewman Bill Tolavar (Engineering) Ensign John Sanders (Medical)
Bellasario crouches down, phaser drawn, as the transporter waves envelop his
body. They seem to last forever, his entire person caught in a strange stasis
where he can see little, hear less, and move not at all. His new surroundings
are dark, moist, and hot and smell heavily of sulfur. Gravity is below
standard, about point seven he would guess, and bubbling noises seem to echo
along the flat terrain.
In the distance, perhaps some forty meters, he hears the sound of someone
screaming, the voice distinctly female. He takes another gulp of air. Though
breathable, the atmosphere is very humid, and as his eyes adjust to the dim
light, he sees that Watson has positioned him beside a mound of grey earth some
three to four meters in height. Little pink weeds cling to its surface, taking
in the heat and moisture for sustenance. At he edges slowly around the small
alien knoll, he can see vague shapes veiled in the geothermal mist which
sporadically shoots from the earth in boiling geysers every twenty meters or
so. Vision is reduced to 30-50 meters depending on the intensity of the haze
and what he finds himself looking at.
There are three main groups. One of aliens standing motionless as though ready
for inspection by a commanding officer, another of humans (and a Tellarite,
Vulcan, and a Calainian) which are apparently being held in some sort of force
field cage, and the third being a smaller group of aliens who apparently have
one nude human male held captive by some sort of electro-mechanical apparatus.
With the help of tricorder readings, Gunner spies two other mounds of earth,
one to the north and another to the northeast. He feels a tap on his shoulder.
It's Ensign Janson.
"They don't appear to have seen us," Janson whispers.
"No, they're occupied with more important things at the moment."
"We can have the other teams transport behind those geyser mounds."
But if Gunner hears the Ensign's advice, he makes no gesture of it. Instead, he
watches as carefully as he might, deep brown eyes fixing on the smaller group
of aliens. Several of the aliens form a circle around the nude human. The
tricorder readings show that the human is being enveloped by some sort of
transporter wave. Some sort of device is projecting it (marked with "###" on
map). It's about three meters long and one meter tall, like a big desk, with
numerous controls along its surface. Four bars protrude from its southern face,
to which the human's arms and legs are securely strapped. The others can only
watch as the transporter waves continue to do their job. Meanwhile, one of the
other aliens takes a human female from the force-cage. She screams and tries to
fight at it rips off her uniform and stuns her with some form of hypo-gun. She
then falls to the ground, apparently unconscious.
Tactical (as augmented by tricorder readings):
***
**^**
*** ^
^
^ .............
.t hhhhhhh .
uuu .hhh hhhhh . ***
### hu .h hhhhhhh . **^**
u h u . hhh hhh c . ***
u u . v .
.............
uuuuuuuuuu u ^
uuuuuuuuuuu
^ (h = human, u = unknown,
t = tellarite, v = vulcan,
^ c = calainian, . = force barier,
* = mound of earth, ^ = geyser)
****
**^*** 0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40
B ****A |____|____|____|____|____|____|____|____|
h h Scale of Meters
^
N
A = Bellasario Directions: W+E
B = T'lar S
"We can have the other teams transport behind those geyser mounds," Janson
repeats.
"I heard you the first time."
As they continue to watch from their crouched position, the party sees that the
aliens have skin of an ashen-white color, and they are dressed in some sort of
black and metallic armor. Their right arms end in what appears to be some form
of weapon, and thought he'd never viewed its use, Gunner's already seen the
sort of damage it can do.
T'lar immediately picks up strange "vibes" from the twenty-one aliens which are
lined up in rows closest to the landing party. They radiate confusion more than
anything else, yet within each, there appears to be a private war occurring,
the intellect of the individual fighting its eventual incorporation into a
greater entity. Though standing, they are cognizant of little other than their
private conflict.
Bellasario feels his communicator vibrate silently and swings open the
protector flap.
Watson's calm voice: "Phobos to team one. Awaiting correction coordinates for
team number two."
_ /| Jim Vassilakos
\`o_O' jimv@cs.ucr.edu
( ) jimv@wizards.com
U Riverside, California
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This Star Trek PBeM is archived on ftp.cs.pdx.edu in pub/frp/stories/startrek
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